Nollywood And The Northern Line
MIMI Features
Written By: Tola Ositelu
Photo Credits: None
Caption: None
.
So I’m on the way home from Golder’s Green Station on the Northern Line. I’ve just spent a lazy Sunday with a friend who recently
re-located to Sheffield, eating pasta, being blessed by some of her Godly wisdom whilst, at her behest, watching, laughing at some
and admiring others on the final of "Britain’s Got Talent." Fresh from being pleasantly surprised that on both directions of my
journey the coach was actually on schedule, I hopped onto the Morden via Bank train that had thankfully just pulled into the station.
.
I spot a young-ish mixed race guy, inordinately engrossed in his mobile phone. Odd considering, that even the best networks don’t
have much, if any, in the way of underground coverage. I take a cursory glance at his super-slick borders, uber-accurate goatee,
kangol-esque flat cap and figure this dude thinks he’s too cool for school. I’m having too good a day. I better not sit opposite him in
case he thinks I like him or something—or so my secondary school logic tells me. So I sit a couple of seats to his left and I am
quickly engrossed in a novel. Then, and I don’t know what it is; I take a break from said magazine. I look over at Mister Mister’s
profile and it all seems incredibly familiar. My brain in nano-seconds races through the possibilities of ex-school colleague versus
TV personality and settles on the latter. And then it hits me. I’m sitting next to a Nollywood institution. By now I’m 85 % sure but all
too aware that profile views aren’t the most reliable.
I politely tap him and ask if he’s a Nollywood actor—as you do. He seems guarded, asks me my name. I tell him. (I wonder if an
Afrocentric moniker is a way of gauging whether I am conversant enough of the genre?) When he’s satisfied that it’s sufficiently
Nigerian he affirms that my guess was right. So I go one step further … "Are you Ramsay Noah, the Ramsay Noah?" He says yes,
in such a self-effacing way, it borders on rudeness. This in fact set the tone of most of our conversation. I didn’t detect any false
modesty here. It was as if he genuinely wanted to separate the on screen persona from his real life one. Who can blame him?
MIMI Features
Written By: Tola Ositelu
Photo Credits: None
Caption: None
.
So I’m on the way home from Golder’s Green Station on the Northern Line. I’ve just spent a lazy Sunday with a friend who recently
re-located to Sheffield, eating pasta, being blessed by some of her Godly wisdom whilst, at her behest, watching, laughing at some
and admiring others on the final of "Britain’s Got Talent." Fresh from being pleasantly surprised that on both directions of my
journey the coach was actually on schedule, I hopped onto the Morden via Bank train that had thankfully just pulled into the station.
.
I spot a young-ish mixed race guy, inordinately engrossed in his mobile phone. Odd considering, that even the best networks don’t
have much, if any, in the way of underground coverage. I take a cursory glance at his super-slick borders, uber-accurate goatee,
kangol-esque flat cap and figure this dude thinks he’s too cool for school. I’m having too good a day. I better not sit opposite him in
case he thinks I like him or something—or so my secondary school logic tells me. So I sit a couple of seats to his left and I am
quickly engrossed in a novel. Then, and I don’t know what it is; I take a break from said magazine. I look over at Mister Mister’s
profile and it all seems incredibly familiar. My brain in nano-seconds races through the possibilities of ex-school colleague versus
TV personality and settles on the latter. And then it hits me. I’m sitting next to a Nollywood institution. By now I’m 85 % sure but all
too aware that profile views aren’t the most reliable.
I politely tap him and ask if he’s a Nollywood actor—as you do. He seems guarded, asks me my name. I tell him. (I wonder if an
Afrocentric moniker is a way of gauging whether I am conversant enough of the genre?) When he’s satisfied that it’s sufficiently
Nigerian he affirms that my guess was right. So I go one step further … "Are you Ramsay Noah, the Ramsay Noah?" He says yes,
in such a self-effacing way, it borders on rudeness. This in fact set the tone of most of our conversation. I didn’t detect any false
modesty here. It was as if he genuinely wanted to separate the on screen persona from his real life one. Who can blame him?
