Whose Fanta Is It Anyway?

I was at the African store the other day when a Kenyan man walked in with his two children - a boy and a girl of about three and five years old respectively.  There was a fridge stuffed with a variety of soft drinks. Naturally, the kids reached for the Fanta.  There's something about the orange soft drink that makes it irresistible to kids (and sometimes adults, too).  I vividly remember Fanta being my favorite drink as a child. Not much has changed since then. However, I do accommodate other brands of orange soft drinks. It seems like only yesterday when I used to call Fanta Tanfa - something my father has not gotten tired of reminding me.

As the kids each reached in to grab a bottle of Fanta, their father helped them to it and encouraged them along the way, saying, "Yes, take the Fanta. That's Fanta straight from Kenya!"  The owner of the store is Cameroonian, and I, the eavesdropper, a Nigerian. So, there we were, three nations, all wearing the Fanta-is-from-my-country look. And I could not help but wonder, whose Fanta is it anyway?

Picture source: Wikipedia

Wait, let me explain something here. People that are not familiar with the Fanta (or any soft drink) that comes in the breakable bottle may not understand the hype. Almost every African I have had the soft-drink discussion with believes that the Fanta that comes in this breakable bottle is sweeter than the Fanta in a can or plastic bottle. I don't know how true this is, but if it is indeed true that the Fanta in a bottle tastes a lot sweeter, then what does that mean?  

Does it mean that Fanta is catering to the apparent sweet tooth that Africans have?  Does it mean that the laws that govern the making of Fanta in other countries (like USA and England) does not apply to Africa? Or does it mean that Fanta has realized just how much Africans cannot wait to become diabetic, and so, have offered a helping hand?

It could, of course, just be that the Fanta in Nigeria, Cameroon, Kenya, and all other African nations tastes just like the one in our new respective countries, and that the packaging is the only difference. Oh, the other difference is that here in the States, we do not have to provide an empty bottle of Fanta before we buy a new one. It makes one wonder --- why do they make us provide empty bottles before we buy new bottles of Fanta [in Africa]? 

But whose Fanta is it anyway? It's Coca-Cola's Fanta.  And Coca-Cola is a born citizen of the United States of America.  It currently resides in Atlanta, Georgia.  Go figure.

I Wish To Go Back...

It's funny how when you're a child, you spend everyday dreaming about becoming an adult. When I was a child, that was my number one problem. I needed to become an adult, so I could do so many things. I wanted to wear make-up. I wanted to have money. I wanted to paint my toe nails. I wanted to be in the University. I wanted to talk to boys without hiding. I wanted to get married. I wanted to have children. I wanted to live alone, have a job, and be in charge of my life. I wanted to grow breasts and have my period. I wanted to go out at night and party till dawn. I wanted to be an adult and not be forced to go to bed at 9:00 PM. I wanted to stay up till dawn. That was my problem: I just wanted to be an adult.

So now, I'm an adult. I have not accomplished some of those dreams, but I have accomplished most. I have a drawer full of make-up. I can paint my face anyway I want it, and I have gotten quite good at it, if I do say so myself. But sometimes, I don't even feel like doing it. I have money - compared to how much I had when I was a child. But I'm still broke. It's like the more I have, the more I need. I paint my nails any color I wish. Lime green. Hot pink. Turquoise blue. Whatever floats my boat. But nail polish color is no longer an issue. Who cares the color I paint it?

I am in the University. Sometimes, I feel like dropping out. Too much driving. Too many assignments. Too much stress. I can now talk to boys any time and anyhow without anyone complaining. The problem is that I don't want to talk to boys. Boys are no longer an issue. Been there, done that. Next ===> I am not married yet, but I still want to be married. Perhaps, I obsess over it more and more - largely because it is an obsession I have grown to fancy. Either that or my booming-career obsession. Oh, there is also the one about going to an all-you-can-eat suya joint. I do not have children yet, but I already have plans for them. I'm already taking notes on how not-to raise my children. I have a job, but I don't live alone. I can't actually afford living alone at this time, but if I could, I wouldn't. That'd be one more ish to worry about.

I am in charge of my life, but I'd rather not be. I'd rather relinquish the charge to God. It doesn't feel so good being in charge of myself. Too many responsibilites. Too many things to think of. So I'd rather have God do all the thinking while I do the living. After all, He is able. I am not. I have obviously grown breasts - way bigger than I even imagined (need a picture?), and I now see my period - sometimes twice a month! This Ms. Flow that I used to cry and wish for, I now wish she'd not come so often. Wearing a pad for five days and having blood gush out from between your legs in not very comfy. Too graphic, I know. Sorry. It doesn't help that my waist feels like it's vibrating when Ms. Flow is around.

I can party at night - all night - till dawn, and I get tons of invitations to do so, but suddenly, it doesn't seem so appetizing anymore. I'd rather just go home and climb into bed. I can now stay up till dawn (instead of sleeping), but I'd rather not do so. I find myself begging for sleep. Right now, my eyes are a little red. I ought to be sleeping, but it's the third day, and Verastically Livin' must be updated. *singing* Sleep, sleep go away... come again another day ... little big Vera wants to write.

These days I have new worries: money - I'm broke... I need money to do this and that. School - I'm tired of it. Wanna graduate already. Too many assignments here and there. Work - don't feel like going. Would rather sleep in. Career - when will it take off already? Will it ever take off? What if it doesn't? God, I don't wanna be a liability on my future husband. Husband - that's another thing to worry about.

Aaaahhhh.... what I would give to go back to being a child. I just want to worry about obtaining the permission to paint my toe nails any color I want to. Want to go back to having a hot pink plastic lunch box with a pretty Jasmine Princess designed on it, packed full with a sandwich (or a little plate of fried yam/plantain) and a box of ribena. Want to go back to assembling in the school hall and reciting how and why children should be in school by 7:30 AM. Want to go back to my canary yellow blouse and grey skirt uniform, completed with an extremely white pair of socks and a pair of brown sandals. Oh, and the hair too. Who can forget the weaving hair styles? The "chookoo," the "police cap," the "upside down basket," and my personal favorite, the "love come down" style.

Ah... the days of sheer bliss!!! JJJ