“How many days are we going to spend on earth that we are wearing coat of iron?” Akin’s mother remarked.
“Exactly o Kemi. That was exactly what I said o, but you know me na, I’m just looking at them. By the time I show my own fire ehn, they will know that devil’s bean plant can’t be grasped with bare hands.”
“See Comfort, you will have to be more patient. It is good to be strong but many things can only be fought by waiting”.
Akin turned again on his bed as the words of his mother and her cousin’s discussion filtered into his room. He was terribly bored. His blackberry phone laid discarded with lack of data subscription by the book he was reading and had grown weary off. He should do data subscription but his pocket money had ran out and he has maxed out his credit facility with his mother. As he adjusted his pillow, he muttered another curse at the Federal Government and the Academic Staff Union of Universities for the union’s umpteenth strike action that has confined him to his house for four months on end. Continue reading “Waste of Sin”→
An emergency council meeting of the 401 Yoruba gods was in session. A grave situation was being deliberated on and as almost always, the messenger of the gods, Eshu, was at the centre of the problem.
Eshu, the characteristic mischief-maker, who always have a slight grin on his face as if sharing a personal joke with himself, was looking grave as he sat besides Ogun, the god of Iron and War. He eyed the exit beside his seat intermittently, wishing to be anywhere but there and would have sneaked out to join Amadioha and the other Igbo gods in the new yam festival party on their planet, Ulo, if not for Ogun’s magnetic powers that pressed him into his seat. Continue reading “Story for the gods: The Ponmo Situation”→
Gimme my horns……it has been a long time since I heard them.
So I was having a conversation with a 16 year old Igbo girl on thursday night. The conversation started with me asking about her admission into OAU and if she passed the entrance examination to her future, occupation and the inevitable marriage which was when she got agitated.
Okay, this girl is the last of 6 children born to parents both of who are from Imo state. The first 2 are male so she has had a lot of Nigerian culture in her system. I was being diplomatic and I asked her if she had a Boyfriend (sorry but I never pass off a chance to spread the word about STIs and unwanted pregnancy) after we had that conversation about condoms are zipping up, she said something curious. Continue reading “Sensible Speck in Senselessness”→
Six Nigerian professionals are embarking on a 6-day hike to the peak of Mt Kilimanjaro, Africa’s tallest mountain. This is happening as part of a fundraising drive for the Lagos based Down Syndrome Foundation. The Charity climb tagged Climb for Down syndrome, the brain child of Inspired by Charity, a social enterprise, is scheduled to take place 16th-23rd August, 2014 in Tanzania.
The hiking party hopes to use the climb to raise awareness about Down syndrome and help to raise 10,000,000 naira (Ten Million Naira) for the Down Syndrome Foundation (DSF). DSF is a renowned charity that works to provide leadership, support and advocacy in all areas of concern as it relates to persons with Down syndrome in Nigeria.
Mount Kilimanjaro, the highest freestanding Mountain at 5,895m high, attracts over 40,000 people every year who seek to climb the mountain. Continue reading “Nigerians Climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro for Down Syndrome”→
Okays. Valentine has come and gone…with a lot of mushy feelings, empty wallets and promises. However, as an incurable romantic and someone who loves music, the period got me thinking about the best love songs…in my native tongue, Yoruba, ever recorded (The one in English language (foreign) is supposed to be written by Lilian (@lilysville) and she has refused to…pester her!). Here is my top ten Yoruba love songs…hope you get and grok them like I do. Continue reading “Top Ten Yoruba Love Songs”→
I did not vote for Dr Goodluck Jonathan and will not vote for him again because I do not believe that he is what Nigeria needs as a ruler/leader in the 21st century (if you care to know, my choice then was Gen. Buhari and my choice now is Colonel Gwadabe). I do not like the volte-face done by his spokesperson Dr. Reuben Abati when he took up the appointment and turned into an attack dog of the president (I’m one of the twittering “collective children of anger”) and it still leaves a bad taste in my mouth to see what a leading “Patito-ganger” has become.
However I think I can understand why Abati became a turncoat in one word: SURVIVAL. Ask biologist and natural historians and they will tell you that the organism that survives is not the smartest, strongest or the most beautiful. It is the most adaptable organism that survives. Adaptation is the principal thing; in all your getting, get adaptation.
How does this affect Abati you may ask? Well, in Nigeria, for you to live and not just exist, you need money and connections. For you to get that, you need to be corrupt (in varying shades). What do you do if you understand rationally and morally that this is wrong yet your survival depends on it? You adapt. Dr Reuben Abati is evidently a brilliant man and must have thought very well that he couldn’t continue to subsist at the edge of REAL money so he did what he needed to do to survive: he adapted. He (and the rest of us) may rationalize it one way or the other but that, I think, is the stark truth. It is the system that corrupts us all with its constant droning of the message: Adapt or die. How many Nigerians, activists and non-activists alike have failed to yield this lesson to their own regret?
Before you point fingers at Abati, ask yourself: How often during the day do I “Do an Abati”? By this, I mean to go against what you know is logically and morally right simply because you need to get something done, in order to survive? How many times during each day do you have to compromise on your social media/church/mosque/activist image when you are caught between the rock and a hard place? You see, our system is so mad in this country that one is always forced to adapt to survive. On these streets, everyone is a hustler and we all need new level of grace to survive the daily pull corruption exerts on us. If you still don’t understand, pay a visit to Ajegunle, Ijora-Badia, Mushin or any sprawling slum in Nigeria and just observe how people survive and what they do to achieve that. Or sit down with Taxi drivers and have a long chat with them about their experiences.
All this came to me in a flash, the other Friday when I was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. Some friends and I were rushing to one of us wedding engagement in two cars, one driven by the groom and the other by another person (the car I was in). The groom was in the front and sped into what I knew was a one-way street in Ikeja GRA. Once I saw this, I asked my friend to enter the one-way street with him and we eventually overtook him, but it was too late: the police caught us and the groom managed to escape. A police man deported me to the back seat and entered the front, asking us to proceed to the place where the sign indicating what the street was a one-way street was. Admittedly, the sign was there, though vague with a “DO NOT ENTER”. All this while, I was being spoken to in the phone by the groom, a bible-believing Christian and staunch Nuhu Ribadu supporter in the last general election, to find something for the policeman and for us to catch up with him. Several moments and pleadings later, I gave the policeman a bribe: My own Abati-cal moment. That was when the Nigerian situation and working moral dawned on me: DON’T HATE THE PLAYER, HATE THE GAME!
A word for Dr Abati in our native tongue “Ti a ba ran ni ni ise eru, a a fi ti omo je”.
GEJ is not the cause; neither is OBJ
They might be the problem;but we should go after those who sent them.
Who sent them? You may ask
Some say it is the IMF
or World bank aka Brettonwood Brothers
Some say it is the Kaduna Mafia
Some solemnly swear it is hilltop in Minna
Others proudly propound a theory of Okija Continue reading “Egg and Chicken”→