Celebration of Life

I stumbled on a poem I wrote for one of the cultural ceremonies (African Night) during my PG studies. I just realised it’s been a while I wrote a line of poetry. I must confess it’s tough doing this part of creative writing. A couple of writer-friends have confirmed that. Nonetheless, I decided to post this poetry (the edited version) titled “Celebration of Life”. Hope it doesn’t read too tawdry ;-)

Celebration of Life
by Adewale Ajani

Greetings from the land of the Nubia
Home of the black, bold and beautiful
The cradle of life, poise and splendour
Where valiance and zeal reign supreme
Conquering all odds and disenchantment

The heat ‘though like a second skin
Warms up our ardent generous hearts
Fortifying the bonds of brotherliness
Healing the pains and gashes of history
Ushering in life, hope and rejuvenation

From the affluent beds of the Gold Coast
To the chilly pinnacles of the Kilimanjaro
From the alluring thrones of the Pharaohs
To the famous caverns of the heroic Zulus
Echoes this grand song celebrating our pride

Memorable and notable is our heritage
As you savour the grandest of all continents
A people of colour, elegance and history
Welcome to the oasis and dynasty of verve
Welcome to the “Celebration of Life”!

Olórunsògo

Olórunsògo is the fading inscription written above the door entrance of the communal living quarters popularly called Face-Me-I-Face-You in local parlance, located at the end of Liadi Street. This derives its name from the layout of the facility: Depending on the magnanimity or rapacity of the landlord, this type of household may contain 8 to 14 rooms with a corridor that runs from the main entrance which leads to another door exiting into a backyard, with equal number of rooms facing one another on each side of the passage way. Occupants, irrespective of their number, share meagre essential facilities (if and where they are provided) à la kitchen (usually a shed with stone tripods for cooking), bathrooms and toilets (often one or two pit latrines), all located in the backyard.

Olórunsògo which literally means “God has done something glorious” obtains its name from the deceased owner, Alhaji Olorunsogo a small scale industrialist in wood planks business. He owned half a dozen of sawmills scattered around the city with scores of workers on his pay roll. A thrifty business man, Alhaji Olorunsogo wasn’t half sparing on the home front. With five wives living under the same roof, innumerable concubines catered for on Alhaji’s bills and twenty-three “official” children, Olorunsogo proved without doubt that he was a man of insatiable libido!

In spite of his numerous properties, the exit of Alhaji did not but cause a royal rumble in the apportioning of the Olorunsogo’s empire. After a hurried burial, extended family members (ranging from immediate step-siblings to fifth cousins) grabbed a chunk of Alhaji’s estates leaving his wives and two dozens children to share the leftovers. Matters were complicated by emergence of concubines and their wards that also came to lay claim on the residual largesse. The “might is right; eat or be eaten” phenomenon took over. Wives and their children alike sprang at one another’s necks and lives. Dauda, Alhaji’s third son from his second wife lost his sight in an alleged juju (voodoo) battle with one of his kin. This is still being investigated as the neighbourhood police is “working day and night” to unveil the evil-doer(s).

Owing to sheer strong-headedness and access to firsthand information, Morufu (Alhaji’s first son and second child from his second wife) was able to lay hold on the Olórunsògo papers; one of Alhaji’s few remaining real estates. Hence, he assumed the position of the new landlord and rent collector, a status that’s still being contested by Salewa (Alhaji’s first daughter and first child from his first wife), the heiress-apparent to the Olorunsogo throne.

Back to Olórunsògo.

The inhabitants of Olórunsògo could least be described as a collection of assorted characters and enigmas – a very interesting household indeed.

Starting from the longest staying tenant, Daddy Pastor (as he’s popularly called), the roll call can’t be more intriguing. Daddy Pastor as the name indicates, pastors a shanty church with a dozen members, down the street adjacent to where Olórunsògo is situated. A 53-year old father of eight, Daddy Pastor “received a vision” to be a minister of the gospel a couple of years ago. It’s often rumoured that this might not be unconnected to his failure as a welder when he’d hardly fend for his large family. To ascertain they fulfil the Old Testament tradition of paying tithes and to avoid any temptation of “eating” this portion of their income, at the end of every month Daddy Pastor makes it a point of duty to collect tithes, going from one church member’s house to another. He saves them the trouble of having to pay the tithes in church, before which many of them may re-consider payment.

Daddy Pastor’s wife automatically christened Mommy Pastor is a full-time housewife. Being married to the longest staying tenant she also by default qualifies to be the landlady-tenant. Therefore, she coordinates the women folk of Olórunsògo’s household on appropriate matters. Her position also gives her the right to occupy the veranda space in front of the house where she sells cooked beans and eegbo (over-cooked dry corn) served with fried fish stew to augment whatever her husband pays himself from the church coffers.

Daddy Pastor, his wife and eight children all occupy a “room-and-parlour” (two rooms with one used as a living room and the other, a bedroom).

Sisi Vero the 49-year old spinster appears next on the roll. Sisi means a lady in her teens or twenties. Why Veronica (shortened Vero) who’s almost striking her golden jubilee, insists to be called Sisi never ceases to amaze everyone. It was alleged that Sisi Vero once slapped an okada man (motorcyclist) vivaciously for addressing her as “Madam.” The two were taken to the police station and accused of “two fighting.” Sisi Vero, a woman (oops! a lady) that has had her fair share of failed relationships still believes she is young enough to marry a man of her dream (Would someone tell her to wake up before she does so in her grave?)! This informs her mode of dressing: From the colour-riot overdone make-up to the tight-fitting undersize dresses, buxom Sisi Vero tenaciously fights for space amongst contemporary and (in her own words) saucy girls.

Often times when she hosts a particular man for a long while, expectations are high as to her eventual “settling down.” Howbeit, more often than not when the man is no longer seen and Sisi Vero asked why, her scornful and hiss-ful response is one that’s always ambiguous and of the same leaning – it’s either the man doesn’t know what he wants or he’s married.

On many occasions, Sisi Vero disappears from home for days and at times weeks. No one really has an idea of what she does for a living.

Joe, the graduate and bachelor teacher lives next room to Sisi Vero. Joe moved into Olórunsògo after months of unfruitful job search. A graduate of Linguistics from one of the state-owned universities, Joe got wind of job opportunities acclaimed to outnumber job-seekers in Lagos. As a result, he moved in with a fellow town’s man who readily accepted to accommodate the new comer. However, after weeks of enjoying free food and accommodation with no prospect of securing a job, the wife of his benefactor deemed it fit to declare an end to the generosity bestowed Joe, with alacrity. Luckily for him, before he was sent packing, Joe got a job as a primary school teacher two streets away from Olórunsògo where he now resides. Oga Joe (as called by housemates) takes advantage of the beehive of children parented by Daddy Pastor and others in the neighbourhood by organising home lessons for a number of them. At times when payment is delayed, Joe barters food with Mommy Pastor for his home service.

Mr. Sunday, the electrician is a resource-tenant of Olórunsògo not because of what he gives but that which he saves the household. His expertise enables him to backdate the reading on their NEPA analogue meter, now and again. As a result, the household is able to evade payments of huge sums of electricity bills. On occasions when they are cut off from the mains supply by the authority, Mr. Sunday artfully reconnects Olórunsògo typically at night.

The conscientious electrician recently got married to Patience who everyone calls Iyawo (meaning “wife”). Mr. Sunday works for a small-scale local contractor. Occasionally, when business is on the gloomy side, he plies his okada (motorcycle) within the environs in order to eke out a living. On the other hand, Iyawo seems too otiose to complement her husband's efforts. All she is ever seen in is a filthy wrapper tied sloppily over her almost bare chest. All day long, she stays indoors watching home videos on Sunday’s 14-inch black-and-white TV. Patience's laziness doesn’t permit her to cook. Hence, she patronises food hawkers or Mommy Pastor depending on what her appetite dictates. Poor Sunday!

Another couple that occupies the “room-and-parlour” on the opposite wing is the aged Papa Nkechi with his wife, Mama Nkechi and their grand daughter, Oname. Papa Nkechi is a railway corporation retiree train driver while his wife sells ugu (a delicacy vegetable) at the community market. Years of accumulated pensions have impoverished the old man and his family. A civil war veteran, he always reminisces with relish the role he took in the “no victor, no vanquish” pyrrhic war. He lost an index finger, the stump of which he’s eager to show anyone who cares to listen to his tales. Indeed, ol’ soldier never dies.

Their only child, Nkechi is married and lives with a vehicle spare parts business man who resides at the other end of town. At 15, Nkechi was impregnated by a “friendly” neighbour vulcaniser, an act he wasn’t willing to take responsibility for. Painfully, she had to drop out of school in order to supplement support for taking care of her baby, Oname. After years of emotional dejection, Nkechi regarded herself fortunate when Nnamdi requested for her hand in marriage, but only on one condition – he’s ready to cater for Oname but not under his roof. Not wanting to jeopardise this rare opportunity and fortune’s smile on her, she dumps Oname with Papa and Mama.

The last on the queer list is Bovi – the neighbourhood Casanova. Bovi came into Olórunsògo as a Youth Corper almost three years ago and he still claims to be on the one-year programme, for this reason he’s either referred to as Bovi or Corper. Many a time, the adventurous young man has been the object of accusation from mothers within the neighbourhood who claim Bovi has tactically deflowered their young daughters. Adolescent girls have been warned severally to keep off the amorous Corper but he always has a way around them as they’re seen either leaving or entering his den frequently.

The highpoint of Bovi’s escapades came when he was sought for by the police a couple of months ago but (un)fortunately he wasn’t indoors. When accosted by Daddy Pastor and Papa Nkechi as to ascertain the undisclosed reason behind the visit from the “men in black”, Bovi denied any wrong doing and assured them the “case” was resolved. Truly, no one knows Bovi’s source of livelihood. Besides, he’s often seen with questionable characters spending hours in the neighbourhood cybercafé. It’s rumoured that he’s a yahoo yahoo boy (advance fee fraudster).

Today, I decide to drive through the gully-ridden Liadi Street not out of lacking serious business doing but, sheer curiosity seeing a crowd of people gather in front of Olórunsògo. I am told Salewa and Morufu (Late Alhaji Olorunsogo’s children) are having a showdown there. The uncertainty that surrounds the new landlord/lady has excused the not-too-willing occupants from paying their rents. Consequently, Salewa and Morufu converged at Olórunsògo to slog it out. Both came simultaneously to collect the overdue rents from the tenants, each claiming legal right to do so. In the process, I think ignominious words were exchanged as each challenged the other to a reloaded version of the clash of the titans. At the moment, I can see Salewa with a swollen eye and in tattered clothings attempting to hold the part covering her bosom. Sprawling on the floor is Morufu, with a head which has doubled in size oozing out blood, turbulently. By his side lies a metal pole – I guess this should be the pain-inflicting weapon used by Salewa. Despite his obvious awfully painful condition, Morufu held down by on-lookers and passers-by, still brawls at Salewa.

Wonders have decided to reside at Olórunsògo! Anytime you need a break from the norm, feel free to visit Olórunsògo. It’s at No. 18 Liadi Street.

Enter, “The Green Revolution” Series

I intend to begin a series which after much brain racking I’ve christened “The Green Revolution”. This is to analyse mankind’s invasion of his environment and how nature has responded with retribution in its various forms: climate change, global warming, famine, floods, hurricane, tsunamis, etc. More importantly, the GR is about creating awareness of these anthropogenic disasters, abating the consequences while forestalling future occurrences and educating man on how to amiably live in and with his environment, as time ticks away on his continuous existence.

I have a number of articles I’m yet to complete on the GR (ranging from the academic to the trivial). I’ve always wanted to finish them before I kick-off the GR. However, I just don’t seem to get around that bug everyone has to deal with from time to time. You know what I’m talking about – it’s one word spelt P-R-O-C-R-A-S-T-I-N-A-T-I-O-N. I hope posting this intro will help me hit the road, running – I sincerely hope so!

The GR series will draw contributions from various sources and individuals who desire to. The cynical, paranoid, nonchalant and optimistic views/opinions are all welcome.

A couple of acquaintances (both real and virtual/online) have shown much interest in the GR series. In fact, a number of them are excited about a couple of ideas I shared with them. Some want us to initiate the GR club, establish vanguards in schools……Wait! I’m already letting the cat out of the bag!

I’m contemplating creating a new blog for this purpose. Let’s see how it goes.

BTW: ”What a Waste!” will be the first in the GR series.

Escaping the Age Noose

The radio program was the Africa edition of the BBC Have Your Say. The issue bothered around age and its overbearing significance within the African context. As usual, the veteran anchor pitched against one another, Africans with opposing views on the theme.

It is by and large a slot for blistering, thundering arguments cooked in an ever-boiling cauldron of controversies. Tensions are raised; tempers lost and on occasions before opprobrious words are exchanged, the anchor timely intervenes to dowse the nigh tangible heat.

Incidentally, I chose to oppose the much-cosseted age leech that has eaten deep into the African mindset and character fabric. This rabidity seeks to equate maturity with old age, demand respect as a function of the number of years an individual as marked on earth and emphasise age instead of expected and commensurate achievement. It is this same frame of mind that lords the African man’s superiority over his woman counterpart (this remains a discourse for another day).

Just before I am labelled as an errant, ‘westernised’, neo-colonised and cheeky African or infuriate the ‘traditional’ African reader, it is expedient to say I am an uncompromised, thick-lip, bushy-hair black African, with crimson-red Nubian blood running through my capillaries. In the words of Segun Akinlolu, I was born and have always lived “where the sun never sets or rises…where the heat is like a second skin.” I highly regard only the bent-back and white-hair that has garnered the proverbial old man’s wisdom - who believes respect for age, should not be self-seeking or gratuitously accorded but earned and mutually granted to both the old and young alike.

Among the issues raised was one that sought the appropriate age for women to take marital vows. On my side of the heated debate was the legendary Yvonne Khamati (one of Kenya very young female politicians). I inexorably argued that “marriageable age” does not automatically correspond to “disposed age.” While the former might be society-imposed, the latter is self-attained. Africa and the world at large seem to believe there exists a “marriageable age” for individuals. This has placed immense pressure on the women folk, in particular. As aforementioned, this unjustified strain has made individuals especially women to hotfoot themselves into this bewildering union. Bearing in mind, this is the only institution where its students are awarded certificates before taking the final exams. How satirical!

Hence, proper preparation, self-application and maturity are essential ingredients for a long-lasting, successful marital life. “Marriageable age” is not a pre-requisite. Marriages premised on the “marriageable age” philosophy have failed in large numbers producing broken homes, adult baby daddies/mommies and wayward children as fall outs. In the African setting where divorce is considered to be an odium, extempore couples have continued to live in emotional prison cages, for face-saving sake. As a result, marital success should be a “status” rather and an “age” thing. If you are not “there”, do not dare it or you get your fingers burnt! Some may get “there” at 19, 21 or 23 years while others may in due course be matured enough for signing the dotted lines at 30, 35 or 40! Self-disposition (which includes character building, self-actualisation, maturity and self-discipline) preponderates any form of pressure either society- or self-imposed.

Howbeit, this stance threw up a couple of issues during the BBC Africa Have Your Say showdown. The 21st century African woman has come to a state of self-assertion unlike her primordial fellow. She now acquires formal (western) education even up to the tertiary level (Study periods are lengthened in certain African countries by epileptic academic calendar due to incessant industrial actions). Pursuing a professional career is also paramount to her. All these have made contemporary women to say "I do" at older ages. Moreover, it was said there exists a physiological threshold a woman crosses, age-wise which might make her medically unfit to conceive and/or deliver a baby.

Nonetheless, one wonders if procreation outweighs the gains of a flourishing matrimony (which demands fidelity and self-discipline, at all times) with its accompanied emotional and mental constancy, the absence of which can impair every other sphere of living. Why should one sign him/herself off to a life of misery, abject rejection and psychosomatic trauma when he/she is not equipped for wedlock, all because “time is ticking out”? Apropos, is marriage all about breeding? What happens to companionship and mutual connectivity?

Individuals must first be “single” before opting to tie the knots or they might end up tying the noose. Being “single” means taking an inward journey of self-discovery. There is nothing that precludes women from attaining just like men, before taking the sacred vows. Marriage is not an avenue for the other party to absolve one’s problems and indulgences. Rather, both partners must constantly seek the happiness and bliss of the other. In doing this, marital vows are kept; characters moulded; upright offspring raised and at large, the society’s sanity is maintained.

Let the criticisms gush in!

Going Brrrrrrh! on the Creative Side of Advertising

Advertising in plain terms is “the public promotion of a product, service, business, or event in order to attract or increase interest in it.” It is an essential trade tool required to create awareness, solicit acceptability and/or increase sales of a product or service, thereby reinforcing the "brand." As a result, advertisements at times blend coaxing messages with factual information.

Although certain isms believe that an excellent product or service should “speak for itself”, hence little of no advertisement might be required. Howbeit, publicity of such is usually the first avenue via which the existence of such a good or service is taken cognisance of, ab initio. Proponents of this school of thought seem to be unmindful of the various types and media of advertising that exist. Publicising a product could range from informal words of mouth, reference/advice to formal, contemporary, state-of-the-art techniques. Advertising (in its various forms) serves as an indispensable arena where promotion of goods and services can be jump-started.

Advertising dates back to historic times. With the invention of papyrus during the First Dynasty era (about 3100 to 2890 BC), Egyptians likewise ancient Greeks and Romans had created various forms of commercial messages and political campaign displays. It has also been recorded that as printing developed in the 15th and 16th centuries, advertising throve into handbills. In the 17th century, advertisements began to appear in English newspapers.

The advent of television and radio broadcasting completely revolutionised promotion of goods and services. Increasingly, cable television played an unprecedented role when introduced in the late 1980s and early 1990s. The internet created new cutting-edge technologies and avenues for marketing purposes, with the boom of innumerable websites for businesses to interactively reach their legion of customers.

With the emergence of a materialistic 21st century world, business promoters are always at neck-and-neck rivalry - a fierce competition aimed at grasping the attention and better still, the pockets of a more cognisant pool of consumers. These, indeed are exciting times!

In present times, advertising via whatever means, has gone highly cerebral while scintillatingly appealing to all the senses of already captured or potential customers. This probably has continuously informed the extraordinary adverts placed by the No. 1 beverage company in the world – Coca-Cola.

The Coca-Cola company has established its brand worldwide. It is said the word “Coke” is among a couple of the most popular in the world that requires no translation to any language or form of dialect! – “Coke” in Luxembourg does not change its pronunciation and meaning in the Americas, Asia or Africa. Despite the fact that one can safely say Coca-Cola has crushed almost every form of competition, provided varieties of its products and captured a wide range of consumers, the Asa Candler-brand has not ceased to expand its frontiers in any possible manner. It has relentlessly “shifted the demand curve to the right” so that its consumers will buy more of its products at the same price. This is spelt out in its recent “Coke side of life” campaign.

In its various forms, one that readily charms is the “It’s Brrrrrrh on the Coke Side of Life” version. This parades a contemporary Negro chief (with his toothy, afro-hair, megaphone-holding page) experiencing a “vibration” after sipping some Coke. It also shows a parrot losing its feathers to the “brrrrrrh” phenomenon. The shake-up experience furthermore finds expression in a football fan that couldn’t brrrrrrh hitherto until the Coke substance gets into his digestive streams. “Brrrrrrh” is depicted to be a sensational thrill one experiences after drinking the more-than-a-century old soft drink. Coca-Cola has consistently trail-blazed advertising. Creativity is the key! And this is the essence of this write-up.

In spite of nouveau developments and exhilaration designed to aid advertising in all its ramifications, the advertising landscape in certain climes appears to be parched, colourless, monotonous and non-inventive. In recent times, some adverts have lost the tonic of originality and inspiring ingenuity. This is usually played out in copious ads as observed daily: For a number of industries, what is often seen is a “strange object” that suddenly appears in the sky. This catches the attention of various individuals – the market woman, the newspaper vendor, the corporate executive, the taxi driver, the shop owner, et cetera – as they chase this “object” (which is usually the company’s logo or brand) through market places, highways and byways, across streams, rivers and some times transoceanic! It’s either this or an adaptation of same. One could almost predict what certain adverts are about at first glance and after watching for moments.

Apart from creativity, another major problem with the present lack-lustre adverts has to do with the targeted audience/viewers or market. Most intended consumers often fail to understand or get the message about the product or service being advertised. I once watched an advert clip on a cable TV with a number of individuals as we waited in a banking hall. One of the viewers voiced openly he couldn’t understand the “nonsense”! Intellectually, it was light years beyond him.

Be it as it may, it is expected that advertisers and promoters need a “brrrrrrh” (in more concrete terms, a shake up). While it is not being required of advertisers to “re-invent the wheel”, it is expedient they make the use of the wheel further attractive. They should be more creative, imaginative, resourceful and original with their adverts.

It’s time to get some shake-up. Let’s go “brrrrrrh” on the creative side of advertising!

Comments are welcome.

Urban Legends: Fooling the Rest of Us

My phone rang.

Often, I am infuriated when someone calls me when I get to that threshold of being awake and drifting to sleep. It takes a considerable amount of mental effort to cruise back to this subconscious state.

Trying to conceal my indignation, I picked the phone.

“Hello Toun (not her real name), how’re you doing?” I grunted attempting to sound pleasant at the same time.

“’You got the SMS or did anyone tell you?” she alarmed.

“About what?” I inquired, curiously.

“There’s this news going around that XYZ (a GSM service provider) is asking everyone to switch off their phones due to an electrical vibration that might harm its mobile phone users during the night.” She poured out.

I laughed with gusto, as I lied in bed kicking my legs wild in the air.

“I know you won’t believe this. In any case, just switch off. It won’t cost you anything. I pray your rationalisation won’t put you in trouble, one of these days.” She sounded annoyed.

“Listen Toun,” I interjected. “This can’t be true. I’m sure you won’t get anyone to confirm receiving such a message from XYZ. Someone’s just being mischievous. It is an urban legend at work!”

“What’s an urban legend?” she queried.

WordWeb describes an urban legend as “a story that appears mysteriously and spreads spontaneously in various forms and is usually false. It contains elements of humour or horror and is popularly believed to be true.”

According to Tom Harris, urban legends are often false, but not always. A few turn out to be largely true, and a lot of them were inspired by an actual event but evolved into something different in their passage from person to person. More often than not, it is not possible to trace an urban legend back to its original source – they seem to come from nowhere.

He elucidates:

“The most remarkable thing about urban legends is that so many people believe them and pass them on. What is it about these stories that makes people want to spread the word? A lot of it has to do with the particular elements of the story. Many urban legends are about particularly heinous crimes, contaminated foods or any number of occurrences that could affect a lot of people if they were true. If you hear such a story, and you believe it, you feel compelled to warn your friends and family. A person might pass on (non-)cautionary information simply because it is funny or interesting. When you first hear the story, you are completely amazed that such a thing has occurred. When told correctly, a good urban legend will have you on the edge of your seat. It is human nature to want to spread this feeling to others, and be the one who's got everyone waiting to hear how the story turns out. Even if you hear it as a made-up joke, you might be tempted to personalize the tale by claiming it happened to a friend. Basically, people love to tell a good story.”

In addition, urban legends gain credibility when names of probably known people, locations, dates and times are mentioned. Besides, we also tend to believe close friends, relatives or colleagues when they narrate an incident to us, moreover when it is an admonitory one. In any case, why should we doubt their love and concern for us? Howbeit, urban legends defy simple reasoning and rational thinking. They appeal to our curious, inquisitive senses. Hence, we tend to believe and go to any extent to justify the most irrational, improbable and incredulous events, even when we are not witnesses of the same.

A very popular urban legend that went round in the early 90’s in Nigeria circulated rumour of a killer bean that caused mysterious deaths of its consumers. Households had to painfully get rid of this foodstuff (and anything that bore its semblance) from their already lean menu. It was tough for some folks like us that hold an undying affinity and affection for beans. Having to do without relishing a well-cooked meal of beans (seasoned and softened in red palm oil, which occasionally may be graced with the sumptuousness of fried plantain and other accompanying accessories) for a long while, was nothing short of atrocious, unpalatable denial. Interestingly, intriguing as the event was there were no documented or confirmed incidents of any victim – someone was always told by somebody that knew another that died eating the killer beans.

In addition to the aforementioned urban legend in my discussion with Toun, employment of the GSM communication did not but have its own fair share of these faux tales of horror which are typically cunningly devised to raise public temperature and blood pressure. It was reported a couple of years ago that a number of individuals dropped dead (some versions entailed the victims actually vomited blood before their demise) after receiving calls from “strange” phone numbers. Unsurprisingly, the ever-keen newsmongers could not confirm witnessing the incidents or having direct, personal contact or relationship with the victims. As usual, the news had been passed on not without various editions and captivating remix.

In recent times, our mail boxes are inundated one time or the other with tons of urban legend messages that heed us to watch out for rat faeces-infested coke cans, poisonous spiders in airport conveniences or HIV-infected pins at cinema hall seats. Many of us can identify with stories warning us about suffering a loss of our mail box if we fail to forward the same mails, because the service provider wants to shut down or encouraging us to participate in Bill Gates’ free cash giveaway spree. We get offline messages from a caring colleague or family member warning us not to accept any form of communication from a disguised virus-carrier. How about the mantra mails? – “Send this to ten people now, close your eyes, make a wish, take a deep breath and your wish will come true. Mine just did!”

Our mobile phones are not spared. Often, we receive text messages informing us to forward the same messages to a number of people in order to win some cash amount or automatic recharge from the service providers. Some even claim to have received such rewards!

Urban legends are completely different from spam or advance fee fraud correspondences as swindlers only scheme to defraud greedy, unsuspecting and gullible individuals. Their goal is to enrich their pockets with undeserving, financial reward. What do urban legend masterminds stand to gain? Nothing more than sheer fun and mischief poked at public intelligence as they fool the rest of us. They sit back to relish the extent to which their tomfoolery has traveled within the society while enjoying the enormity of humour or horror played out on their naïve, zealous newsmongers.

More about Urban Legends here: Urban Legends: Lies We Love to Tell , How Urban Legend Works and The Face in the Mirror

Comments are welcome.

Birthday Boy

It is the fourth time I’d be sneaking out of bed to check my well ironed “cut-and-sew” cotton waistcoat and black silk shirt hung in the wardrobe, alongside my meticulously polished shoes which were acquired the previous Christmas.

It seems as if morning will never come. I’ve been rambling from one corner of the bed to the other, expecting the much awaited knock (more often than not a bang) on the door by Mom, signifying wake-up time to start preparing for school. A wry smile hits my face when I remember just some years ago I had not the imperial privilege of sleeping on a mattress bed. All that was due to me was a beautifully painted raffia mat (with a pillow and a cover cloth) which had to be changed often due to my incessant bed-wetting (a doctor friend of mine calls it enuresis – whatever that means).

Incidentally, today is my 9th birthday anniversary and you can’t fathom how I’ve looked forward to this day. With my arms folded and supporting the back of my head, I gaze into the invisible ceiling in the unlit room. I try to imagine how I’d be the centre of attraction today in class and (if kismet will smile on me) most probably, the whole school – the applause I’ll receive as I mount the pedestal our head teacher stays on when he invites up birthday celebrants of the day to join him during the morning assembly……

“Wake up! It’s time for school.” Mom shouts as she profusely bangs on the door.

I subconsciously ruffle under the cover cloth disinclined to get out of bed. Suddenly, I remember it’s my birthday - a day I’ve counted down to! I jump out of bed with an exigency of a king’s messenger. I know Mom and my siblings will wonder at the unusual manner I completed my house chores this morning without the customary suasion to perform these tasks consequent of being caught snoozing in one niche of the house.

I feel on top of the world. Let me paint the picture.

Here I am on my 9th birthday anniversary. No school uniform today. I’m well-dressed in my Sunday best and Christmas shoes, to go with new underwear I’ve never put on hitherto and actually saved for today. The excitement won’t let me eat breakfast. My appetite seems to understand there is a sensation inside me which is more compelling than hunger (at least for the moment). I single-handedly convey the drinks and snacks for my birthday party into the trunk of Mom’s car. It’s a pity all my prior cries and sulks couldn’t get a birthday cake out of the tight family’s budget for today’s event. Never mind, cake or no cake it’s still my birthday.

I impatiently hope Mom and my sisters will soon be ready so we’d hit the road. I can’t wait for them to round-off the birthday songs, wishes and other compliments as I look forward to getting to school as soon as these ladies will permit me to begin my day. It’s showtime and I’m all set to start basking in the euphoria of a birthday boy!

We get to school with no hitches during which my mind is most of the travel time on despatch. I can’t concentrate on the tittle-tattles that ensue. Our arrival does create the desired effects as I peep to observe twinkles of surprises on the faces of fellow pupils (or am I just disillusioned?) admiring me in my poised outfit.

Now it’s morning assembly time – an opportunity to officially inaugurate the show-off. During the morning devotion, the head teacher invites the celebrants up. A couple of other individuals are fortunate to share today with me. We elegantly walk through the aisle created by fellow pupils. Beaming with smiles, I look across the assembly of students as they chorus various birthday songs. I couldn’t have been happier!

The morning classes trail overly long for my predilection. All I can see are Mr. Mensah’s (our class teacher) moving lips and his gesticulating hands as this mind of mine still refuses to concentrate on his lectures. I earnestly look forward to proceeding on lunch break. This usually serves as the climax of any birthday celebration. This is how we usually do it:

During the lunch timeout, the celebrant sits in front of the class on an ad-hoc high table to where he/she invites his/her best male and female pals. Almost every class member warms up to the celebrant in an unusually gracious manner so as to be considered for sharing the ephemeral exulted seats with the birthday boy/girl. In addition, the “special guests” also enjoy the rare privilege of having a full bottle of soft drink each to themselves along with the celebrant while other class members parsimoniously share theirs.

Today, I notice Bella my tyrannical bully row mate (who is almost twice my size) has been exceptionally nice to me. She (yes! she) even offers me one of her spare pencils when I couldn’t locate mine on time! Deke out of the blue decides to lend me the Nintendo game he has denied me unrelentingly many a time, while Sola says with a dimple-smile that I’d no longer bother about her Enid Blyton’s I misplaced. How I wish birthday anniversaries could be an everyday event.

Mr. Mensah jump-starts the occasion, after the usual birthday chorus rendered recitatively by the class as he showers innumerable encomiums on me. I almost forget the compliments are meant for me as I find it difficult to believe my ears: Is this not the same well-behaved birthday boy he flogged unapologetically the previous week? I think whoever it was that invented/suggested birthday anniversaries should be celebrated, such a person should be immortalised and canonised. This is one of the few events in an individual’s life when one’s hitherto and/or prejudged “foes” strive to be at peace with him and rare privileges are also accorded him.

Now comes the supposedly easy part but realistically a tough one: Choosing my guests of honour. Without reconsideration, I know who my best male friend-invitee would be: Deolu, our class head of course! Not because he’s the class chief but we do share a couple of things in common. We both are objects of intimidation from our class yobbos as we tend to shy away from any form of confrontation with these troublemakers. Moreover, Deolu possesses many attributes I desire. He has an impressively exquisite handwriting for a young boy of his age – one, Microsoft Word application will be glad to put on its fonts menu and probably patent Deolu Cursive. Regardless of his occasional apprehension, Deolu has an aura of self-confidence and kindliness. He’s ever nattily dressed, keen to help and gracious with a handsome visage and a brilliant mind to complement. He strikes one as a lady’s man. In fact, he’s my exemplar. Hence, Deolu joins me on the high table.

My childhood fantasy remains the bane of my female guest choice. My heart pendulums between opting for the quiet, more familiar but not so exquisite Yemi and the energetic, classy, exotic and much talked-about Michelle.

Yemi has been my schoolgirl fantasy right from the previous class. In between ourselves, though tacit, we are both conscious of this “feeling, inside.” She has been remarkably friendly providing a masked affection, at any opportunity she gets. I remember now how she helped search for my lost pairs of stockings, last school term.

Michelle is the new chic on the block – the hottest sensation! She’s a perfect fuse of white and rich chocolate melanin all in one cast. A European-African descent, her tinge of skin colour is of a rare blend – a spotless tinge, Ethiopian in nature – commonly known as a half-caste. Her arrival on the school landscape last session is akin to breaking news. She is the talk of the whole school. Everybody wants her attention and friendship – so do I. However, a number of students complain about her high-handedness, arrogance and bad manners, but I think they are just envious of this beauty queen. I have been searching for an opportunity to secure Michelle’s attention and probably her affection. This might be it!

The time taken to announce my female guest seems like ages. Adrenalin gushes through my body and my facial nerves twitch as blood rushes through them similarly. My limbs become cold and numb. I can see immense anticipation expressed differently across the over 20 pairs of eyes that seem to await the declaration of a verdict that will impact their lives. The silence that pervades the classroom is almost tangible. Did I see Sola’s eye twinkle with her usual accompanied captivating dimple-smile? I grimace seeing the I-will-whip-you-silly-if-you-don’t-pick-me look on Bella’s face. I dare the consequences of my choice deciding to deal with the fiend, afterwards.

With my heart in my mouth, I declare “I choose Michelle to join me.”

I can almost hear the silent moan exclaimed by the whole class simultaneously. Taken aback likewise, Michelle catwalks with some feel of haughtiness in her steps, to join us at the table.

A quick glance towards Yemi’s direction assures me I’ve made a most ill decision. She drops her head as soon as our eyes make contact. My heart sinks and wallows in abject shame, disappointment and betrayal. Nonetheless, I reassure myself with the company of the most desired celebrity in school. Besides, I owe no one any form of commitment or affection. Do I? Why should I be down with guilt? But deep within me, I know something, somewhere, somehow is not right.

My mind is absolutely absent from the remaining happenings and activities of the day. After the lunch break, I can’t bring myself to steal another glance at Yemi. Howbeit, I delight myself with security of the newly established association and prospects with Michelle. At any rate, I have won the attention of the renowned Michelle! I can’t wait for the end of school…..

As the bell rings signifying the close of day, I hurriedly pack my books. I make a mental analysis of how to accost Michelle. My major concern is how to penetrate her barrier of friends that flock around her like aides. I run after their convoy as they descend the stairs.

“Mi...Mi…Michelle.” I stutter. “Excuse me; I’d like to speak with you Michelle.”

She stops dead in her track, turns and walks back to meet me. My heart beats and leaps for excitement. I can’t believe this angel is all mine. The whole world seems to come to a standstill awaiting my beck and call. However, the look on her face suggests otherwise.

“Listen, Wale or whatever you’re called.” Michelle bellows.

“Never you, involve me in any of your low class so-called birthday parties again. I just didn’t want to embarrass you this afternoon. That was why I honoured your invitation.” She continues.

“I can’t imagine how someone could celebrate a birthday without a cake.”

She hisses and walks away with her fleet close at her heels, giggling and making faces at me.

There and then, I know without equivocation, I did make an erroneous choice during the lunch break. My head aches, my belly rumbles and my legs shake all in unison. I pray I’d be swallowed up by the ground beneath me. Shame in its full intensity envelopes me. From the staircase landing where I stand stuck, I glance up seeing Yemi. Obviously, she must have witnessed this show of embarrassment. With tears in her eyes, she runs down the stairs, avoiding me as she attempts to suppress her sobs......

“Excuse me sir.” The young lady tries to get my attention. She taps me, hence disrupting my daydreaming.

“This is your account balance.” She announces, slipping a piece of paper towards me. She turns away to attend to other businesses.

“Thank you.” I murmur.

I leave the bank hall walking out absentmindedly, oblivious of my surrounding and forgetting the reason I came there for, ab initio.

18 years after betraying a childhood love, here I am struck by the sudden appearance of my bank’s Client Relation Officer who bears every resemblance of Yemi – my heartbroken first love. Coincidentally, as fate will have it, today is my 27th birthday anniversary. Could this really be a coincidence?

In the absence of even the minutest of all doubt, I’m persuaded the lady at the desk is Yemi, but her seemingly expressionless face and business-like gesture confuse me. Moreover, the unknown name plaque on her table beclouds my conviction while the wedding band on her finger discourages me from embarking on further enquiries.

Should I go back in there to find out?

The End

The characters in this story are fictitious. However, some parts of the event may not be untrue ;-)

Comments are welcome.

The Death of Human Capital

The developed nations of the world both in historic and present times never thrived or achieved feats as a result of the natural resources imbedded in their geographic cores. It has been proven without equivocation that frontier breakthroughs have been anchored only on self-awareness, human development and capacity building. Or of what use are natural resources without the required human ingenuity to transform and add value to these forms of capital? However, human inventiveness though might be intrinsic, does not come to bear on its own without proper enlightenment achieved through appropriate tutelage, grooming and training.

A country that denies itself the opportunity to develop its manpower or frustrates mechanisms/avenues to grow its human resources only does so at its own peril. The lowest level of human development stems from the basic form of education which is essential for the existence of other rungs, up the education ladder. Therefore, it follows that all apparatuses (be it human, social and technical) that support the establishment and sustainability of this primary structure, should be considered vital. Incidentally within this structure, the human factor also distinguishes itself as very high-ranking. Sadly, the Nigerian government either seems to be oblivious of this significance or deliberately neglects such.

Recently Nigerian teachers in government-owned schools laid down tools as they embarked on a nationwide industrial action. Their grievances? Non-implementation of the new salary scheme by the federal and state government, as agreed by all stakeholders. This leaves a bitter taste in the mouth if the larger corollary of this quagmire is considered. We have come through this path before and I cease not to wonder why and for how long we would continue not to get our priorities sorted out?

In branching through any tree of development, the position of teachers can never be over-looked or over-emphasised. Teachers are strategic to national development as they (being human themselves) are equipped with the capabilities to establish and expand capacity for human development on which any other form of development rests. These special people pass across knowledge; while instilling life values and morals that are necessary to take an individual through life. Hence, the least any right-thinking government should do is to create a working environment and provide appropriate incentives for its teachers. Nevertheless, Nigerian teachers are presently at logger-heads over payment of wages based on a recent jointly agreed salary structure. Scrutinising the controversial salary structure shows all the teachers’ union is demanding is a far cry from any form of luxury as this can still barely make the teachers comfortable.

It is this form of prolonged abandonment that has totally dispirited and dampened the morale of a lot of teachers at the primary, secondary and tertiary levels, nationwide. It must be stated here that this neglect is not characteristic of the education sector alone. The disregard sleaze runs through all facets of our polity. It is sad to imagine that years down the line, pupils under the guidance of our teachers have a greater assurance of enjoying a more comfortable living standard than their teachers. The obvious life of lack, dejection and penury that our teachers live make their wards never consider teaching as a profession that guarantees a secure livelihood. The only consolation teachers seem to enjoy is seeing how successful their former students turn out to be. Nonetheless, this feeling no matter how invaluable would not put food on their tables or pay their bills.

A candidate during the last presidential elections once campaigned for teachers to be the most highly-paid workers in the country. This might seem like a big joke for any dimwit that is ignorant of the indispensability of teachers. It must be reiterated that until we get the teachers’ project right, any attempt at national development will only be futile. Government should increase investment in the education sector, if not for the sake of the teachers themselves but at least for the continuance existence and development of human capital.

The Yar’Adua government should be conscious of the fact that the realisation of its seven-point agenda and ambitious Vision 20:20:20 programme can only be successful when driven by requisite manpower. Unfortunately, manpower does not fall from the sky. It is developed through the smith workshop of mass education and human empowerment. Education is the only guarantee and pointer to journeying to the Promised Land.

A continual dwindling investment in our education sector (which entails provision of essential welfare for its actors; creation of enabling and conducive working environment; and upgrading of necessary facilities) will not only create an army of disgruntled teachers, seasonal deadlocks and/or idle students but the eventual death of fundamental human capital.

Comments are welcome.

What a Waste!

I was going through my lecture notes acquired during my MSc programme in Delft. I stumbled on these bizarre water facts. Incidentally, I’m presently working on an article which seeks to examine how we can manage the impending energy crisis and at large, avoid a looming world ecosystem crash. This is true whether you are a ‘green’ person or not. I promise to post the article on these pages as soon as I’m done. Meanwhile, enjoy (or better still, endure) these shocking realities - they are not exaggerations:


 Less than 1% of the total water available on the earth can be used for human consumption.
 99.9% of fresh water is contained in the polar ice caps.
 50 litres of water are needed to grow a kilo of spinach.
 50 kilos of water are required to produce a litre of whisky.
 4.5 to 35 litres of water are required to produce 1 litre of beer (Siebel, M.A.).
 250 litres of water are needed to produce a kilo of wheat.
 250 kilos of water are needed to produce a kilo of steel.
 18,000 litres of water are required to refine a ton of petroleum.
 25,000 litres of water are needed to produce a kilo of meat.
 200,000 litres of water are required to smelt a ton of pig iron.
 500,000 litres of water are required to smelt a ton of copper.
 3,000,000 litres of water are required to grow a hectare of corn.
 More than 3,000,000 litres of water are required every minute in a 1-million kW atomic power station.
 4,000,000 litres of water are needed to produce a ton of synthetic fibre.
 8,000,000 litres of water are needed to grow a hectare of cabbage.
 12,000,000 to 20,000,000 litres of water are needed to grow a hectare of rice.

Source:
R.J. Sinka, Indira Ghandi Centre for Human Ecology, Environmental and Population Studies, India.

Comments are welcome.

My Eyes

A couple of weeks ago, I experienced some discomfort in my eyes. Nonetheless, the pains were short-lived hence, I dismissed the issue. This morning with my chin placed in the hollow provided by my palms, I read my mails and other correspondences that needed attention (not without peeping to know what the dailies and friends’ blogs read). Suddenly, I felt a stream of cold substance trickling down my right cheek straight into my palms. I had to pay a quick glance up towards the ceiling to check for any leakage through the roof. Alas! the ‘leakage’ came from my very eye. With a swipe, I cleaned off the stream of tears from my glands. I was utterly shocked by the fact that I could be ‘crying’ without my knowing. I rushed to the convenience to have a look at my eyes in the mirror. More shockingly, I discovered my right eye was sore-red. This finding seemed to aggravate the pain as I began to experience excruciating pain on the right side of my forehead.

Being an individual that’d rather prefer not to bother others with his predicaments, the only thing that got me worried is how to prevent work mates from seeing the abnormal eye and more particularly inquiring about it. The pains remained unabated, rather they aggravated to severe headache and acute body discomfort. I knew immediately I won’t be able to do much at work today. God! Not today when I had to visit a number of sites for inspection, update my overly due report, send some correspondences and complete other chores.

This agonizing experience brought to the fore once more, a critical lesson – how seemingly little things usually overlooked can affect the larger picture. The surface area of the eyes to that of the body can be considered to be infinitesimal. However, any form of distress experienced in this diminutive body organ could slow or even probably shut down the whole body system.

I remember how abstract words have destroyed physical properties due to the anger they spark in their circumstantial victims. I have also observed how very ordinary smiles have melted stone-cold hearts. In addition, I have experienced how ostensibly common compliments and commendations have spurred individuals to stretch themselves to the limits so as to achieve organisational goals in a self-less manner. Coincidentally, as I left the convenience for the switchyard I watched how an artisan put together some pieces of furniture using nails. Truly, the most important things in life are almost insignificant.

I decided to get some pain killers to relieve me of this assortment of distresses. More importantly, I think it is time I got a screen shield for my laptop before I have on a permanent pair of shields (also christened “spectacles”) supported by my ears and nose.

Comments are welcome.

The Nigeria of Our Making (II)

Please read the preceding part - The Nigeria of Our Making (I) - here.

Our civil service provides a haven for the intellectual dregs among our graduates as the best of them will not want to touch the public service with a long pole. Even so, recruitment into the civil service is founded on high-level favouritism. Ironically, these not too savvy individuals are expected to run our polity and economy with little or no cerebral capability for generating ideas. Most of them can hardly administrate on a nuclear level yet we expect them to frugally manage resources and a complex, multi-billion naira economy like ours. It is satirical. In addition, our public buildings offices are filthy and cramped with ramshackle furniture and facilities; one wonders how the occupants work in such conditions. This might explain why most of the office personnel are always unruly and irritable (especially secretaries/front-desk officers). Moreover, it is only in our civil service a “tip” must compulsorily precede a service to be rendered; otherwise your file will eternally gather dust in the in-tray.

This mind frame of instant gratification has undermined the dignity of hard work and moral excellence. This is evident in the newly-found occupation of a lot of young Nigerians – the advance fee fraud, which in local parlance is called yahoo yahoo. Cyber cafes are overcrowded with able-bodied youths who spend a greater part of their time surfing the cyberspace looking for unsuspecting, greedy and gullible individuals to prey. If only these layabouts could divert their mental prowess to doing something honourable and more profitable….

Looking into security issues brings to the forefront our security agencies especially the police. The police force has remained a hydra which has persistently reared its ugly monstrous heads. It seems the force has a knack for attracting the most uncultured, aggressive and otiose individuals from the society. At any of their numerous check points (or more appropriately put, toll gates), they scrutinise vehicle particulars with fault-finding intensity in order to extort and not necessarily to correct. Moreover, one will be asking for trouble by conversing with a police officer in English. The situation does not differ for almost every rank within the police force. Besides, it all seems a systemic sleaze virus runs through the force. However, the blame lies not only with these individuals. A peep into the working and living conditions of a typical police station or barrack respectively, will make one understand why it is impossible for the Ethiopian to change his skin or a leopard, its spots. It cannot be more succinctly put.

This is the mire the political/ruling class has dragged the Nigerian sectors into while it perches on firm, comfortable grounds. It is in their voracious interest that it remains so. Otherwise, on their trips to industrialised countries abroad, why would they not yearn to imitate even a mirage of what obtains there? Or are they void of ideas? I think so, with particular reference to their usual election campaign briefs. In the 21st century, most of our politicians still employ the tactics of construction of roads, provision of pipe-borne water, etc to crusade, when real issues are being debated on campaign platforms in developed regions. What a shame! When they wish to feed their unquenchable desires for material wealth, quest for power or cover their despicable acts, they divide the masses on ethnic, socio-cultural and religious lines, while the evidences of their corrupt practices have no ethnic or religious boundary. This muddle has disenfranchised a lot of Nigerians. Many are nonchalant and totally disinterested in governance. A colleague once highlighted the irresponsibility of the Nigerian government: My friend provides his own power using a generator (which many Nigerians can identify with) due to a blackout situation that has come to stay. He bores the ground to supply his own water. He pays through his nose to send his children to private schools since our public schools are nothing but shambles. He arranges private security both for his house and within his neighbourhood. These are the essentials a responsible government should provide. If it fails to, why should any of its citizens hold it credible?

Paradoxically, our leaders are from among us – they are not imported. As a people, we only get the kind of leaders we warrant. We celebrate vanity, materialism and mediocrity rejecting integrity, values and astuteness. This explains why a confirmed villain public officer will parade himself as a heroic icon among the people he steals from. What manner of people are we? We desperately take advantage of ourselves at any level of power occupation irrespective of how diminutive it is (e.g. from the gate keeper to the treasury keeper). We live in a society where we care less for one another, why should our so-called leaders care about us? The other day I passed by a completely burnt car. I queried: How would a car incinerate to that extent while other vehicles passed by? All the poor driver would get were faces of bewilderment from passers-by instead of a couple of fire extinguishers to save him from his misfortune. In any case, how many vehicle owners have these extinguishers? Even at that, most are expired. I once read an article where the writer questioned the knowledge of Nigerian vehicle owners about their tyre pressure, fuel tank capacity, etc. We commute ourselves on death traps (called roads) and in rickety, perilous commercial transport vehicles that are not even suitable to convey animals. Our transportation system is degenerated to the extent that motorcycles popularly known as okadas have taken over our roads with high-handed recklessness. Accident victims are in a better position to elaborate. Are we progressing or evolving two or three cycles of development backward? Our elites may seem to live in apathy but they cannot deny and are not safe from the anxiety and impending uprising around them. It is just a matter of time.

Lastly, the society at large is uninformed. Our public libraries (if they still exist) are now national museums for outdated references. The tenets of Civics and Social studies have disappeared from our schools curricula. Most of us do not have even a copy of the constitution (no matter how flawed it is) not to mention knowing what it reads. We bastardise everything (that works in other places) including time and we call it the “Nigerian factor.” At social events, special guests and dignitaries are not expected to be at the venues on time as this will belittle their status. Our religion lacks strength of character. Despite the overflow of religious outreaches we have in this country, it seems as if the principles of good morals and integrity are inversely related to the number of churches and mosques around us. We have totally redefined what religion is all about. Most Nigerians abroad do not want to touch Nigeria with a long pole. They talk as if they are not Nigerians in the first place. Moreover, when interacting with them, most can be easily interpreted to have escaped from a war-torn zone, a crisis or a modern day hell. This might not be far from the truth.

The foregoing forlornly paints a picture of chaos, gloom, crisis and hopelessness. Nonetheless, ours is not an irredeemable destiny. Nigeria – the sleeping giant – is the key not only to its renascent but also, that of the black man. A branded, prestigious and industrialised Nigeria is not “a pie in the sky.” From our chaos we can teach the world a new social order and excellence. Our seeming hopelessness is the only raw material needed to crusade for a rejuvenated, hope-full future. We can rise from the ashes of our past and present crises to build a nation where its people can hold their own, anywhere in the world. We can begin by asking ourselves: Where do we go from here? Thereafter, collective and committed action must be taken to create a Nigeria of our dream.

Please read the sequel - The Nigeria of Our Dream - here.

The Nigeria of Our Making (I)

“All organisms, including humans, are greatly influenced by the consequences produced by their own behaviour.” - B. F. Skinner (1904 - 1990)

The reality of what we as Nigerians have turned our country into is unfathomable and gruesome. Owing to our (in)action we have subtly and (in)deliberately defiled all principles of nation building, corporate sanity and existence. The inevitable result is a nation without conscience - a people with no moral compass and of diminutive or no character; a modern day jungle where humans who are a little higher than animals, dwell. In the words of Chinua Achebe, a house that has fallen!

I made a gradual halt as I approached the junction seeing the traffic light change from the green-go to a red-stop sign. The driver behind me blared his car horn with careless abandon.

“Mumu, kuro l’oju ona. Kosi LASTMA nbe.” he shouted, sticking his neck out of the car window. “Mumu” in very genteel translation means “simpleton”. The driver simply wanted me to beat the traffic lights since LASTMA officials (the Lagos State traffic law enforcement agents) were not in sight. I wondered if I stopped because of them in the first place. He was obviously angry at me for obstructing his way. Whilst he was demonstrating his rage, a danfo (commercial transport) driver zoomed past cursing me with all manners of hands and face gesticulations and not without abusive words. My offence? I did not disobey the traffic light. With all these occurrences around me, I had to stare at the lights for the umpteenth time to see if I was not being a nuisance, unduly. Nonetheless, the red light stayed the same.

The other day, I once corrected a lady who threw her trash out of the window of the commercial transport vehicle we boarded together. The look of disdain on her face and the accompanying response cease not to amaze me. “It doesn’t matter.” she said, “It won’t make Lagos dirtier than it is.” I wonder if avoiding throwing garbage indiscriminately is just a matter of making the environment less filthy or about doing the right thing!

These two seemingly mere experiences capture what the characteristic Nigerian attitude has degenerated to. A diametric contradiction of this is termed anomalous. In simple terms, doing what is right in the present day Nigeria is viewed to be odd. I have asked myself rhetorically and severally: How did we get here? In the following, I tried as much as possible to sum up the current Nigerian muddle, no matter how cynical and derogatory it reads, with an objective to pose a most pertinent question: Where do we go from here?

The moral and ethic collapse siege on our nation has permeated all facets of the Nigerian system – education, public service, polity, healthcare, governance, religion, corporation, etc.

The quality of our education at all levels has been adulterated both in content and delivery. Almost every house car garage has been converted to a “Montessori” and/or “international” primary/secondary school. Our residential streets and cul-de-sacs are blocked incessantly by these faux schools to facilitate preparation for inter-house sports and sundry purposes since all the school surroundings have been built up to maximise profits from the business called schooling. Unwittingly, the innocent pupils tend to imbibe in their subconscious that they can barricade streets at will for no just cause and at anytime, no matter whose ox is gored.

Admission into our tertiary institutions is characterised by inexplicable nepotism. This might unarguably explain the proliferation of universities by every religious sect, state and local government, against the backdrop of the urgent need to increase the students-intake capacity and number of our institutions of higher learning. Majority of the resulting mushroom ivory towers (if they are to be addressed as that) are void of the most essential facilities and touchstones. By most standards and infrastructure-wise, they are extolled high schools.

What more can be said of the quality of graduates that are being churned out in their tens of thousand, annually? Appalling: To say the least. I would not want to undertake the laborious exercise of listing the repulsive characteristics of our contemporary graduates. However, one that will not fail mentioning is the lack of good written and spoken English skills. Most of these individuals can hardly complete a sentence in English (either written or spoken) without wanton grammatical errors. This is made worse by the advent of GSM text and online chat messages (with their accompanied inept abbreviations) which make some graduates write official correspondences like love letters. Office executives can bear witness. Conversely, their fluency in pidgin English (which they deem chic and fashionable) is impeccable.

The Nigerian graduate is not left alone in this pickle. Several times with disdain I have watched and listened to Nigerians butcher the English language (with no absolute respect for its lexis and structure) during interviews on television and radio. Should they be blamed, if we once had a Speaker of the House of Assembly that could hardly communicate correctly in English? It leaves one to muse if this same language remains our lingua franca.

Our institutions parade a charade of disciplines and courses with archaic syllabi on their curricula that provide little or no job opportunities for their respective graduates in the real Nigerian labour market. One would wonder why such disciplines should continue to be listed. Even the so-called prestigious disciplines like Medicine are not as celebrated as before. Our medical personnel are the most poorly paid when compared with their counterparts in the developing regions. This has informed an unimaginable flight of these much-needed human resources. Although it is obvious the quality of our education is pitiable, however if only we know how much resources go into training medical pupils, we will not want to lose them easily despite their ill-training. A few unlucky ones who have still not been able to ply their trade abroad are either grudgingly working at our poorly equipped abattoir hospitals while others are into something completely different. I know a doctor-friend who is now a full time interior decorator as a matter of necessity! The consequence of this unfortunate morass will be played out in the near future as we have succeeded in creating a generational gap of these special-skill individuals. Only time will tell.

Most of our graduates are not just unemployed but majority are unemployable. Apart from the fact that they lack the requisite skills to perform on a job (which is no absolute fault of theirs), they have failed to imbibe the proper work ethics. The typical believes a certain certificate should earn much income irrespective of his/her productivity level. Hence, they scramble to get all sorts of certifications with little or no consideration for self-application, personal re-orientation and self-development.

Kudos goes to the Nigerian banks which are doing a great deal to salvage a number of these unskilled individuals out of the overcrowded unemployment camp. Albeit, one must not be hasty to commend our financial institutions most of which were adjudged to be finance kiosks pre-consolidation. The post-consolidation of these banks did not but come with the Nigerian definition of banking. Our banks today are still witlessly deposit-driven while they are ever-reluctant to take even the minimum of risks to empower the smallest scales of business, not to mention the lack of professionalism, etiquettes, and work ethics a lot of them still portray. They have mopped the public of funds in all possible ways (IPOs, POs, mutual, integrated and hybrid funds, etc). However, these benefactors (the customers) find it extremely difficult to be beneficiaries of the same funds. In addition, coquettish young girls labelled as marketers are unleashed in an aggressive manner onto the corporate world to source for funds to meet the insatiable quest of these banks for deposits. Our banks CEOs have proved without doubt that these accumulated funds are just mere show-off armaments in their egocentric corporate armoury. Nothing more!

Please read the concluding part - The Nigeria of Our Making (II) - here.

‘300’ Will Suffice!

I recently read a synopsis of Zack Sydner’s box office record breaker movie, 300. This is a film adaptation of the graphic novel 300 by Frank Miller, and is a fictionalised retelling of The Battle of Thermopylae. Spartan King Leonidas and 300 Spartans fight to the last man against Persian 'God-King' Xerxes and his army of over one million soldiers, and animals drawn from the vast reaches of the Persian empire, ranging from Mongolian barbarians and Eastern chemists to African rhinoceroses and Indian war elephants.

This epic motion picture shares a lot of similarities with Gideon’s (a judge in the bible) who took only 300 soldiers to war against battalions of the enemy’s warriors. The bible records victory for the Israelites over their hitherto oppressors – the Midianites.

Thoughts of these events actually brought me into deep rumination especially after I had an unpleasant experience in which my laptop crashed. Being engineering software savvy (or better still, crazy), I always desire to have the a la mode installed on my machine. Unfortunately, these packages took their toll on my poor PC – an eventual malfunctioning of the system! After a strenuous system recovery (not without a loss of important files), I decided to install only the softwares I use regularly for my design work. Alas! I discovered I only use a couple of these most often out of the loads I had installed initially.

I can unarguably and profoundly identify with the stance of Spartan King Leonidas and Gideon – why take more than required soldiers to war (and unnecessarily relinquish armoury and kill your warriors avoidably) if the best 300 can do the job? This stands as a poser for most of us to interpret and answer in our individual lives.

The other day I resolved sorting out documents, old newspapers and other paper materials I had in my room which were taking unavailable space while accumulating must, dust and creating an undesirable ecosystem for all kinds of insects and crawlies. I discovered I had tittle-tattles of materials I had kept over the years which were nothing but worthless scrap. I had to garbage these stuff, unwillingly though.

For some of us it could be clothes or shoes we have in our wardrobes which we’ve not worn in a long while. For others it could be barrages of ideas of things we want to get done but unfortunately that’s what they still are – ideas! We have so many of them that we don’t get anyone executed.

I remember taking a Technical Report Writing course during my undergraduate days. Prof. Ogedengbe drummed it persistently into our subconscious (either via words or painful deduction of marks) that in writing technical reports or official missives “less is more”. Much later, Mrs. Sturrock (a TRW instructor during my MSc programme) made it known in every way possible that no one will ever be interested in a ‘bible’ of reports or an encyclopaedia of thesis. A concise report will always attract readers. Hence, whenever we desire that a document be read, she instructed us to KISS (Keep It Short and Simple). This might not go for every kind or style of writing but you’ll agree that it’s easier to remember the contents of a concise document than an otherwise bulky volume.

People in the creative business (architects, modellers, beauticians, etc) can't agree with me more that "elaborate" does not necessarily equate "elegant".

We get stuck in making critical and immediate decisions because we get our minds and hands soiled in so many entanglements that usually becloud our reasoning. A lot of us seek advice from more than necessary number of people or quarters. This leaves us more confused than having no one advise us in the first instance.

Have you ever wondered that in spite of the number of meetings our formal organisations or different forms of government hold, the number and quality of decisions reached are usually not at par with the time spent and efforts involved? J.K. Galbraith sarcastically answers:

“Meetings are indispensable when you don't want to do anything.”

In his words, Mark McCormack succinctly reiterates:

“When in doubt, don't call a meeting.”

Does the adage “Too many cooks spoil the broth” sound familiar?

Go take that step today. Make that decision. You don’t need all. You only need the best – the most appropriate, efficient, and expedient. Desire your “wants” but acquire only your “needs”.

You don’t need all your acquaintances; you only need your friends. You don’t require all your colleagues; your team will do the job.

In our governments, we no longer desire billionaire rulers
We need visionary leaders
Our businesses long for mentors and not CEOs
In our societies, we need not parents but role models
We need morals to be internalised, not laws being enforced
Our religions have multitudes of followers but no disciples
Our schools are full of lecturers but parched of instructors

Who or what’s your ‘300’?

Remember that ‘300’ will suffice!

Nigerian Banks, ATMs and Customers: Matters Unending

The edited version of this article was published in the ThisDay Sunday newspapers commentary on Sunday, 20th January 2008.

The evolution of the Nigerian banking sector as a result of the Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN) reforms within the last couple of years with particular reference to recapitalisation was welcomed by Nigerians with motley opinions interlaced with a lot of cynicism and goodwill. The (re)capitalisation exercise which was just one of the various items of the reform agenda as spelt out by the professor at the helm of affairs of the Nigeria’s apex bank, generated a lot of moots (I think capitalisation was it because it could not be said that a lot of ‘banks’ were capitalised in the first place).

Debated arguments ensued from all facets and sectors of the Nigerian public as both professional and recreational economists were all assaying to outperform one another in demonstrating their (un)reasonable persuasions to buttress their stance and to buy the inexorable party over. The unfortunate Nigerian who could not get any opportunity to and/or did not participate in the squabble (either due to his ignorance, nonchalance, dispassion or total disbelief in the Nigerian system) so as to advise from his ‘wealth of experience’ notwithstanding, hoped for the best either way the pendulum of the recapitalisation exercise swung.

About 3 years after the process was initiated, 25 banks evolved either from mergers, acquisition, reconsolidation, repositioning, realigning, et cetera (the list of the recapitalisation patois is endless) out of over 80 banks which were adjudged to be a conglomerate of finance kiosks. With all the arguments and counter-arguments that characterised the recapitalisation exercise with its resulting resurgence of the 25 banks, the customer should be better for it. Irrespective of any school of thought about the new face of the Nigerian banking sector I believe both proponents and opponents of the reform and even the banks ultimately want to make sure “the customer is king”. The underlining fact that should inform any posit with respect to the CBN’s reform agenda is to enhance credibility of the banking sector, increase customers’ satisfaction, empower businesses at all levels, buoy the Nigerian economy at large even as the robust banks serve as the engines to drive the emerging economy.

While it is obvious that the banks have benefited immensely from the process they were reluctant to be a part of initially (going by the robust capital assets they have acquired by mopping enormous funds from the public), alas! much is left to be desired with regards to their corporate responsibility both to the Nigerian economy and their customers, as above-mentioned (Please read Ijeoma Nwogwugwu’s ‘My Mercedes is Bigger Than Yours’ published in ThisDay newspaper, 26th November 2007). The banking sector continues to dominate activities at the Nigeria Stock Exchange. One would naturally expect this to translate in tangible and visible economic developments and empowerment of businesses; however this is not the case. This can be explained by the continued stunted growth in the manufacturing sector. It goes without saying that until the growth in the manufacturing sector is considerably at par with that of its banking counterpart, ours will not cease to be a service-oriented, rent-seeking economy. The Nigerian banking sector lags behind in its responsibility to provide core banking services. Our banks today are witlessly still deposit-driven while they are ever-reluctant to take even the minimum of risks to empower the smallest scales of business, not to mention the lack of professionalism, etiquettes, and work ethics a lot of them still portray. This remains a discourse for another day.

The use of the Automated Teller Machines popularly known as the ATMs is not a new technology. This has been in use in most third world countries many years back. All thanks to the banking reforms which brought the use of ATMs to the doorstep of Nigerians. The use of these cash dispensers wherever they are being used in any country of the world is always a win-win situation both for the bank offering the service and the customers that make use of the machines. However, this is not the same in the post-reform Nigerian banks.

An obvious advantage of the use of ATMs is the decongestion of banking halls. Customers can withdraw cash and know account balances without having to enter their banks. I schooled in the Netherlands for almost 2 years. Throughout my stay I entered my bank only on three occasions. The first occasion was when I had to open the account; the second was necessitated to effect a change in my residential address for onward receipt of my account statements and other correspondences; while the third afforded me the opportunity to close my account. All transactions (purchase of groceries, shopping, cash withdrawals, local/international inter- and intra-bank funds transfers, et cetera) were done via my debit card and electronic banking. Cash deposit was even made possible using the ATM!

While I am not asking Nigerian banks to deploy this “state-of-the-art” technology at this point in time (because I am sure the response will be “…Rome wasn’t built in day, bla bla bla”), the salient point being made here is that the use of ATMs play a big role in decongesting banking halls while waiting to effect the least of all banking transactions. This is to the benefit of both the bank and its customers. The customers and the banking staff are afforded the opportunity to face more pressing businesses, withdrawal/cheque slips are hardly used (which saves both the bank and its customers money) and an atmosphere of credibility, effectiveness and professionalism is created, among other things.

To reiterate, this new development in the Nigerian banking sector should benefit both the bank and its customers and if there are any costs to be borne in the deployment of this service, both parties should knowingly, consciously and agreeably bear the costs. Nevertheless, this is not to bear on the Nigerian banking landscape. I will give some instances.

Intra-bank ATM transactions in all Nigerian banks attract a service charge of N100 (almost one US dollar!) for every withdrawal. In simple terms, if I have a UBA debit card and I want to withdraw money (no matter how small) from, say an Oceanic bank ATM, the sum of N100 will be deducted from my account. This goes vice-versa for all the banks and for every withdrawal I make at any time, intra-bank using the ATM. This, I consider to be indurate and insensitive of both the banks and the service provider. During my sojourn in the Netherlands, intra-bank ATM withdrawals attracted no inordinate costs (if there were at all) to the customer. There was only a ceiling pegged to a daily withdrawal, using ATMs. Even if Nigerian banks are to charge their customers a la intra-bank reconciliation costs, interswitch service charges and other banking argots, I think N100 for every withdrawal is way too much for an average Nigerian customer to bear vis-à-vis the student, the market woman, the hawker et cetera who needs almost every penny to survive. It is mind-blowing to fathom the volume of transactions carried out daily via the ATMs. I hope an ignoramus like me will be spared details of rocket-science explanations that might follow this article.

Still on the cash machines matter, aside the intra-bank charges as above-discussed, some of the banks have taken a step further in the effrontery against its unsuspecting customers’ goodwill and appeal. These banks charge daily or monthly fees for ATM withdrawals. They likewise without conference to their customers knavishly charge for unsolicited SMS’s notifying their customers of any transaction actioned on their accounts.

While it is well understood that banks are not non-profit making outfits, banking should albeit be practised in a very professional and idealistic manner. Nigerian banks should desist from continuously devising means of ripping their unsuspecting customers of their deposits in trickles. Competent and professional banks make profits from core banking services and not from cunningly excogitated service charges. I wonder what happened to value-added services. If service costs are to be levied, they should reasonable, low-priced and the customers’ consent should be solicited for some of these services.

Let the real and proficient banks arise!

Fire on the Mountain - A Mind of Your Own

The advent of this enigmatic young lady musician gave hope to many of us that have been worried about the trend Nigeria-brewed music is taking. In the last few years, what we've had is a lot of hype, hoopla and high-sounding rhythmic beats with an assortment of sweet nonsense called lyrics. Every new musician on the block caught up with the fad offering the up and downtown Nigerian some ballyhoo to wriggle their bodies to but absolutely nothing to cerebrally agitate on.

The tomboy artiste has carved a musical niche for herself in the Nigerian music hall of fame alongside with Lagbaja, Beautiful Nubia, Age Beeka, etc. This is not about preferring a type of music to another but whatever the type, music should be of good quality while it physically and mentally engages the listener with its scintillating beats and provoking meaty lyrics. These individuals have consistently shown what good music ought to be. They've demonstrated that the message of love, social reform, public conduct, patriotism, family and community life, hope for the future, relationships, morals and what have you can all be interwoven into one good blend of entertaining music.

Enter Asa, the Tracy Chapman of Nigerian music. It will be dim-witted not to appreciate the works of Asa who landed on the Nigeria music shores a couple of years ago. Listening to the France-based Nigerian performer sing can't but captivate an individual. It's only a poor fish that will listen to "Asa [asha]" (her first album) that will not treasure this coalescence of good music. This is not a eulogy about this inspiring lady (although she deserves it) but to focus on one of the tracks in her maiden album - Fire on the Mountain. The lyrics of this track read thus:

Chorus:
There's fire on the mountain
And nobody seems to be on the run
Oh! there's fire on the mountain top
And no one is a'running

I wake up in the morning
'Tell you what I see on my TV screen
I see the blood of an innocent child
And everbody's watching

Now I'm looking out'my window
And what do I see?
I see an army of a soldier men march
Across the street

Hey! Mr. Soldier man
Tomorrow is the day you go to war
But you're fightin' for another man's cause
And you don't even know him

Uuh! What did he say to make you so blind?
To your conscience and reason
Could it be love for your country
Or for the gun you use in killin'?

So…

Chorus

Hey! Mr. Lover Man
Can I getta chance to talk to you?
'Cause you're foolin' with a dead man's corpse
And you don't know what you do

Et cetera

I will like to cull out a part of the lyrics which is the spotlight of this article:

Hey! Mr. Soldier man
Tomorrow is the day you go to war
But you're fightin' for another man's cause
And you don't even know him

The foregoing lines capsulate for a lot of individuals what their lives have turned out to be. A lot of people do things without recourse to their minds or conscience. In a nutshell, you can count individuals who really have a mind of their own. People have been enslaved by other people's cause, belief, religion, ideology, etc. While it's not erroneous to advocate (or even probably die for) the cause of another man, it behoves the individual to ask himself if he "knows" and "believes in" the cause he is ready to die and kill for. He should ask himself "What's my opinion on the issue at hand?"

To reiterate, a lot of us live by what other people (family, friends, colleagues and society) expect of us. We have been so wont to mainstream persuasion that our minds are no longer active to personal and active reasoning. What makes it worse is that we are not even convinced of these "ideals" the society or other people want us to live by.

This is not to ferment rebellion or unintelligent antagonism against generally-accepted and well-proven ideals, social conduct and authority, however it will be noteworthy to mention that people that have made meaningful impacts with their lives have always gone against mainstream opinions and persuasions with a good deal of intelligence, reasoning and most importantly personal conviction. These are people that could be said, they do have a mind of their own.

No invention (great or little, past or present) or social/national rejuvenation ever originates from one who has no personal conviction which most times will contradict conventional belief.

What shall I say of Galileo Galilei, Ahmadu Bello, the Wright brothers, Martin Luther King Jr., Nnamdi Azikwe, Mahatma Gandhi, Tai Solarin, Mother Theresa, Thomas Edison, Nelson Mandela, Alex Harley, Sir William Wallace, Lieutenant Andrew Summers Rowan, Obafemi Awolowo, etc? These great individuals did not become icons just by what they did but by what convinced them - the personal ideologies that fed their passion to stand for what they "knew" and "believed in". On the other hand, it was what they knew that personally persuaded them to become trail blazers.

I tried to summarise in the following punch list, questions that might guide us daily as individuals to live with personal beliefs and convictions:

a. When was the last time you said 'No'?
b. Do you always agree with every other person's point of view?
c. When was the last time you came up with your own idea on an issue?
d. How often do you partake in a constructive argument?
e. How often do you participate in discussions at work?
f. Do you look on in every discussion?
g. When was the last time you were convinced about an issue?
h. Have you always been able to stand your ground (with facts) even against constituted authority?

I hope these guideline questions will spur us to living lives of purposeful achievements, against all odds.

Dare to be different. Have a mind of your own - at least for once!