DRIVING WITH CRAZY episode 4

                                                HERE COMES THE BRIDE?

       We had the car packed by the side of the road. Turned off to save the small amount of fuel we had left. No fuel, no food, no money and in the middle of nowhere. This was not what I pictured when I imagined my best friend’s wedding.
   The only thing more disturbing than our present situation was MY present situation. Alex hadn't said a word to me since we found out Pastor Pilferer had robbed us. Well, yes it was slightly my fault; but how was I to know we were giving a ride to a smooth criminal, an incredibly smooth one oh. As in,  I was stealing glances at this guy the entire time he was in the car and I never saw any indication that he was doing any funny business back there.  Anyway, we were stranded and Alex wasn't speaking to me. We stood at opposite sides of the car. He was probably thinking about what to do next while I was busying myself with how much I could make if I sold the events of the trip as a movie script. At that point, I really felt like I was on the trip from hell!
    I decided to act some drama to get Alex's attention and maybe even sympathy. So the forming began, I started to groan. First lightly, then more frequently and even louder.  Hehehe and of course, he noticed and asked even though half heartedly.
 "Are you ok?"
"Please open the door, I need to sit."
 More forming.  Now I had his attention.
“Ok, Aisha but please you can't get sick on me. That’s about the only thing that hasn’t happened today."
 And in true Naija girl fashion I turned it on him.
 "So, now you're talking to me?" He heaved a sigh and went
"I just needed to think for a bit."
 I was beginning to sound too cheesy for my own liking so I just dropped the act.
"Look, I'm sorry for making you pick him up. I guess being wicked is good a times."
 He looked up from the keys he'd been playing with.
"Come on, Aisha. You know I'm not wicked. You don't even believe that."
 I didn't but I couldn't reply because at that moment my phone rang. I don't know which was more puzzling; that my phone hadn't been stolen or that there was enough network to receive calls.
"Aisha, Where are you people? I'm about to go mad! Are you still far off? "
At this point, we were at least seven hours away and without fuel but Nena didn't need to know that.
 “We are a few hours off but we'll be there soon. What’s bothering  you? "
“It’s Ola! Imagine, she came down here and she hadn't done her hair; she hadn't even fitted her dress. When I complained yesterday she said she hadn't had the time in Lagos and that she would sort it out....".
Now usually I'm all for listening to Nena's complaints. I actually envy her ability to totally pour out her heart to someone. I've always been more self-reliant. I guess growing up with boys does that to you ;but today I was just tired, even a bit sleepy and I wasn't even sure of the next time I would see civilisation so I was zoning in and out of the conversation.
 "... Aisha, are you still there?"
"Uhh, yeah.  I couldn't hear for a second there. "
“Wait, where exactly are you? Because it doesn't sound like you're on the road and Alex's phone is off. "
 Alex had put off his phone to save his battery; incase we couldn't figure out a way to get back on the road and needed to call for help but I still couldn't tell her what was going on. She could actually have a panic attack. She was ‘ajebutter-ish’ like that.
“We just stopped for a bit."
"Probably for the best, it'll be dark soon and I don't think it's smart to drive then. By the way, you sound well so obviously Alex hasn't slipped into any insane delusions yet.”
I laughed out loud. Alex turned to look at me. If he didn't hear what she said, he was about to know we were talking about him." He's been good so far but don't get excited until you see me sha."
"I told you!  Wait, mumsie is calling. Hopefully Ola is ready to get her hair done now. Please you guys should drive fast oh. You have to be here before the wedding starts. You know daddy's  11 is 11. Be safe oh. Please say hi to Alex for me. Tell him I said to be careful 'cus he's carrying fragile goods. "
“Do you mean me or the shoes?” She laughed her mischievous laugh." You know what I mean."  The yeye girl was worrying about her shoes while I was stuck in the middle of nowhere.
 “Why didn't you tell her?”  I’d forgotten for a moment Alex was in the car as I was mentally communicating with my future husband and plotting how to pay Nena back. There had to be some shade in there somewhere." No, she has enough to worry about already. We'll find a way to get there before 11."
"11? Is that when the wedding starts? I hope we make it in time. "
“Well, we won't if we keep sitting here. It looks like there's a small town ahead. Let's lock up and see if we can, by some miracle, get some fuel there. "
     We walked about forty-five minutes and it was almost eight o'clock. The 'let's walk into the village' idea didn't seem like such a good one now. This was becoming a trend, bad idea after bad idea. The people we had tried to explain our dilemma to hadn't even listened to us, maybe because Alex was bringing grammar into the matter.
 "Please madam, we were robbed and ran out of gas. Please could you lend us some of yours and the good Lord would bless you for your deed."  Or it was "Excuse me young man, do you by any chance have a jerry can of fuel to spare. Please, from one citizen to another."
  And don't forget the accent oh. I mean these people were villagers in the middle of nowhere. There was not even a school in the vicinity.
"Alex, abeg your Harvard English isn't helping us. Let me do the talking from now on." After I'd told him, I figured it might have been a bit harsh but he wasn't taking it too badly so I didn't bother with an apology. At the end of the day, my molue-certified Yoruba didn't get us any help either. For those who don't know Molue-acquired yoruba or molue-certified Yoruba is The yoruba dialect which is acquired during commute in Lagos buses. One lady was kind enough to tell us that some men were gambling nearby and maybe Alex could win us some money or maybe she said some men were gambling nearby and Alex could sell me off. I chose to believe it was the former though. We found the place that was supposed to be a casino; it looked more like an abandoned kiosk though. For a second it looked like there was hope until Alex confessed he had never gambled a day in his life.
  "Were you really expecting me to say I was known in a bar somewhere for my gambling skills?
“I don't know jor. How can't you know how to though. I mean my brothers gambled all the time. Yusuf always cheated and won and I was always his accomplice. "
“Wait, if you cheated with your brother; then you must know how to play? "
“Well, no, not really. I mean, I cheated with Yusuf and I knew the basics but they never really let me play. Something about girls not gambling and gibberish like that. "
“Aisha, you'll have to be a guy tonight oh. we need to leave here by morning and we need fuel. And you need to win. Let them not catch you cheating oh. Those men look vicious. "It was remarkable how fast the accent and grammar had disappeared.  I turned to look at the vicious looking men. Believe me, he wasn't exaggerating.
“You have to be there oh. You can't leave me in this place and you have to be ready to run when I've gotten enough money ."  So it was agreed. Worst idea yet.             
       My molue-acquired Yoruba was really put to the test that night oh. The men didn't want to let me play. They were all grumbling and swearing and I could only understand bits and pieces of what they were saying. It literally took Divine intervention for them to share cards to me. The old woman who had suggested to us to go to the casino walked in and whispered something to one of the men sitting at the table. He was probably her husband. I just figured she had pleaded with him because the moment she was done whispering to him he looked at me from head to toe, smiled and whispered something to  some guy standing a few feet away. This other guy looked at me funny and then brought me a seat.
           I let one haggard looking old guy have the first win. I had put in N200 out of the last N500 we had to our names. I used the first game to study the players. This was no game. It was either we won or start our lives as hunters in the bush where the car was parked. The second game came; I won that. We had  N2500 in the bag,N7500 to go.
  The thing about gambling was no one wanted to look weak so more money began to appear as the night went on. I had just barely won the third game, by applying some of Yusuf's ‘skills’. They had started to get suspicious. Who wouldn't? I had walked in and managed to amass fourteen thousand. Alex was signalling me to get up and leave but I was enjoying myself too much. About five minutes into the game, the man beside me started complaining about something in his Yoruba dialect that I couldn't make sense of. I knew there was trouble when they started looking at me in turns. I looked up at Alex; he had taken it as his cue and was already stylishly making his way out the door. I really wanted to finish that game but then the glances turned into stares and my Lagosian spirit started to make a fuss.
With my heart pounding palm kernels in my chest, I used my molue Yoruba to say I needed to excuse myself. They suspected I was going out to change cards and all but forced me to drop my cards. Dropping it would have given me away so I opted to show the guy next to me two of my four cards. He looked at me with pity and joy in even proportions after seeing them probably thinking "Lai, lai. This one can't get you anywhere."
     I headed out hoping no one would figure out my plan to vanish. I got out the door and suddenly felt a grip on my arm. Someone dragged me to the side sharply and covered my mouth tightly so I couldn't scream. All I could do was think "Not today!"  The person who was holding me finally let go and I turned around to look. It was a tall, muscular, scary-looking man. I looked at him carefully and realised I had seen him earlier. He was standing beside the old woman’s husband  who had brought me a seat. 
“Are you insane? Why are you trying to suffocate me?"
With the most dutiful and unrepentant look he replied "Iyawo Oga mi ko le salo "
Even with my half-baked Yoruba, I heard perfectly "My master's wife cannot escape."

BARRISTER, THIS IS NIGERIA

This article is an insight into the world of actual realities. Many persons, especially those in professional callings live in a world of illusory Utopia where they believe merry things will accrue to them by right. However, this is not always the case...
This article was written by Omoya Yinka Simult and reblogged with permission from omoyasimult.wordpress.com
Enjoy!

BARRISTER, THIS IS NIGERIA

You are presently watching the President of your country speak live on AIT. His party, the leading party, is holding a zonal rally in Tafawa Balewa Square in Lagos. Other top brass of the party have spoken. It is the turn of the President to speak. The most powerful masquerade dances last, they say.

The President starts by declaring a minute silence in sympathy with those who lost their lives in the building collapse of an international church. He expresses his heartfelt condolence and promises to look into the cause of the collapse. He then appreciates the supporters of his party in South-West. He says they have been doggedly loyal despite the challenges of the party in their zone.

The President seems to be saying all the right words. Although you have lost count of how many times he has uttered the word ‘promise’, with the way he speaks, it is still obvious he knows the plights of the masses. He recounts the achievements of his administration and promises as always not to relent in his efforts.

‘We are not here to campaign,’ the President announces. ‘It is not time for that. We have only come to interact as a family.’

You shake your head slightly at this. ‘This politicians must think every other person is dumb. Didn’t a chieftain of the party just say something now about the need for the people to support the President with their votes come 2015?’ You ask yourself.

You recline fully on the cushioned chair you are sitted on. You place your legs on a stool and stretch them out.

The President is now talking about his administration’s ‘giant strides’ in creating job opportunities for the teeming youths. At this you sit up and fix your gaze defiantly on the Samsung 29″ television.

Your younger sister walks in and checks what has so captured your attention raptly. She hisses as she sees the President speaking on air. She goes for the remote control and changes the channel to Hip TV, a station that plays indigenous and foreign Hip Hop songs.

King James, the latest song by MI Abaga, is what the station is playing presently. Your sister jumps up frenziedly and sways her hip to the rhythm of the song.

‘Yo! See me gathering stamina. We been to Canada. We been to Ghana. Been balling in SA like Bafana Bafana, rocking that Dolce and Gabana. Been taking shots like a camera…’ Your sister sings after the musician with contagious enthusiasm. You are tempted to get excited too, but you restrain yourself. Something more pressing must be addressed.

You are stupefied by the behaviour of your sister. Did she switch the channel out of disregard for your person or out of contempt for the nation’s President? You want to know.

‘Bola, why did you change the channel without my consent, seeing that I was watching something when you came in?’ You demand, giving your sister a benefit of fair hearing.

‘Eh! Eh! Boda mi, hold it there! I said hold it there! Don’t wash me over with saliva because of any stupid thing. Can I not watch what I want in my father’s house again, en? Your mates are outside there working and making cool money; you are sitted here watching some President. If watching TV is now your job, go and buy one and keep in your room. After all, you are old enough to even live independently. White cock that doesn’t know he is old!’ She hisses and walks out on you.

You are dumbstruck and transfixed where you are. You want to call her back and ask her to repeat what she has just said, but you seem to have forgotten her name. You look for an acid comeback to her statements, but your tongue is helplessly glued to the roof of your mouth. You want to go after her and make her realise that whoever opens her mouth like that to pour out such venom is ripe for a thorough beating, but then your legs have become heavy like bags of sand and your hands have now refused to be yours.

You sit back in your chair and bite your lower lip very hard. The truth is bitter. Yes, you know, and that’s what your younger sister has dished out to you. The fact that she has not told a lie makes you unsure of what to do.

You are a lawyer by training. Yes, law was what you studied in the university. When your fellow lawyer friends write their names, they pride themselves by putting ‘Esq.’ and ‘LL.B (Hons)’ at the back of their names. You don’t believe in all those frivolities and so do not write such things after your name. You went to law school as well, the one in Abuja.

To a common citizen of your country, you made good grades both in law school and university. Second class (upper division) is what you have written on both certificates.

One would think with such applaudable performance, jobs should come seeking for you. Well, things are not so in this nation. Only the ones who have ‘long legs’ get something to keep their hands, and more importantly their teeth, busy. It’s either one has someone or one uses something to pull oneself up. So, in a nutshell, you have been carrying your certificates about for two years. Yes, two whole years!

It is not that there are no jobs per se; it is that there are no befitting jobs. Having spent five hectic years in university, a frustrating year in law school and an exhausting year serving the nation, you don’t think you should stoop for just any job.

You are not the only one suffering from this. Sometimes, this fact consoles you. Your fellow learned colleague, Kola, has found comfort in the ICT world. He now designs websites for organisations and companies, programmes and sells softwares to earn a living. You don’t know where he has thrown his certificates to; it is not your cup of tea.

This is almost the same story with Demola and Abiodun. Demola has picked up a career in journalism. He now works for one of the popular newspapers. Isn’t it funny how a lawyer holds a recorder to the mouth of a politician, jostling with the crowd to get a chance to interrogate? A lawyer?

Sad, isn’t it? But you see, when the desirable is not available, the available becomes desirable. About Abiodun, the gentleman has gone into business fully. He now runs a shop where he sells electronic gadgets and appliances.

Some of your friends are actually practising law though. Most of such friends are working in private chambers, where they are made to work assiduously only to earn meagre stipends at the end of the month. On the other hand, few who have these ‘long legs’ have been employed by the goverment. It is these ones who can wear wigs and hold their shoulders high in their suits. You don’t have such ‘long legs’.

Your uncle comes to your house frequently. He never ceases to give you advice. Now, he says lawyers are making notable headways in the world of Literature. You want to ask him whether that’s what they are trained for, but he is not the type to be interrupted when he speaks. He speaks and maintains that one could advocate through writing too. You do not dispute this fact.

Now, your uncle grants you a chance to respond to all he has heard. You waste no time to ask the question that turns your stomach and sits precariously on your lips.

‘But sir, are these things what lawyers were trained for?’ You ask quickly, as if the question was a hot piece of yam.

Your uncle laughs; he laughs so much that his legs are lifted up above his head. You wonder what is it that makes him laugh so raucously.

Did you make a grammatical error? Is there no sense in your question? You begin to wonder.

Your uncle calms himself down. His eyes are red now, and traces of tears are obvious on his eyelashes. He is holding on to a side of his stomach that must be aching him after such laughter. You sit up and stare at him, feeling ridiculed, waiting for an answer or a mockery or a correction or … anything.

‘Barrister lawyer,’ he replies at last, with a hoarse voice now, ‘you are in your fatherland. Here, you don’t necessarily practise what you were trained for; you practise whatever brings food to your table.’

‘But why?’ You seek to know.

‘Barrister, this is Nigeria. Nobody cares why here,’ your uncle responds and stands to leave.’The money I have, I have lent you.’


I am @omoyayinka on Twitter

HE WHO MUST EAT MUST WORK!

Greetings everybody. Wow! it's been long. Any way, my article today seeks as usual, to say the hard truth, in the frankest manner, notwithstanding whose ox is gored. As you might be aware by now, I say it as it is. A flaw? I don't know. A commentator once criticised my writings, albeit truthfully, when he said that I cannot 'paint words.' But I believe my inability to sugar-coat the truth has earned me the little status I've gained thus far. A little story behind this article: After writing this article, it was sent to two different places to be published. It was instantaneously rejected. From the subtle rejection that it was too long (when previous longer articles have been published), to the more outright rejection that it was too sensitive (where harsher and brazen articles have been published) and as such, it couldn't be published.

Well, am not bothered though. For I know, no matter how long falsity reigns, the truth will one day conquer falsity and take its pride of place. The truth, no matter how twisted or trampled can only grow stronger with time. And as usual, it is you my ardent readers that this piece was written for. You remain the ones to say how well or bad my endeavours have been. Please read and drop your opinions-whether good or bad. Enjoy reading.




A popular Igbo adage goes thus: “aka aja aja n'ebute onu mmanu mmanu.” This proverb loosely translated into english will go thus: “dirt on the hands brings oil to the mouth.” The Igbo race of south-eastern Nigeria are world renowned for their hard working ethics. Whether it is the man at Alaba International, with his one-shopped, single-headquartered international group of companies limited plc, beckoning on you to come patronise his shop because he has exactly what you want (as if you were just entering the market from his house); or the skinny, heavily pregnant woman, struggling with the 6-month old baby on her back and the tray of boiled groundnuts on her head in the hot sun; or the wiry, lean barrow-pusher, with his taut and over-stretched muscles strong enough to lift a house, or even the barely five-year old girl hawking pure water in the rain, one indivisible thread binds them all. That is the Igbo enterprising spirit. They've over time come to appreciate the connection between the oily mouth and dirty hands. Dirt as was used in the proverb certainly cannot be far-fetched from dirt as a result of laborious work. For the ancestors of the Igbos were well-renowned in farming, trading, blacksmithing etc. It isn't that some incipient ones don't exist amongst the Igbos. But the Igbo race clearly understood the revered reward that comes with dignified labour, thus they are inspired to engage in all manner of meaningful employment. It runs in the blood; this Igbo ethos. However, a general mistake being peddled by non-Igbos is the fallacious reasoning that the Igbos are too money-minded. The non-Igbos create a sovereign world of fantasy, a patchwork of few statistics, rather as if they were to classify the whole Igbo race by generalising the whole from a minute occurrence. This writer will not seek to engage in the validity or otherwise of Igbos loving money or not, but will clearly seek to unequivocally portray that the one who seeks to eat, must be ready to work. And the major preoccupation of this piece will invariably be the current attitude of priests and pastors and their families living in affluence at the abject mercies of their church members.

If we are to righteously scrutinise the trending way Nigerian priests and pastors are living in majestic grandeur and kingly splendour, we will certainly be alarmed to find out that they truly don't deserve such. St. Paul, the beloved, while setting an examplar of true priesthood was a tent-maker in any of the places he went to preach. Paul could easily have lived off from the means of his lodgers, but he worthily set examples of true priesthood. And so it was with Jesus' apostles, majority of whom were fishermen, a major preoccupation of that time. It could have been very easy for Christ's apostles to demand for anything-anything at all- that they ever wanted from people; after all, Christ was doing what was unheard of, so the people ought to pay for whatever miracles they received. But that wasn't the case. Prophet Elisha understood this great concept of priesthood, that the God that has sent one to become a priest will certainly provide for such an individual, that is why he unhesitantly passed over to Gehazi Namaan's leprosy, after the former went behind him to collect gifts from the latter. What am I saying? The unesteemed, ravenous and rapacious way in which pastors especially in Nigeria tend to acquire worldly possessions at the deep expense of members pockets, leaves much to be desired. They obviously have come to accept private jets as a normal everyday occurrence. If they are not thinking of buying a long convoy of the latest automobiles, they are negotiating the price of a choice mansion somewhere in US or Dubai. There's certainly everything wrong with living in such affluence. One, the inducement of interests and the sense of duty are both concurrent in such scenarios where the pastor seeks such worldly acquisitions. If the pastor feels he must gain enjoyments for carrying out his heavenly duty, then the mortification and self-denial which such work requires will be a grievous and uphill task for him. Though he might only choose to submit through necessity. Such worldly acquisitions can only make many a pastor to lose his uprightness. Moreover, it is glaring that in today's world, the road of duty is so plain that the man who seeks it with an upright heart cannot greatly err from it. Thus, pursuing with ardour the duty of priesthood requires the priest to perfectly resign his cares and worries in the hands of God who called him into such ministry.

The last time I inquired, God did not host priests and pastors in heaven with private jets and exotic cars on display for them to choose from. God has never at any point decided to randomly rain down jets and cars from heaven for priests-or even anybody- to pick up. Such acquisitions, as pastors tend to use are bought by the church members. The constitution of the Nigerian priesthood today is in anticipation of having a long line of cars and living in affluence. And the only advantage I am able to conceive from such principle is sadly that the church members are left like ships at sea without crew, to be tossed and carried about by winds and tides as they happen, while the priest is engaged in the pursuit of riches. Little wonder today, there is a general lukewarm attitude toward so-called 'christianity' and the church. Upon entering into a life of priesthood, there is an imputed accountancy which every priest takes upon, “to render a moral obligation to those he aspires to shepherd.” He ought to see to it that the sheep do not stray from their natural cause. I need hardly mention, that the Bible, which is the grundnorm of every priesthood, clearly forewarned the disastrous consequence of failing in that obligation, thus: “Who shall offend one of these ones which believe in Me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depths of the sea!”

Happiness and achievement in life can only result from hardwork and diligence. However, the baits with which Nigerian priesthood currently is furnished has made laziness the main priority of any priesthood. It has made priests to lose their personal ingenuity, and resort to milking their members dry. I won't deny however, that there are genuine men of God. Perhaps, it is because many priests-and aspiring ones-know that religion is a deep-rooted thing amongst Nigerians that they sadly ride on the dumbfoundness of many Nigerians. The whites folks will ascribe logical reasoning to every pronouncement made by any priest. Each statement will be carefully weighed and measured to see if it truly emanated from God. From this remarkable disparity between the two mentioned climates, Nigerian priests then carefully developed a knack for skilfully and subtly weaving inescapable mazes around their members, such that even if such members are plainly dying from administrations of their priests, they wouldn't dare question the antics and dogmas of such priests.

Priestly obligation and even common sense requires that the pastor manifestly be engaged in a venture and labour that will feed him and his family, not church offerings, or the proceeds from marketing his anointing. From whichever angle we look at it, we will always return to the same conclusion: namely, that the engagement of preaching the gospel and any other axiomatic act that follows it, i.e miracles, is a heavenly task which will only be rewarded by heaven as Christ himself had demonstrated while on earth. It will nevertheless be clear from what I have hoped to achieved by this write-up that I am not seeking to debase nor devalue any person occupying the office of a priest or pastor. Rather, I am only seeking to render movement and will to the general voice which derives its generality from common interest, and in which each member submits as a matter of expediency that,“every man who seeks to eat must be engaged in meaningful work- priest or no priest.”

In the final analysis, applying Paul's advice to the Thessalonians in 2nd Thessalonians 3:6-12, and the Igbo enterprising lifestyle, the obvious facts will be thus: “I command every Nigerian in the name of Jesus Christ to keep away from pastors who are living a lazy life...Paul and his co-preachers didn't accept anyone's support without paying for such support; rather they toiled and worked hard, day and night so as not to be burdens to the people they were with...they did this not because they didn't have the right to demand for support, but because they wanted to show good examples...” And so, he who refuses to work should not eat- priests and pastors inclusive.

DRIVING WITH CRAZY episode 3

BROTHER BUSHMEAT AND PASTOR PILFERER.

    
     For episodes one and two, see here and here

   I sat up and looked out the window and saw Alex walking towards me. At that point, my heart was racing; it would have given Usain Bolt a run for his money. Alex was a couple of en steps away and the Lagosian in me kicked in “Aisha! What are you waiting for? Come on, lock the doors!” This was no American movie, I wasn’t about to stare at what I was afraid of till it came and caught me. My eyes were still fixed on Alex walking towards the car as I reached towards the driver’s seat and locked all the doors . I felt some form of security when I leaned back in my seat. Alex got to my side of the car and tapped the window wanting to talk to me; I didn’t even look his way. He made to open the door but it wouldn’t budge. “Aisha, good. You’re finally awake. Open the door.” or at least I think that was what he said. “Alex, where are we and what are we doing here?” He looked at me like he suspected I was sleep talking “What do you mean? Weren’t you the one complaining about hunger? I couldn’t find a restaurant anywhere but I saw this bushmeat stall and managed to convince the man to roast some so you wouldn’t die in my car.” It was at that point I looked around. We were packed by the roadside and the bushes were on just one side, the animal I had seen was just one of the few others arranged in front of the shack to attract people to buy and the red cloth and cutlass were probably from the last hunt. It was then it dawned on me that my sleep and hunger combined were even more delusory than the alcohol I was always so proud to admit I didn’t take.

     Alex was still at the window waiting for me to come out of the car. I opened the door and came out to him looking at me probably wondering if I was the one manifesting. I was too embarrassed to say anything and I definitely was not about to say “Oh, I thought you had brought me to a ritualist.” So I kept mum and followed him towards the stall that had nothing but firewood and a shaky looking stool. When I got there, the man roasting the meat begrudgingly offered me a seat. There was just one so Alex stood. The man looked at me, still frowning and said “See, I nor dey roast meat for people for hia  oh. This firewood suppose to be for me to roast for only me one this night but this your friend no gree me rest if I nor roast for una. So una go pay for my firewood.”  After hearing Brother Bushmeat’s (I never found out his real name, so Brother Bushmeat will have to do.) complaints I felt really bad. I had been lambasting Alex in my head even before I got into the car and he had been nothing but a gentle man since the beginning of the journey. He had even convinced Brother Bushmeat to roast meat just so I could have something to eat. I looked up at him and he was seriously studying the roasting of the meat. I was secretly happy I was taking the journey with him in the end.

   When the meat was finally ready, Alex in his chivalrous manner paid Brother Bushmeat who smiled from ear to ear. He didn’t seem very upset about his firewood once the crisp naira notes were in his hands. We went back to the car to continue our journey. We still had about ten hours to go. It was nearing 5:00 pm when we got back on the road. It was obvious from the lack of taste in the meat that Brother Bushmeat was no Masterchef. There was no flavor within miles of the food but I was too hungry to be picky. After I’d eaten a bit and my body had returned to its normal state, I realized I hadn’t said a word to Alex since we got back into the car and decided to break the silence. “Thanks for convincing the man to roast the meat. Hunger and I aren’t very good friends.” He smiled and looked away from the road long enough to say “How does it taste?”

I didn’t want to complain so I said “Oh, it’s nice”. Which wasn’t such a stretch from the truth, I mean at least it wasn’t raw. He knew better though “Ahh, Aisha so you still tell these your’ nice- nice’ lies?” I burst out laughing because a memory had just crept into my head. Back in high school, it was on one of those days when the teachers had gone on a rampage and were forcing everyone to find another person to cut their hair. Yewande, one of those shakara girls had found her hair at the mercy of some Js3 boy who had never handled a clipper in his life. When he was done with his first and hopefully last haircut, her head had more slopes than the hills at  Udi. I had gotten that ‘nice-nice’ nickname after Yewande had come to ask me how her hair looked and so as not to hurt her feelings, I shrouded my answer in grammar and said “ It’s in a class of its own Yewande. You know your things are always special.” Somehow, that made her feel better sha. Alex and everyone else who heard me say it called me liar and accused me of forming ‘nice-nice’ and so the name stuck.

   We laughed and gossiped about Yewande and all the shakara girls in our class back then and the journey was going quite well until we drove past a pastor who was stranded and trying to stop anyone willing to use their ‘church mind’ and pick him up. We could only tell he was a pastor because he wore his clerical collar.  Once again, my nice-nice gland started to produce whatever it was it produced that made me overly compassionate. “Alex, stop let’s pick the pastor now.” He looked at me like he thought he didn’t hear me correctly. ”Wait, are you serious? And you say I act like I’m not Nigerian?” He went on to talk about how he couldn’t pick a random stranger from the road and how we were already behind schedule and some other things that went into one ear and came out the other. For some reason, I really wanted to give this ‘pastor’ a ride so I went full on five- time debate champion on him.”Turn back and pickthe man now. See how desperate he looks…..Support something that will actually make a difference instead of old buildings….Wouldn’t you want someone to do that for you?” Just to shut me up I suppose, he made a violent U-turn and drove backwards and gave the man who wore the clerical collar a lift. Once again, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

   This pastor made us go about twenty minutes off our route, as if it wasn’t bad enough that Alex was hoping against hope that Sheila, or whatever it was he named his GPS in his car, was not directing us to Congo. I could tell he didn’t find it funny that we were carrying a stranger or going off the route but I was in full Matthew 10:41 mode; whispering to that him he was doing a good thing and he would get his prophet’s reward. The only reason I only got the stink eye was probably because he didn’t want the pastor to hear him go off on me. We finally dropped him off at one kind of market off some dusty untarred road and found our way back to the road. The moment he alighted, I started again “You see. Doesn’t it feel good to have done something nice eh? Wouldn’t you be happy if someone did that to you?” He knew I was right but in usual male egotistical style he just said under his breath. “Yeah, yeah. This one time you were right.”

      We had driven over an hour, gisting and laughing and I’d just about forgotten about my fear of Alex’s insanity when my eyes wandered to the fuel indicator light. “Alex, the tank is about to be empty oh.” He looked down at the dashboard and noticed the sign showing the tank was nearing empty. There was a fuel station in the distance. He asked me to reach into the pouch behind my seat and pull out seven thousand naira from the envelope. I dipped my hand into the pouch and felt around for an envelope. “There’s nothing there.” He looked at me and asked me to check the pouch behind the driver’s seat. Still nothing. At that moment, I remembered my bag was on the floor behind Alex’s seat. I frantically searched it for my purse. My eyes widened and my jaw dropped. Pastor had cleaned us out!

   

OSCAR'S PISTORIUS TRIAL: A PARADIGM.

 I had thought overtly for Nigeria's justice system amidst public tongue-lash and back-lashes, till my recent discovery in the Tropics that our Southern neighbour has grown not only beyond the shards, rubbles and plunders of injustice but also succeeding in becoming a touchstone in the judicial space, now being referenced by other African countries and by extension the world.     

The trial of a rich man, presumably as rich as Creosus; Oscar Pistorius, a sport icon who triumphed over disability to compete with able-bodied athletes at the 2012 Summer Olympics, including other multiple paralympic games (what some ebullient bodied youths still in search of jobs in Nigeria cannot do). Probably for his utility of a carbon fiber prosthetic blades to run, sobriquetted him the Blade Runner. A South African runner, born without a fibula in both legs, became the first double amputee to run in the Olympics and reached the 400 metres semi-finals in London, 2012. A man purpled in splendour with a glamorous mien; structured in appearance-honey-combed cynosure, now has his fate already decided on the anvil of justice. A man so far slapped with diverse adjectival descriptions has been eventually found guilty of culpable homicide. Pending the courts resumption, Oscar stands on bail till the mitigation hearing on the 13th-16th of October, 2014.                                I need not start reinventing the be-all-and-the-end-all about the storyline of this unfortunate 27 years old man and his deceased girlfriend, Reeva Steenkamp; a model as the world is aware that Pistorius shot four times at Reeva whom he mistook for an intruder. Had I not understudied the country the proceedings took place, I would have forclosed the possibilities of an African country conducting a trial that attracted world media glued to the blow-by-blow proceedings thereon. A country that gained her independence a year after Nigeria gained hers, on the 31st of May, 1961, abolished the jury system of justice as at 1969 during the nasty apartheid rule, and adopted an adversarial system of justice, one akin with the Nigerias breed. The only sitting judge; Thokozile Masipa had by her side two assessors-Janette Hezen Du Tout and Themba Mazibuka. Had it been in Nigeria, we would have seen some judicial sourpussed men who rather will use age instead of seniority in the Bar to deride her position as was the case with the recent President of the Court of Appeal, Bulkachuwa (a woman) after the untold tale of Ayo Salami. The judge was blindfolded by her constitutional eyes and had no human face to acquit a man so worth a mint as Pistorius. Found guilty of culpable homicide for having used excessive force earned him a maximum sentence of 15 years. Our creepy-crawly system of justice that has allowed wasps and hornets; the oil rich Otedolas (alleged to have connived with Boniface Emenalo, a member of the committee on subsidy to sideline his company being affected ), the dark horses of our time- the Omisores' (alleged to have masterminded the assasination of Bola Ige), the Ali Modu Sherifs' (alleged brain behind Boko Haram's invasion) and a host of political jargons have broken through the web of our laws as freedslaves no longer as bondsmen, temporising judicial proceedings unnecessarily, plea bargaining their way to justice, loosening the already blindfolded eyes of our judges for a mere pot of sweeteners, whilst the small flies on the street get caught everyday. The rich and mighty politicians are clandestined from the eyes of the public during trials in the court, squelching further our judicial system into the mud. Hardly are they displayed on the televisions during trials, we are only privileged as citizens to hear and read about their outcomes. But, the trial of Pistorius, by giving leeway to different news, print and social medias to broadcast live via audio and video the opening and closing arguments, the testimony of consenting state witnesses, the judgement and sentencing has helped refine South Africa's justice system.                                            

A murderous incident that transpired on the 14th of February, 2013 finally (though awaiting mitigation hearing in the form of an appeal) came to a peter within a year and some months. Our darling judicial system have rather preferred to spend more years rejoicingly in adjournment and shorter ones in reaching a decision. The limited gaps that spaced the far-flunged trial process harped further on the desirous attempts to notch-up a credible proceedings. Charged with murder in a Pretoria Court on the 15th of February, 2013 without the much played Nigerian game by the fuzz in uniforms. Entered bail hearing on the 19th of February 2013 under Desmond Nair (Chief Magistrate of Pretoria). Had his bail concluded under four days for the states inability to convince the Chief Magistrate that Pistorius posed a flight risk. Given a break in late June, 2013 not as a freed citizen behind the bars of an hotel room as typical of a Nigerian politician, but as an alleged principal offender yet to be proven guilty by a court of law. Formally indicted on a two count charges of murder and the illegal possession of arms on the 19th of August, 2013 in the Pretoria Magistrate's court. Commenced his murder trial on the 3rd of March, 2014 in the Gauteng Division of the High Court of South Africa, Pretoria sans any notorious excuse; being a rich man he could have cut corners that the judge be transferred, one symmetrical to our justice system. About 20 witnesses were called by the state prosecutor, Garry Neil out of about 107 persons just to ensure the biter bit. Pistorius testified in his own defence at his trial on the 7th of April, for 5 days his cross-examination spanned. The state prosecutor had employed the services of the state pathologists, evidence of acoustic experts to determine the screams whether it was a man or a woman's voice, engineers were present to give evidence. Forensic psychatrists were ordered to evaluate Pistorius mental condition as an out-patient at Weskoppies Psychiatric Hospital in Pretoria, one that lasted up to 30 days. The defence lawyer, Barry Roux closed its case on the 7th and 8th of August. Dear judge Masipa adjourned the trial until September 11th. Resuming the day certained after 5 weeks of intense appraisal of both the state and defence's argument, high hopes were raised. Eventually declaring him guilty of culpable homicide blasted many to estacy that this rich and mighty did not abscond the needle's eye of justice, like many a politician in Nigeria whose vices are mistakened for errors, not crimes even in the cold hands of justice.             

Our never-landing system of justice that glimmers deep and if unchecked, deeper into the declivity of chaos and randomness, need borrow a leaf from other countries that practice the adversarial system of justice like South Africa, as to see what it takes to ensure credibility in judicial proceedings so that our laws will not end up as steel chains for the poor and weak and fishing nets in the hands of the government.


DAVIDSON OBABUEKI

DRIVING WITH CRAZY episode 2

                                           DRIVING WITH CRAZY. 

 The second part of the series. For those just joining us, See the first part here

      I didn't even know how to react. I didn't even have the opportunity to. Other late boarders pushed me aside so they could show their own boarding passes. Then Nena called, I managed to explain to her how I had fought my way and made it in the nick of time just to find out I didn't have my boarding pass with me. She was too stunned to react. Taye immediately took the phone and calmed her down just to prevent a serious bridezilla moment from taking place. “Aisha, I'm so sorry for all the stress. Don’t worry; we’ll name one of our kids after you.” I figured that was good payment for my labour of love. It must have been at this moment that the terrible idea entered his head because the next thing I heard was “I don’t really know any transport companies that would have buses going to Kaduna at this time but……. Alex just told me he was going to drive down.”

            Before I could even reply, my mind had gone from “This Taye boy must be mad. He wants to put you in the same car with that psycho for thirteen hours! ” to “But even though Alex is probably not well; you’ve always had a crush on him. Doesn't that make you slightly insane as well?” Luckily, the sensible part of me got to speak first. “Taye, not in a million years, not when pigs fly, not even when Mama Joy learns to sweep. Never!” I could hear him laughing now; I hoped for his sake that it was a joke. How could he even ask me to survive a thirteen hour journey with Alex! The same person that glued the clothes on his back to the building of his secondary school with super glue to prevent the bulldozers from tearing it down. Nenadi and I had already established that he must have left a sizeable part of his common sense at Customs when he was coming back into Nigeria after getting his University education in Manchester.  We had been classmates since Secondary School and we always had this crush on each other but no kind of crush would make me overlook the fact that he sometimes acted like things were controlling him. Nena took the phone back and started to plead and promise the heavens and the earth if I would just drive down with Alex. “Aisha, please now. You know I would never allow this but I beg you. I feel guilty for making you miss the flight. You don’t even have to talk to him, but you know he’s not always psycho. Taye even said he’s a lot cooler now and he’s always been funny so it might even be fun”. How could these people be telling me he was cooler. The fact that he hadn’t even started his half a day journey said otherwise; but I knew I couldn’t say no. “Tell Taye that for this, I would name your first two children and you know I have a thing for the name Boniface”. She laughed and said Taye would call Alex and have him pick me up. They were about to take off and so they promised to call immediately they landed.

        It was amazing how my day had just taken a turn I would never have seen coming. I had driven through Lagos like a bat out of hell and still missed my flight and now I was about to embark on the longest road trip of my life with my longtime crush/psycho. I took a cab home and waited for Alex to come by so we could get going. It was about 1:00pm before I heard a horn at the gate. My luggage had already gone with Nena and Taye so all I really needed to get to Kano with where the shoes and my sanity.

    I got outside and saw Alex in the car. He’d gotten himself a nice looking Mercedes. What was it he did again? I really had no idea. He looked good. He always had. He was the image that came to mind whenever someone said “tall, dark and handsome”. If I could explain why I had a crush on him that would probably be at the top of the list. Luckily, he didn’t seem to be advocating for any insane causes or exhibiting insane characteristics at the moment. He came out of the car and reached for a hug. ”Hey Aisha, it’s definitely been a while.” It was going well so far but my heels were still prepared for any sudden manifestations. “Yeah, Alex. It has. How have you been? And why exactly are you driving to a wedding that’s thirteen hours away?” He let out a little laugh and he opened the passenger door for me. “Get in. We’ll talk on the way.” And thus the most unbelievable road trip began.

    We had driven for about two hours and I was starving. You know that level of starvation when your stomach begins to make incomprehensible noises and you begin to feel the hunger abs forming…. I had passed that level an hour ago. I had told Alex I was hungry and we needed to stop for food. He said we had barely started the journey and any stop would slow us down. This only calmed me down for about twenty minutes after which I was complaining again. It may be important at this point to mention that I am not the most pleasant person to be around when I’m hungry. I complain and whine and nag like a baby on breast milk.  And believe me I’ve tried but it really can’t be helped. So I gave Alex a little taste of this. Before long, he was miserable “Look Aisha, there are no restaurants around here. You’re distracting me with all your whining.” I complained until I slept. I woke up after what felt like thirty minutes of sleep. Alex had packed the car and was talking to someone outside. I was still too asleep to know where I was but I saw that there were a lot of trees and shrubs around the car. I saw Alex standing a few feet away talking to someone tying a wrapper and there were some funny looking things lying around. A blood stained cutlass, a couple of calabashes, a reddish cloth, an animal? Was this what I thought it was? Was this Alex’s first manifestation of the journey? 

GUIDES WITHOUT GUIDANCE

          ‘…And the disciples were named Christians after Christ’. This statement can be located in the book of Acts 11:26 of the highly appraised holy book, the bible. What this inherently implies is that the early Christians being addressed displayed the overt and express characteristics used in association with the heavenly being named Jesus Christ. He was holy, so therefore it can be inferred that these associates of his were holy too. This is very much applicable to all the moral characteristics he, and by that I mean Jesus Christ, portrayed in his proposed phenomenal stay here in planet earth. As Christians, if my rusty knowledge of the bible would avail me, we have the sole prerogative of not only spreading the word to the far ends of the earth, but also that of portraying these attributes displayed by Christ and the early Christians, no matter the state of affairs in our environs.
             It is a well-established datum that humans, if given the opportunity, would cause anarchy and chaos on a mountainous scale, so therefore man is steered through his day to day goings by set of rules or laws with a selected few individuals who enforce these laid down laws. However, in the Christian circle, prevention is uttermost, due to the inscribed repercussions stated in the bible, and therefore guidance is deemed necessary. Who then gives this guidance? The foremost and popular answer would be the sect of individuals referred to as either as pastors, reverends, bishops or simply, teachers. It is believed by the Christian community, and to narrow it down, Nigeria, that this sect of persons are infallible, they are almost not capable of any sinful fault. Most Christians look at the lives of these persons, most particularly if they’re famous, and try to imitate them as much as humanly possible. That’s what it means to be a Christian right? To have a live style which most would find admirable, and emulate, to draw them closer to God and his majestic dwelling abode. That was exactly what the early Christians demonstrated, intardem with miracles, and won so many over to their belief.
             The early Christians, who were judiciously followed and kept on following Christ even in his absence, displayed lots of features which are lacking in the altitudinal makeup of our present teachers, who have taken up the mantle of guiding the flock to the holy steps of heaven, due to the fact that they’ve spent years studying the words and works of Christ, or they are been led by the holy spirit, the latter seems to be the account in vogue as at present. The Disciples of Christ were holy and contrite, humble and steadfast, caring but yet fearless. They made sure they were not influenced by the misgivings of the world. They tried their finest to emulate the workings of Christ, and they succeeded, as we are living testimonies. However, same cannot be alleged about our present ‘teachers’, as they are been noted to deviate from the preaching of the bible, and create their own ideologies which tends to suit their life styles. Yet, most people would try to act like these men, try to talk like them, try to be them, forgetting that these ‘teachers’ are to display the attributes of Christ and Christ singularly, not themselves. If, for instance, a teacher develops the taste to always garb on finely tailored suits, in an attempt to distinguish himself from the congregation, which I must add wasn’t done so during the times of the early church, it would not be shocking to see members of that flock contending with themselves on whose suit is finely tailored resembling the teacher’s. Some may even go as far as consulting the tailor of the preacher. They tend to forget that in the early church, the disciples were living in stark humility.
               Preachers are inclined to voice to their congregation that they if they view upon them, they’ve seen Jesus, yet they do omit, purposely at times, the traits that painted the saviour as the meekest person in the earth. Preachers of this era seem to be of the proud ilk, contrary to prescriptions given by the bible, as they brag about who they healed, how they prayed for a certain politician who won the post he wanted, how they own a fleet of cars, how their lives changed the instant Christ called them, all these meant to fuel the congregation into an offering submitting frenzy. This in comparison with the early church displays that the preachers have wandered stray from the paradigm of selflessness portrayed by the early church. How can you explain the fact that some preachers in Nigeria own two private jets which cause a fortune, yet members of their congregation cannot even afford to pay their children’s school fees? ‘ if they ask the preachers, they’d give’ some persons might say, true, but the money used in purchasing a private jet could be used to completely improve the standard of living of, if not three, at least two orphanage homes. This action would actually signify that these preachers are conforming to the examples laid down by preceding disciples who devoted themselves to selfless services for humanity. Although that may not be the core reason why these preachers intimate themselves with these earthly possessions, but to the general ‘active reasoning’ individuals, this displays that these preachers have lost sight of where they are coming from, and where they are headed.
             From my simple observation, I’ve noticed that pride, vanity, jealously and lust has crept into the minds of these preachers whose lives are to be some form of exemplar for us, the commonalities in Christendom. These men who should portray the live style of Jesus Christ go about suing themselves for missing funds, filing for divorce because of infidelity, gaining mansions while brain washing the proletarians into absurd doctrines which profit only themselves. The guides cannot, no longer, guide themselves. They are lost, the lot of them, although they put up this façade of being heavenly warrantied. Yet, most Nigerians imitate these fallible men to their last breath. If the guides have lost their way, where then are we? This is one of the preeminent reasons why chaos rears her ugly head in the ‘body of Christ’. What then should be done? Simple…we should, and by we, I mean everyone, preacher and congregation all together, revisit our roots which happen to be enshrined in the holy book. We should read the book again with an open mind, like a child’s filled with awe and wonder, and assimilate all what the bible is intended to teach. The guides should first off realise that they are lost, and try to revere back to the beginning, once again, and set the example expected of them.
              

OUR DIGITAL FRAME.

If you were offered one million dollars to give up television for life, would you do it? Interestingly, 1 in every 4 Americans would not, reports the International Herald Tribune. According to a survey commissioned by TV Guide magazine in 2012, half of those surveyed said they would not give up TV for less than a million dollars. In contrast, 1 in 4 said he was willing to quit TV for life for as little as $25,000. Most people said they watched less TV than they did two years ago, but only 1 person in 8 felt guilty about watching too much television.

             Soon after men learned to broadcast sound, inventors wondered if they could also transmit live pictures. To appreciate the challenge, now consider how television works today.

First, a TV camera focuses a scene onto a target device that “reads” the picture, similar to the way you read print. However, instead of scanning lines of letters on the page, it scans lines of spots (or pixels) in the picture. It converts what it sees into an electronic video signal that can be transmitted to another place. A receiver then converts the signal back into a live picture.

            In recent times, television has become a veritable tool for influencing the minds of youths and advanced once as well. Looking at the attention span given to television on a daily basis, it is safe to say that on the average, television viewership is a virus, a deadly virus at that, which has substantially aided the epidemic of obesity in the United States and other developed countries. Nigeria could be said to have partially evaded this television epidemic majorly because of our N.E.P.A problem (LOL)

   What are the negative effects of television? Some may argue that television and movie violence may not be taken literally by children and that all those horror movies are having no effect on them. “In that case,” commented a British newspaper, “why did a school authority in America’s mid-west have to tell thousands of children that there were no Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles in the local storm drains? The tiny Turtle fans had been crawling into the drains to look for them, that’s why.”

   The magazine U.S.News & World Report stated: “In 1991, the three [U.S.] networks displayed more than 10,000 sexual incidents during prime time; for every scene depicting sexual intercourse between married partners, the networks showed 14 scenes of sex outside marriage.” By showing over 9,000 incidents of illicit sex during prime time in one year, what would you say television is teaching? Barry S. Sapolsky, who coauthored the report “Sex in Primetime Television: 1979 Versus 1989,” states: “If an adolescent watches years of TV where people engage in flirtatious or explicit behavior, these thousands of images over the years will teach them that sex is pleasant—and without any consequences.

    Some say that television has been the most influential medium of the 20th century. A writer commented: “While some people critique its content, no one debates television’s power.” But television is no better than the individuals who produce the programs. So along with its power to influence for good, it has power to influence for bad. While programs of shallow content, filled with violence and immorality, have given some people what they want to see, such programs failed to improve human relationships and too often worsened them.

    Neil Postman, in his book Amusing Ourselves to Death, mentions another danger, saying: “The problem is not that television presents us with entertaining subject matter but that all subject matter is presented as entertaining…No matter what is depicted or from what point of view, the overarching presumption is that it is there for our amusement and pleasure”. In truth not all programs are entertaining, for many pose great dangers to the psyche or mental frame of the youths and older ones alike.

     The resolution for today’s youths should be the dumping of the ugly habit of idly ‘surfing’ random T.V stations with little or no predisposition to a particular T.V program. Another idea is the imbibing of reading culture, in actual sense reading should not be centered on academics alone; rather, omnivorous reading should be adopted among youths. Furthermore, viewing of T.V stations should be limited to mostly educative and inspirational programs. Youths are now challenged to developing good communication skills with their neighbors as well as brain tasking.

     What are the positive results of these policies? First, one reduces health danger of obesity and fatigue when he or she is proactive, also the intelligence quotient improves as the brain stores up useful information and is regularly tasked, in conclusion, this DIGITAL FRAME called ‘Television’ is a powerful tool given to us by the ingenuity of minds of the 20th century, we are behooved to use this gift as a force for good to ourselves and neighbors, through disciplined use.

Some of the info used are from the*watchtower library, *university of Benin Main library, BBC bulletins 1990

                                                                                                                           By Essay Palmer

DRIVING WITH CRAZY episode 1

                                    OPERATION GET TO THE AIRPORT!
    
   I’ve been on a little hiatus but I’d like to believe I'm back now and  with the blog’s first ever series. So let the journey begin!

     Five months ago, Taye had proposed to Nenadi, one of my best friends in the most romantic way possible. Well, to some it was really romantic. You see Nenadi and Taye were intellectuals or ‘i-too-know’s whichever you like. They attributed their chemistry to this ‘i-too-knowism’; and so when Taye had proposed by spelling out the words ‘Will you marry me?’ in their scrabble game while they were on holiday in Dubai; it was romantic by Taye standards. Anyway, five minutes later, Nenadi was on the phone with me and we were screaming our earlobes to disfunction. Finally! There would be a wedding, and at the right time too. I was beginning to feel like I hadn't had any owambes in a while so what better way to get out of my rut than with my best friend’s wedding. Before I go on, I realize I haven’t introduced myself, this kind of thing happens often when I'm giving gist. My name is Aisha Usman. I've been friends with Nenadi for as long as I can remember. We've convinced some people that we are cousins because we both come from Southern Kaduna, Nigeria. So back to my gist; after months of running around  the wedding had finally come and we were to leave in a couple of hours for the airport to leave Lagos for Kaduna. Nenadi's parents had refused to compromise on the location. They insisted it would be back home or they wouldn't attend thus the cross country journey.

       Most of the guests had already arrived Kaduna, most had flown down the day before because everyone knew the hassle involved in going from Lagos to Kaduna especially during the holidays. It was the busiest weekend of the year; the weekend before the New Year and Taye, the prompt one of the two love birds had drummed it into everyone’s ears that we had to get to the airport on time so we wouldn't miss our flight but as they say, opposites attract. Nena, as I called her, couldn't be on time or organized to save her life. I’d come to accept that lateness was in her DNA. So as usual, she managed to delay everyone and we ended up leaving the house an hour twenty minutes to the scheduled time for the flight.

           We eventually made our way through the forest of thorns that is Lagos traffic and got to the airport with all of thirty minutes before the flight was scheduled to take off. We checked in and found our way to the waiting lounge. Just as we got settled in the lounge, we heard the announcement that our flight would be delayed due to bad weather. The woman’s voice must have triggered something in Nenadi’s head because she jumped suddenly. We all turned to look at her as she shrieked ‘Aisha, I forgot the shoes!’

        Before I go on, there is a story behind these shoes. Nena was a shoe lover. When she passed her exams, she treated herself with shoes. When she lost weight, she treated herself with shoes but this particular pair was special. For the past six years, we had both put away some money every month so we could comfortably afford a pair of Louboutins for our wedding days which would set us back more than a hundred thousand. Before Taye proposed we had saved about eighty thousand each but when the marriage became imminent Nena bought hers. So you see why these shoes couldn’t be left behind; now back to the story. I knew Nena had to wear those shoes or she would remember it whenever she looked at her wedding pictures so I volunteered to go back and get them as fast as I could. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

         Within seconds, I was in a cab home. Lagos traffic was proving the enemy of my progress. I screamed at the driver to drive faster, he must have been wondering “kilonse eleyi”. After what felt like two hours, I got to the house and just as I got to the door Nena called me. ”Aisha! They just announced boarding. Where are you?” My jaw dropped. What happened to the bad weather that was delaying the plane now? I told her I had just gotten to the house and would be on my way in a minute. It took me almost ten to find the bag with the pair of shoes. I learnt that day that running down the road with a bag containing a box of louboutins in one hand and trying not to draw too much attention to one’s self are two ‘immiscible’ issues. When I got to the road, it was like I had a serious case of chicken pox. No cab would stop for me to get in. In all my years of staying in Lagos, I’d never waited that long for a cab. Finally I got one and I almost fought to driver to let me drive. He must have seen that my desperation was not ordinary because he got to the airport in about twenty minutes. A new record!

        I was so happy to have made it. Nena and Taye had already boarded but the plane had not   taken off yet. I made my way to the desk of the gate agent and she asked for my boarding pass. I felt like I’d just survived the war, I probably looked like it too because some people were staring at me. I began to search the bag for my boarding pass to handover. I searched the first time, nothing. Brought out the box and searched again, nothing. Then it hit me. I’d left my boarding pass in the room!!

To be Continued....  

*I-too-know-  Smarty pants, very intelligent person

*Owambes-    Lagos Parties especially weddings.

*Louboutins-  A brand of high end shoes by designer Christian Louboutin characterised by their beauty and red soles.

30 PERCENT FOR SOMETHING.

None other, perhaps, in my humble opinion, than any other event in the existence of twitter, Nigerian social-networking stratosphere has been shaken to its foundations by a trending topic on twitter, than the recently trended #30PercentOrNothing. In keeping with the needs of most Nigerians-youths, especially-all manners of saviours and messiahs have appeared at one point or the other. Most times, a repetition, other times, unprecedented. Periodically, a seasoned mind-bogger and a renowned spin doctor with a considerable reputation, might rally and rouse the flames of revolution in the youths. And an enraged, or perhaps frightened youths will hungrily pick up the trend, make the necessary noise without second thoughts, only for that highly anticipated requisite action to become instantaneously and permanently frozen. It goes without saying then, that the Nigerian situation is aptly captured by the different animals left on Manor Farm, after their highly praised revolution, as painted by George Orwell, in his 'Animal Farm'.

That trended topic on twitter, a few days back made a deep impression on me, that I sought to add my voice to the unresolved intrigues and rage (as would naturally befit any Nigerian socio-political drama). The trend I was referring to was the #30PercentOrNothing noise that emanated from the doorsteps of twitter user, @MrFixNigeria. According to all sides of the gist, MrFixNigeria felt that the Nigerian youths were heavily cheated from the arrangement and governance of the country and as such, he felt youths should seriously agitate for a 30% inclusion in present and any forthcoming government of the country. As is usual with novelty in Nigeria, he has within a short notice, alongside his supporters literally taken over Nigerian social networking. The paradoxical nature of the situation, to me, had been as a yoruba adage succinctly captures it: the matter is like fart in your mouth and salt is added to it; you are torn between spitting it out and swallowing it. I really don't have any problem with MrFixNigeria's demands and the foremost yearnings of his supporters; everyone is entitled to his feelings and the way he chooses to express it should not be a concern of others. But, I am consoled by the adage that, 'one should not swallow poison because he is afraid to spit it and offend others. Moreover, a feeling can only be a feeling and nothing more. If after fantasizing of stealing, one goes ahead to steal, then I am afraid, he must go in for it. Though afraid of social ostracism and stigmatization typical of Nigerian youths, many a youth might decide to add his two-kobo weight to the ongoing agitation without second thoughts and proper weighing. I will rather, as a matter of logical reasoning choose to take the matter with a grain of salt.

The current clamour for youth inclusion in the scheme of things, cannot be far-fetched from the 'normal' Nigerian mentality of 'it is our turn to nibble at the national cake'. Perhaps, because the originator of the trend saw the massive chunk of the national cake delegates to the just concluded National Conference took home; or maybe as is usual in the Nigerian political scene, an Abuja appointment is patiently waiting. With the mannerism of setting up committees for this; committees for that, it isn't unusual that MrFixNigeria will soon be appointed Chairman of the Committee for Youth Inclusion in Governance. A make up office at Abuja will hurriedly follow suit. Real estates at Abuja and long line of modern automobiles will also be in the offing.

So as not to be labelled a sardonic, tongue-in-cheek and confused person, I humbly implore you to properly scrutinise the performance indices of youths that have been granted opportunities to be in one position of service or the other. Gratifying their 'personal' success was the foremost policy to be implemented once they've occupied such offices. Current National Association of Nigerian Students (NANS) president, Yinka Gbadejo is a classic portrayal of the above ideology. Polytechnics' students across the federation sadly were forced to sit at home as a result of the inglorious strike of their lecturers, that of course, was coming on the heels of the infamous ASUU strike of the recent past that kept University students at home for six months. All those while, Yinka Gbadejo was wining and dining with the very people that could answer the question why students were at home: his co-students for that matter! Yinka Gbadejo may have gained some cheap reputation by being a delegate at the National Conference, but creases of disappointment didn't cross my face when he couldn't proffer a single imput at the Conference. The current Presidential assistant on new media, Reno Omokri is a youth. What Reno Omokri has thus far been able to achieve is to 'rightly' paint the opposition party with all shades of black by cheap propaganda. Weakening their strongholds by smearing ideologies, even to the extent of using a fake alias, Wendell Simlin, to achieve his incivility. We have a Jude Imagwe in the person of person of Presidential adviser on Student Affairs, a youth. His only advice, as can be guess by overt manifestations of his boss, I guess, is to refuse the simple demands of teachers in higher institutions, so they can go on embark on strike actions.

Without any misplaced hope or embittered disillusionment, let me quickly clarify at this point that I am not a member of the ruling PDP, neither was I sponsored by the opposition party. I humbly implore you to gaze down from the summit of your lofty position and recognize me as that common Nigerian youth, then you will appreciate the great and unmerited suffering inflicted on me by a cruel fate. That will make me just an ordinary Nigerian who seeks to uphold the rule of law. That ordinary individual who seeks equity and fairness. In the like manner a snake in your bedroom will not hesitate to bite you as the one in the bush, so I see the composition of the ruling PDP and main-opposition APC. They are practically made up of the same bunch of old folks who have stubbornly held on to power since independence. The same chicanery that have constituted our present government to be tumult soaked. Members from both sides have successfully mismanaged this country for long. Their operational basis is what Tammy Koroye would describe as, 'a revolving cycle' forever recycling them into the fabrics of Nigerian politics.

What then of the so-claimed youths, MrFixNigeria, and his such-like band are clamouring for their inclusion in the roadmap and pathways of governance? The ones who are more interested to see the current edition of unrealistic reality tv shows, than show concerns about their own affairs? The ones who in their quest for the fleeting vanities of life will engage in rapaciousness that mocks reason? The ones wallowing in indecencies and irrelevancies, that will end up consuming unconsumables at alarming rates because of their ignoble and pernicious cravings? The speed at which avarice drives them to indulge in obnoxiousness lends credence to the uphill task MrFixNigeria has embarked upon.

I wouldn't be surprised to find out that this whole hocus-pocus was carefully spurned by a master puppeteer, skilled in puppetry, who seeks to compel attention by all means or a meal-ticket of the originator, because who knows, with the current massive unemployment, man must wack. Digressive measures and diversionary tactics have repeatedly proven effective to those at the helm in this country, such that in such a dog-eat-dog clime, it wouldn't be out of place to find out that this whole 30Percent noise was originally designed to permanently keep youths at bay. To continuously chain them to the complexities of emotions, flattery and deceit; humans being duplicitous, self-absorbed, slaves to intense passions, fickle and gullible. It was customary for those who wish to gain favour from political office holders to so do by offering them gifts and those things which such office holders deem precious. I sincerely hope that the current clamour will not turn out to be such 'gift'. A window of opportunism which was hurriedly grabbed by MrFixNigeria.

However, I am certain that the earnest yearnings of our founding fathers must be fulfilled one day. It takes a daring, bold and audacious individual, who would have a quality of personhood that could turn shared morality into fighting spirit, and thus prove that our founding fathers were not wrong in their quest for our independence from British imperialism. Such pragmatic individual that will tear through the general praxis of corruption and corrupt tendencies; that will uphold honesty and not be bought over for a cheap price tag. The pitfalls of irresoluteness, lack of spirit and fear should be far off from the region of this current clamour. This way, the revolutionary spirit and it's consequent vicissitude of appropriate leadership, which the country has greatly lacked will come to fruition. To this end, I will not hesitate to align my spirit with a genuine #30PercentOrNothing movement. A 30PercentOrNothing that will ensure I as a youth is ably represented in the scheme of governance, not the type that will produce more Gbadebos, Imagwes , Omokris and their ilk.

A real populist ideology is the one which is totally porous-proof. The type that withstands negative vettings. That should be the one being put forward by MrFixNigeria. MrFixNigeria should be stubborn and never yield an inch. Though he may suffer ridicule, his spirit should remain unshaken. Every genuine agitation that has passed the acid test will become a concept; perfect in form, explicit in meaning, with a striking balance, strength, harmony, lucidity and intellectual force that will be the true yardstick by which other principles are measured. I hope the #30PercentOrNothing agitation pans out as such.