LETTERS FROM COLLINS ARIKOR: NOT YET 30 NIGERIAN GIRL.

Dear not-yet-30 Nigerian girl, I duly received your earlier letter asking me what you must do before you turn 30. It was a very expressive letter, though only flawed with a couple of grammatical errors here and there. You are forgiven though, for english has never been your father's language. Nevertheless, and in response to that, I shall be very brief with what I have to tell you, but if I happen to be long, please bear with me for it is how deeply this issue has touched me for the past three weeks that I've been having this argument with a very good friend as to the 'unprecedented' achievement of getting married before you turn 30. I clearly detected the belated and relished tone of your letter. It might seem crazy what I have to say, but I would say it nonetheless. Let me go straight to the point. Forgive my brusqueness and mindlessness in replying you like this, for I've never had the 'golden' opportunity of experiencing what am telling you myself. So, see below the six most important things you need to do before you turn 30:


1. Marry: Because that is the only way you become complete as human. That is the only route to be acceptable to society. Things would get better if you get married, notwithstanding that your father might be richer than Bill Gates. The institution known as marriage remains the only fundamental basis of your worth as a member of our larger society. Don't be like those incomplete women who tag themselves 'feminists' and 'independent women'. Those ones parading themselves as independent women or feminists are nothing but some bunch of failed women! They are not truly speaking of the psychological torment they undergo on many sleepless nights when they don't have any man to warm their beds. So, don't emulate them. Marry! It doesn't even matter that you have to throw away your father's sweet-sounding and much-meaning surname to bear a husband's own meaningless surname. Haven't you noticed? the media is majorly overshadowed with subtle, yet powerful messages that being married is the fons et origo of feminine existence. You would constantly be reminded of your flower-like longevity as a woman. That he might be bad-tempered, randy and a serial wife batterer is of no significance. You would even be expected to throw away your own body's autonomy. And if you are able to miraculously scale the hurdle of being accepted by his family members - most especially his mother and sisters, go to a nearby church and give the highest amount of thanksgiving ever given in that church. Haven't you noticed that even church messages are heavily furnished with this marriage-mania? “My husband must not pass me by this year,” calls out that church's crusade banner. “You must receive your heavenly husband by this month!” the preacher would triumphantly declare on radio. “I must get married this year!” the T.V would echo, while reminding you of the 3-day single sisters crusade being organised by the local church. But, that certainly is not the end of the matter, for a mother in-law's arms were specifically created to rock babies. You know what to do. And where the babies have refused to leave wherever was their initial abode to grace your marriage, quickly go for a spiritual cleansing or to a very potent babalawo who would inquire into unfathomable depths to know what is preventing them from coming. It doesn't matter the despicable things you have to do in order to have babies. When the babies finally decide to let go off where they initially reside to grace your marriage, and your husband is going about showing off his bloated ego of how he has made you a complete woman, suffer in silence sister. He is right. Lest I forget, remember to give him sons especially, or else mother in-law literally show you hell. Wherever it is you know sons are made, go to any length and give him because that is the only way his ancestry would continue. If you don't give him sons, he might be publicly scorned, and where that happens, you would bear the brunt of it alone. Weep secretly, but smile publicly. That's the idea. You are married. End of story.


2. I said marry: Even though you might never have the slightest iota of 'love' for him, don't worry, just go ahead and pretend as if you love him. Its just a matter of time. With time, you would learn to love him. His roof over your head, his wealth at your beck and his surname that you are now sharing are enough consideration for you to love him. Where's the place of love in marriages today? After all, you are far better than those old sourpussed spinsters parading themselves as independent women. Those lesbians! Psychological wrecks! Do you know what it means to have your own man - whether he is the type that has hotter-than-fire loins? He might not even get to fulfil your emotional needs, but don't worry, dear, you are married. That's all that matters. The sex timetable is according to the frequency of his sexual urge. It is just one funless boring routine like that. In the middle of the night, his hands would 'mistakenly' stray across your breasts. You instantly become awake. You immediately spread your legs as his plaything because you understand. The sex itself is a slapdash, lacklustre affair. When he's sexually satiated, he rolls over to sleep without bothering to see the furrows of unfulfilled desires stealing over your soul. Don't ever open your mouth to speak of how unfulfilled you are, sister, or else you would be sent back home to your parents - and consequently bring shame upon your family. Telling of how unfulfilled your emotions and needs are is only done by loose women - women of easy virtues. Or do you want to be labelled a nagging wife? And if he ever forces you to have sex against your will, that is not rape sister. The law backs him for that. He can demand the services of your body anytime he wants. Your body is his to be sated with pleasure. Its his right. It doesn't affect him in the least that you might be famished after a tedious day nor that some 'unhappy' and 'envious' ones in the guise of feminism are advocating for your own rights, too.


3. You should marry: Even though you might be the one single-handedly feeding and housing the able-bodied man and your children from the meagre salary you receive or the little business profits you've managed to pool, don't bother sister. Just bear and pretend everything is perfect. Its just for the now. Even if tomorrow he gets a job and decides not to do his own duties of providing for the family as the head of the house again by making Madam Vero's beer parlour as his place of permanent abode, don't worry, just go ahead and continue doing the husband's work, that's marriage. Its for better or worse - however for better or worse as it suits the husband. He might even come back at 1am and is heavily smelling of a woman's cologne - you knew this because he bought you the same type on your last birthday. She (side chick) might have even suggested he buy it as your birthday present - but don't worry sister, he's a man and would always be one. Bottom line is you are married. In any case, just remember to make ready your body for the night, in case the stud hasn't gotten enough feel of his extra-marital concubines. Should you complain to a senior, more experienced wife, she would duly tell you of how men are lords in our society. “Don't you address him as my lord?” she would coldly ask. That settles it. And when you meet the pastor in your perturbed state, he would joyfully tell your sorrow-laden soul that Mark 10:9 has finalised your case. ie, “What God has joined together, let no man, trouble, pain, predicament, suffering (the list goes on) put assunder. He would quickly point out the bible portion in Ephesians 5:21-24, which requires you to submit to your husband, while stressing how important it is for you to be humble, gentle, and tolerant of your husband's unsavoury behaviours. And where your confused mind is still seeking for more explanation, he would gladly guide you to 1st Timothy 2:11-12 which says, “Women should learn in all silence and humility; I do not allow them to teach or to have authority over men, they must keep quiet.” (Good News Bible).


4. Marry: Or if you don't, there would be a very big problem. A very big problem. When at Tessy's baby shower or Amina's birthday party, and you listen to all the old girls effortlessly and endlessly mouthing out the 'heavenly' bliss their marriage has thus far fruited, you would become heartbroken I assure you. Even the mannish Amaka, whose hair was always cut short, and had little or no feminine charms would join in the gossip to point out your odd-one-out status as the only non-married member remaining from secondary school because she happened to have joined the league of married women. A bevy of them all, praising to high heavens their perfect marriage. However, Susan would never tell that the week-old bruises she's manfully wearing were administered by her abusive husband, nor would Stella ever tell of how her ten-year old son, Junior, is gradually turning into a full-time thief by 'taking' money from her purse and throwing a class-break snacks bash for his friends, nor would Vicky tell of her pubertal daughter's well-known shameful conduct of being a runs girl, nor would even Jumoke tell of her well-known he-goat of a husband's widely circulated rumour of impregnating 5 different women. They would only be telling of how wonderful and heavenly their respective families have been. You would become a mental wreck after listening to them and you don't have your own husband. You see, there's no problem with you having your own impish 'Junior' or a reprehensible character as a daughter. It's just a mere price to pay for being married. You are far off better than any unmarried, and of course, unhappy spinster. It doesn't matter the near-death experience of childbirth nor the fact that you've turned into a constant HBP in-patient of the nearby hospital for time without end because you happen to be a mother of stubborn children. Just marry. That's all that counts.


5. Yes, marry: You are getting to 28 and you happen to be of the Igbo ethnic affiliation and no male homo sapiens is showing the slightest interest in you, do you want all your father's 'investment' on your head to become a waste, if you don't get married? Your mother would not longer hide her disdain for you remaining in her own house to share her husband with her. Just go out and marry anything. Moreso if you are of Bini customary origin and you are getting close to 25, 26 or 27 and no suitor is knocking on your father's door, then my sister, that wicked old witch in your village really needs to be appeased. For beyond 30, your brideprice starts depreciating. You are of the muslim stock and your father unceremoniously announces that you would be married off to Alhaji Danladi, you grandfather's age-mate, immediately you turn 18. Alhaji Danladi already has 3 wives, but because you have been bethrothed to him when you were born and Islam allows a man to have as many wives he wants (can control), you must marry him whether you like it or not. Don't complain sister, just go ahead and play a subservient handmaid role in Alhaji's house, because that's what you would end up being. Alhaji being the omnipotent master. It doesn't even matter that you might be in your 2nd year in the University then. And if by chance you 'mistakenly' like one very good non-Muslim boy in your class, don't ever increase the mistake by falling in love with him, or else you would spell doom for yourself and your remaining sisters. Because your father would construe such 'irresponsible' conduct to be the ugly fruits of sending a girl to school, and thus would stop sending your other sisters to school. “Haven't I said it that nothing good comes out of that their western education when given to girls? The girls would only turn out to become disobedient and rebellious to their parents!” He would angrily thunder in a family meeting. And all his 3 wives -your stepmothers - would speechlessly nod their approval in unison. It is inimical of a properly brought-up muslim girl, they would all echo in their hearts. And you that your parents happen to be far down the rungs of societal ladder, or they are even classless, as it were, you are excused for getting married (or being auctioned off, to put it appropriately) to 60-year old Oga Monday at 14. That you might develop Vesicovaginal fistula (VVF) or other life-altering diseases is just the added incendiary to the marriage (auctioning).


6. Last of all, you need to be married before you get to 30 sister. By all means marry! The reason is simply because marriage is the be-all and end-all of your existence as a woman in our society. Marriage is the subsistence of your societal standing. Society has made it so. It doesn't matter that you've gone to school and learnt, learnt, learnt and acquired all the certificates in the world and you are now emitting book, book, book all about you. It would all end up in the house of something that parades himself as a man. It doesn't sound okay to us that you laboured to get a very good Phd. added to your name, without bearing 'Mrs'. You see, when you write your name as Dr. Prof. Miss Tope Williams, the 'Miss' doesn't fit at all. That you might have been a first-class student is of no consequence to us if you don't end up married. If you happen to be reading this private letter and you are a Nigerian lady getting close to 30 and not yet married, sister, the witches and wizards in your village are seriously at work. Its time to visit that prayer house, native doctor or white-garment church. Let your prayer point all through be, “God, give me my own husband this year.” And if the lascivious prophet suggests that you personally come for a personal deliverance by 11pm in his bedroom or a spiritual bath at the nearby stream by 12 midnight, don't worry sister. Its all for the good of getting married. It doesn't matter that he gets a first-hand taste of what you are preserving for your future husband. After all, the thing has no meter. So just marry. Marry anything at all that happens to label himself a man even though he might not have the slightest inkling of what manhood is about.

The greatest barometer, as far as our society is concerned, is whether at the end of all your endeavours as a woman, you have a husband to 'gloriously' crown your efforts. Therefore, if on the voyage called life and on the path to greatness, you perchance forgot to marry along the line before you clock 30, you should be gravely sad and depressed for life should not be worth living in your case. Feel all the 'goodness' that society has thrown your way as a woman and embrace them with an open mind. Well, I think that's about it for now. Until then, thank you for your understanding.


Yours Solemnly,
Arikor Collins Ogonnaya,
@CollinsOgo.

DRIVING WITH CRAZY- The Finale.

Foreword.

       This is the last episode of the series Driving With Crazy. It’s been an honor taking this journey with Aisha and Alex and everyone who has taken out time to read any of the episodes. It means a lot. I hope we’ll reunite in the next post or story. Now to the good stuff….

ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS….. (The Finale.)

To see all episodes, go here

     After driving like a crazy person down the express way and receiving insults from other motorists for flying down the road like a bat out of hell; I got to Nena's house. Kehinde's directions had been surprisingly easy to follow. I knew the way the house from the town market, so at least I wasn't too bad with directions. As I got out of the car with the box of Nena's shoes in one hand I was tempted to lie flat and kiss the ground! I had never been so happy to see the cream walls of Nena's family house. The devil's plan to keep me from this wedding did not work! I went around to the boot of the car and got Alex's luggage. It would be easier for him to get it from my room when he got back from the hospital.

   "You mean if..."  The pessimist in my head hissed.

    I pulled the box and struggled with the shoes and bag in my other hand as I walked into the house, expecting a battalion of people to accost me asking why I was just arriving. The first person I saw was Nena's mum who saw me just as I was about to climb the stairs. Now, Nena's mum was a "hugging screamer". The extreme type. Whenever she saw someone she liked and wanted to hug, she would start to scream her excitement. Impressive vocal chords, one of the many things Nena inherited from her mother.  

"Aisha! Is this you? Where have you been?! I've been asking Nena about you! She wanted to go mad yesterday when she thought something had happened to you. We've been expecting you, my dear!" At this point, I was still trapped in her extremely tight embrace.

“Aunty, it's good to see you. We had issues along the way. I hope she's fine now." I said making what I hoped she recognized as a conscious effort to free myself.

" Yesso. Taye's brother... Err Kehinde called to say you were close by."

"Oh ok. Let me go and see her. Is she in her room? "

“She’s dressing up in my room. Let me take your things to her room. Both of you were supposed to stay there." I handed her Alex's luggage and my handbag and took the shoes with me to see Nena.

   I pulled myself up the stairs, yawning all the way. There were so many people upstairs; most of the girls in the bridal train and a few of  Nena's aunts were standing outside Nena's mum's room. I figured she had prevented them from seeing her until she presented herself. They all had their beautiful champagne brown coloured dresses on with faces beat to perfection. As soon as they saw me, the noise erupted.

"Aisha! "

“You’re here! Nena has been waiting...."

“Oh my God! Aisha!” All these noisy girls sef. It wasn't like I had died and come back to life. Why were they screaming anyhow?

"Aisha, go in. I'm sure Nena would let you see her. No one else is allowed to go in so we're waiting for the bride to make her grand entrance abi exit. " Ify  said rolling her eyes. I remembered how Nena had told me Ify literally didn't let her sleep until she told her she could be part of her bridal train. The girl just had something about her that made me want to charge at her whenever I saw her but today was not her day. I made my way to the door and opened it and I sauntered in.

    "Didn't I say no one should enter this room!!?” Nena shouted with her back to me.

    “Calm down, Bridezilla.”

 She turned sharply on hearing my voice and almost at the same time I caught a glimpse of her wedding dress in all it's glory. I had seen Nena wearing this dress before, I was with her when she bought it and we had chosen it as the best out of the three she had liked initially but there was something about it today. Maybe it was her hair as the curls fell softly down her nape or her face that seemed like it had been moulded with the finest of clays. Whatever it was, it made her look perfect. Really perfect. I was too stunned to speak for a few moments. She noticed that I was staring and waited for a comment. When one didn't come immediately, she got impatient and said "Talk now!" 

"Nenadi, you look stunning!" I said still trying to take it all in.

"Really? Are you sure the hair doesn't make my head look funny? "

“Oh shut up Nena. You look perfect. Well, almost perfect.” I said trying my best to hold off the waterworks and bring out the shoes at the same time.   

“Curse my over active tear glands.”

The same shoes that had made me feel like I was spending a holiday in the valley of the shadow of death. I went on one knee and put both shoes on her feet. The fight with the tears became even more brutal after that.

" Aisha, don't even start! If you cry, I'll cry! “   She said while fighting to keep hers in as well. Nature won in the end, much to the despair of Joe, the make-up artist who kept on scolding us for making him redo 'his masterpiece'. After seeing Nena looking so stunning and the way her eyes lit up when she told me she had been so worried and how much calmer she was now that I was here; I knew the hell I had been through to get there was worth it. According to Olaf, some people were worth melting for. At that point, I felt like I had been panel beaten a couple of times. That had to fall into the same category as melting. Right?

                                                                      ***

       Much later at the wedding reception, after I had bawled my eyes out as I watched Nena's dad give her away and watched her become one with the man who had loved her so hard for so long; I stood with my glass of wine in hand giggling as I watched Nena and Taye have their first dance. The look of contentment on her face was priceless. After all the petty quarrels they had employed me to settle in the past, they had actually made it down the aisle. I remembered how Taye had begged me day and night to convince Aisha to go on a date with him. I milked him dry before I even thought to tell Nena there was a guy who wanted to take her out. I giggled as I remembered my evil exploits. I knew Taye would take care of her. I had drilled him back when I noticed their relationship was becoming serious and laid down some serious ground rules. When I was done, he learned that there would be very serious physical and maybe even spiritual consequences if there was ever any tomfoolery on his part. Yes, I was that friend. But Nena never had to do any of that, I always laid down the rules by myself in my relationships and none lasted as long as Taye and Nena’s.

    As I watched them look into each other's eyes, I was reminded of how much I wanted someone who would just get me and be happy with me. I wasn't girly like Nena or desperate for affection or any of that but I just wanted someone who was always on my team.

    "You have Alex, you know."  

I had felt some kind of chemistry with Alex during  the trip or maybe it was all the near-fatal experiences making me confused. But even then I had caught myself a number of times looking all over and worrying about him all day. Alex and I would make an interesting pair. With his charms and good looks and eccentricities and my -

"Hey, road buddy. " I jumped out of my reverie and turned to see him looking incredibly handsome in his dark suit behind me.

“Hey you. Don't creep up behind me like that again abeg. "

“If you weren't so lost in thought, you would probably have noticed. "

“There isn't a halo around you though. There's no way I would have noticed. “I said teasing him.

“You have to argue though.” He took a step to stand beside me as he joined me to watch Nena and Taye as they swayed in and out of tune to the music. “Taye and his lack of dance steps. I guess some things never change. "

" Ahan. Michael Jackson! You that knows how to throw down!"  Throwing my head back as I laughed.

 Then he stopped and cocked his head to the side feigning surprise." Aisha, but you should know now. You don't remember how all those senior girls used to queue to dance with me? "

“Queue? Only Senior Ola used to die for you, only God knows why! "

“That’s not how I remember it oh. And which one is only God knows why? Oh, good. Everyone is going to dance. Come and experience what kept Ola coming back for more." I laughed as I let him pull me to the dance floor.

   We danced and laughed as we watched other people dance and laughed some more as we watched each other dance. This was the cycle until it was time for the slow dance. He held me daintily with his arm against the small of my back as we moved back and forth to the rhythm. The feel of his body against mine had me feeling tingly all over.

"How is your arm?” I said with my head resting on his chest.

“Oh, the doctor said it was fine. I woke up just as soon as we pulled into the hospital. We might need to go back for that hunter's sedative though. Best sleep I've had in a while. " He said chuckling lightly

“You better be joking. I thought you were dead at a point. Three straight hours of sleep! "

He chuckled. “Were you scared? "

“More like relieved"  I teased. "Your meat would have been perfect to help my gastric situation."  We both laughed as we kept on reminiscing what had to be the worst road trip in the history of road trips. The music, his speaking directly into my ears, his scent;  they were all conspiring to fan the flames of my growing attraction.

"Don't worry, we'll get back at them soon enough. "

“We?”  I said lifting my head to look straight at him.

“Yes, Aisha... We. "

                                                                      ***

The phone rang and Taye picked it up and saw my name across the screen.

 “Baby! ....... Nena! Aisha is on the phone for you."

" Ohh , I'll be right there. I just put Tobi down to sleep in the living room. "

“Yeah, I'll be quiet.” Taye said handing over the phone to her.

" Aisha! My sweetheart. How are you? "

" Iya Tobi! I'm fine. Why did it take you so long to come to the phone? "

“Someone has to put your god-daughter to sleep while you're touring the globe. Don't you know?"   Her words laced with sarcasm. I giggled on my end.

“How is she doing? I've missed her oh." 

“She’s fine. Still looks like me. Hehe. So wait, you haven’t missed me? That boy is teaching you bad things oh.”

"Don't be jealous. You know I miss you almost as much as you miss me." I said as I laughed

“How is your trip with the boo going jor? "

“It’s been lovely. That's actually why I called. "

“What happened?” I could sense the concern in her voice now.

“Well, nothing really oh. Just that one of the fingers on my left hand now has a new dress code. " You could literally ‘hear the smile’ that was plastered on my face as I said that.

“Huh? I don't understand...... Wait! Aisha! Did Alex propose??"  She said as the volume of her voice increased with every word.

" Yess!! It took you long enough! "  I had to take the phone away from my ears so I wasn't deafened by her screams. Alex was grinning and blushing at the same time on the bed beside me as Nena screamed the news to Taye. I could hear her even with the phone away from my ear.

“Taye!  ….Taye!! …..Taye come!!!   Alex proposed!!!”

 She ended up waking Tobi on her own.

                                                                 THE END.

ACCIDENT

Just one careless action, a reckless thought, or a negligent mistake can change the entire lifestyle of a whole family or community. Just one simple mistake made in haste is capable of defining doom for some particular set of persons. It is quite painful that some set of persons do lack the capacity to rationalize on the consequences of their actions before embarking on such.

Many may claim that everything which happens on this earth has been predestined (by God). Hence, we seek to attribute our misfortunes to be beyond our control, when in reality we are the masters of our own fortunes. Let us just for once assume that every single (unfortunate) incident is the will of the Almighty, does this mean that God in his infinite mercy will allow calamities to befall his faithful servants? Indeed, there are some questions which we as human beings have no locus standi to ask, and this is one of such.

However, as the proponents of Freewill have postulated in the past, this writer inclusive, we are solely in control of our wits. We are the masters of our actions and as such should be made to face full responsibility for whatever ill our actions and inactions might cause. It would amount to injustice if we are permitted to hide behind the cloak of predestination as a defence for our mistakes. Of course, God is aware of our actions, and he can in several ways influence how we act. But in the crucial minutes which lead to our actions, we are solely in control and responsible for whatever thoughts that make us act as such. For instance, a person who drinks heavily before embarking on a journey cannot and should not be allowed to postulate that for whatever reason, God in his infinite knowledge has already predestined the ensuing accident to occur.

It is therefore extremely painful to hear about certain accidents which arise as a result of the culpable negligence of some certain overzealous individuals who believe that their every action is ordained by some deity of some sort. Indeed, the Law imposes upon every person a duty to exercise due care in his everyday dealings with his neighbour. It is therefore inconsistent with this duty of care imposed on us to have a supplementary misconception that our actions are anointed and ordained by God. Divine anointing cannot cloak one’s eyes to the extent that he would be unable to perceive an oncoming vehicle whilst driving at night.

There are two major causes of accidents in Nigeria: negligence and recklessness. There is a thin line separating the two concepts. As earlier postulated, the Law imposes a duty on every man to exercise a reasonable amount of care in his every day dealings. This duty of care is one which has been scripturally and spiritually noticed when Jesus Christ mandated us to love our neighbours as we love ourselves. Without an observance to this duty of care, our society would degenerate into a Hobessian state where life would be invariably brutish, nasty, and succinctly short. A rigid observance to this said duty would no doubt reduce the spate of crime and civil mishaps we experience in contemporaneous society.

A slight deviation from this mandatory duty is what gives rise to negligence. When we fail to act up to the standard which both the Law and God expects from us. A failure to act, however innocent our intentions might be could be very disastrous to the lives of others. For instance, a failure to place warning lights at appropriate quarters, failure to observe simple traffic regulations, etc are examples of negligent acts which could lead to accident.

Recklessness on the other hand, is when a person in a fit of euphoria, or under the influence of some stimulating substances, be it spiritual or intoxicating, self-induced or administered by coercion, real or illusory; refuses to take certain steps, or takes certain steps which a reasonable right thinking man of the same intellectual level would ordinarily not do.  For one to know as a fact that a certain course of action would result in harm being done to another person or his property, yet he still goes ahead to indulge in such action. For instance, when a driver knows that whilst driving against the traffic, he is probable to crash into an oncoming vehicle, or when he knows that he is exceeding the speed limit, or driving against the traffic light. In circumstances of recklessness, the reckless actor need not have an evil intention. In fact, he may be acting in good faith, but no amount of such good faith can justify the unnecessary loss of human life or property.

There is no reason why a family should lose their breadwinner or dearly beloved child to some reckless maniac operating under a self-induced illusion.

It is high time people began to respect the lives of others and hold such in high esteem. Even if one has an innate wish to take his life yonder beyond on a journey, he should at least take care to ensure that he takes only his own life.

Should Students Be Allowed To Grade thier Lecturers?

Although it might sound cliché, it is common knowledge that students are the wealth of any nation, the future of tomorrow and consequentially their education is the social responsibility of the country. To be educated is not just a right but also a duty. However, in the midst of dilapidated structures, an ancient academic system and a country literally begging for salvation, a simple education is simply not good enough, it just has to get better.      

Over the course of the past decades, several solutions have been brought to the table. In Nigeria, the strategy has been for school officials to frequently evaluate the performance of lecturers in their various institutions. The hope was that through a combination of feedback and pressure, the lecturers would improve or be replaced by someone better. While this has yielded a few positives, it has also been largely unsatisfying and this has ushered in the question of whether students should grade their lecturers or not. In order to reach a decision, it is wise to discuss the benefits of allowing students grade their lecturers as well as the dangers of implementing this policy.

As unorthodox as it sounds, allowing students grade their lecturers could be that extra push needed to transcend Nigeria's academic system. While it is quite apparent that the students are the target audience of the lecturers, letting the students assess the lecturers gives the lecturers an insight of their minds, it shows these lecturers how much they have performed, how far they have being able to go and whether the learning environment has been conducive enough for learning. Also while this method appreciates and motivates lecturers that are largely hardworking and dedicated, it conversely exposes those who have not being doing well enough and by the basis of this method which seeks out not to condemn but to correct, it will make the lecturers adjust their teaching methods in other to ensure that the students who is their main priority are always in tune with their ideology. Lastly, it is trite that for every relationship to succeed there must be communication. Allowing students assess their lecturers bring them a lot closer to them and that makes the whole teaching process a lot more pleasurable. For example the students may not be particularly comfortable with a certain attitude of their lecturer and may not have any avenue to let that known, however with grading assessment in place the students can pass this across to the lecturers and that could be the starting point of positive changes in schools.

However, allowing students grade their lecturers has its many downsides. First of all, there is a tendency for students to misuse this ‘power’ for their personal interests since they do not have the needed mentality to carry out an assessment without being bias towards lecturers. It is common knowledge that most students prefer lecturers who are lenient with them, hardly bothers them with assignment and are jovial with grade points. The students tend to see strict lecturers as people whose life mission is to frustrate them. If these students are now required to grade these two classes of lecturers, it is obvious that the first class will be portrayed in a more positive light. The students also stand a chance of being a victim too. There is a possibility of lecturers punishing students for giving them bad grades and this could be set in strife between lecturers and students.

While this topic has been a subject of debate for such a long time, there has not seemed to be a consensus. While I feel that students should be given the chance to grade their lecturers, I am also of the opinion that this should done under intense supervision. Also there should be set and transparent parameters for grading such as punctuality, ability to exert discipline, how he uses his time etc. I also believe should be done in collaboration with the school authorities and other stakeholders in the educational system. Change is deliberate and as such a conscious effort should be made if we want to see the change we so dearly crave for manifested in our schools.

                         What do you think? should students be given the option of grading their lecturers? send in your comments and don't forget to share...

ETHNIC DIVERSITY IN NIGERIA-A BLESSING OR A CURSE

The ethnicity of Nigeria is so varied that there is no universal definition of a Nigerian beyond that of someone who lives within the borders of the country, Nigeria. It is no gain saying that the boundary of this former English colony was drawn to serve commercial interests, largely without regard for the territorial claims of the indigenous people. As a result, about three hundred ethnic groups comprise the population of Nigeria, and the country's unity has been consistently under siege: eight attempts at secession threatened national unity between 1914 and 1977. The epic ‘Biafra war’ was the last of the secessionist movements within this period.

  The concept of ethnicity can be viewed as "a group of people having a common language and cultural values". These common factors are emphasized by frequent interaction between the people in the group. In Nigeria, the ethnic groups are occasionally fusions created by intermarriage, intermingling and/or assimilation. In such fusions, the groups of which they are composed maintain a limited individual identity. The groups are thus composed of smaller groups, but there is as much difference between even the small groups.

  

 Although the ethnic groups in Nigeria, number in hundreds, it must be understood, though, that there exists three major ethnic groups, these include the Hausas, the Ibos and the Yoruba. A question remains unanswered, as to whether ‘the ethnic diversity in Nigeria could ever be a force for positivity in the country’. These three groups comprise only fifty-seven percent of the population of Nigeria. The remainder of the people are members of the ethnic minority groups, which include such peoples as the Kanuri, the Nupe, and the Tiv in the north, the Efik/Ibibio, the Ijaw, and the Ekoi in the east, and the Edo and Urhobo/Isoko to the west, along with hundreds of other groups that differ widely in language, culture and even physique. As the population of Nigeria has doubled to over seventy-eight million people in 1982 from approximately thirty-one million in 1953, it is safe to assume that these groups are now much larger.

 Well, in times past the country has suffered a heavy and long halt, preventing her from making giant strides as a rich black nation ought to, a big thank you to the anchor called ethnicity. Every ethnic group wants to be recognized, as such, the scramble for power has plunged the country in to coups, civil wars and more recently,  could be argued to have contributed to the event of insurgency. Nigeria party politics has been polluted by ethnic chauvinism. This problem is one of the major qualms confronting the progress of liberal democracy in Nigeria since 1960, to the extent that ethnic sentiment has gradually crept in, to find a place in every façade of Nigerian political activity. Ethnic sentiment has been one of the factors responsible for most of the inefficiencies and low productivity in Nigeria.

  

However, it must be established that Nigeria has been envied for its culture richness, its variety in cuisine and dish, her people’s colorful apparel alongside their tasty traditions, dance, primitive societal structure, religion, just to mention a micro few. The potentiality in the diversity of a nation has been expressed successfully by many foreign states for example; the United States has always been an immigrant culture. Aside from Native Americans, the entire population has immigrant origins. The traditional view toward immigrants was that they would wish to assimilate to the dominant Anglo-Saxon population of the nation's earliest colonial settlers. The assimilation process, according to the traditional view, however, was never expected to be total. Each group would add a distinguishing contribution to the overall national culture so that in time the myriad immigrant groups would alter the cultural norms of the rest of the nation in subtle ways. This philosophy was called the "American melting pot”.  In truth the beauty of ethnicity when managed properly is a glorious wonder as it only enhances richness and color of a modern state, unfortunately it could beckon on the essence of ARES (so to speak), affirmatively, it is a fact that civil wars causing myriads of deaths are printer effects of ethnic diversity amongst other things. Yet, we all agree that variety is the spice of life.

    At this junction, what’s your take on the phenomena of ethnic diversity? In your country, Is it a blessing, is it curse or is it both?
 

   

DRIVING WITH CRAZY Episode 7

                              HEAVEN TO THE RESCUE.                                             

 *For previous episodes, go here         

       I drove in the company of the GPS. She, as Alex liked to describe it, wasn't much help at keeping me entertained or awake. We were too far from any city to get radio signals and so I was stuck with the rap songs Alex had in his car. Even with the songs blaring from the Speakers Alex didn't move from his slumber. Whatever sedative that hunter had given him would probably have given anaesthesia a run for it’s money. I had slapped him across the face enough times to leave the area slightly reddish hoping he would wake up but he would only turn and continue sleeping. At a point, I began to envy him. The things I would have done to have a good, soft bed to crash on right then. He had stopped bleeding, at least the hunter had done one thing right by applying some pressure to the injury to stop the bleeding but I still felt he should have it checked out. The bullet might have been laced with something. Poison? Maybe that was what was making him sleep so long? Or maybe it would make him hallucinate and start to act out his hallucinations! I had to take a deep breath to stop my mind from overreacting. Hopefully, he was just enjoying what had become an over two hour nap under the influence of a sedative. That was normal. Right?

  

                                                              ***

   I had been driving for almost three hours with my mind constantly reminding me that i could be going in the driving myself to Jos without knowing it. My mum always chided me for not knowing how to drive myself to Kaduna or the cities that led to it. I would always tell her that if I ever needed to drive, I would get a driver and so I never learned the route. See why you should listen to your parents! The GPS had gotten me this far; hopefully it would take me the rest of the way. It was nearing 9am. The sun looking nice and bright, perfect weather for a wedding. It was my best friend’s wedding day. The day we’d dreamed about since we recognized the importance of boys. Nena must have tried my number at least a thousand times by now. I tried to find comfort in the fact that it could have been a lot worse. I could have been married off to some old chief by now or be stranded because I couldn't drive and Alex was sleeping like he was half dead. So in comparison, I was having a good day.

    I took my eyes off the road long enough to see that according to the GPS, we were about an hour and some minutes  away from Kaduna. A smile slowly tattooed itself across my face when I saw that. If that was anything to go by,  I would make it in time for the wedding and the last forty-eight hours of horror would not be in vain. While turning to look at the side mirror two things caught my attention. Firstly, the blinding stench that was emanating from my armpit! I smelled like fish and coffee mixed together. After not taking a bath for almost two days and running and sweating ever so often, I suppose it was to be expected. The terrible smell coming from my body almost made me forget the second thing I had noticed while looking at the side mirror. A car seemed to have been following me for a while. I was on an express-way, wide enough for a person to overtake if they felt it necessary and a few cars had zoomed past so it was puzzling that this white car had been a few metres behind me for almost thirty minutes. I had noticed it earlier but thought nothing of it till I looked out again and saw the same car. I could tell it was a man driving but I was too far to recognize the features. I tried to convince myself that it was paranoia and hunger making me over-assess the situation. I put my foot to the gas pedal and sped on ahead thinking i would probably lose after the bend that was up ahead; but still he followed me. Why would someone be following me in the middle of nowhere unless they knew me or wanted to rob me. I looked around the car, there was nothing to steal. Pastor had made sure to take care of that as I was naïve enough to let him. So what did this guy want?

     My heart started to beat very fast again as I thought of what to do. I looked at Alex, looking oh-so-peaceful in his sleep that was nearing three hours now. Still looking at the road, I went at his face with a slap. Thwack! “Alex, will you wake up already! Haba! Someone is following us!” There was no stir, no sound; he just continued with his soft snores. It looked like I would have to face this one alone. Wasn't I just saying some minutes ago that I was having a good day?

       I thought about speeding until I got to Kaduna, it was just about fifty  minutes away at that point but then it occurred to me that this could also be someone going for the wedding that recognized Alex’s car and was trying to get my attention. But then, I had been making all kinds of wrong choices throughout this journey and I was too hungry to endure another situation arising before getting to that wedding. But I also had to consider Alex’s arm; I needed to get him to the hospital before getting to the wedding and I didn’t even know the way to any hospitals in the city. The only gadgets I knew how to handle were my phone and laptop so configuring this GPS to direct me to a hospital was not an option; but if I knew this person, they could probably help me take Alex to the hospital while I hustled my way to Nena. All these options and things to consider just to make the decision to either speed up or park the car. I said a silent prayer as I slowed the car to a stop by the side of the road.

    As was expected, the person in the car caught up to me and parked his car in front of mine. He got out of the car revealing his almost six feet figure with muscles bulging from his tight T-shirt. As he stood locking the door, I peered through the windscreen to see if I could recognize him. He looked like…..Taye? What was Taye doing here? But when did Taye get so muscular? And he couldn't possibly be on the road when his wedding was in about an hour. It was then he turned towards me and I noticed the birthmark just about his right eyebrow. I heaved a huge sigh of relief . Kehinde!

                                                          ***

“Aishatu!" No one else felt the need to call out my full name but Kehinde. "Do you know how long I’ve been trying to get your attention. I expected to see Alex driving though.” He said locking me in a huge embrace. For once, I had made the right call.

“Kehinde, you can’t begin to understand how happy I am to see you. I thought you were  Taye for a second there.”

“It’s good to see you too. You look exhausted Aisha and where is Alex? Taye told me the both of you were coming together. It sounded like a recipe for disaster. I hope you haven’t dumped my friend’s body somewhere oh.” He said chuckling.

“Not yet oh. Look at him sleeping in there.” I said tilting my head in the direction of the passenger’s seat. Kehinde went around and tried to wake him up. Alex didn’t budge.

“What’s wrong with him? Which kind sleep be dis?”

“Long story oh. You wouldn’t believe if I told you. Your brother and sister-in-law have put me through what has to be the craziest journey of my life, but don’t worry he’s alive. He’s injured though. I actually stopped hoping it was someone I knew so they could take him to the hospital for me.”

It was then he noticed the blood on his shirt. Clearly alarmed he asked “ Ahah, Aisha what happened to him?” Then I proceeded to recount the happenings of  the entire journey and all it’s craziness to him. I had not realized how good a story it was until I retold it to him. By the time I was done he was so shocked all he could do was laugh.

“And all that happened between yesterday and today? After all that, the both of you have to get married and make Aisha and Taye do this for your own wedding.” I laughed like I hadn’t been secretly imagining the same outcome while driving.

“You don’t even know. I’m waiting to find out which is a longer journey by road- Lagos to Ghana or Lagos to Kaduna. If Lagos to Kaduna is longer, I’ll find another place. They must experience the ‘thrills’ of a road trip.” I said as we both burst into laughter.

   Finally, we agreed that Kehinde would take Alex to the hospital while I made my way to the wedding. We carried Alex into Kehinde’s car and laid him in the back to continue sleeping. Now it was 10:03 and I had forty-five minutes to get home to resume my chief-bridesmaid duties. I knew Nena wouldn’t let anyone else take my place until I got there but I didn’t want my lateness spoiling her big day. I got the exact directions to the house from Kehinde. We agreed that he would drop Alex off at the hospital and make sure he would be well taken care of before he ran off to assume his role as the best man.  As I bid him goodbye, I was careful enough to go for a handshake instead of a hug. There was no need to pass the ‘fish+coffee stench’ around. I got back into the car determined to make the journey of approximately one hour it should take to get to the house in forty-five minutes so I would have some time to get ready. I pulled on the seatbelt, adjusted my seat as I prepared to go all ‘formula one’ on the rest of the journey.

I Do

With a saddening smile I wake to view her face,
Expressionless, stale yet beautiful, filled with grace
Lips made for laughter but now filled with scorn I do watch, I believe it’s just a phase
It has to be,
A fleeting phase to bring forth the calculated beauty
A transitory phase meant to saturate all the melancholy in the world  .  .  .  .  .  .  . . .   Crystallize it to apt anticipated glory
But how long am I supposed to wait?
Her downhearted nature sinks the most jovial of hearts
To the deepest reaches of desperation, desolation, distaste and wrenches them apart.                        
I do love her, or so I believe
Even though that love may not be enough
Enough to save her
I do love her.

I take my time to glare at this woman, examining, smiling, filled with belittled joy
The sight of her exhilarating, frightening, yet comforting, confusing and coy
She’s what everyone dreams of
She is what anyone dreams of
She possesses it all, the charms, the acumen, the fervour,
She has entirely things that make men tremble and seek for favour
Yet
She kills herself from within
Poisoning her soul with derogatory actions which to her now are kin
Heeding to words that defame, rape, bludgeon her consciousness to stupor
And murder her self-esteem.
Oh... She is indeed beautiful…
But I do not think she knows it…or perhaps she does  
Her actions, reactions, affirmations and poise suggests she possesses such information,                      
She carries herself gracefully in the midst of her peers and folks who regard her with much awe
But deep down, however, all these are just a ploy
A ploy to make others think she matters,
A ploy to find, chase, gain the love of others
In doing this, she forgets the one who truly loves her, I love her
Yes, I do love her.
I love her in the presence of her flaws, insecurities and everything noxious
I love all
I have decided to bear the burden of showing her how gorgeous she really is
Of telling her, informing her, convincing her of how magnificent she is outside and in,
She is powerful, a roaring typhoon, a raging bull which can dissimilate all who causes her grievance,
But she is meek too, with akind-heart, fair and noble, married with lenience
She is dominant, a ruler, a ferocious warrior, and a queen befit arrogance.
She is Regina
She is divine.
She is Nigeria.
And I do love her.
Tami Koroye

VIRGIN WIGS

This is the tale of a lawyer, fresh out of law school and into the world of reality. It was penned by Jerry Chiemeke, a budding young lawyer who blogs at pensofchi.wordpress.com.
Enjoy!

                    VIRGIN WIGS 

“Counsel, how old are you at the Bar?”

That question pretty much sums up what has been a long day at the temple of justice. Yes, it’s you, a fresh wig, a green horn, a courtroom virgin (never mind those few appearances you have racked up), standing before a judge whom it seems to you woke up on the left side of the sheets, subjecting you to those words that do not exactly show kindness to your dignity and ego as a young legal practitioner.

True to those feelings you had been nurturing from sunrise, that day had pretty much assumed the shape of what was going to be a really long one. You had woken up with heavy eyes, much against your will, with that not-so-polite 6.25am “show up at the office” phone call from your boss. (Everyone you know who shares the same call-to-Bar date with you has a boss; starting up a law firm less than a year after earning licence to practice would be seen as a combination of bravery and stupidity.) Of course he knew you couldn’t have possibly had much of a night: there had been those seven hours spent at the state police headquarters trying (unsuccessfully) to negotiate bail for a land speculator the day before, and there were those three written addresses which he had instructed you to work on. Well he couldn’t have been bothered. Your eyes were the brightest in the firm and still (relatively) white, so he could summon you at will. He had revealed his reason for the call as soon as you arrived. There had been a mix-up in the diary, and a case which he didn’t know had been slated for that day was coming up in another local government area ninety minutes away; he had only found out via a 5.00am text message from the client. From the tone of his voice, you had already known what that meant.

There had obviously been no preparation on your part, but you knew what to do: go there, take notes and ask the court for a short adjournment. That was pretty much what you were good for anyways at this stage, besides motions and drafts (you had not earned enough trust to conduct a full trial). You had picked up that gown which always gave you away as a baby wig, grabbed the case file and relevant authorities, and set out to the day’s ordeal, but not before taking that selfie in front of the office, for the love of Instagram. Lawyers and intense heat are best of friends no thanks to the attire, public transport doesn’t make it any easier, and the only respite you had gained was three-quarters into the trip when you got a lift in the opposing counsel’s car, praying that your client wouldn’t see you when it was time to alight from that Bugatti.

Being a junior wig meant that you had to wait a little longer before your case would get mentioned, and your body had succumbed to the effects of a long previous day and short night, only stopping short of snoring. Your slumber had been judicially noticed, and when it was finally time to call your case, your response to the judge’s inquiry as to why you made a bed out of the Bar had been “we can’t cheat nature, mi Lord”. There is no way to tell man’s thoughts from merely staring at the face, but what followed had made you realize that your response had been without regard to his mood, and after a torrent of abuses, came the unflattering question you were presently faced with.



This is by no means the first time you had been subjected to the “how old are you at the Bar” question. There had been that kidnap case months earlier, where your boss had been away and you had been berated by the judge at your city of practice for appearing alone in such a sensitive case, particularly given your inexperience, and the accused whom you represented had requested to do the cross-examination herself. There was also that day at a lower court where you had been without your diary, and taking an adjournment had come with a reprimand. On both occasions you had responded meekly – less than a year at the Bar – to much sneering from the gallery, but this time you react differently.

“I don’t know how that question relates to the facts of the case. My Lord”, you reply.

The question is repeated, and your answer is pretty much the same. You eventually respond appropriately after some coaxing whispers from your senior colleagues, but the judge is already incensed, and he is having none of your apologies. An appeal from the older wigs saves you from being committed for contempt, but you are made to stand outside the courtroom for nearly fifty minutes. The judge’s disciplinary measure does a lot to your confidence on the day, and by the time you get back in, nervousness has become a friend of yours. The request for an adjournment is granted, and the client reluctantly pays the much-anticipated appearance fee after feeding you with sob stories of bereavement and business shortcomings. “At least this one paid”, you tell yourself. You remember the client from three weeks earlier, who bolted to the door as soon as he heard “case adjourned” and zoomed off in a motorcycle. It’s a long ride back home for you, as the events of the day get you thinking and pondering whether you are actually cut out for legal practice. Yea, your ego has been battered that much.

You return to the office pretty exhausted, and your boss splits the day’s appearance fee into two unequal parts, taking the larger share. He then chides you of not properly arranging some files in the office, and your mind drifts to the office secretary, who earns twice as much as you do for doing next to nothing. No, you don’t want to think about your salary; that brings tears to your eyes, especially when you consider that the meagre sum doesn’t even flow in regularly. Your attempt at taking a short nap is interrupted by two clients; one who, ignorant of the concept of front-loading, complains about you to your boss for not being vocal enough on the last adjourned date, and another who gets you to draft a Power of Attorney for which you will be getting nothing from either him or your boss (who has since put the cheque in his pocket).



You finally get to leave the office by 5.45pm and on your way home, your phone beeps. It’s Ene, a lady who constantly turned you down during your university days, but now uses your photo as her Display Picture on a regular basis ever since you got called to the Bar. She is “just checking on you and hoping your day was smooth”, though you know it’s because she wants you to assume responsibility for the next couple of Blackberry Internet Subscriptions. You also get that text from Charlie, reminding you of the six thousand naira he begged you for two weeks earlier. You laugh inwardly and shake your head, blaming your formal outfits for all the false impressions. If only they knew how things really were. The first thing you do upon getting home is to do justice to the pile of dirty laundry in your wardrobe. You know better than to save that for Saturday, knowing how unpredictable your weekends could be. Yea, that Sunday afternoon where you had to get to the police station barely twenty minutes after returning from church and negotiate bail for a teenager held for alleged rape is still fresh in your memory. You sink into bed after a bath which you almost skipped out of fatigue, but sleep only comes after a brief reflection on the day, during which you sigh deeply in the realization that you’re up for a long ride through this career path.



Jerry Chiemeke tweets @Le_Bouquineur. 

DRIVING WITH CRAZY Episode 6

                ONE DAY, LOTS OF TROUBLE.

"Alex, you're bleeding!”
He looked down at his arm and saw the blood that had stained the part of his shirt that covered his upper arm. He gently lifted the cloth off his arm to reveal a bloody cut on his arm. I looked around and saw no one with a gun. Where did a bullet come from then. My mind was already processing the worst possible scenario.

 "Aisha oh, Spiritual bullets are after you!" 
Very interesting, that imagination of mine. I stepped closer to Alex to inspect the injury. 

“Oh, thank God. The bullet didn't pierce your arm. It just tore past your skin."
I stylishly turned away to wipe the tear that was about to drop from my eyes.

“Well, it tore enough to get the blood flowing.”
He must have seen the terror in my eyes because just then he said, “It’s not that bad Aisha. I’ll be fine.” His attempt at reassurance didn't help much though. I was visibly shaken and my eyes kept darting from left to right.

“Who could be shooting around here?” He asked, surveying the forest. The universe decided to answer his question. We started to hear footsteps, approaching quickly. Like that of a man running. We headed quickly for the car. We couldn't let this guy perfect his aim on our bodies.

He saw us. We couldn't get out of sight before he saw us.
"Wait! Wait! You with the blood.  Wait nah! I sorry. I no want to shoot you!"
I jumped when I heard the voice. It was slightly high-pitched and strangely loud. I definitely was not about to trust any words formed with that high-pitched voice. He could have been a hungry cannibal for all I knew. How had I managed to amass so much bad luck in just 24 hours?

He peered into the car through the windscreen and saw the blood on Alex’s arm and all of a sudden, he started to talk even louder.  Then he jumped on the bonnet of the car and continued begging Alex to come out and let him atone for his mistake. When that didn't work, he got off the bonnet and got a log large enough to block the road. All this happened while we sat tight in the car wondering what exactly was playing out before us. After this obviously Hausa man blocked the road, he came around to Alex’s window and continued begging us to come out so he could clean Alex’s wound. I was so tired.  There had been so much activity in the past few hours and I thought being a Chief Bridesmaid was stressful. I swore to myself that when I got married all my close friends would have to drive down to the wedding, even if it was a destination wedding!

When the pleading at the window didn't work, he went back to the bonnet and camped there.  Which kind life? We couldn't move forward and kill the man or reverse and throw him on the ground so we stayed put. After pleading and rolling up and down on the bonnet, he sat up, still on the bonnet and started to talk through the windscreen. " Ayam a hunter. I saw moving, trees moving and something sounding. I think it was animal. And I shoot. I sorry. I very sorry. Please let me clean it. I have leaf to clean your hand." He said pointing at Alex through the slightly tinted glass. It was then I took a good look at him. He was slim, almost gaunt and dark with a very apologetic look in his eyes.  Apparently, Alex's voice bore some similarities to that of an animal. Intriguing.

   
 I took some tissue from the car and cleaned the blood around his injury. He looked up at me as I dutifully cleaned the blood. “Thank you Aisha. "

“It’s nothing. "

“Not just for this.

“I’m sure this is the craziest trip you've ever been on too. And it would have been a lot harder if you weren't with me.”

I smiled coyly. “That’s not entirely true. If I didn’t come on this journey with you, we wouldn't have stopped for the meat or picked up the pastor and then we wouldn't have lost our money and had to gamble at the village and be on the verge of missing the wedding.”  He threw his head backwards and laughed. “So you really are the cause of the bad luck we've had on this trip. Who is chasing you from your village eh, Aisha?”

“Please jor, even with all my bad luck; you’re the one who managed to sound like an animal and get yourself shot.” We both laughed at that.

“You’re wicked oh. You don’t know I could be dying.”

“You sure don’t sound like someone who is dying oh” I said giggling. “We can’t stay cooked up in this car forever though. And it’s getting very stuffy.”

“So we should come out and listen to what the man has to say? I don’t think that’s wise.”

“No, definitely not.  We can wind the glass down a bit so we can hear what he has to say.”

 So we did just that.  We called the man and let him explain yet again how he saw Alex from afar and thought it was an animal as he had been out hunting without being able to catch anything for the past few days. After he teased me so much about the Old man wanting me because he thought of me as fresh meat, he was turning out to be the one with the coveted meat on his bones but I didn’t have time to share my joke because the man had moved on to begging Alex to let him apply his herb that would stop the pain instantly.  It was the verge of daybreak and we didn’t even know how far from Kaduna we were and as if that wasn’t bad enough; Alex as if he was brainwashed, opened the door and followed the money to get this ‘cure’. Hadn’t we just had a mental agreement not to pay any attention to the man and he had just followed him so God knows what could be applied on the injury. After the man had mixed the herb with some seed and pounded them together into a greenish-brown paste; he rubbed it on the affected area and told Alex to sit still.

“Alex, come. Does this thing even look normal to you? I mean with all your Harvard Education, you’re just as primitive as this man. How can a herb be a pain reliever for an open wound?”

“Where do you think drugs originated from?  Most came from leaves and the man knew what he was doing. It’s easy to talk when you’re not the one feeling the pain.” When I heard that, I let it go. It would have been insensitive of me not to so I let him have his way.  Alex sat on the stump for a few more minutes before he started to yawn.

“Why are we still waiting for the man?” I said taking in the view.

“I don’t know. He said to sit still.”

“Please let’s go. We’ve gone through too much to miss this wedding now. Does it feel better now?”

     “I really can’t tell, but I’ll rather not take the chance of driving. The GPS would help you though; it’s already programmed to get us to the house.”

“OK, but why do you sound like you won’t be beside me the entire way?”

     “I feel really drowsy all of a sudden. I might have to crash in the back seat after a while.”  I went around to move the log that had been blocking the car and came back into the Driver’s seat to get going. “OK, no more stops this time and no more incidents till we-“ I looked at who I was supposed to be talking to and Alex was sound asleep in the chair.

      “Alex, wake up,” I said tapping his arm. After repeating this with more intensity each time for a few minutes and waving my hand back and forth under his nose to double check that he was alive; It dawned on me that I was going to have to make the rest of the drive alone. I laid my head on the steering wheel in utter frustration.  “God, please I don’t think I can take another surprise today. Please just help me get to this wedding once and for all.”

      And so I drove down the bush path with Alex passed out beside me.

LIB DYNASTY: END OF AN ERA?

For seven years, she dominated the Nigerian Blogosphere, feeding the bulk of the Nigerian savvy-tech society with instant updates from celebrities around the world and latest gist and happenstances around the country. She appraised us with the petty squabbles celebrities involved themselves with. She was the first to inform us of what that particular hotshot male celebrity wore to that dinner. For seven good years, she did these, and many more.
For seven years, she managed to inform us of political rallies and political promises which are never meant to be fulfilled. She made it a point of duty to inundate Nigerians with political accidents and politically motivated killings. She was as reliable as a television news broadcast in such matters. In fact, any story found online about a celebrity could be said to have originated from her blog.
She posted other peoples’ stories, people posted hers, Permission was an implied irrelevancy. Her stories were always short and straight to the point, almost as if she never had the time to sit down to pen a proper news item. But Nigerians forgave her brevity and overlooked it because they always got what they needed: gist. Her works were sometimes riddled with grammatical inconsistencies, and her fans took their time to lovingly point it out.
For seven years, hers’ was the most widely read blog in Nigeria, with the most comment on each story. She sometimes averaged 200 comments per story, and some comments did run into thousands. The comment section of her blog offered most Nigerians the opportunity to display the limits of their irrationality, and unwillingness to apply wisdom in simple cases. Reading the comment section of her blog was tantamount to watching a stand-up comedy show. And this was one of the major selling point of her blog. She took care to verify each comment before it becomes visible on her blog, which creates the impression that she actually reads each comment before posting. But the smart ones will know that she hardly does. Time is a luxury so inconsistent with a celebrity.
For seven years, she made serious money from blogging. So serious that it could buy her the latest designer shoes and latest cars. She took great care to display these newly acquired wealth on her blog, with the latest being a 2014 Edition Range Rover (if I am not mistaken). She took pride in narrating how God raised her from grass to grace, and how her hustle was blessed with immense success.
And for seven years, she made her millions through blogging with a free blog domain. When she could had so cheaply purchased her own site. I remember wondering how a blog as big as hers’ could still be using BlogSpot. With all the millions of Naira she purportedly earned. Now, she could afford a Range Rover from the proceeds of her hustle, but she couldn’t afford to host her own domain? She confessed just this week that she doesn’t know much about Internet Technology (IT) and the exigencies of the internet. But can it be said that she couldn’t afford an IT expert, even if only a part-time basis to put her through the modalities of the internet. No, she preferred to enjoy the status of being Nigeria’s No 1 Blogger on a free site.
Good things do not last forever, and through to this syndrome, several “badbelles’ from her village seem to have sworn an oath to put her end to her unprecedented successes in the blogsphere.  With just the simple tactic of “divide and rule”, they have managed to destabilise the major source of income of our major gist provider.  Now, who these bad-belles are, is a question which only she herself can best answer. She claims that it is one jealous MrAyeDee on Twitter who is behind her tale of woes. She is a Nigerian, and Nigerians are known to be irrationally jealous at times. So can it not then be postulated that as a reasonable woman, she ought to had foreseen the possibility of this unfortunate event occurring?
When Netherlands defeated Spain 5 goals to 1 in the Group stage of the 2014 Brazil World Cup, all the tabloids screamed that it was the end of an era. The end of 5 years of the Tiki-Taka Monopoly. With the same analogy I prefer to term this unfortunate saga as the end of the LIB Dynasty which has dominated Nigeria for 7 good years.
Everything happens for a reason, and in Nigeria especially, there is a motivating factor behind every reason. I have already obtained a front row seat to watch the ensuing drama which has befallen this calamitous lady.
Free things do not last forever, but it is good to enjoy the free thing while it lasts.

DRIVING WITH CRAZY episode 5

                                                         THE ROAD WE TRAVELLED.

To read previous episodes, kindly go here

  

    The deafening sound rang in my ears. I had to wait a few seconds for the ringing in my ears to stop. Somehow, we had ended up with our backs against a tree. Alex had obviously regained his hearing before me because he reached out to help me up so we could get back to the car.

‘Alex, what’s that on your hand? Oh Jesus, you’re bleeding!’

________________________________________________________________________________

   

         I could only stare. Was this some kind of practical joke? April Fools’ or Candid Camera? Or did this huge man actually think I was going to marry the pot-bellied old man sitting and gambling in there? As if he heard me, he looked at me sternly and said “Iyawo Oga mi, Oga say make you no comot.” How was it possibly going to get any worse than this? Stranded in the middle of nowhere and finding yourself suddenly betrothed to a man with an illiterate as his P.A . Of all the things happening at that point in time, the scariest thought was that Alex and I wouldn’t make it to the wedding. Let’s call it the fear of Nena. It was then it dawned on me that I didn’t even know where Alex was. He couldn’t possibly be any worse off than me. I couldn’t imagine any old woman forcing him to marry her. He was probably waiting at the car or better still watching, and maybe even laughing, from a distance.

   I wouldn’t blame Alex if he actually was laughing. I mean it really was a funny sight. Me, standing in front of the door with the massive man holding his hands out so I wouldn’t escape and moving back and forth between Yoruba and Pidgin. One thing was sure though, my children wouldn’t lack bedtime stories.

   Seeing as I couldn’t escape, I turned around and walked back into the makeshift casino. The old man who was probably celebrating inwardly that he had acquired fresh meat looked up and smiled at me through his MTN-yellow teeth “Iyawo mi, se o tide.” I rolled my eyes “ Baba, kini gbogbo nonsense eh?”. Between me and you, I barely understood what I was saying. “Why is that man outside disturbing me and who is your iyawo?”

“Ahah, Omoge mi. Cool nah”

Then the old man stood up and walked towards me as if to explain something “Oya, come. No be vexing for me. Take it cool.” All of a sudden, Nena came to mind. If she was the one being struck bullet after bullet with the remains of English language that this man was speaking, a bomb might have gone off in her brain. The girl couldn’t even pretend to stand bad English. She had once walked out of a job interview because the interviewer kept repeating “What year did you graduated?”She said she couldn’t work with that kind of person and she never went back. Extreme? Maybe.  Anyway, my problems were bigger than Baba’s English or the lack thereof. This man seemed to really think I was about to marry him. Of all the ‘yawas’ I had found myself in, this had to be the most confusing. From going to someone else’s wedding I had managed to be courted, proposed to and become engaged without even knowing it. 
"This is the kind of divine intervention people mark attendance at Redeemed Camp for oh.” My mind and her twisted sense of humour.

    Baba escorted or rather stalked closely behind me so I had no choice but to walk to keep from being absorbed by his pot belly. I found myself at a mud house. On walking in, it was the matchmaker herself, the old woman sitting on a mat at one corner. She started smiling the moment she saw me, I couldn’t fathom what they were all so happy about. The old man said a few things in his thick Yoruba dialect that were beyond my understanding. The woman stepped out and came back some minutes after with a big plate of something I was obviously supposed to eat. It was not until both the old man and his wife had left the room that my stomach started to make those funny sounds. I had told myself I wouldn’t eat the food but I wasn’t strong enough to hold back. The betrayer in the centre of my being caved and I rushed at the plate. It was when I was rushing the food that It occurred to me that wherever Alex was on planet earth, he hadn’t eaten since we left Lagos. I left some food on the plate making a mental note to give it to him if he came for me.

     I woke up suddenly on the mat. I didn’t realize I had slept off. All that scheming and gambling must have taken my energy. Or maybe that old woman had drugged me. My phone was dead and it was pitch dark in the room. “Are there any windows in this thing?” Just then I heard the sound of a twig break outside. I couldn’t see anything but I sensed that someone was coming. My heart started to pound again. I felt around me for the plate or anything else to use as a weapon. And just like in all those horror movies, there was nothing. I got up slowly and moved against the wall. Whoever it was would be entering the room soon. “It had better not be that old man.”

    The door opened slowly with the person trying to make as little noise as possible. I couldn’t even make a guess at who it was still. Where was the moon when you needed it? I couldn’t see or shout or escape so I did the only thing that seemed sensible. Roundhouse  kick!  How I perfected the art of kicking is a story for another day. Anyway, the person fell and landed with his/her head landing square in the plate I was frantically searching for earlier. Just when I was about to jump over and run the person grabbed my ankle and pulled me to the ground. “Jesus! Aisha you’re a wrestler.”

 “My God! Alex, why didn’t you say it was you?”

“I wasn’t sure you were here now. I don’t even know if I can still stand.”

“Sorry, sorry. Where have you been?”

“Your Bobo had me kept in one tiny room somewhere. I managed to get out and i started going from house to house to look for you.” I couldn’t see his face so he wouldn’t have been able to appreciate the look I gave him that night. My bobo indeed.

“Ok, let’s go now please. Enough drama for one night. What’s the time?”

“It’s almost 1am. Do you still have the money?”

“Yes! Come before someone wakes up.”

    I wasn’t at peace till we had bought fuel and driven about thirty minutes away from what could have become my village by marriage and I couldn’t thank the strange man who sold the fuel to us in the middle of the night enough. I was awake as Alex drove. He kept on laughing and teasing me about ‘my bobo.’ The only good things that came out of stopping at that village was the money for the fuel and whatever it was that woman had given me to eat and of course, I got an opportunity to kick Alex! At least I had something to retaliate with while he was laughing at me and my bobo.

“You’re extremely bubbly for someone who hasn’t eaten all day. I  kept some food for you but you face planted into it.”

“Who says I haven’t eaten? When I was going from house to house looking for you, I entered one where the woman had left some stew to cool overnight and there was rice in the pot too and my feelings for rice and stew haven’t changed.” I remembered how Alex used to be a maniac for rice and stew. It was one of the things that made him stand out as abnormal back then. He took it as a service to humanity to delve into every plate he came across. I really do mean every last one.

“So, you stole someone’s food?”

“I like to think of it as tasting.”

“Ok, how many pieces of meat did you ‘taste’?

He looked at me with one guilty look in his eyes. “ Four.”

“Ahh, Alex. Ole! By tomorrow, they’ll be searching more for you than me.” He burst out laughing.  
" You know you just jilted a chief?"
I looked at him like he was speaking another language. "What are you talking about?"
"Your bobo was a Chief now. Why do you think he was confident enough to consider you acquired on first sight? Apparently, Chiefs are allowed to pick and choose any lady they please. You should be flattered really." He stifled a  laugh as he winked at me.
" And you know all this how exactly?"
"The man that led me to my room told me. He kept talking about how if I didn't cause trouble, the Chief would be very kind to me for bringing him a new wife. So you see, even with my 'Harvard English', I can still communicate in a village."
"That explains a lot then. And the fact that you managed to understand doesn't mean you can communicate." 
"You must always have a comeback though." I grinned, celebrating my little victory. We talked  most of the way. I told him about the Old man’s English and thrill I got from gambling and we laughed till our jaws began to hurt.

       At about 3am, Alex made a turn off the express into a bush path. “Why are you turning off the road?”

“The GPS says this is a short cut. We can cut off more than one and half hours of the journey this way.”

“Hmm, are you sure?  We can’t afford another situation oh.”

“Relax; we’ll get to Kaduna soon.”

  So I listened and relaxed, the bush path looked like an illustration of Robert Frost’s The Road less travelled. It was lonely and covered with twigs and leaves and seemed to be narrowing as we went further. I decided not to say anything so I didn't sound like I was nagging but I was sure he noticed it too. We drove a little more and came to a part where a log had blocked most of the road. We both got out to move it off the road.  We moved the log, locked the car and decided to walk further a bit to see if the road was actually motor able.

  We’d walked a few minutes and were just about to head back to the car when we heard a deafening sound. Maybe it was fear or some force but we both found ourselves against a tree. After a few seconds when the ringing in my ear had reduced but with the confusion still lingering I heard Alex say “Was that a gunshot?”  He reached out to help me up so we could get back to the car.

‘Alex, what’s that on your hand? Oh Jesus, you’re bleeding!’