ALONE

The easiest and scariest way of knowing time has passed by (rather quickly), is when you look around you and realize that babies you helped nurture have grown into young women and men.

Valerie, my little niece who is not so little any more, is one person that continually makes me proud. She was the cutest baby I ever saw (naturally) and was so much joy to have around. As she grew into a toddler and into a girl, Valerie was full of questions. She was never satisfied with a single response and almost all her questions were preceded by an “…..but Aunty why is it ….?”. Even though I, my mum, elder sisters and brothers chastised her for asking too many questions, behind her back we praised her inquisitive nature and her desire for knowledge.

When I learnt that she writes, I could not wait to read (and share) her literary works. Below is one of Valerie’s poems

ALONE

Angry.

Furious that there is no one,

No one to talk to,

No one that will understand,

Enraged that he is not here,

Enraged that he cannot hear.

Depressed.

Unhappy that my bed is empty,

The pangs of sorrow eat at my heart,

I’m drowning in my sadness,

Reclining in my abyss of misery,

Everything has become dreary.

Resigned.

My pillow is soggy,

My face is tear-stained,

I do what I should have done a long time ago,

I raise my hands to the heavens and look to HIM,

‘HIM’ that can satisfy my every whim.

Content.

Saved from sorrow,

Washed from sin,

Free from grief,

I turn and he is right beside me,

holding my hand,

walking with me,

I'm no longer alone, no longer blue.

MY RED LIPS

My flashing red lips

Are a sign of my feminity!

………..….my individuality!!

…………… my spirituality!!!

It simply says

I am a woman

Proud as can be

Of my gender….of me

Of my experiences, trials and triumphs

That led to me being who I am today

My flashing red lips

Is neither a cry for attention

Nor a plea for love

It is not a sign that I am wanton

Nor an indication

That I am available

My flashing red lips

Are mine to do with as I please

Pepper red today, maroon red tomorrow

Brick red if I choose

I owe nobody any apologies

For my red lips are a sign of my feminity

WHEN MEDIOCRITY SETS IN…..

Finally Big Brother Amplified has come to an end and Nigeria’s all time favourite – Karen Igho has been announced as one of two winners. I haven’t been on Facebook since the winners were announced, I’m not on twitter and do not own a Blackberry but I know for a fact that there is much celebrations on all of these mediums.

I have never been a Big Brother Africa fan but have watched a few episodes of different seasons. Even without watching, Big Brother is one of the easiest programmes to follow, strictly on the amount of discussion it generates whenever it is on air. Like most fads that catch on in Africa, it has its roots in the western world. I remember when Big Brother Amplified started. My colleagues at work came in one morning, talking and hating one of the Nigerian housemates called Karen. They said she was so plastic and called her “Little Miss Piggy”. By the third day in the house (based on their recounts of daily activities), I predicted that Karen would be amongst the house finalists for the simple reason that she seemed to have the greatest entertainment value. Gradually, she lost the name of “Miss Piggy” and the title of being plastic. She became the “realest” member in the house even though she was caught in every argument and every fight. Cursing like a fishmonger’s wife and prancing around half naked most of the time , they still loved her. Even when they confirmed she had gotten a boob job and saw her nude pictures online, my colleagues and Nigeria loved her enough to “forgive” her.

As BBA drew to an end, she was tipped as being one of the winners- to nobody’s surprise. What caught my attention recently was Dele Momodu’s article in This Day about the story Karen shared about her background. Unloved, faced challenges, grew up poor……. I just had to check online to confirm. I saw nothing about Karen’s life pre her quest for fame but happened on a discussion forum where somebody dared put a falsehood tag on Karen’s story and got severely lambasted for it. However, it is my opinion that Karen played audience of BBA big time. She provided them with the entertainment value they sought, twisted their heart strings and has gone home $200 000 richer for it. I wonder how many Karen fans stopped to question the story she fed them on BBA. As a BBA outside spectator I see clearly how well she played the script. She probably watched countless episodes of Big Brother Africa, UK, America and whichever continent that has one and drafted a script which she followed to the later. Real was not   what Karen truly was.  In my opinion, she was acting a script strictly to win the money. From refusing to swap when nominated for eviction to the sob story she told on international TV, all her moves were aimed at getting the trust of her housemates and viewers.

I am not a Vina supporter so this blog is not about supporting Vina or anybody who was in the house. Also, being that BBA has come to an end, I have nothing to gain or lose by this post. But we should ask,  If really Karen’s mum was a gangster and she grew up with her grandmother, I find it strange that it is her mother not her grandmother whom she sees as her heroine. She is supposed to be a niece of Peter Igho, famous Director and Producer who once worked with NTA. If her life of neglect was truly as she described and knowing how strong the external family system is in Nigeria did her famous uncle not contribute in any way to making things better? The life of poverty she described still afforded her the means of paying for a foreign education and £4000 pounds for a boob job in 2007. Those of us from middle class homes know how difficult it is to obtain a foreign degree.

Karen’s win like that of Richard’s simply confirms that mediocrity is the new measure for entertainment value. Like zombies we follow the crowd without question and definitely without knowledge of who our leader is.

Danfo chronicles 2

Yesterday was a day like any other. There were no highlights, no high notes and it would have been another day that would have faded into oblivion until I took the Danfo ride home. Like the day, there was nothing special about the Danfo. Same wooded seats with not enough leg room for my long frame. I did not for once think that I would meet God in that bus, but then, he had a way of showing up when he was least expected.

Even though the day had started out being sunny, Lagosians know that in the months of June, July and August, it is best to be prepared for the rains with umbrellas, raincoats, shower caps or even poly-ethene bags. He was the last passenger to enter the bus before it moved. I noticed he was drenched by the rain but I did not pay him any more attention after the bus moved. Lost in a thousand thoughts about a thousand things I sat in the bus as it crawled along. Not surprisingly, there was a bit of traffic on the way. My colleague, who sat beside me made to open the window beside her because the bus had become quite warm, when a passenger seated in front of us stopped her and explained that the man who sat at the edge was cold. That was when I REALLY noticed him. He was shivering so badly, yet doing his best to reduce the shivers without any luck. I watched him for a while, contemplating giving him the shawl wrapped around my shoulders. I would have liked to give him my shawl for warmth but it was a gift and I was wearing a sleeveless blouse and knew I would be cold without it. As I continued to contemplate, my colleague brought out a clean t-shirt from her handbag and offered to the man.

“T-t-t-hank you” he shivered out his gratitude.

There and then, he took off his wet shirt and changed into the t-shirt. As he turned to thank her, I noticed the sore on his lips, one of the symptoms of acute malaria. Then I understood why he was so cold in the already warm bus. My shawl did not feel so warm to me and I felt ashamed that I could not use what I have to help somebody in need.The shivers did not seem to be subsiding so she suggested that the passengers changed seat with him so he could be in between two people for extra body warmth. The passengers willingly agreed and switched places with the young man.

Finally as we got to our destination and I continued the rest of my journey home, I remembered a saying I had seen, which said that for some people, “man is the only God they may ever see”. It does not in any way mean that man is equal to God but that miracles happen through man’s kindness to his fellow man. For that short 30 minutes ride from Allen Junction to Ojota, I found God in a common everyday Danfo bus no different from many others. My colleague had confirmed to me and (hopefully) that young man, that indeed there was a God and even though people push and struggle through life, sometimes they stop and show care to one another.

............................

Fast Friendships have been formed in Lagos public vehicles. Short lived movements protesting the increase in fares, united choruses urging the conductor to let go of somebody who could not afford the full fare (after all, other passengers had paid the full fare for a 10 minutes distance), or short-lived marriages orchestrated by a bus conductor who was too lazy to secure individual change for two passengers and left them to source change on their own. Wives have found their husbands in buses and relationships have been formed in the “go slow” Lagos roads are well known for.

It was one of those mornings I left the house early. Hating the fact that, five years after graduation from the University, I still could not afford a car of my own. As I got into one of the many rickety Danfos that ply the Ojota/ Ikeja route, the frown on my face ran so deep, I knew even the conductor would not dare risk being rude to me that morning. As if things were determined to work against me, there was traffic all the way from Oregun. With a trailer parked to the right side of the bus and emitting exhaust fumes like it was its mission to suffocate us, I had no choice but to look out the window by my left. It was at that point I noticed her. She was riding past on a motorcycle popularly known as Okada. What caught my attention was the Brazilian weave she had on. She was struggling with her laptop bag and handbag. Just as her Okada passed my bus, the Okada rider chose the opportunity the go slow presented to hand her the bike helmet. She collected it, attempted to wear it after close scrutiny and took it off immediately. She perceived the bowl of the helmet and wrinkled her nose so hard, I smiled. She looked at the bus in time to see my smile and smiled back, rolling her eyes. I could only imagine the stench from the helmet and knew nothing would make her put on the helmet. She added the helmet to the things she struggled to hold on her lap and her Okada driver finally found enough space to meander through, leaving my bus behind.

I wondered how she happened to be sitting on an Okada that morning. Was she “car challenged” like I was or was she trying to beat the traffic using a bike. From my assessment, the hair on her head was nothing less than N60 000. Like the woman I was, I assessed her shoes, bag, clothes and of course, make up….and I must say she was on point! I felt consoled. If she could be on a bike this morning (for whatever reason), I in my Yaba bought T.M Levin shirt and second hand trouser had no reason to complain. My bus moved slowly along and in 20 minutes, we were finally approaching Allen Junction where there was a crowd, standing around an Okada, which lay on the floor.

“Accident again!” the woman in the seat ahead of mine exclaimed. “ I no know where all these okada peepu dey rush go?”

“Abi?” the woman beside her concurred “Early morning dem go dey smoke igbo, carry people come throw way for ground”

I looked out the window to see the accident scene better but I could barely make out a thing with the crowd gathered. What caught my attention was the helmet that lay some distance from where the crowd stood. The same helmet I saw her hold twenty something minutes ago. Normally, I would have gone on my way after alighting at Allen but I had to confirm that she was not involved in the accident.

“Wetin happen?” I asked a man on the fringe of the crowd, standing on tip-toes to see the accident scene better.

“Accident o! See how this yeye boy just carry this fine girl come kill!”

Just as his responded, I saw the heel of her shoe and part of her trousers as she lay sprawled on the ground. Yes, it was she. The young beautiful girl in Brazilian weave, snazzy shoes and leather handbag, fighting to hold on to her handbag, laptop bag and a smelly helmet.

“As the Okada fall na im the girl come hit head for pavement. Person don check. E be like say she don die, n aim make they rush the yeye okada man go hospital” I could hear the man say through my haze of disbelief.

Ps- this is purely fiction and a creation of my imagination

IN SUPPORT OF DEMOCRACY

Finally, I have been able to listen to the plans of some presidential and vice presidential candidates courtesy of the National Election Debate Group (NEDG)’s Q & A session with Arc. Namadi Sambo; and debate with Prof. Utomi (SDMP), Mrs Ndok (UNDP) and Dr. Dara (NTP). Means and timing had prevented me from listening to earlier debates organized by NN24 and What About Us, so it is a good thing for people like me, that several groups have made attempts to allow gubernatorial and presidential aspirants present their governance plans to Nigerians within a neutral space.

It is a pity that the debates organized by NEDG had just three presidential & vice presidential candidates. Being organized in partnership with various media organizations and aired on NTA and AIT, the NEDG debates I would say, had the greatest probability of reaching more Nigerians across various strata of society. However, it lacked the presence of the major political parties and presidential aspirants like Johnathan (PDP), Buhari (CPC) and Ribadu (ACN) even though Namadi Sambo (PDP) made an appearance on the Vice Presidential debate (or Q & A, as it turned out to be). I cannot help but wonder why all parties participating in the presidential elections would fail to seize all opportunities to present themselves and their plans to the people they hope would vote them into power, come April 9th, 2011.

When Nigerians cried wolf after it became apparent that Jonathan would not be attending the debate aired on NN24, my stance was that the NTA was the best channel to air a presidential debate for the singular reason that NTA has the widest television coverage in Nigeria. I hoped that if there was going to be a debate on the NTA, Jonathan would be there to present his plans to the Nigerians who were not part of his fanfare as he traversed from one part of Nigeria to another campaigning and soliciting for our votes. The political debates (presidential and gubernatorial) come at no extra cost to the participants. There is no money spent hiring venues or paying for the branding of face caps, T shirts and handkerchiefs. Maybe that is why it has so little support amongst the political parties, because there are no avenues for people to line their pockets with money they do not deserve.

Many Nigerians have alleged that the reason Jonathan and the PDP have shied away from debating with candidates from other parties is because the PDP has no concrete plans for Nigerians if voted in come April 9th. With much difficulty, I have refused to make these allegations my truth because I hoped that outside the political jingles, I would hear what plans Jonathan/ Sambo have for Nigerians if voted into office. However, that has not happened yet.

As April 9th draws near, I have to choose where I will cast my vote. There is no doubt in my heart that I will cast my vote for the individual I feel deserves my vote. Unfortunately our politics is still centered on individuals and not ideologies. At this stage of our democracy, that may yet be the best option open to us because our political parties are not founded on ideologies. I encourage my networks of friends and acquaintances to do the same. Being part of the voters’ registration exercise means nothing if you do go through the inconvenience of standing on a queue on April 2nd, 19th & 16th, to cast your vote for those you feel most capable of representing you at the state and federal houses of assembly, state house and presidency.

Your vote is your right. Choose to make it count!

SETTING THE RECORDS STRAIGHT

Today, my best friend would have turned seventy years of age. However, like Shakespeare’s famous quote, “man proposes God disposes”. While we planned a “surprise” seventieth for him, to say thank you for being a WONDERFUL father, God had other plans and took him two months earlier. In all things, they say we should thank God and even though I have a lot of questions, I thank God for the life of my father and also thank God for giving me one of the best men born in 1941 as a father, friend, confidant and editor. Yes. I am Matthew Alfa Achu’s daughter. Better for me that I so much like my father; it is the badge I so proudly wear.

I cannot buy him a cake or share a hug with him today but there is one there is one thing I can do. Set the records straight. Many civil servants from the old Cross River State, (consisting of the present Cross River and Akwa Ibom States) knew my father. For those who did not know him personally, they knew him by reputation. My father was an honest, principled man. Though he had a stern exterior, my father was a kind man who was ready to help in any capacity that did not involve compromising his principles. Even when he grew through the ranks to become the first Administrative Secretary of the then National Electoral Commission (now known as Independent National Electoral Commission) in 1987, he remained humble, honest and principled. It is no secret and no wonder that INEC is one of the most controversial federal government parastatals. However, after spending 9 years as the Administrative Secretary of NEC/ NECON, my father left with a spotless reputation. His enemies could hate him but they could not hurt him and though some of his subordinates grumbled that he was standing between them and ill gotten wealth, they knew for a fact that he was not going behind to collect bribes to fix wards, elections and influence the electoral environment in the state.

When my father left INEC in 1996, we had to move into his personal house. For a man who had served in an organisation where people work for 2- 3 years and become millionaires, his house was and is a humble bungalow. We moved into the house and for almost six months, had only plastic chairs and an old televesion in our parlour. People thought my father was a fool not to enrich himself through corruption. They looked at material comfort and thought he lacked, but my father could not be happier or more at peace with himself. Away from false friends and sycophants, we were happier than we had been when he was still in service.

My father had been involved in improving his community as far back as 1972 when he joined the civil service. In his own way he encouraged people from northern Cross River State be part of the state civil service and as he grew in the state civil service, his contributions to his community increased. He recognised that his community was disadvantaged in many ways and did whatever he could to address the issues he identified. He was one of a few Utugwang elites who recognised the need for a bank in his community and without a care for financial remuneration sat on the board of Utugwang Community Bank (which later became Utugwang Microfinance Bank) for more than a decade. He understood that the Northern part of Cross River needed a state of their own to hasten development in that area and had dedicated a lot of time joining other elites to make a case for “Ogoja State”. When he finally decided to join politics, it was because he realised that one could not criticise the leadership in the state without making contributions to ensure that better leaders not only emerged from Northern Cross River but occupied positions in Obudu LGA.

I am providing this background because, like I said earlier, I am putting the records straight. After the last local government elections, things were said to discredit my father’s reputation. As if it was not bad enough, these same set(s) of people in their ignorance went ahead to say my father died as a result of his political sin. As comical as this sound, it would be cowardly and stupid of me to hear these things and keep quiet. If he did not engage in corruption way back in the late 80s and early 90s when he had a chance to become one of the wealthiest men in Cross River State, would it be now when his children are grown and capable of providing him with the comfort he deserves. People judge the world the way they, themselves are. These people should keep their corrupt minds to themselves and not taint my father’s memory. His legacies are there for the whole world to see and judge and setting the records straight, my father died a good. If loving his community more than himself and sacrificing his comfort for its betterment was/is a political sin, may these people live long.