Blue Eyed Blonde

ALONE

2011-09-16T08:11:00.000-07:00

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

2011-09-02T04:51:00.000-07:00

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…..

2011-08-02T07:07:00.000-07:00

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

2011-07-08T04:10:00.000-07:00

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.

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

2011-05-16T07:32:00.000-07:00

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

2011-03-29T14:43:00.000-07:00

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

2011-02-11T08:06:00.000-08:00

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.

PROFILING: CALABAR BORN & BRED

2011-02-08T09:06:00.000-08:00

Were you born and raised in Calabar between the mid 70s and early 90s, if yes, you may know what I am writing about. Way back then, there used to be four classes of children (veryyyyyy broadly speaking) namely:

The Marian (covering areas from Effio-ete roundabout through Ndidem Isang Iso Rd & State Housing) children.

These areas are Calabar’s answer to Lagos’ Victoria Island & Ikoyi and Abuja’s Maitama & Asokoro. Families who lived in these areas consisted mostly of old prominent Calabar (Efik) families who had served in government at one time or another and a sprinkling of noveau riche who fell in love with the ambience of Calabar and decided to raise their family there. It was no wonder that the children who were born and raised in these areas were spotless, clean, “Aje Butters”, who had freshly baked bread from High Quality Bakery every morning. Most were either chauffer driven to school or had mummy religiously take them to school before 7.30am and of course be, waiting to pick them up before the closing bell sounded.

They attended Aunty Margaret Nur/ Pry School and attended after-school lesson classes from pry 1 – 5. From Aunty Margaret, they proceeded to one federal government college or the other. From school into air-conditioned cars that transported them to homes behind high walls. If and when there was any interaction with other children, Etim or Okon (who happened to be Daddy or Mummy’s chauffer) drove them to other homes behind high walls where they played with children from similar families.

Of course most of these children grew into young adults living on the Island (in Lagos), Maitama (in Abuja) in the UK or the US.

The Highway ( covering areas from Parliamentary road to Federal Housing Estate, Army Barracks and 8 miles) children

Consisting mostly of children from Obudu, Ogoja, Ikom and Ugep, a vast majority of these children's parents were civil servants in the state civil service while the rest were children whose parents worked/ lived in the army/ police and Navy barracks or owned stalls in the nearby Ikot Ishie market.

Children who lived in these areas moved in many different cliques, depending on where your parent(s) worked. The children of senior civil servants moved together, children of junior civil servants moved together and those who lived in the different barracks moved together.

In their little world, the senior civil servants children (thought they) were the top of the pack. They were very similar to the Marian children and many had friends in that circle. Like the Marian children, they had bread and tea for breakfast even though there was no guarantee it was going to be “High Quality” bread. They also had Ogi and Akanmu and Yam and Stew. They also lived in big houses behind tall fences but unfortunately, most roads in these areas were not tarred and there was something about living on an untarred road that deprived these children from attaining the full Aje butter status of their Marian counterparts.

There was no singular school that defined children from these areas. You could find them in Estate Nur/ Pry; Navy Nur/ Pry; Charles Walker; Madonna Montessori; Calabar Preparatory and a few in Aunty Margaret. More than 50% of them attended Sunday service in St. Patrick’s and attended catechism classes for their first Holy Communion and confirmation. Because they were no social strata in church and the schools most of them attended, the different cliques of children ended up blending really well. Many of them knew how to sing “ Fe ge di kim nkanya”, even though they did not know what it meant. It’s no wonder that most children who grew up in these areas speak passable efik language whether they are from Obudu, Ikom or of Ibo decent.

The “Quarters” children.

You could spot a “quarters” child a mile away. They were the well dressed ones who looked like the Marian children but with loads more confidence. Their parents were professors, doctors and lecturers in University of Calabar and yes, they lived in the UNICAL staff quarters. Being around so many young adults who were their parents’ students helped them have a healthy self image and loads of confidence.

Many children heard about them but very few saw them. Even though they lived in houses without fences, the big gate that surrounded the university kept people away. They had their own special community, attending UNICAL staff school and Chapel of Redemption or St. Paul’s. They grew up a very close knit community but then, that is no wonder as most of them could walk into each other’s homes unannounced and be sure of a welcome.

These children realised very early what they wanted from life. Even though many continued to a federal government college for their secondary school education, most left after junior secondary to the UK or US (where they were born) for the rest of their education. The few who completed their secondary school education in Nigeria were whisked abroad for their tertiary education.

The quarters children are a special breed, quite a number dated and married themselves and a vast majority have stayed strong friends, attending each other’s weddings and hooking up in different parts of America for “staff quarters children reunions”.

The South (Covering Mayne Avenue, Uwanse, Goldie, Target, Edibe Edibe and other parts of Calabar South) Kids.
These were children who had the most fun filled childhood experiences and also, some of the toughest experiences. Most attended on primary school or the other (Note in Calabar, nursery schools were the schools that insisted their pupils wore fresh clean uniforms with white socks everyday of the week, while primary schools were the ones that could not care less if their pupils wore sandals, bathroom slippers or nothing at all) and the lucky (privileged) few amongst them attended Charles Walker, Madonna Montessori or Calabar preparatory. Most of them proceeded to a state secondary school that almost always went on strike. They formed fast and strong friendships that almost always ended in a very serious quarrel. Many of these children grew up knowing rice/ stew as a Christmas delicacy and garri was a staple diet for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

They threw (and still throw) strong punches and the girls like the boys were no weaklings. Children from these areas have my respect at any time for the singular reason that many have transcended indigent backgrounds to become successful. The determined ones amongst them attended POLYCAL when they could not gain admission/ afford to attend the University. They are a number of them in politics (as politicians and politicians wives), a few in oil companies and a few in business. Also, thanks to the road construction works embarked on by the previous government, this area has become one of the best areas to live in Calabar

Blonde Bombshell: Black Couple's White Baby

2010-07-20T05:50:00.000-07:00

Doctors insist tiny Nmachi is not an albino and neither of the parents has any mixed-race family history.

Dad Ben Ihegboro, 44, a railway customer services adviser, said: "We both just sat there after the birth staring at her for ages - not saying anything.

"The first thing I said was 'What the flip?'."

Nmachi, whose name means Beauty of God in the Nigerian homeland of parents Angela and Ben, was born at Queen Mary's Hospital in Sidcup, Kent.

Doctors there told them she is not an albino.

"She doesn't look like an albino child anyway - not like the ones I've seen back in Nigeria or in books," Ben told The Sun. "She just looks like a healthy white baby."

Ben added: "Of course, she's mine. My wife is true to me. Even if she hadn't been, the baby still wouldn't look like that.

"We don't know of any white ancestry. We wondered if it was a genetic twist. But even then, what's with the long curly blonde hair?"

Professor Bryan Sykes, head of Human Genetics at Oxford University, said: "In mixed race humans, the lighter variant of skin tone may come out in a child - and this can sometimes be startlingly different to the skin of the parents.

"This might be the case where there is a lot of genetic mixing, as in Afro-Caribbean populations. But in Nigeria there is little mixing."

He said that both parents would have needed some form of white ancestry for a pale version of their genes to be passed on.

"The hair is extremely unusual," Prof Sykes said. "Even many blonde children don't have blonde hair like this at birth."

Some form of unknown mutation was the most likely explanation, he added.

The couple, of Woolwich, south London, have two other children, four-year-old Chisom and sister Dumebi, two.

Mum Angela, 35, told the paper: "Nmachi's colour doesn't matter. She's a miracle baby. But still, what on earth happened here?"

Culled from Yahoo News

AGE!..AT LAST!!

2010-07-10T15:47:00.000-07:00

I have always been one to fret about my age. Whereas many females wished to be younger, I always wished i was older. Through out my primary school education, i was always the youngest in my class. Being one of the tallest had its advantages but unfortunately, I did not have the brazen confidence to match the height and my innocent face and nature did nothing to help me in my quest to seem older, so I never told my age, even if threatened with death.

In West Africa, we have a thing about age. Wisdom is supposed to come with age and respect are accorded based more on age than on achievements or mutuality (if there is a word like that). Secondary school was not much different. Even though there were a few people who were a few months younger than i was, I did not want to be treated as a “smallie” and hardly ever discussed my age. By the time i started at the University, i had gone back to being one of the youngest in the class and i successfully hid my age for all of one semester until fate played a cruel one on me and there was a registration list published with the DOB of the entire class. Of course I was oblivious that my well hidden secret of over 12 years had been laid bare until my friend asked if the age on the board was my real age..I almost had a fit. “What board?!” The only thing that stopped me from tearing the list was because it had been there for more than one week and tearing itoff the wall would have made it obvious that there was something i was hiding.

Nine years after, I am back to school and even though i still look like i did nine years before (thanks to having the fab, sought after never-grow-old-gene on both my paternal and maternal side), i’m closer to being the amongst the older students than the younger ones. I miss the days of being younger and the feeling that I had years ahead of me to loaf around. Still, I think I am at the perfect age. The age where I am young enough to wear micro mini skirts and really short shorts without looking like a tramp, but old enough to realise that age in itself is empty- It is the experiences and lessons learnt that matter. Old enough to realise that nobody (apart from Nigerian employers) care how old I am. Old enough to realise that I am not going to hang around people who do not add value to my life because life is just too short to waste and comfort too precious to comproise. Most importantly, old enough to be proud to say my age, not caring what the other person would think, but not silly enough to tell every Tom, Dick and Harry on an age comparism game.

PROFESSION OF FAITH

2010-05-18T14:45:00.000-07:00

For me, the strength of my writing has always been the passion for what I am writing about. I find it difficult to mask my emotions physically, orally and in writing. Even though it has caused me many embarrassing moments, I will not have it any other way.

I have been thinking about an appropriate thing to write about for over one week. Unfortunately, these days, my life revolves between one of the University’s PC clusters and my couch. Apart from the countless CSI, Cold Case and Desperate Housewives series, there’s not much to gain experience from....or so I thought. Having spent 24 years of my life being so close to home (Two years of which close was a 45 minutes flight away), It was very easy for me to take many things for granted. I think I was absolutely spoilt as a child. Fortunately, not over indulged to the point of making me an unbearable person to be around but enough to make me like having my way most of the time (who doesn’t?!). Well back to the point. Being so close to family and friends meant I never really knew what it meant to be alone. Being alone hurts in a way you cannot describe to even your therapist. You wonder, the world’s population is supposed to be growing faster than we have the resources to support yet more and more people are lonely and making wrong choices to avoid that feeling of loneliness.

For me, I was lucky. Even though I alone, I was not lonely. My mum, sis and F 1.0 would call if I beeped but still being alone , I was tempted to make many wrong decisions. However, the quietness in my life helped me developed a relationship with a guy I had always known casually but never made time out to deepen the relationship further.

With sleaze being the fastest selling product, hearing about God is definitely not in.But for many people, the only thing stopping you from going stark crazy is the belief in a greater being. For me, it has been a nice relationship. Not as wonderful as it should be because I cheat on him so many times I have lost count. But he has been there. On hindsight I see how stupid I have been in the past. The times I thought I could have done it alone. The times I thought I knew what I was doing and of course fell flat on my face in a pile of shit. I wish I could say those days are over but I know my transformation is so far from complete. But I am learning and being alone helps me learn so much faster. Even though I know i’ll never be perfect, it is now perfectly alright to be imperfect because I know that no matter what happens, he’ll always take me back the way I am.

When Goodluck kissed Snowhite....

2010-01-15T05:15:00.000-08:00

2010 has awakened me from my long blog slumber! It is said rats do not run around during the day without reason!...The person who made up that saying never lived in Athony Village, Lagos. If they did, they'll know rats own the day and ruled the night!...Anyway, that one na matter for Mathias.

I have been thinking of a name for my first son. No, am not pregnant or married. It is just that with the way things are going, you have to plan for your family even before you walk down the aisle. You should not be surprised. I've already determined what course my son will study, the university he will attend, his primary school and i am in the process of determining which hospiatal and country i will give birth in. Does it not follow that by now i should have a name?...Okay you got me. I already have a name for him! He shall be called "Goodluck!". Never mind that he may get taunted in school by his peers. But great men should be named after great people and in my estimation (which is rather limited for this precise moment), Goodluck Jonothan is the greatest Nigerian man.
From University lecturer to prospective president.Who says there's nothing to a name? Everytime the man is called by his name, it is wishing him well. Even when his enemies insult him, they wish him well.

At the point when "This Day" newspaper was doing informative journalism on the Nigerian polity, one of their columnist wrote a piece analysing all Nigeria's president. End point was, not one man who made noise about becoming president ever did. From the Great Awo to the Infamous Atiku...and what happened to those that showed great reluctance and denied presidential aspirations until the 11th hour?...they were the ones who led Nigeria at one time or the other. Doubt me?, check Shagari's election, Obasanjo and even our absentee president.

Now Goodluck's own is another story in Nigerian history. When deputies were turning against their governors, he stood firmly loyal. Even when the governor was arrested, he maintained his position of deputy and shuned all attempts to make him betray his superior. Loyalty paid off and he did become governor. Round two. When Obasanjo was doing the more you look, the less you see with PDP's presidential primaries, who would have ever thought that Goodluck will be one of the choices for VeePee. Not only was he one of the choices, he was the chosed one. Chosen over fine boy Duke and other governors who claimed to have seen the answers to Nigeria's problems in their grandmothers' kitchens!

Stage three, deputizing for a laclustre governor and doing nothing to outshine him (i.e being almost non existent), our absentee president disappear to "Turai-knows-where". Feelers say Yar'Adua may never return as Nigeria's president. Again, Goodluck is playing it cool, knowing that good things come to those who wait.....Me i've sewn the uniform i will wear for his swearing in. Hopefully, it will be dazzling enough to get him to notice me....so i could ask him to be baby Goodluck's god father after the elections in 2011.

IN MEMORY....

2009-08-27T05:18:00.000-07:00

An air of doom hung over me. Many people i knew had lost somebody dear to them in the past two years. But we hadn't. My family was just as full as it should have been and laughter still filled our hearts and lounge. Somehow, i feared it was too good to be true and the angel of death was just bidding its time. I admonished my feelings and tried to put them in the background but that solution only worked for a few hours before the feeling of forbodding returned.

In my culture, it is wrong to talk about death. Talking about death is like bringing its hand to bear on you. Because of this, i was too scared to share feeling i could not explain with the elders for i feared the castigations. 1997 came to an end and we celebrated it without any evil befalling us. Christams celebrations that year was how it had always been. Plenty of food and drinks and a few visits from family and friend. The new year started in a fresh note and the incidences of deaths were fewer. I became relaxed and laughed at my fears of the previous year. Maybe death had forgotten to visit us.

The months rolled on and we had our highs and lows. My elder sister was expecting, another was writing her final exams.Apart from those two events, we planned nothing big as a family. In July, Akamba put to birth a baby boy and the family in Calabar celebrated with her. Mommy went for a ver short visit to see her first grandson and when she returned, we were all eager for news of the baby and mother. At one moth and a few days, She took her little boy and his elder sister out for post natal visits. That was the last journey they were ever to make together.

One of those senseless accidents that happen on Abuja roads. Her driver was speeding and did not see the oncoming trailer. She did and screamed at him to watch out!.....Those were her last words and the last words her five year old daugther would ever remember her mother saying. The driver swerved to avoid the trailer but it was one second too late. All he succeeded in doing was ramming my sister's side of the car into the trailer and saving his skin!!

The car directly behind theirs was driven by a medical doctor and his wife on their way to work. They stopped to help but noticed she was already gone. They heard the baby cry and saw the little girl was unconcious.How the baby who was on her laps got under the seat and saved, remains a mystery and a miracle. Rick and Lerie survived with a few bruises that were not serious at all but we lost Akamba that day.

Today, i remember a loving sister who gave, shared and mentored selflessly. We could live a life of regret about her untimely death or choose to thank God for the amazing life she lived and the two children she left behind.

SISILET MANSION

2009-04-30T06:06:00.000-07:00

Still basking in the euphoria of being a state beauty queen seven years ago, Ex beauty queen and sassy, sexy, sister, Ikwyn, has revealed plans of staging a three month reality show called “Sisi Mansion”! The reality show in partnership with SAMTv (Sister’s Against Mediocrity Television) Network will have twelve young men between the ages of 21-40 years jostling to beome “The main Koko”.

According to Ikwyn, “My ideal man is tall, dark, handsome, intelligent, homely, caring.....in fact as close in character as my daddy and these qualities the main Koko must posses. We are not looking for qualities of sung heroes but the unsung heroes who sacrificed and encouraged their wives and daughters to attain their fullest potentials!”

As part of the show, the men will be housed in an undisclosed location in Calabar, Nigeria’s # 1 Tourist destination. While in the house, the men will be groomed, they will be required to cook sumptous meals for Ikwyn and her friends, clean and maintain the house and sorroundings, entertain Ikwyn and friends, feed, bathe and babysit the resident baby for atleast fourty eight hours at a stretch in addition to taking Ikwyn out on unusual dates. The men must be tall, dark, handsome, intelligent, have a six pack and a great dress sense. They must exhibit great charm and diplomacy and should be capable of peeing without staining toilet seats!

According to Granilet Luci, the Content Director of SAMTv, the viewers will be the ultimate judge. The men must have the capacity of doing atleast 1000 situps per day and Ikwyn would amonst other things, help the public determine who the winner will be based on their ability to please her.

The winner will take home attractive prices which includes Five million dollars in cash, a Lexus LX 570 Jeep, and a Dimond encrusted Chrys Airs wristwatch. The winner will also be Ikwyn’s official date at all public functions within and outside Nigeria and feature in Ikwyn’s, yet to be produced song, “Ol boy, you don make me fall in love”.

SEXY GONE STALE

2009-01-13T00:59:00.000-08:00

Met a guy from my university days at the traditional marriage of my friend and we got reminiscing about our university days. The guy reminded me how hot, sexy and in demand I was back in the days and how much I used to “form”. For my benefit and the benefit of my ego, I totally believe I was smoking HOT & SEXY back then. Don’t believe the “forming” part but I know that I wasn’t interested in university socials and boys.

I remember how this very same friend (whose wedding I attended) and i used to take at least one picture every week all through our first year. We were two very beautiful girls and our pictures always turned out great. It got to the point where some photographers knew us so well that they sometimes took our pictures for free. Those were back in the days.

All through my four-year degree programme, I had a blast. I thought I had the world all figured out and was going to monitor it from my palm. I had a handsome, rich boyfriend to complement me and was crazy in love with him. When the relationship did not work out, there was another rich, handsome one, crazy in love with me to take his place. Even when I wrote my degree exams, there was not a cloud in my skies. When my classmates and I took pictures after our last paper, my smiles were wide and bright. I saw myself going ahead to conquer the world laughing all the way. When people told me I was yet to see the real world, I was like “Puluuzz! How much more real can it get?!”

As if on cue, right after my degree exams, I did face the real world. After one week of knowing I did not have to read any books, I started asking “what next?” I got involved in a business that had a tidy return. That got me to realize that I needed more than a dazzling smile to get people to buy what I was selling. Things got better (some might say), when my friend helped me get a job in Lagos. I wasn’t going for my National youth service that year so that was more than cool. I started working earning what I thought was plenty of money. By the time I paid my bills, I realized that you could never earn plenty of money working for somebody. Plus, I had to wake early every morning and sit in traffic for God- knows how long before I got to work.

Cutting the long story short, my dazzling smile became less frequent and I completely forgot how to poise and be sexy after two years of working. The university bombshell was gone and in her place was a woman who wanted comfort, a little peace and plenty of sleep. When I look back at how far I’ve come, I can’t believe how fast the years have flown and how much my priorities have changed. This year, the only resolution I’m making is that come rain or sun, Lagos wahala or not, I’m getting my sexy vavavoom back!

COUNTING MY BLESSINGS

2008-12-17T03:36:00.000-08:00

Year 2008 is coming to an end. Another time to take stock of the year. For us, amateur writers, we always look for an opportunity to put pen to paper or (in this case) fingers to a key board.

For me, 2008 was eventful. Not all bad, not all good but not right in the middle either for it was more good than bad. Looking beyond the fact that I was flat out broke for a greater part of the year, it was a good year. Yep! Broke ass n all but God saw me through

This year was one of those that you look back and say “Yes. God was exceptionally good to me”. Just like the previous year (and the year before that, and the year before that and ...) Enough of the tom foolery. Sharing my testimony with you, this year started on a very good note. I met an amazing, absolutely wonderful guy I had a crush on many light years ago. Only that, this time, post-crush-now-woman phase, the guy finally took notice of me and he became the BF. I also got a new “sister”, Lucy Liu, who completed the “CharlieFrancis’ Angel” trio. Quarreled with my other angel, “Drew Barrymore”. Yep! Even that was a blessing. More than one year of living together and not an angry word exchanged between us, we had started to take each other for granted. The quarrel brought us back to earth, made us closer and made me realize that if I walked alone, I would never know I was flashing my pink and white panties for the world to see!

I successfully completed the one year mandatory youth service I waited 18 months to start, and that was with a huge sigh of relief cuz I came soooooo close to having an extension. My first son (originally my nephew) started secondary school as boarder (how fast they grow!) and my two amazing younger brother finished their secondary school education making their papers in one sitting. My sister and BF got the kind of jobs they wanted (whew!), my best friend from back in the days became a doctor (another whew!), and got engaged, another friend from back in the day also became a doctor and my mentor of the CharlieFrancis fame got posted to Houston to join his family. My mother’s organization got the long anticipated push and I found a mentor in my boss.

An old friendship that once meant the world to me got rejuvenated without the initial complications, my friend gave birth to a dark and handsome, baby boy and another close friend’s wife gave birth to another dark and handsome baby boy ( The choices for my daughter widens!).

A close friend got a scholarship to do her masters in the UK and constants (friends who’ve got your back 24/7 52/365) like Spam, Steve, Nj and Ij still got my back despite my awful communication habit. My family’s still intact (as it goes), healthy and talking to me despite my awful habits (again!). A number of my friends found their soulmates, walked down the aisle and said i do and I discovered my love and major distraction of all time, FACEBOOK! So yes, I do have every reason to thank God!

Celebriwhat?!

2008-10-10T01:33:00.000-07:00

I was watching a "Hip Hop World" programme on STV yesterday and in one of their segments, they asked Nigerian celebrities (musicians mostly) who Nigeria's president was before 1960. And of course all but three out of almost twenty (give or take) got it wrong. The sad thing for me was not that they got it wrong but the attitude of nonchalance exhibited by most. One of the female musicians (name withheld) who got it wrong was even jubilating that she knew the answer after giving a very silly, off the cuff reply. I couldn't help but ask myself why they sang so many negative things about the standard of living in Nigeria, when they know nothing about where we've come from. Don't get me wrong. Am not saying the standard of living is worth celebrating anything for but if these people who sang about the evils in society do not know the basics about Nigeria, how then can they contribute to move it forward?

I am one of those people who believe that for us to move our country forward, we have to know our past. What we did right and wrong so we do not make the same mistakes again, now or sometime in the future. That basically is our problem. There is no culture of documentation amongst us as a people and even the few records we have are left for the rats and cockroaches to digest because Nigerians are just not interested in records. That's why we keep making the same mistakes and going round in circles thinking we are taking huge steps forward!

I was so grateful that my ten year old nephew was away in boarding house and would not be watching the program. How do i explain to a ten year old impressionable child that history about his country is important for him to know when the celebrities he admires do not know theirs? Old soul that i am, i miss the good ol' days when the men and women that entertained us were knowledgeable and educated us with their music. That is what made and continues to make Fela famous because his songs are lessons in history and history's like good wine. It only gets better with age!

By the way, Felabration is next week. Join me in celebrating Fela Anikulapo-Kuti, a Nigerian music icon who was "no gentleman at all"!!

Nigeria we hail thee?

2008-10-02T04:22:00.000-07:00

Friday, 26th of September would have been a day like any other. Twas same ol, same ol. Went to work, did the usual, end of the day, headed home..Now that's where same ol', same ol' ended. I entered one of the mass transit buses (thankfully, not a "molue" but a "BRT") to CMS, where i was to board another bus to Ajah.

Between Leventis and CMS there are three "Ajah parks" where you could board a bus to Ajah (of course!). When i noticed there were no buses in Leventis, i continued on to Ajah. That should have set off my trouble alarm but i did not find it unsual. At CMS, there were no buses at the first park i went to but even that did not get me worried. After all, it was a minor park. I proceeded to the Major park to board a bus. I heaved a sigh of relief when i noticed that the park was filled with Ajah bound buses. However, my relief soon turned to grief when i noticed that there were very many passengers obviously going to Ajah and that the buses were just not loading. Many people asked what the problem was but nobody got any answers. As God would have it, it started raining. That only made matters worse. Uncomfortable and dirty! The few buses that came in with passengers from Ajah were besieged with passengers jostling to enter the bus even before the passengers in the bus could disembark. It was a crazy, jungle experience. If you've ever waited for a bus where there is a crowd in Lagos, you know how it is. People struggled to enter the bus from the boot, windows and of course, doors.

I was hopeful. I believed that the crowd will gradually thin out and the buses would eventually come. But in CMS, that never happens. The crowd kept growing and everytime a bus came, it was the same struggle. By this time, the bus drivers had hiked the price from N150 to N200 without any explanations. After two hours of waiting and walking up and down in search for a bus, i decided to board one going to Obalende. At Obalende, it was the same thing.Plenty of passengers, no bus. Plenty of rains and dirt everywhere. At some point, i broke into tears. I asked myself what i was doing there? Why did i live the cleanliness and comfort of Calabar to suffer in Lagos. Why did i not have a car? Why was i a Nigerian? Why could Nigeria not boast of a functional transportation system that did not depend on the wheather? Why could the government not utilise the water bodies within Lagos State? Fortunately, i did not have to wait so long in Obalende.

Getting to Ajah was another story. Getting home was the part three of my Nigerian movie. I entered my house at a quater to eleven. Cursing Nigeria and all the people who have been and are at the helm of affairs and do nothing. Accepted, i may curse some uncle or aunt close or distant but then, i don't give a hoot!

I listened to bits of Yar'Adua's lack lustre independence day speech where he reeled off inflation and GDP figures saying things had gotten better. Of course he can say that. He wasn't waiting two hours in the rain on Friday evening!!!

MOLUE TENDENCIES

2008-09-02T06:10:00.000-07:00

Any true Naija person would wake from deep slumber know what a "Molue" is. But for those who don't, Molues are big, old yellow scraps of metal that were once buses but are now just metal contraptions that are not even fit to be called an automobile. Motor, mmm...yes but definately not an automobile. Anyway, Molues are a trademark of Lagos State and are only found on Lagos mainland ( A tourist attraction, if you ask me). The buses on the island small and yellow (Danfo), the big ones are comparatively new and are painted in red, blue or the lagos state colour hence can not be classified as a molue). Apart from its colour, age and number of dents on its body, one of the characteristic of the Molue is that the fares are mega cheap and as such hyper cramped. Getting into a molue bus is a test of ones acrobatic skills. You have to be mentally and physically fit to enter one. The steps for entering a Molue are as follows:

Step one- Find your self at any one of Lagos' many bus stops on the mainland.(on your marks....)

Step two- Look ot for a Molue(get set...)

Step three- Prepare your mind for some acrobatics (Ready...)

Step four- Molue comes close, slows down without stopping, you run after it, (pushing three fat women infront of you and be pushed by two fat women and one man behind you), and jump into the bus (....GO!!)
Did you enter the bus? Did you sustain any injuries( Most likely), Did you have fun?.......

Now that's that for bus hopping. The thing with Molues, you must struggle, you must run and you must jump. I have noticed that most Lagosians have what i call "Molue tendencies". Irrespective of class, status or breeding, our molue tendency comes to us naturally.

Scene one A: You are flying from Nigeria to Dubai( a very common route). In Dubai, everybody waits for the plane to camoe to a halt and Nigerians, Asians and Europeans alike stretch lazily and are not in a hurry to leave the plane. People come off the plane without any rush, into a waiting bus and are driven off the tarmac.

Scene One B: You are flying from Dubai to Lagos. Before the air hostess finishes her announcement, you hear the familiar tone of Nokia phones being turned on from every side of the plane. Passengers start calling and before the plane comes to a halt, 98% of passengers are already standing. Once the exit is opened, there is a mad rush for the door, in the end, everybody meets themselves at the immigration counter. Why did we struggle out of the plane in the first place?

Scene Two: There is no traffic on the road. There is no sign that there was traffic AND there is no sign that there will be traffic yet "driver" is speding like his life depended on driving 120km/hr within the town. You ask yourself why, for pete's sake is the bugger speeding?

Scene three:... Enough of mine. You share your own "Molue mentality"experience!

The Bakassi Issue

2008-08-28T08:26:00.000-07:00

My apologies to my small number of ardent readers for my 4 weeks leave without notice from blogsville. That's what work does sometimes. Am back, never to go away for so long! (i hope...)

I had a conversation with my mentor and his friend over the weekend. You know how gist dey bring gist. We talked and talked until we talked about Nigeria and the Bakassi issue. That conversation made me realise how misinformed many Nigerians (including yours truly) are. Most of our information are gottens from others who are just as misinformed as we are. Nigeria handed over Bakassi to Cameroun on the 14th of August,2008. Many Nigerians spoke against it and asked Yar'Adua not to proceed with the ICJ ruling of October, 2002. I was happy that the Bakassi issue was one people from different parts of Nigeria spoke out against. It was not a case of it not being "in my region" and as such, not concerning "me". Now post handover, i think that for information sake, there are several questions we should ask to make informed decisions about the Bakassi issue and hate Yar'Adua less. The first of such questions is:

1) What is Bakassi and where is it?
Bakassi is a 1 000+sq km peninsula located at the SE end of the gulf of guinea. The oil rich area is off the Calabar coast and has controlling access into the Calabar port. It is at the border of Nigeria and Cameroun.

2) Why did the ICJ hand over Bakassi to Cameroun?
Myth 1: One myth making the rounds is that during the civil war, Nigerian soldiers needed to cut of Biafran soldiers from their ammunition supply which was coming in through the coastal waters of Cross River state. Because they could not get across the soldiers on the other side of the Onitsha bridge, they went through Cameroun to sorround the troops at Bakassi. Because carrying ammunition and troops into another country was a security risk to that country (Cameroun), Nigeria agreed to sign off Bakassi to Cameroun. This sounds far fetched to me now but initially, i believed this myth and even passed it on as te reason why the ICJ ruled against Nigeria.
Fact: The fact behind the ICJ ruling is that the ruling was based on the 1913 Anglo-German agreement that defined the borders of those (Britain and Germany) nations colonies (Nigeria and Cameroun).

3) Why did Nigeria proceed with the ICJ ruling inspite of the injuction at the Abuja high court?
The International Court of Justice (ICJ)'s ruling superceeds any ruling made within a country. As such, Nigeria could not heed to the Abuja court ruling because it would have been a case of disrespecting your "father" because of your "elder brother".

Enough of facts, Myths and fictions. Personally, i believe Bakassi should have been left to Nigeria. My view is not based on the natural resources available in Bakassi in form of Crude oil and it is not even because giving out Bakassi posses a security threat to the Nigerian State but because of the people involved. 99 percent of its inhabitants belong to the Efik tribe of Cross River State. They have lived in Bakassi all their lives and they know and understand nothing about Britain giving out their land to the Germans who occupied Cameroun at the time. What they know is that they were born there and so were their parents and their parents parents before them. What they know is that they've worked the soil for food and searched the water for fish. How then can the ICJ come to say it is not their land? How can they give the land to the very country whose soldiers terrorised them? Shot their sons and raped their daugthers? How can they stay on? What the ICJ did is an infringement on the basic human rights of a group of people. The law is made to protect the people not exploit and sacrifice them at the altar of facts.
The ICJ should visit the resettlement camp of the Bakassi people in Akpabuyo. In their father land, they have become refugees. Living in squalor because their land was sacrificed. Men who were respectable fishermen with four, five boats have become beggers with nothing to their name. The federal government seemed more concerned with their foreign image than the welfare of their people. Since 2004, when Nigeria began the gradual handing over of Bakassi to Cameroun, what has the government done to ensure that the displaced people are properly resettled.
I left Unlcle Francis' house thinking "Our colonial masters have exploited us and still do but we are the greatest exploiters of ourselves!"

The Nigerian Factor

2008-07-06T23:53:00.000-07:00

THE NIGERIAN FACTOR

For a while now, i've been thinking of this thing called "Nigerian factor", wondering about its origins and how it got to be introduced into our society. One of the things i've been able to discover is that "Nigerian factor" sired "Nigerian time" and "Nigerian time is related to "African time" but i'm yet to discover who the father of "African time" is.

Nigerian factor is the reason behind the constant seizure of electric power by Power Holding Company of Nigeria (PHCN)/ Nigerian Electric Power Authority (NEPA) without warnings or apologies, Even after 60 billion naira has been given to real and virtual companies for power generation and equipment maintainance projects.

The reason why our children stay at home for months on end while our lecturers and teachers go on strike and no compromise is reached between their union and the government.

The reason why big, rich government and non government officials send their children to foreign universities because quality education is not gauranteed within our ivory towers that are filled with dust and ancient theories.

The reason why accidents constantly occur and people die on our poorly maintained roads while people smile to the banks, Yankee and Jan with money gotten from road maintainance contracts.

The reason why each family must drill a borehole in their compund if they want to be certain of drinking safe water.

The reason why every home and street is fenced and private vigilante groups patrol at night even though the nearest police station is a five minute walk away.

The reason why a fire truck can drive to the site of a burning house, only to get there and complain there of no water in the truck and people have to fetch water in buckets to put out the fire.

The reason why people build on drainages with approval from the government and block the canals without caring about the consequnces.

The reason why we eat and drop waste on the streets not caring that it ends up in our gutters and block our drainages.

The reason why our police men stand on the road asking for "particulars" and run at the sound of anything that remotely sounds like a bullet.

The reason why people forge results and occupy political positions that affect our lives and we do nothing but sit in our chairs and complain of "government".

The reason why government hospitals cannot boast of modern facilities and infrastructures while the commissioners, governors, ministers, vice president, president in charge of ensuring their smooth running run abroad at the slightest indication of a headache.

The reason why Nigeria, as the sixth largest producer of crude oil imports PMS and AGO and queues are found at our petrol station at the end of every year.

The reason why a strong black nation believes that a white technician can do the job our black engineers cannot do.

Nigerian factor is an excuse for our culture of mediocrity. The reasons we are not to be blamed for failing to aim for perfection. For being a failure as citizens and a nation. Nigerian factor is one factor we must reject, resist and fight against!

A TOUCH OF GREATNESS

2008-06-21T07:51:00.000-07:00

One of my favourite media adverts in Nigeria is Guinness' touch of greatness advert. It celebrates the fact that there is a touch of greatness in everyone.

I strongly believe in the fact that there is a touch of greatness in everybody's everyday activities. Even the most mudane one. Talking about a touch of greatness, let me be the first to say, " My friend Chioma is a great woman!" Many may not have heard of the young woman called Chioma Ogwuegbu but fame is gradually built. Thomas Edison was not famous from birth neither was Christopher Columbus nor Mungo Park.

Right now, Chioma is one working as the programme manager for Kudirat Initiative for Democracy (KIND). One of the first things you will know on first meeting is that she is knowledgable and passionate about life. Chioma had a dream of travelling round the world and like most of us, it remained a dream for a very long time. Unlike most of us, Chioma is about turning her dream to reality. Starting in July, She will spend the next one year, embarking on a road trip round sub-saharan Africa. She intends to visit rural African communities, document positive things about these places and make it available online via videos and pictures.

In her words, she is tired of seeing only negative things about our continent when there are so many beautiful things about it we should celebrate. If you ask me, Chioma is one brave African woman. Join me to celebrate this great African woman with yor cash and kind donations, prayers and support. For more information on Chioma's trip, go to http://www.celebrateafrica.net/

Exit of a god

2008-06-13T04:44:00.000-07:00

The death of the professed strong man of Ibadan politics, Alhaji Lamidi Adedibu on the 11th of June, 2008 goes to emphasize the already known fact that death is no respecter of person. While Adedibu lived, the entire Oyo State was in his hands politically and for you to succeed at whatever level politically, you had to pledge and maintain your loyalty to him.

Adedibu made the brief tenure of Rasheed Ladoja, one time governor of Oyo State miserable as soon as the man decided he was going to run the state in the way he, and not Adedibu saw fit. While the struggle existed there was more than an exchange of words between supporters of the two camps and eventually, Ladoja got impeached and his deputy, Alao- Akala got sworn in as governor of Oyo State. Some of the reported grudges Adedibu had against Ladoja were that he discontinued the security votes that was being paid as royalty to him and that he refused to appoint his son as revenue collector for the state. The first thing the former deputy, now governor of Oyo State did on assumption of duty was to declare that Adedibu was his father and he was going to listen to his advice. When the courts ruled that Ladoja’s impeachment was illegal and ordered his reinstatement, Adedibu and his thugs made life in Ibadan a misery. Thugs loyal to Adedibu paraded the streets with arms and got into fights with supporters of Ladoja in the presence of policemen. Olusegun Obansanjo acceptance of Adedibu gave him credence and even though it was well known that the man was behind the trouble in Ibadan, the man was untouchable by the law. It was no wonder that in the 2007 elections, Adedibu’s son, inlaw and political son got the “mandate” to represent the three constituencies of Oyo in the Senate.

Adedibu’s supporters have claimed that he stood and fought for all Ibadan people and their rights. I ask them, how is installing your son, son-in-law and political son fighting for all Ibadan people? In all of Oyo state, with the number of prominent Oyo sons that have brought fame and recognition to Oyo State and the entire country, are there no other people apart from those in Adedibu’s camp who are capable of representing Oyo State? Is it only when his whims are not met that he remembers Oyo people are being slighted?

Adedibu’s accent to the “Ibadan throne” occurred after the death of the preceding strongman of Ibadan politics, Adegoke Adelabu, easily remembered as “penkelemesi”. Adelabu like Adedibu had little education but Adelabu unlike Adedibu was not a man who believed in tribalism. At the expense of being labeled a traitor, he supported the Nnamdi Azikiwe led NCNC. One cannot help but wonder why Ibadan, home to the premiere university in Nigeria and many Nigerian scholars, academics and professional who have made their mark both home and abroad will sit with their hands folded and let the politics of their town be controlled by illiterates who think only of themselves and not all Oyo sons and daughters.

While Adelabu lived, he acted as if he thought he was God. Sitting in his molete home while people came to pay homage and worship at his feet. Now, he has gone to meet his maker, leaving all his ill gotten worldly possessions behind. Let us hope that the next “strongman” of Ibadan politics will learn the lesson that death does not come ringing a bell and be a wiser,more humane and educated fellow than Lamidi Adedibu!

IN THE BEGINNING...

2008-06-10T02:46:00.000-07:00

Of course there is nothing blue about my eyes nor blonde about my chemically relaxed black n silky negroe hair but who cares anyway?!!!
I'm just a girl with hopes and dreams, who refuses to be characterised based on looks or appearances. It is a funny and strange thing because i am so traditional and set in my ways yet i hate to have limits or rules defined for me. That does not mean to say i am unruly. I mean, man is blessed with a sense of wrong and right even though some have worked so hard to suppress the voice of caution that rings so loud when we are doing things we know within us are wrong.

Approaching blue eyed blondes from both angles, they are either viewed as very dumb or as royalty. I'm not dumb but i sure am royalty (talk about blue blood as well!), not in the sense of being from a royal blood line but being an honourable person in thoughts, words and actions (permit me to say so myself), a girl who is living her life, making mistakes and having an AMAZING time!