There was a country, so wrote Chinua Achebe. He was writing about Nigeria but the same description can aptly be applied to the United States of America. It is a great nation, this is not in dispute but it amazes the casual observer that the US portends to always be different. In most cases, this difference makes the US uniquely what it is and, no doubt, has worked in its favour. However, in some other situations, it easily come off as an exercise in foolishness.
Take the case of the spate of death happening in modern America today. We all have gotten used to the violence in Chicago which makes the city notorious as the murder capital of the world. What we are getting used to is the fact that American life has become so cheap that more gets killed within America itself than outside it! Lets pause a little and give a thought to this. If the same level of violence and death from gun totting psychopaths that is happening in America today were to be happening in a backwater third world country, all the foreign ministries of the highly developed countries would be heads over their heels to issue statements to their nationals and the world that it is highly unsafe to travel to those countries. I guess different standards for different people! We will come to this another time.
Back to the gun capital of the world. The whole world, or majority of it I suppose, mourns with those who have been impacted by one shooting or another. It will be inhuman not to do so, being unfortunate recipient of unplanned sorrows and miseries. More so we are encouraged to mourn with those who are mourning and rejoice with those who are rejoicing, isn’t that so? However, where is the place of common sense in America today? Must there be another death before the nation and its leaders wear the common sense caps? I am no American but that country has been good to me. The more reason why I am outraged that what seems so simple to do, and have been done by others, has become the most difficult thing to be accomplished by a nation that had sent men to the moon. I am no prophet but I can stake a bet on this, a couple of weeks from now. The Texas massacre, for sure, won’t be the last of these deaths, I predict more to come with more casualties as well. Hey, don’t shout at me, shout at your leaders! Common sense and evidence from other nations suggest that mass killing will continue to be the norm in America until America comes to its senses about guns. Let it be shouted at the Capitol Hill, America, the second amendment is killing you! Do something SMART about it.
Just this weekend, I was at the gun range for target practice. Every time I handled the weapon, I got terrified. Terrified of the power, the speed and ease at which the bullets discharged…. and kills. A millisecond is all that separates “He is” from “He was”. Now, I wouldn’t want a psychopath to have access to this weapon, no not in a million years. However, this is exactly what the American forefathers have done through the second amendment. Well, we can’t blame them for being short sighted about the rise of a set of racists, bigoted, religious and ideological fanatic that will be committing mass murder, contrary to the intent of the amendment, can we? The reality, however, is that this is now the case. I am positive that were the writers of the second amendment to be in our midst right now, they would have quickly put pen on paper to make an amendment to the amendment. It sickens me that the nation does so much to make access to prescription medicines difficult for people who can abuse its usage but would not extend same process to gun possession. Having these guns in the hands of psychopaths, for which the US has an abundance, to me is a certain recipe for more deaths. Barack Obama wept, just as Jesus did at the tomb of Lazarus. While Jesus was able to raise Lazarus, the tears of Barack availed nothing…they didn’t stop the killings and neither have they woken up the dead. They will never accomplish any of these two., no, never. Our tears and our sympathies will not avail much either. The one and only thing that will sop this madness? Get the guns out of em’s hands.
Leadership is about boldness to take the right decisions, even if unpopular. Will our man Friday in the Whitehouse be bold enough to lead so that Americans weep no more?
With all the clamor for restructuring and separating the current entity called Nigeria into its separate ethnic nationality, I reached out into the archive to bring out this note of caution. It was the sincere message of Lyman to Nigerians to pull together to build rather than allow the nation to continue on its downward spiral into a failed state.
As with all prophesies, the prophet has sounded the alarm, i is now left for the people to heed the warnings or not. Years back, Christine Lagarde was in Nigeria. As the Managing Director of the IMF, she warned Nigerians of the impending recession if efforts were no taken to address the structural imbalances and fragility in the Nigerian economy. Her warnings went unheeded and the nation paid for it, big time. Let this warning of Lyman not suffer similar fate.
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If Nigeria Fails?
By Princeton Lyman
Providence, Rhode Island. USA.
December 11, 2009.
Thank you very much Prof. Keller and thanks to the organizers of this conference. It is such a privilege to be here in a conference in honor of Prof. Achebe, an inspiration and teacher to all of us.
I have a long connection to Nigeria. Not only was I Ambassador there, I have travelled to and from Nigeria for a number of years and have a deep and abiding vital emotional attachment to the Nigerian people, their magnificence, their courage, artistic brilliance, their irony, sense of humor in the face of challenges etc.
And I hope that we keep that in mind when I say some things that I think are counter to what we normally say about Nigeria. And I say that with all due respect to Eric [SILLA, SEE NOTE 3] who is doing a magnificent work at State Department and to our good friend from the legislature, because I have a feeling that we both Nigerians and Americans may be doing Nigeria and Nigerians no favor by stressing Nigeria’s strategic importance.
I know all the arguments: it is a major oil producer, it is the most populous country in Africa, it has made major contributions to Africa in peacekeeping, and of course negatively if Nigeria were to fall apart the ripple effects would be tremendous, etc.. But I wonder if all this emphasis on Nigeria’s importance creates a tendency of inflate Nigeria’s opinion of its own invulnerability.
Among much of the elite today, I have the feeling that there is a belief that Nigeria is too big to fail, too important to be ignored, and that Nigerians can go on ignoring some of the most fundamental challenges they have many of which we have talked about: disgraceful lack of infrastructure, the growing problems of unemployment, the failure to deal with the underlying problems in the Niger-Delta, the failure to consolidate democracy and somehow feel will remain important to everybody because of all those reasons that are strategically important.
And I am not sure that that is helpful.
Let me sort of deconstruct those elements of Nigeria’s importance, and ask whether they are as relevant as they have been.
We often hear that one in five Africans is a Nigerian. What does it mean? Do we ever say one in five Asians is a Chinese? Chinese power comes not just for the fact that it has a lot of people but it has harnessed the entrepreneurial talent and economic capacity and all the other talents of China to make her a major economic force and political force.
What does it mean that one in five Africans is Nigeria? It does not mean anything to a Namibian or a South African. It is a kind of conceit. What makes it important is what is happening to the people of Nigerian. Are their talents being tapped? Are they becoming an economic force? Is all that potential being used?
And the answer is “Not really.”
And oil, yes, Nigeria is a major oil producer, but Brazil is now launching a 10-year program that is going to make it one of the major oil producers in the world. And every other country in Africa is now beginning to produce oil.
And Angola is rivalling Nigeria in oil production, and the United States has just discovered a huge gas reserve which is going to replace some of our dependence on imported energy.
So if you look ahead ten years, is Nigeria really going to be that relevant as a major oil producer, or just another of another of the many oil producers while the world moves on to alternative sources of energy and other sources of supply.
And what about its influence, its contributions to the continent? As our representative from the parliament talked about, there is a great history of those contributions. But that is history.
Is Nigeria really playing a major role today in the crisis in Niger on its border, or in Guinea, or in Darfur, or after many many promises making any contributions to Somalia?
The answer is no, Nigeria is today NOT making a major impact, on its region, or on the African Union or on the big problems of Africa that it was making before.
What about its economic influence?
Well, as we have talked about earlier, there is a de-industrialization going on in Nigeria a lack of infrastructure, a lack of power means that with imported goods under globalization, Nigerian factories are closing, more and more people are becoming unemployed and Nigeria is becoming a kind of society that imports and exports and lives off the oil, which does not make it a significant economic entity.
Now, of course, on the negative side, the collapse of Nigeria would be enormous, but is that a point to make Nigeria strategically important?
Years ago, I worked for an Assistant Secretary of State who had the longest tenure in that job in the 1980s and I remember in one meeting a minister from a country not very friendly to the United States came in and was berating the Assistant Secretary on all the evils of the United States and all its dire plots and in things in Africa and was going on and on and finally the Assistant Secretary cut him off and said: “You know, the biggest danger for your relationship with the United States is not our opposition but that we will find you irrelevant.”
The point is that Nigeria can become much less relevant to the United States. We have already seen evidence of it. When President Obama went to Ghana and not to Nigeria, he was sending a message, that Ghana symbolized more of the significant trends, issues and importance that one wants to put on Africa than Nigeria.
And when I was asked by journalists why President Obama did not go to Nigeria, I said “what would he gain from going? Would Nigeria be a good model for democracy, would it be a model for good governance, would he obtain new commitments on Darfur or Somalia or strengthen the African Union or in Niger or elsewhere?”
No he would not, so he did not go.
And when Secretary Clinton did go, indeed but she also went to Angola and who would have thought years ago that Angola would be the most stable country in the Gulf of Guinea and establish a binational commission in Angola.
So the handwriting may already be on the wall, and that is a sad commentary.
Because what it means is that Nigeria’s most important strategic importance in the end could be that it has failed.
And that is a sad sad conclusion. It does not have to happen, but I think that we ought to stop talking about what a great country it is, and how terribly important it is to us and talk about what it would take for Nigeria to be that important and great.
And that takes an enormous amount of commitment. And you don’t need saints, you don’t need leaders like Nelson Mandela in every state, because you are not going to get them.
I served in South Korea in the middle of the 1960s and it was time when South Korea was poor and considered hopeless, but it was becoming to turn around, later to become to every person’s amazement then the eleventh largest economy in the world. And I remember the economist in my mission saying, you know it did not bother him that the leading elites in the government of South Korea were taking 15 – 20 percent off the top of every project, as long as every project was a good one, and that was the difference. The leadership at the time was determined to solve the fundamental economic issues of South Korea economy and turn its economy around.
It has not happened in Nigeria today. You don’t need saints. It needs leaders who say “You know we could be becoming irrelevant, and we got to do something about it.”
Thank you.
Princeton N. Lyman,
Adjunct Senior Fellow for Africa Policy Studies, Council on Foreign Relations, Former U.S. ambassador to South Africa and Nigeria, made these remarks at the Achebe Foundation Colloquium on Nigerian Election at Providence, Rhode Island, USA, on December 11, 2009.
A few months ago, I made the conscious decision of joining a political party. Of the two predominant parties, Labour and Liberals, I chose Labour. First and maybe subtly, I don’t like the name liberal. It connotes to me a view that is fluid. It’s going to always be a little to the right and a little to the left, no firm stand on any issue. It connotes anything from “generous” to “loose” to “broad-minded.” Importantly, I chose Labor because I believe in its two objectives of “maintenance of and support for a competitive non-monopolistic private sector” and “the right to own private property”. At the time, I was not unaware that Labour’s leadership was actively supporting equality in marriage. It was supporting equality in all forms. All things considered, I do not support this objective but this did not deter me from joining the party. I knew that there will always be “issues of the day” in which the party and I will hold opposing views. That will happen, no matter which political party anyone joins.
For those who may be unaware, Marriage Equality is a movement that aims at legalizing marriages between people of the LGBT orientation. Simply put, it makes gay marriage legal and changes the definition of marriage being the union between a man and a woman.
Last week, the two law suits standing in the way of the Australian Postal Plebiscite on marriage were ruled out as lacking merit by the High Court. Consequently, the surveys will be landing in the postal boxes this week. The Australian Prime Minister, Malcolm Turnbull, has been very vocal on where he stands on this plebiscite. He is all over the news urging that people vote YES and has expressed that he and his wife will be doing the same. Bill Shorten, the leader of the Opposition and of the Australian Labour Party, is not singing a different tune. He is also campaigning for a Yes Vote. Their arguments? It’s the fair thing to do as the current marriage definition promotes inequality. The cacophony of voices, all drumming into the public ears, is to vote YES. The argument is unconvincing and I really struggle to understand it.
On this issue, the opposition and the government are unusually united. United not because the change being requested is right, but because they are afraid. Afraid of standing affirmatively with the truth. It is for this that I commend Barnaby Joyce, the Deputy Prime Minister. He stands affirmatively with voting NO because to him, that is the right thing to do and unlike the rest, he isn’t campaigning that the populace change their minds but they should vote according to their conscience.
A few weeks earlier, the accomplished Margaret Court, sounded a note to differ with the cacophony of voices saying yes. She seemed to be the only loud voice opposing this impending doom to society, as we currently see it. Following Qantas Airline’s promotion of same-sex marriage, she wrote the airline and stated:
“I am disappointed that Qantas has become an active promoter for same-sex marriage…..I believe in marriage as a union between a man and a woman as stated in the Bible….Your statement leaves me no option but to use other airlines where possible for my extensive travelling.”
All hell broke loose, when the content of this letter became public and got published in the West Australian. Kill her! Crucify her! Remove her name from the “Margaret Court” Arena! Erase her history from the Australian Open!. These were the shouts and screams coming from the lobbyist. The bullying from the LGBT community was without bound. It was a repeat of what had been experienced in a certain Australian business where a Director was summoned to resign from the board of a Christian Charity if he wants to continue to hold his office. His membership of the charity was said to be a cause of concern to certain employees in the company. Pastor Margaret, as she is called by many of us, her church members at Victory Life Bible Church in Perth, was perturbed but gladly would not give up. The way the argument for the YES vote has been conducted, any dissenting view is killed and cursed, striking fear and terror in the heart of the populace from speaking and expressing their views.
In fact, the whole premise of Bill Shorten’s request that the plebiscite should not take place but be voted on by parliament was to assure that the very few vocal voices in Parliament were the ones that would vote on this and hence assure the result they wanted – a redefinition of marriage.
So one would ask, why is this important? It is important because it hits at the very foundation of family. For a reason, God created us male and female. Many reasons could be adduced for this but it is not farfetched to know that both sexes are required for procreation. Marriage is simply the union between a man and a woman and this institution has been established, from the foundation of the earth, when God saw that Adam needed help. He could have created another man for Adam but he did not. In his wisdom, he went into Adam’s bones and brought out a woman, an help sufficient to complement the man.
Taking the Bible out of it, this vote strikes at the freedom of millions of other Australians were the Yes team to have their way. The freedom of speech and religious freedom would soon be thrown out of the window. We have seen what is happening all around the world. In Sweden, the PM is threatening that Christian Pastors should get ready to celebrate gay weddings or get another job. That isn’t a helpful statement to anyone or is it?
On another front, it is frightening to think of what will happen in schools. Currently under the Australian Safe Schools programme, the Gender Fairy book is being read to students as young as 4 years old and are being told no one can tell you whether you are a boy or girl, only you can. In essence, identity is becoming very fluid. You can be a boy today and tomorrow become a girl. The reconditioning in the classroom will be so swift and massive and yet as a parent, one would not have the right to pull his children out from such wrong education.
Nature will have the last laugh, it always does. We have seen experiments where male plants have been grafted on female trees. No matter what you do to them, they still retain their genes, male genes. Scientist can go ahead and pump men up with female hormones and give ladies testosterone and muscle building injections, the original nature of the being cannot be erased.
Now, peradventure you are asking where I stand. I do not support LGBT as a life choice. I love them as fellow humans but I detest the choices they have made. Some have argued that homosexuality is natural, I say no. it is not natural in animals, not in plants and of course not in man. A group of baboons have been pointed at as evidence of homosexuality in animals. My position is that these are the exceptions and not the norm. Homosexuality is a choice. A choice like any other and is not a creation of nature.
Asking for equality in marriage for homosexual is an abuse of the English term “equality”. If you are still both men or women, there is no way you can be said to have become equal to a man-woman relationship. So what equality are we talking about? The freedom for a man to marry a man or the freedom for a woman to marry a woman? If this is the equality, by the very definition of the word marriage, that cannot exist. And this is why if the LGBT decide to choose another word to refer to their relationship, perhaps there would be a cause for less concern with many. You can’t fain marriage
For those who are undecided and too afraid to take a stand. Please be assured that you are not a bigot, not homophobic, not irrational if you choose to say No. It is marriage equality today, what will the LGBT be asking for tomorrow? We simply don’t know and neither can we see where the line will be drawn and this ends. Simply put, where does the frontier stop?
77 years old. That’s right. That is how old he would have been today. We would have gathered round him, along with his grandchildren and great grandchildren to celebrate him. For sure, he may have another lady by his side as his fourth or fifth wife, but that won’t have mattered. He would have been celebrated as a loving father.
If death had not struck on that evil of all days in 1976. He was just 36 years old when he had to answer the call that we all mortals will answer, one day. More than four decades after, I still do have my glimpses of him, now and then. He was caring, loving and would tolerate no nonsense from any of his children. We were not rich but were comfortable and he provided all that we did ask for such that we were the envy of many, amongst whom we grew up.
Father started me up on the path of life. From him I learnt the great education that travels bring. We didn’t travel by flights, it was all on the roads. My early recollection was with his Suzuki Motorbike. That was years ago in Oyo. I can’t forget the night that the Suzuki packed up on us, in the middle of nowhere. Three of us, miles away from the nearest abode. I remember, Daddy leaving mum and I to sleep, next by the Suzuki, while he trekked to seek help from the nearest settlement. Those were the good old days. We had no fear of attack from anyone. No, not even the casttle rustlers. I dare say we slept soundly that night, by the road side and it wasn’t until the next day that Daddy showed up and got the Suzuki repaired.
It wasn’t in Ode-Ekiti that I first became aware that I have a Dad, it was in Oyo. The day he came to pick me up on a trip to “who knows where”. Whether the trip started in Oyo or Ibadan, I cannot accurately recall. However, I do know we travelled in a Lorry. An open back one, the sort used in the north for carrying grains and agricultural produce to the south. Dad was seated comfortably in the front cabin and mum must have been nestled between him and the driver. My siblings and I, along with all our worldly possessions,occupied the open back of the lorry. The journey was bumpy and long, it seemed never ending. The sun shone and the cold taught us the importance of dressing warm. There were stops here and there and after what seemed an eternity, we finally arrived at a remote town. This I later came to realise was Daura. This was to be our home for the next few years.
Mother returned back to Oyo and I was left to be raised up by my step-mother, my other mother. His youngest wife became a mother to me. Of course, there were conflicts. I remember, it was always either with my half-sister or half-brother. We fought, we laughed and we learned. At no time was I made to feel that I was without my natural mother. I actually came to forget that I had one. Such was the love that prevailed in the house that he headed.
We had a decent accommodation, right in the middle of the town. Daura had no electricity but we were well served by kerosene lamps and candles for illumination. Then things got better and he bought a marvel of a fridge. One that runs on kerosene. That became our watering hole. We now had access to refreshing cold water, to cool ourselves from the dry humid and hot conditions of the almost desert landscape that Daura is. We got enrolled in the public school. I am pretty sure there was nothing like private schools in Daura then. Even ifthere were,I am sure that Daddy would not have enrolled us there as well. I remember running back from school, in those early days, complaining that the boys were abusing me. A Yoruba boy in the midst of mainly Hausa kids. I learnt Hausa words like “Sege Bansa”, Barao, and a few others that I easily can’t remember now. I would cry home only to be scolded, beaten with lashes and sent back to school by him. I soon developed good friendship the boys and was no longer an outcast. We walked to school and back with other boys from the community. There was no distinction. I was the son of a man of high repute in the society but treated no differently from the boy next door. It didn’t matter to anyone that I wasn’t Hausa. Eating Fura De Nunu (aged milk and millet blend) and other Hausa foods became the norm.
We were free in the neighbourhood. I remember the Durbar at the Emir’s Palace. He always encouraged us to go and watch it. I had a faint recollection of a man spitting fire during one of the durbars. There were also the snake charmers and, of course, the horses dressed in royal splendour with their riders paying tribute to the Emir of Daura. Such was the beauty of the Annual Durbar.
When prosperity shined on us, he bought The Red Lada. It was the subject of discussion for a long while. The Lada Car, not many would remember, was a piece of Russian Engineering and was second to none. I always describe it as the car with no luxury built in. The design must have had the philosophy that if something doesn’t contribute to making the car work, it shouldn’t be in the Lada. There was always this discussion, which was a better car – the Lada or the Fiat? His other friend had a Fiat.
On the few occasions that he had to drive us to school, I was always proud to alight from that shining car. There was no Air Conditioning and you could guess what the experience was to ride in this car under the heat of the northern Nigerian sun. We didn’t see anything wrong, we loved the car.
We took many trips in this car. I remember the many trips across the northern border of Nigeria just to buy fresh cow milk. Not that the milk was that dear to him but it was an opportunity for him to bond with us, his kids. On one occasion, as we were returning from the trip, we came across an Eagle on he road. As the Eagle spread its wing to take off, it ran into the car and got the windscreen cracked. It fell to the road side. I can vividly see daddy open the booth, bringing out the jack and using this to snuff the life out of the poor bird. We had our dinner made for us. It was warm milk with roasted Eagle that night. It was through these, that early in life, he imparted some very important pieces of wisdom into my then tender mind. I soaked them all. Did someone say something about discipline? He was a stern concerning this. I spent countless hours confined to my seat by the dining table, forced to study. I dared not leave the table until late into the evenings.
When he was jolly, he would bring out his cherished turn table. Yes, you got it. It looked like a briefcase, but when opened up, reveals its little secret. He would ask me to operate it, having carefully selected from his collections either a 33 1/3 or 45 rpm disc. The soothing music of any of I.K. Dairo, Ebenezer Obey, Sunny Ade or Emperor Pick Peters will fill the air. Far in that northern corner of Nigeria, he will gently sway to the music. As kids, we consider this the best of times to ask him for anything. Anything at all.
I must have gotten infested with the travel bug from him. He was everywhere and there was nowhere in this God blessed piece of earth called Nigeria that he did not foray into. In a manner similar to that of Mr. Bako, he took us round the country. In the Red Lada. You dare not say you don’t know whom Mr. Bako, his wife Mrs. Bako and their two children Alade and Biola were, except you had not read the Universal Primary English Textbooks for Years 5 and 6. We drove from North to South. The South-West and then North again. It was in this car that I got to visit Lokoja, on our way to Ibadan. We got educated as to what a confluence was and the historic significance of Lokoja to Nigeria. I recollect that Samuel Ajayi Crowder (that gentleman that interpreted the English Bible to Yoruba) lived there. Going back through Jebba, we marvelled at the bridge over the Niger. It was a brilliant piece of engineeting, with the train on its tracks soaring ahead of us. Somewhere here, my recollection is faint now, the road was very narrow and we were navigating through this road next to the river when the rear end of the car scraped the side roads. We were saved from falling into the Niger by inches. I can’t forget the ensuing altercation between our driver and Daddy. The Driver threw the car keys to Daddy in annoyance and left us stranded. Not being an expert driver, Daddy took over the control of the car and drove us all the way back to Daura.
It was that same car that traversed the south west and we got to spend time in Ode-Ekiti. How can I forget our late night arrival in Ode-Ekiti with Daddy? We were welcomed with a steaming bowl of pounded yam and Egusi soup. The next morning, a repeat of the same delicious meal followed. Well, our host clearly made a mistake when, with a lot of sweat, the women pounded yam again and presented it to us as our lunch. I was fed up and couldn’t hide my distaste of it. The Red Lada took us to Lagos, not the same Lagos as we now know it. We stayed in Agege visiting his father-in-law, my maternal father. He was a Muslim, a devoted one for that matter. We are Christians. This did not matter to anyone. We ate “sari” with him and I enjoyed it as I didn’t have to fast to enjoy this extra meal at the break of dawn.
On one of our trips to see an Uncle living a bit away from us, we had an accident with the car. The tyre busted. The car rolled over and landed on its roof, all the four tyres faced up. We were given for dead by other road users. Miraculously, we didn’t have any injury. No, not even a scratch. We all crawled out through the front windscreen that had shattered. It was in Saminaka, in Kaduna State, if I remember correctly. For some reasons, Death was not permitted to take any of us then but it started lurking at the corner. Waiting to strike, where it pained most.
Not that I resemble him, no. The credit for that goes to another of my sibling who happens to be his duplicate copy, in all terms of the word. He was short, I am not. He carried a goatee, I hate beards. He was polygamous with a love of women, not in the way I do. However, all things, said, I am his offspring and remain very proud to have had him as my father.
In his 36 years on earth, he got the education he could afford and craved that we kids should follow his path. He attended Ibadan Grammar School and then proceeded to Adeyemi College of Education, Ondo. He was an itinerant teacher and had left his mark on many schools and students. He was at Awe Grammar School, Awe. St Andrews Teacher Training College Oyo, Ijomu-Oro Grammar School and Ode-Ekiti High School were some of the schools where he tutored.
He loved his job, he loved his students. It was the love for impacting young minds that took him to Daura. Then, and even now, Daura seemed to be at the end of the world, a far far away place. He wasn’t bothered about that. He was known at the Teacher’s College and loved. Years after he was gone, I was pleasantly surprised when mother handed over to me a plaque that had been delivered to her by the Old Boys Association of Ode-Ekiti High School. I wept and my joy was rekindled in him as my father. It was to remember him for his significant impact on the lives of these men, who were his boys in those years at the school. The plaque was presented by the then Managing Director of Wema Bank, Segun Oloketuyi. Such was the impact he had on those whom he was privileged to teach.
His quest for the Golden Fleece was insatiable. He gained admission to a college in the UK and was preparing to leave the shores of the country. In preparation, he sent us all packing from Daura to Ibadan, to await his arrival. That was the last I ever saw him, alive.
And the man died. The unfortunate day was the 22nd October 1976. He was alone in his Red Lada. That same car, he loved so much. A send forth party had been arranged for him by his fellow teachers at the College. They must have partied and were probably tipsy as well. He was making his way back to Daura on the Katsina-Daura Road when, whatever happened, he and his beloved car ended up in the river. The end came for the man I am proud to have called Daddy. The rest is history, his corpse was brought down to Ibadan and got buried at the Church’s Cemetery close to Orita Aperin.
Years ago, I could pin-point with precision where his grave was. While we were not watching, busy with other affairs of life, some other folks turned the resting place of our dear beloved into the land upon which they have built their houses. The Cemetery, a sacred ground of those days, have been taken over by land grabbers and developed. As I write this, it’s been a struggle to locate his grave. The Bible records that when the Israelites left Egypt, they left with Joseph’s bones to the promised land. That was 400 years after Joseph’s death. The Israelites were able to locate his bones and took them along. 41 years after my father’s death, we can’t locate his grave not to talk of his bones. So sad. He is dead, true. We can’t show his grave to his grandchildren but he lives on in our hearts, in our deeds and the lineage we have established through him.
The challenges of this world are daunting and in the midst of coping with it, many do become disillusioned.
We tend to forget that this is not the destination but a journey, preparing us for the life after life.
It’s my way of awakening many as to the graveness of the decision we make each day y following the masses.
By Bimbo Bakare
Having toiled and sweated
All days long
I came to realise
That the toils of man is nothing
Weighed down with burdens
Having tried all else
In solitude I sat
And from the subconscious I remember
That the good Lord has said
Come unto me, ye that labour
Rest will I give to your souls
Of this I also do remember
That One had said, of religion
The opium of the masses it is
I then became like one
Arriving at a cross road
Should I go left or right?
Should I stay or return?
To stay, unwise
Being a wise man, I know
That nothing ventured, Nothing Gained.
To return, bondage
Of perpetual toils and sweats
Of miseries and of woes
Onward then I must move
To the left or right
I knew not
Wither goest I from here?
The Left,
Yes, the Left.
So much, it promises
The Traffic, more
Of people, smiling and laughing
Happy are they, or so they seem
All to the Left they turn
The more I watch
The more they throng
All to the Left
The Right looks not right
The paths, seemingly untrodden
With growths, here and there
For the period I observed
Only one strange fellow
Turned and took the right
I tried asking
None was patient enough
All in a hurry were
All to the Left turned
I shouted but none listened
Why the Left? Why not the Right?
Lost in my thoughts
Left or Right, which is right?
I could hear a voice
Strong, bold and convincing
Take the popular way
The majority can’t be wrong
Wide it is and well-trodden
I was to turn to the Left
When another voice, I heard
Soft, gentle and faint
Take the Right
The majority ain’t always right.
Now am more confused
Call it curiosity or adventure
A challenge, I know not
To the Right I turned
Rough was the path
Through the thick and thorns
I persevered and kept on.
With time I grew weary
Would have made a turn back
If not for a light I saw
This, the Traveller’s delight
Beamed and glowed at a distance
I kept on, faith and hope at play
Maybe I would obtain shelter
Where the light glowed
Then, as a loud scream it came
Jolting me to look the other way
Confused were the sounds
Wailing, shouting and scream
All, from the now distant left
But beyond redemption, they all were
As to the light, I came
Off goes the weariness
A brightness incomparable
Alas I have escaped
From the destruction
Of the wide and well-trodden
And most of all, of False Beliefs
By experience, I came to know
In the issue of salvation
The majority is wrong ALWAYS.
Well, it starts with an interesting story, strange but true! It is said that the original name of the town was Newcastle. Given that Australia itself was a penal colony, it isn’t difficult to see why such a name was settled on by the early British Settlers. So how did Newcastle become Toodyay?
Views from Toodyay
It is said that a certain William Demmason of the then Newcastle around 1908 ordered a beautiful French Ormolu Clock (don’t worry much about the adjective Ormolu, assume it means electroplated) from London and asked same to be delivered to his address in Western Australia. He was a prosperous carpenter and wheelwright that had a most important influence on the civic life in Newcastle, this was how he made his money. This was mistakenly delivered to Newcastle, New South Wales ( a tale of two Newcastles) – as were many items around that time. The clock sat unclaimed in New South Wales for a few years. Sir John Forrest (then serving in Federal Parliament), was passing through Newcastle, New South Wales when his attention was drawn to the clock and by chance happened to know Demasson. He realised that the clock had been sent to the wrong Newcastle and made arrangements for the clock to be sent to Demmasson in Newcastle, Western Australia, the originally intended address. This incident is known to have significantly contributed to the request for a change in the town’s name.
The new name, Toodyay, is believed to be derived from an Aboriginal word ‘Duidgee’ which means ‘Place of Plenty’, referring to the richness and fertility of the area and the reliability of the Avon River. As I was made to learn, it is pronounced “two gee” as in 2G.
So why should anyone visit Toodyay?
First, it is a very short drive from Perth and within a day’s trip. It is a leisurely 90kms drive North East of Perth following the Reid Highway and Toodyay Road. Second, it happened to have been adjudged and won the cleanliest town title in Australia in 2015. Thirdly, it is an exciting location with unspoilt beauty nestled within the Avon River Valley and a host of the 2 day annual Avon Descent race where paddles and powerboats compete over a course spanning 124 gruelling kilometres. Of course, it also hosts the International Food Festival. Lastly, for the history buffs, it has its dark side as well. It happened to be the town where, in 1861, Western Australia’s notorious bushranger Moondyne Joe was imprisoned for stealing a horse, but escaped.
As I was planning for the weekend, I came across a trip suggestion that will take me from Perth, North Eastwards to Toodyay, to Northam and back to Perth. This was recommended as a worthwhile day trip to visit these towns, located in the Avon Valley showing the splendour of the beautiful Avon Basin. Without much ado, I looked up the towns on my Hema Map and made up my mind on visiting these places.
The Explorer
I woke up a bit late on Saturday and did not set out of Perth till about 11:30am. The Explorer, my favourite companion on adventure trips like this, shows the fuel gauge at half tank and the journey started. I headed out on the Reid Highway before diverting north eastwards on the Toodyay Road.
Always knowing that the journey is more important than the destination, as I made my way towards Toodyay, I came across a sign that says “Scenic Lookout”. I took the turn to the left on O’Brien road and immediately was on a beautiful tree lined road. It was a well paved road but a lonely drive on which I met not more than 6 other vehicles for the 16km stretch leading to the Walyunga National Park and passing through some beautiful agricultural farmlands on both sides of the road. It is a typical Australian countryside look, most recommended for those looking for a bit of solitude away from the hustle and bustle of Perth. On reaching Walyunga, I pulled the Explorer into a parking spot and met a family coming up the hill from the park. Two lovely kids, below 7years of age, leading their father and mother up the hill and pulling all the tantrums kids of that age are known for. The kids approached me and we chatted a bit, while I pulled out my cameras from the vehicle. I soon headed downwards from the parking spot only for the rains to say “thou shall move no further”. I dared the rain to stop me and walked a little while enjoying the breath taking sights of the distant hills and that of the Avon River flowing joyfully in the valley below, next to the train lines. I wished the rain would stop, and it did. I hurried back into the Explorer and soon started crawling downhills in this beast of a machine and out of nowhere hopped a grey Kangaroo across the path the Explorer was taking. As I had been told numerously, if you a Kangaroo, another is close on its tail. This held true as the other came and hopped after the first one. Their movement was too fast for me to pull out my camera and record the video. I continued the descent down the hill and soon found out that the trail leads nowhere. Disappointed, I turned the Explorer uphill and left the park, turning left to join Clenton Road and continued the trip to Toodyay.
Time was running against me and I put my foot down on the gas pedal, joyfully cruising towards Toodyay while I had Ebenezer Obey’s music playing softly. I came across another attraction sign pointing left with the words “Scenic Drive”. The allure was in the name of the drive – Lovers Lane. I was captivated by the need to know why this name for the lane and pulled the Explorer into the lane. My enthusiasm was pleasantly rewarded.
At the intersection with Cobblers Pool Road, Lovers Lane changed to River Road and here it runs parallel with the Avon River. It was a lovely sight and soon I started picking up the sounds of water crafts on the river. My attention was transfixed to where the sound was coming from and I saw not one, but four boats, each with two occupants, speeding down the river. The occupants were with head helmets and the boats were brightly painted. It sort of raised my curiosity, did I miss something or what was this about? Another boat soon followed. This time, the engine stopped suddenly. I could see the two occupants working frantically to get the engine going again, and they did. I pulled the Explorer into a shade, and went to explore the neighbourhood. I crossed the road, headed across the rail line into the surrounding bushes around the Avon River. There were barbwires preventing access, not being sure of private property rights in Australia, I backtracked to the Explorer. This was not until I had taken some lovely pictures of the surrounding hills and vegetation.
The cruise towards Toodyay continues and had to drive through a flooded part of the road. A roadside marker, by the rushing water, shows the depth of the flood and nothing looked unsafe here. With the shocks of the Explorer having been raised, giving the already rugged Landcruiser extra-ordinary clearance, this was not a threat. I got the vehicle through the water slowly and as I did this, my mind quickly flashed to a similar experience that I encountered on the Ore-Ondo Road in South Western Nigeria. The attention to safety here in Australia, was not lost to me. The marker provides enough information to passing motorist on the depth of the raging water across the road. This wasn’t there on the Ore-Ondo Road and we had to wade through the deep waters, all at our own risk. I recalled having written his in my write up about the experience in Idanre:
“the rainwater has washed onto the road and for those unfamiliar with the road, we had to wait to be sure it was motorable. It was just brownish water all over!”
The road was lonely and meanders here and there. On the sides of the road are cropped farmlands with their lush green vegetation with a couple of homesteads. It was a beautiful sight to behold. A hill, in front, requires the engine of the Explorer to roar to live to mount the undulating hill without qualms and quickly following was a steep descents that required me to put pressure on the brakes. Soon, I got into Toodyay, entering the quiet town from the side of the old court house. A turn to the left, another to the right and then right again brought me directly in front of the Connors Mill Museum. A little further ahead was the Visitor’s Centre, which in actual fact is connected to the Connors Mill.
I pulled the Explorer into a vacant park spot and made my way into the visitors’ centre. A notice at the entrance to the centre, warning of the preponderance of snakes around the Avon Valley caught my attention. I was attended to by a lovely mid-age lady along with another man. Both were friendly. When I was told that my arrival was a week too early, I felt disappointed. The annual Avon Descent and the Toodyay International Food Festival would be taken place just the next week. I didn’t know of this when I set out from Perth. I was encouraged to take a walk around the river bed and not to leave town until I see the Church of Saint Steven, the Cola Museum, the Victoria Hotel as well as the Memorial Hall, all within walking distance from the Visitors Centre. I said my thanks and headed towards the river. This was not without asking how safe I would be from the snakes and getting assured that, given the coldness of the winter months, I am most unlikely to have any encounter with these warm blooded reptiles.
As I crossed the road and walked through the premises of Saint Steven Church, I was captivated by the simplicity in the design of the church and yet its iconic character. The church opened its doors for worship on 9 May 1862. Acting like an Angel guarding the church is a lone flooded gum tree that some said is over 400 years old. The tree had stood the test of time and you don’t talk of the church without mentioning this lone gum tree.
I took a left turn and came directly to the Newcastle Bridge upon the Avon River. The clear waters of the Avon here was alluring and I couldn’t resist the temptation to dip my feet in the river while watching the water gently flowing down on its course through the Walyunga National Park to join the Swan River. My attention was soon captured by stubs of woods in rows of two that crossed the river at nearly the exact point where the current Newcastle Bridge is. It didn’t’ take long for me to realise that these were the stubbles of the old bridge pillars. It was a case of the old haven given way to the new so that refreshing times could come. My thoughts lingered on these for a while as I deeply reflect on my own journey on this side of eternity and how we, as humans, constantly struggle against giving up the old to allow the new to take root. The stubs look ancient but without them, there would not have been a Newcastle Bridge and all the glory and splendour showered on the new bridge is because it has an antecedent that it replaced. A few more speed boats came running down the river. Being more enlightened now from the conversation that I had at the visitors centre, I did understand that all these were in preparation for the big race the following Saturday.
I moved on and took a leisurely stroll through Stirling Terrace, the major street where commercial activities abound in the city. I walked past a few restaurant and then the Memorial Hall. At the Federation Square, I came across the inscription by the town acknowledging the traditional Noongar people as the owners of the Toodyay area. I sighed, Australia, finally came to terms with its wild and chequered history and is valuing Aboriginal heritage.
A little beyond this, at the intersection between Duke Street and Stirling terrace stood the Victoria Hotel, in all its splendour. You can’t miss it. Despite its age, its beauty remains charming and its unique architectural characteristics will make anyone marvel. It is a testament that the craftsmen of yesteryears were really talented. Of course, weren’t these of the stock that built the great pyramids of Gaza? I felt I had seen enough of the town and headed back towards the Explorer, his time looking for where to have a meal to wade off my hunger. I was attracted by the aroma of grilled steak coming from my right. I walked in and discovered it was an Indian Restaurant. What have Indians got to do with steaks? Isn’t it a taboo to kill a cow? Alas these are no more mainland Indians but Australian Indians. I asked for a burger.
I got back into the Explorer and it dawned on me that I had lost so much time wandering around Toodyay and I still had to get to Northam. The Explorer roared to life and we meandered through Stirling Terrace, next to the railway tracks and headed to Northam. Just near the intersection with Hamersley Street is a giant display, a Visitor Information post, Toodyay is committed to attracting tourist to the town. I was captivated by it and pulled the Explorer into the parking space. The display tells the history of Toodyay and its glory as the tidiest town in Australia in 2015 and being the WA State category winner in 2016 for Heritage and Culture.
As I left Toodyay, I promised myself that I would be back. I would be back the week after to experience the Avon Descent and the International Food Festival.
Gandhi, An autobiography. The story of my experiments with truth.
A reflection on the book – Gandhi An Autobiography, The story of my experiments with truth written by M.K. Gandhi published in 1957 by Beacon Press.
I have had a few books read to me, a few more narrated to me by others who have read them but the large majority I have read myself.It was in Benin City, Nigeria, while waiting for my bus to Lagos that I scanned through the books displayed at the bus station and came across Gandhi’s book. Suffice it to say that for many years I have been attracted to the man Gandhi of whom I knew little but just enough to conclude that he really deserve his title Mahatma.
I had been a Student Activist, a Union Leader and generally have held positions where I have been the voice for the voiceless and the face for those who found it difficult to speak to power. But I am no Gandhi, though I wish I am one. I came to meet Gandhi, for the very first time in London. Though he died in 1948, we did not get to meet till 2002. Our chance meeting in London, in Madame Tussauds, was unplanned and speechless. As I stood next to the man, I was awe struck about his frail stature and his not so impressing height. I wondered how such a simple man, without much of an earthly possession, became the snare of the British in India and ended up creating a movement that has come to be a standard for all freedom fighters all over the world.
As I read through the last page of the autobiography and placed the book on my bedside desk, I was lost in thought trying to put together all that I had read again. No doubt, this was a difficult book. The difficulty was not in the fluency of the English language into which it has been interpreted from the original version in Gujarati by Mahadev Desai, who was until his death in 1942 Mahatma Gandhi’s personal secretary. The difficulty was not even in understanding the political situation in South Africa and India during the Satyagrahas that Mohandas lead. It was not in understanding the Hindu words that dot the book here and there which. As a Yoruba man who is well versed with the Yoruba language, I have come to understand that the English Language is deficient in many respect with providing an exact meaning of words stated in the originating language.
The major difficulty with the book is in accepting that Gandhi actually lived. Extending it a bit more, in acknowledging that he was a man of similar composition of Spirit, Soul and Body like
The man Gandhi & I
the rest of us. This was perplexing and difficult to comprehend. Here was a man who graduated from the prestigious
University College London and got called to the bar in June 1891. With this, he had all the needed pieces to become extremely wealthy practising law. Yet he chose, not by compulsion or any accident of fate, the simple life of a peasant, travelling 3rd class on Indian rails to get from one notable event to another. He was international in outlook, studied in the United Kingdom, practised law in South Africa and eventually took domicile in India, his native country. In each of these countries, he left giant footsteps. At great personal risk to himself and his family, he never for once give up his belief in the good of the human being. He was beaten, kicked into a gutter and been thrown a train, yet there is no record that he took to violence to get his views through. A civil right activist, per excellence, he fought to protect the rights of Indians in South Africa and then in India itself.
Being a Gandhi comes with a cost and it takes him that has a pure conscience to bear this price. On the whole, the book left me with an understanding that there is no force yet known to man that can be an impediment to anyone who has purposed in his mind to seek the greater good of mankind in general. Gandhi was the closest that a mere mortal has gotten close to the truth and he preached that love transcends all. While we may have opposing views, this doesn’t make us enemies but rather should promote mutual respect, tolerance and love. In fact, he encourages that we should “love the meanest of creation as oneself.”
Gandhi had said “I have nothing new to teach the world. Truth and non-violence are as old as the hills.” In this I find the sage very wrong. Our lives today are filled with violence of the strangest kind. It’s on the news, nearly every night. The killings on the street of Melbourne, the shootings in Virginia, Orlando and New York. The mass murder in Manchester, in Jerusalem, in Berlin, need I go on? How I wish the world will learn from Gandhi and subject itself to be taught about truth and non-violence.
Some remarkable excerpts from the book:
It has always been a mystery to me how men can feel themselves honoured by the humiliation of their fellow beings.
– Gandhi, An Autobiography p.155
About the same time I came in contact with another Christian family. At their suggestion I attended the Wesleyan church every Sunday….The church did not make a favourable impression on me. The sermon seemed to be uninspiring. The congregation did not strike me to be particularly religious. They were not an assembly of devout souls; they appeared to be worldly-minded people going to church for recreation and in conformity to custom. Here at times, I would involuntarily doze.
– Gandhi, An Autobiography p.160
How was one, accustomed to measure things in gold sovereigns, all at once to make calculations in tiny bits of copper? As the elephant is powerless to think in the terms of the ant, in spite of the best intentions in the world, even so is the Englishman powerless to think in terms of, or legislate for, the Indian.
– Gandhi, An Autobiography p.245
To see the universal and all-pervading Spirit of Truth face to face one must be able to love the meanest of creation as oneself. And a man who aspires after that cannot afford to keep out of any field of life…..I can say without the slightest hesitation, and yet in all humility, that those who say that religion has nothing to do with politics do not know what religion means.
– Gandhi, An Autobiography p.504
I have disregarded the order served upon me not for want of respect for lawful authority, but in obedience to the higher law of our being, the voice of conscience.
– Gandhi, An Autobiography p.414
There was strict untouchability in Bihar. I might not draw water at the well whilst the servants were using it, lest drops of water from my bucket might pollute them, the servants not knowing to what caste I belonged. Rajkumar directed me to the indoor latrine, the servant promptly directed me to the outdoor one. All this was far from surprising or irritating to me, for I was inured to such things. The servants were doing the duty, which they thought Rajendra Babu would wish them to do
– Gandhi, An Autobiography p.406
The brute by nature knows no self-restraint. Man is man, because he is capable of, and only in so far he exercises, self-restraint……..For perfection or freedom from error comes only from grace
– Gandhi, An Autobiography p.317
To save or not to save you is in His hands. As to me you know my way. I can but try to save you by means of confession.
It has always been a mystery to me how men can feel themselves honoured by the humiliation of their fellow beings. – Gandhi (1957), An Autobiography
Dear Minister,
Sir, please accept my apologies in advance, for writing to you openly. I considered what would be the best way to reach your exalted office but could think of no better medium than this.
I write to you sir, because we share a mutual interest – the love for Nigeria and care and concern for the plight of its citizens. Sir, I am sure you have these interests at heart because the House of Assembly would not have confirmed your nomination as a Minister if it is not so.
I am concerned, sir, that the current processes at the Passport Offices are not the most efficient and can be made better. Your processes are killing people, they fuel corruption, waste time and de-humanize us, sir. I hope you are still reading sir, as I intend to show you clearly what the experiences of the average Nigerians are at your passport offices and how I came to the above conclusion. Unlike others, I will also go the extra mile to proffer solutions, per-adventure you will consider and implement them.
Reviving...after almost dyingShe died..and lives to tell a story.
Knowing that you are an honorable man, I am inclined to believe that it is most likely that you are not currently aware of the situations at the passport offices. In the alternate case that you are aware, I want to believe that you already have your team of eggheads working on resolving the problems associated with this institution that has become a national embarrassment. My letter would then just be a reminder of how urgent that this needs to be resolved.
The unnecessary hardship and treatment that Nigerians are subjected to at the passport office is a grave cause of concern. From any point you look at this, we simply cannot continue to subject our citizen to the sort of treatment currently being meted out at the passport offices and demand better treatment and respect from the consular offices of foreign nations. Let me digress a little, and use an actual experience to buttress my point. A couple of years ago, I sat in a meeting requesting a foreign contractor to comply with some level of Environmental Standards in a project that we were about to execute. The contractor’s project manager retorted that we should not hold them to standards higher than what our Nigerians have demonstrated. He mentioned that he had gone around the country and had seen heaps of rubbish all around with blocked sewers and then questioned our morality in asking him to treat his wastes and effluents before discharging them. My eyes were blood red because the truth hurts. In any case, we made him comply with our standards which were far higher than the Nigerian requirements. Sir, from the above, you will understand why it becomes difficult to expect foreign entities to treat us with respect given the way we treat our citizens.
Added to this is that time is money. Now, let’s forget about the inconsequential me and talk of my Igbo brother from Alaba. He was there too, seeking a passport to pursue his honest trade of importing goods into the country and selling them. He depends on his daily sales for his livelihood and yet he had been made to abandon this to come and spend hours at your offices for a service that shouldn’t take 30mins to provide. Please think of the impact of these wasted hours on the national GDP and our productivity as a nation. This makes us uncompetitive for business sir. With us, were students, some barely old enough to know what was right and wrong. They were there, under the sun, learning from the school of hard knocks. These leaders of tomorrow must have left with the impression that obtaining a passport is a herculean task and that it was normal for a sea of people to be sun dried and soaked in their own sweat to obtain services. What an impression on their young innocent minds!
Time to pray
It was mid-May 2017 and the location was the Passport Office, Ikeja. I had been informed that to pick up my passport, I had to arrive early at the office. I have had a bitter experience getting my data captured a couple of days earlier and had arrived Ikeja at about 7:30am to pick up the passport.
Now the very first challenge was to get a parking space for my vehicle. This was absurd as the Passport Office has a car park. Of course, this has been converted to the waiting area for passport applicants as there is no other place they can stay. Parking, itself, became a drama but after circling the block a few times, I eventually negotiated a space and parked the vehicle. I spent some time relaxing in the car and finally took the less than 3 mins walk to the passport office. I arrived at 8:15am, the office does not start attending to people until 9am. The sight that accosted me was a shock, how come these many people had arrived at the passport office that early? Two categories of client were waiting for the office to be opened – those coming for data capture and to pick up their passports. I was directed to join a line, by the time I registered my name, I already had 186 other Nigerians ahead of me, that early morning.
The wait had begun. How long I was going to wait for, I did not know. So I went ahead and confirmed two other appointments that I had for 1:30pm and another for 3pm. At around 9am, some of the smartest dressed crop of uniformed men and women came out to address the crowd. Sir, by this time, the Equatorial Sun was already out, drenching us with humidity and heat. The Customer Relations Officer was impressive. With her impeccable English she doled out a set of useful information that went on and on. Not many people were listening, they had more serious issues to contend with. The heat was not friendly and the shades were grossly inadequate.
After her came the Special Assistant to the Passport Officer, also with his own “sermon at the passport office”. Seriously, their words were impressive and showed an awareness and understanding of the trauma through which most passport applicant were going. I can’t say that much for their actions. Our waiting continued, and all these while we remained standing on our feet. At least that was true for the majority of the applicants. The seats provided could barely accommodate 100 people yet, the people at that office would be around a thousand.
I thought that the experience could have been made less painful. If the Immigration Office was that determined that we must go through this suffering, it could make it less painful by keeping us entertained. In any case, we did get entertained by the various characters that mill around the office. Looking at the faces of the people there was great distress, hopelessness. Yet Nigerians are the most tolerant of all people, except for the particular case of the mosque where a gentleman got angry and requested to be treated with respect.
The crowd at the office
The wait was long, tortuous but finally it was mid-day. I remembered the late Fela’s song – suffering and smiling. 49 sitting and 99 standing. Only two fans were provided to cool the multitude and these, that were well at work, had seen better days. Soon, the inevitable happened. It was 12:10pm and right there, while requesting for a drink, she fell. Straight backwards and hit the bare cemented floor. She could have died, bidding bye-bye to the world in your facility as a result of exhaustion. A Nigerian in her mid-thirties with a bulge in her tommy suggesting she was some months pregnant. The intervention of hangers-byes in pouring water on her brought her back to life. The fate of that pregnancy, no one knows. No, not yet. Then came your men, officers of the Immigration Service. It was funny what their response was – they took her details and attended to her immediately. I thought in my mind that it won’t be a bad idea for us all to collapse or die so that we could get deserving attention.
Oh, how religious your folks were sir! It was 1:10pm and the preparation for the mosque service has begun, the little sun shade provided by the tent had to be vacated so that it could be converted to a temporary mosque. When did having prayers in a public institution become the norm and civil servants are allowed to abandon their duties to observe this, when they were not making use of their lunch hour? Into the hot blazing sun we headed. I am sure that the Prophet Mohammed (SAW) wasn’t that wicked and would not have asked the majority of people to sacrifice their comfort for the minority to pray.
It was 1:32pm when numbers 150 to 200 were called so that the search for their passports could be made. I joined the line and made it inside the building. More than 5hrs since I arrived at the gates of the office, I got to sit down for the very first time. Sir, on entering the office, I got accosted with gross inefficiency in your system. In the collection office, there were 8 of your able bodied men and women saddled with the simple process of releasing the passports. There we were, sitting down, waiting to be called to pick the passports but these guys were spending more time chatting on their phones and discussing with their colleagues than they were in attending to us. Of course, it is from the phone calls that they get the various “side-kicks” through which they augment their living. Why would we matter that much? Yet, as I came to be told, the Ikeja Office has better service turnaround period than its Ikoyi counterpart.
Nigerians, like you & I
At 2:15pm I got called to pick my passport and eventually walked out of that room with my new passport at about 2:20pm. By this time, I had a pressing need to use the rest room. I inquired from your men and I was directed to a corner of the building meant for men to do their thing. I entered the space and all the available 4 slots were locked up. It was the height of the insult. Here I was, having been kept at your premises for upwards of 6 hours, a Nigerian from whose taxes this office is funded yet was prevented from making use of a rest room. Is it that someone in your team is that insensitive that a facility in a public office has to be sealed up from the public for whom the facility is created to serve? I was told that there was a nearby facility for which I would need to pay N100 to use. I just gave up. Isn’t it the height of inhumanity to have such a large crowd here at the instance of the passport office and not provide convenience for them?
Sir, if it lacks measure, it is difficult to control. Do you have the data on the output of your Passport Offices across the nation? For instance, how many passports are issued monthly on the average? If this information is available, then we have a solution to the problems of the offices running out of passports. How? Simply implement the stock re-order level concept. Do you have the information on how many employees it takes to issue one passport? If you do, then we can manage the seemingly large numbers of your staff that are actually acing as a clog to productivity. How? Compare he figures to what obtains in South Africa, Egypt and some other big economies in the world. Do you know how many hours are spent, on average, by each applicant in your offices to obtain a passport? If you do, then we can judge the efficiency of the different offices and provide incentives to encourage the efficient ones and punish the less efficient.
As promised sir, in the next part of this letter I will provide suggestions on how to address the noted problems in this establishment and make it one that we all as Nigerians can be proud of. I really appreciate your having taken time to patiently read this letter and am hopeful that you will do the same for the next part as well.
I love my country, I no go lie. There is no place else like Nigeria. This is the reason I keep coming back. I get drawn and taken to the remote corners of the earth but, to Nigeria, I still return. That corruption is rife in Nigeria is not news. I grew up in the environment and am aware of, though insulated from, it’s many ills.
It’s barely a few weeks that I have been back and to me, despite the very hard work that PMB is doing, it seems he is yet to scratch the surface tip of this giant ice berg. Really, it seems it has become worse with each passing day and the recession in the economy has not helped matters. Everywhere I turned, I was faced with this monster in high and low places.
More of this can be achieved, without corruption
It is my thesis that it is highly improbable for any resident of Nigeria to make heaven. Let me clarify this a bit. I am not saying no Nigerian will make heaven, far from me to make that proposition. Of course, I am not God and I fervently believe in grace. However, I do postulate that it will be extremely difficult, if not impossible for anyone residing in Nigeria, white, black, mulatto or whatever, to make it to heaven. Please be patient with me while I use three distinct experiences that I have had in the past few days to support my position. On my return home, I got informed of the problems with my car’s shock absorbers and a quote was obtained for me for the repairs. I made the requested payment and await the return of the vehicle. On return, I was informed that the shocks couldn’t be replaced – too costly and unavailable. So an ingenious solution was devised – they switched the shock absorbers from an accidented vehicle, still undergoing insurance claim issues with mine and paid the custodian of the vehicle. This happened without the owner’s knowledge or consent. It seemed a smart thing to do and they were seeking my commendations for their ingenuity. I pointed out that the action was fraudulent and should not have happened and would have preferred the car being returned without repairs along with my money to the action that they took. All were surprised and looked at me with bewilderment, could he be serious?
Barely two days later, I got a call from a colleague intimating me of an opportunity and requesting for a meeting. At the meeting, I got introduced to a man who had a business proposal. He is from Edo State, not that it matters. He presented the deal to me and I quickly cut through his long story to understand the transaction. Simply, an entity of the Federal Government of Nigeria has awarded a contract to this man to acquire some 40 pieces of an item at a sum, just a little below N50mm. The contract value was kept below N50m to ensure it was within the approval authority of the Managing Director of this entity and needed no further oversight and approval. These items would be bought from a German manufacturer for N10m and the contractor will incur another N2m in travelling to Germany to bring them into Nigeria in two suitcases. No registration with Standards Organization of Nigeria (SON) was planned as the N2m already provides for bribes to custom officials at the Airport, on arrival in Nigeria. He informed that the MD has requested for a meeting with him the next day. The subject of discussion will be the percentage of the contract that will be paid to him. In his opinion, the minimum would be 15% because the MD is new but it could be as much as 20%. After listening to his story, I mentioned that I had no interest as the opportunity was fraught with risks. In order to get me convinced that all was well with the transaction and that he has all the right connections in the system, he told me of another transaction of which he just got off the phone call. He mentioned that he is a registered contractor with Lagos State and that, given his connection and network, all he does now is allow his company’s name and bank account be used by officers of the state and he gets his cut. I asked how this works. To this, he explained that officials will award and execute contract in the name of his company and once the State Government makes payment into his account, the officers instructs him on how to distribute the payment while he keeps his own share for the work he never did. He saw nothing wrong with this and, being who I am, I remained convinced that any partnership with this man would be too potent for me to handle. I walked away.
Fast forward a couple of days thereafter. I sat in discussion with a Professor who had spent his years working at the University. We were talking about the quality of the academic works in the country and he dropped the bombshell. There is no quality here! I probed him further asking whether the University accreditation system doesn’t guarantee this. He said, “for where?” and explained the “rent-a-crowd” approach that Universities are taking to beat the accreditation team. Months before accreditation, the Universities will offer “unconfirmed” appointments to qualified academics to come and teach in their institutions. Some of these offers would be in name only, an office and a door name allocated to an individual who never shows up in the school to teach. He further mentioned that some universities are that desperate that they go ahead to rent equipment to display in their laboratories and workshops prior to the arrival of the accreditation panel and return these to the owners, after the panel has left. I asked, now that everybody is blowing whistles, what about being a whistle blower to expose this cankerworm. To this, he retorted that nothing is currently beyond the knowledge of the accreditation team as they are serving lecturers picked from other universities for the assignment. They are also aware of what obtains in their institutions as well.
As I tour the country, from Ibadan to Benin, Lagos to Modakeke. the stories abound and no institution is immune. The Passport office has its schemes that make corruption thrives. So also is the Customs, with its men that it has armed and thrown on the roads to spring surprises on motorists along the Abeokuta-Imeko road, the Ibadan-Ife road and similar.
I love Quora. It’s a simple app from where the least endowed of us can obtain wisdom. At no cost. As I picked up my phone this morning, the question on Quora was “Which is better, Canadian or Australian Citizenship”? The answers to this question, focussed on life expectancy, cost of living, economy and of course, racial harmony. It was on the latter that Australia trails Canada, according to one of the writers. I was still thinking about this when I saw a post on facebook relating to racial discrimination. I couldn’t held myself from commenting and so I joined the conversation.
Australia is a culturally diverse country, it owes this to the history of how the island state came to be. Being a penal colony, it became home to people of different creed and shapes from England and as it matures, came to represent the land of freedom for many. Australia takes diversity and cultural inclusion seriously. To demonstrate it, it has set aside the 21st of March every year as harmony day. In fact, it has a website devoted to this available here.
Harmony Day is a celebration of cultural diversity – a day of cultural respect for everyone who calls Australia home. The message of Harmony Day is ‘everyone belongs’, the Day aims to engage people to participate in their community, respect cultural and religious diversity and foster sense of belonging for everyone. Since 1999, more than 70,000 Harmony Day events have been held in childcare centres, schools, community groups, churches, businesses and federal, state and local government agencies across Australia.
Mirrabooka is a suburb of Perth with a large presence of immigrant population. I refer to this suburb as “little Sudan”. Everywhere you go, you are not far from a person that has his ancestry from Sudan. So it was a pleasurable choice to have this suburb hosting the Harmony Day for 2017. By the time we showed up at the event, the sprawling car park was fully taken up and we had to pack some distance away.
Entering the hall, we were pleased to see an African Dance Troupe performing for the audience. The sight of the Ghanian Drums, wrapped in Kente clothes. The beating of the drums was irresistible and I couldn’t stop myself from saying my body to its rhythm. Across the hall were various stands promoting services to support racial inclusion in the society. I spent some time at the Islamic stand where I was attended to by a teenage lady all wrapped up in black with a black hijab. She was extremely polite. Displayed at the stand was a free offer to have one’s name written in Arabic. I told her my name and she wrote this on a piece of paper in Arabic. Thereafter, I requested her to tell me the meaning of my surname in Arabic. She struggled a bit with this and called another younger lady to help. Try as they did, all I could be told was that it was the nickname of the first Caliph of Islam, a friend of the prophet. I wanted more. I have been told that it meant “noble promise” but unfortunately my search for the meaning continues on another day.
At another stand, I was invited to enter a competition on diversity by answering a simple question. It was the stand of the Equal Opportunity Commission, an outfit of the Government of Western Australia. The question seems simple but deserves a lot of thought. It stated “Why do we have laws protecting us from discrimination and harassment”? I was given a whole sheet to answer but with the option of making my answer as short or lengthy as I chose. I simply wrote “Our diversity is strength. Without laws, the strength in our diversity will thrive as weakness. Laws help to promote the best in our individuality and thus help to shape society better collectively”. That was the best answer I could give, impromptu. Some folks probably would have done better.
The police stand and its officers were delightsome. We had two (2) officers dressed in a highland dress – a combination of the Western Australian police uniform and a kilt. Also, on hand and portraying that the Police is part of the society was a lady officer dressed in the police uniform with a black hijab and matching black trouser. Outside was a police van and the officers were taken families to explore this.
Somewhere in the crowd, I caught a glimpse of the Mayor of the city of Stirling, Councillor Giovanni Italiano JP. I don’t know how old he is but I have been told that he has lived within the Osborne ward of the council for more than 60 years! That alone deserves some respect as it shows stability. I approached him and wanted to know about the council’s efforts towards promoting diversity and cultural inclusion in the city. He pointed out the current event at Mirrabooka and would introduce me to an officer of the council with direct responsibility for this.
As I left the event, my belief in Australia as a race tolerant country increased. It is the diversity of the people that makes Australia a great place to live.
Today, I spent some time at the Rio Tinto’s “Sculpture by the sea” event hosted by the City of Cottlesloe. It is the 13th annual exhibition of the series and runs from 3rd to 20th March 2017.
I came away from the event with more questions than I have answers for. For instance what really is Art? And how do we define a sculpture? The works being exhibited on the beach range from those that are simply stunning and awe inspiring to those that make you feel like puking and asking is this really art? As one walks along the Cottlesloe beach, you get to see these different works carefully placed on the pathways, on the greens with some hung to dangle from the trees dotting the beach side.
Prior years’ experience of many an art lover, with the event, must have resonated well with this year. Despite it being a Friday, the crowd turnout was impressive. It was a mixture of the old, the not so old and the young. Equally impressive was the presence of a few high schools who have come to use the exhibition to generate some excitements and learning opportunity for their students. The weather was at one of its very best, this autumn day in Perth. It was warm but not humid and the sea breeze was refreshing. All these must have been a great lure to the many that came to this year’s exhibition.
The Sculptures themselves are different – made out of woods, clay, iron, glass and recyclable materials. In these, the artists convey a variety of messages to the observers. Some messages are subtle as with Cansumerism by Hayley Bahr / Tim Keevil. In this large piece of crushed soda can, the artists evokes a sympathy for mother earth by the tons of cans and associated waste that we dump on her. Some messages are apolitical and loud. A case in point is the work by Tim Burns titled “The Dogs of War”. It doesn’t take much to decipher that this is a message from the artist regarding the West Australian elections that are taking place this weekend. It depicts a car upon which a huge power pole has fallen. Now, I am not sure how the messages about the privatization of Western Power resonates with West Australians but the various scribblings on the car, the conspicuous placing of a can with a few Australian Dollar notes neatly tucked in it all shows a disaffection for the Liberal government return to power in this election.
So what is Art?
Well, being not intent on starting an academic treatise here, a simple explanation that resonates with the general public will help. Here we will make do with “the art of the Renaissance” definition that says art is the expression or application of human creative skill and imagination, typically in a visual form such as painting or sculpture, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power. With this definition, one can forgive my not finding art in some of the works on display as they neither epitomises beauty nor evoke emotional feelings within me. Of course, beauty is in the eyes of the beholder but then what is beautiful needs not much defence for a consensus to be reached regarding its beauty. Ben David’s BIG BOY, lends credence to this. This work, literally and figuratively, stands apart from the rest.
Milan Kuzica has on display a tall green obelisk which she calls the “Green-Life”. To me, this was a replica or a work modelled after the “Opa Oranmiyan”. Yes, I am alleging that her idea for the Green life most probably came from having caught a glimpse of the famous “Opa Oranmiyan” that is currently situated in Ile-Ife, the cradle of Yoruba civilization. Her contribution to art, through the Green-Life will be in the manner that she has increased the height of this sacred obelisk and painted it in green. I think that Milan Kuzica owes the people of Ife a recognition for her sculpture, she definitely got her inspiration from them.
Another work that is featured, prominently by the entrance to the beach, is the “Ago Adie”. Well that’s the Yoruba name for the bamboo woven basket used to keep chickens at night. For whatever reasons Maggie Johns has, she chose to call her work Woven Whispers. It’s simply an “Ago Adie” that has been pumped up on steroid. Again, it was another missed opportunity to assign copyrights to the Yoruba culture, especially the mothers that have an age long tradition of keeping hens and chickens in their back yards.
Even those with the faintest knowledge of Aso-Oke that come across Elin & Keino’s work titled Integration/Interruption will be convinced that this is just a replica of the cloth weaving process that had been perfected in the late 18th century predominantly by the women of Iseyin’s (Oyo-State), Ede (Osun State) and Okene (Kogi) in Nigeria.
This brings us to asking what really is sculpture?
Again, google comes to the rescue and gives a populist definition as the art of making two- or three-dimensional representative or abstract forms, especially by carving stone or wood or by casting metal or plaster. Implicit in this definition is the transformation of a media or material by the act of carving or casting. If we hold this definition as a guide, it simply shows that a couple of the so called works on display do not fit into the definition of a sculptor and as such shouldn’t be in an exhibition titled “Sculpture by the Sea”. “Integration/Interruption”, “Yura Yura”, “Fantasia” and not to forget “Drawing on the ground” readily come to mind. What was the basis for chosing to feature these works?
The lack of representation of African Arts at Sculpture by the Sea.
Earlier in the week, I had been engaged in a thought provoking discussion that centred on why men are accountable for there being less books on our shelves that depict women as equal partners. I was still ruminating on my response to that issue when it dawned on me that there was no single African work presented at the Sculpture by the Sea event. I looked and searched for the faintest glimpse of one but the more I looked the less I saw. I became dejected.
I had been a regular visitor to Nike Art Gallery in Nigeria and the multi-storey edifice host the works of many renowned Nigerian artists. I wonder why none of these were submitted and featured in this event. In its 13th year, we had works from the Japanese, Indians, British, Czechs and some other countries but the homeland that produced the pyramids was not represented! It dawned on me that there may be a paucity of information regarding the event and sponsorship may also be an issue.
A similar exhibition at the Bondi beach in Sydney is currently calling for submission from artists. Applications are open until Tuesday 26 April 2016 for the online application or Friday 22 April 2016 if you are posting your application. If you are an African Sculptor, this is your chance to get your work to international limelight.
A couple of prizes are available to be won. The $50,000 Rio Tinto Sculpture Award is the highlight of the competition. This award was won by an Indian in 2016 and the 2017 winner will soon be announced. Also available for grabs is the EY People’s Choice Prize of $5,000. The opportunities to get your artwork sold at top dollars should be exciting to anyone and if you need sponsorship, I am interested in sponsoring such works.
Today, I took the Sahara for a spin on the sand dunes at Leschenault. It all started well, then a glitch and we got hooked on the sand.
Having tried all I knew to no avail, I sought for help. A couple of guys in their Nissan Patrol stopped, helped to dig out the sand from under the Sahara and finally gave up. Their assessment, the Sahara was too deeply stuck in the sand – it was resting fully on the sands. I pulled out the snatch strap so that they could help to pull me backwards only to realise that their vehicle doesn’t have the tow power to pull. Sahara. They wished me luck and continued on their way, with a promise to flag down help for me if they find one.
Seated calmly on the passenger seat was Red Pumpkin. While I was fretting and at a loss on what next to do she asked “Is this not a Sahara”? I said it was. A couple of seconds later, she gave me her phone and asked me to watch a YouTube video. “Is your car more deeply embedded in the sand than this”, she asked? I watched the video and sigh “a-ha”!
I got back in the vehicle, looked for the “Crawl Button” and activated crawl. The Sahara came to life, groaned here, shook there, shuddered and presto, we were free.
Unbelievable! After all, there is a reason why it is a Sahara. It’s the King off roads.
The moral of the story, you can have a very capable and top of the pack equipment, if your knowledge is deficient, you have nothing.
This is Part III of our expedition report – the road trip from Perth in WA across the Nullabor and reaching the shores of Sydney with detours to Adelaide, Melbourne and Canberra along the way. The trip video, once fully edited will be shared by K2TV vide its YouTube site.
It wasn’t long for us to get to Coolgardie and we had to refill our fuel. A little pricey but we knew that the price would increase as we continue on the trip. The trip southwards on the Coolgardie–Esperance Highway was easy, except that we had to be careful with the Road trains. In passing through Coolgardie, we had avoided getting to Karlgolie and as such missed the opportunity to see the 1st of the 18 holes of the Nullabor Links – the World’s Longest Golf Course. It spans 1,365 kilometres with one hole in each participating town or roadhouse along the Eyre Highway, from Kalgoorlie in Western Australia to Ceduna in South Australia. Each hole includes a green and tee and somewhat rugged outback-style natural terrain fairway. We came across the other 17 holes as we travelled the Eyre Highway eastwards. We got to Norseman near mid-day and decided to take a break. I looked at the price displayed at the BP station and shook my head, a little pricey I said.
Norseman has a queer history. The town was said to have derived its name from a horse. Yes, a horse that made its owner rich. It was said that the horse had been tethered to a stable but ,using its hoof, it scratched the ground and revealed a nugget of gold. To us, Norseman was the point where we would make a go, no-go decision. My wife and I looked at each other, said a little prayer and we agreed – to the Pacific Ocean we head. As to the town itself, we saw little of this as we headed out eastwards. On our return journey, we took some time out in the town and will talk about this later.
From Norseman, our trip took an eastward direction on the Eyre Highway which leads to Port Augusta in South Australia. From its little beginnings in 1941, the highway was completed in 1976 and now act as the major artery for land transportation between the east and the west. We soon drove past the Dundas Nature Reserve, on to the Fraser Range headed to Balladonia. The traffic has thinned down to trickles by now and it was a sign of things to come. This is the road less travelled.
Belladonia:
Our plan was to drive as far as Caiguna and pass the night there. However, on reaching Balladonia, we couldn’t resist the urge to explore the little settlement. It was here that the US Skylab Space Station came crashing in 1979, 38 years ago. We walked into the roadhouse and visited the museum. A large piece of Skylab is still on display here, the letters “UNI STAT” were the only things clearly visible on the remains. Harley Davidson enthusiast will love the exhibit as well. A section is dedicated to the Perth to Sydney overland tour between 1926 and 1927 which showcases the ruggedness of the Harley bikes.A space in the wall has a car encased with occupants breaking through. It was a dedication to the REDEX endurance rally round-Australia in the 1950s. There were other artifacts in the museum, the essence being to promote Belladonia as a tourist destination.
We got back into “The Explorer” and continued on our eastward journey. Caiguna was the target for our next stop. Our pre-trip planning had informed of the “90 Mile Straight” being between Belladonia and Caiguna on this highway. We were looking forward to the drive but little did we know that it was that close to where we were. As we pulled out of Belladonia, we made a bend and there it was – the “90 Mile Straight”. The signpost was big enough but we could have missed it in a blink. We pulled up by the sign and took some pictures and a video clip. This is Australia’s longest straight road stretching for 145 kms towards Caiguna. What spurred the road engineers to creating this, we may not know. According to the theory of everything, as proposed by me, it was not created by design but must have occurred naturally. With the Nullabor being a flat topographical land, the engineers had no hills to contend with and a straight line being the shortest distance between two points became the way to go.
One would think that driving on a straight road is “easy pitzy”, wrong! Getting on the 90 Mile Straight was not without its dangers. With no curves, bends or sharp turning, it is a battle against weariness and sleep. Everything looked the same, as the Explorer sped on at the legally allowed 110km per hour. What one sees a minute ago is the same as what one sees now. The scenery was monotonous and except for a break here and there by the passing of another lonely, and probably weary, driver, all that confronts the eyes was a long stretch of open road. You can almost see the curvature of the earth as you look into the distance. We needed no other lecture to agree that the Earth is truly round.
The other lecture that we wouldn’t be needing as well is about the food chain. Collisions between Kangaroos and Vehicles in the Australian Outback is a fact of life. it’s not if, it’s always when. The Kangaroos will keep on sprinting and attracted by the lights f vehicles, will sprint across the roads. The vehicles will not stop driving and hence collisions will happen. When it does, the poor Kangaroos pay with their lives. Nothing gets wasted in the outback. Minutes after death comes calling, the bird of preys will visit. As we drove on the 90 Miles Straight, sights of giant Eagles and other birds feasting on dead Kangaroos became the norm. The Eagles feast alone, and seeing these bird with their claws and beaks, they got our respects. By the time the eagle has gotten its fill, the other birds come to pick theirs and soon, very soon, nothing remains of Skippy, except the bones and maybe the tough skin. These decompose and no race of Skippy remains again. The food chain demonstrated in our full glare.
Caiguna:
We reached Caiguna in good time. 5kms away from Caiguna, we saw the signpost pointing us to divert to our right to see the blowhole. We have encountered blow holes before and we couldn’t immediately convinced ourselves to branch. The decision was made for us when the dirt beated 4WD truck that was ahead of us took a turn towards the blowhole. If he could, we can. We diverted. With our attentions focussed on the truck, we kept on its trail inwards for another six minutes on a dirt road through the shrubs, all the time spinning to the sky brown dirt from the road. Just a little further ahead, the 4WD decided it had gone as far as he would and turned back. We were convinced that the blow hole was still a little further inland and continued until we reached the end of the road. Out there we came across two families of Kangaroos in the bush, they took to their hills skipping across the wide plains. Watching as these cross our path with surprising agilities, we were mesmerized. These animals can cover long distances with short bursts of speed. No blow holes were seen. Dejected, we turned back and headed for the main road. In a little clearing as we were about to join the road, was the blow hole. We laughed at our stupidity in following the 4WD all along.
The blow hole at Caiguna was created from a series of underlying caves created out of the limestone formation. The caves are alive and breathing. When caves ‘breathe’, the air pressure falls and rises. The Caiguna blowhole breathe more vigorously than all the other caves in Australia. It is said air movement at the cave entrance can reach around 72 kilometres per hour. At the blowhole, one can feel the earth breathing through the air currents.
I don’t think it’s worth spending any time here. It is an attraction that is well blown out of proportion. Our discovering them was actually surprising. We had seen a signpost directing us to the holes and we took a turn to our right. Just ahead of us was a caravan pulling 4 wheel drive. It seemed not to be bothered with the unevenness of the unsealed road. It was spilling up dusts and we were in hot pursuit, wrongly believing that the holes were much further away. After a couple of minutes on its tail, the 4 WD took a surprising U-turn and headed towards us. It soon got past us and we were left to find our way, either forward or backwards. We surged forward. Our adventure was well rewarded with the sight of a family of kangaroos that were in the bushes. On sighting us, they took to sprinting away from the side of the unsealed road. We soon got to the end of the road and there was no sign of any blowhole. We were dejected and had to return the way we came. As we were about to join the Eyre Highway, we finally saw the holes, they were just right in front of us and had our attention not to have been diverted by the caravan pulling 4wd, we most likely would have seen them earlier. The fading write up next to the hole talked about its formation and the fact that most of the coastal land in the area are limestones.
Cocklebiddy:
We continued our journey and arrived Cocklebiddy late in the evening. Cocklebiddy started as an Aboriginal mission station, of which only the stone foundations remain today. In replacement is a roadhouse, next to the highway. My wife went in to book a spot for us to set up camp for the night. She came back with a bill of $25.
Just outside, in the open, was a black slate on which the population of the town was written. It informed that there were 8 people inhabiting the area along with 1,234,567 Kangaroos! I was too tire to ask the reasonable question – How was the Kangaroo census conducted? We don’t know but the sign accurately reflects the notion – there are more Kangaroos in Cocklebiddy than people. We paid for a caravan spot and met some other families already settled into various spots for the night.
Cocklebiddy is best seen as a hamlet made of a roadhouse and a filling station. I think it was an abandoned mining site that has been redeveloped for catering to the needs of weary travellers on the long sojourn to cross from Western Australia to South Australia. The amenities in the caravan park were good. The usual option – powered sites, non-powered sites, bathroom, toilets etc. It was here, in Cocklebiddy, that we came across faith in the most desolate of places. There were these two gals who have arrived Cockle biddy earlier than we did. With piercings on the body of one and tattoos all over that of the other, their appearance caught our attention. We, in our minds, had rushed to judge these two ladies as low lives and probably of no good.For whatever reasons she had, Saf stirred up a conversation with the ladies and the sweetness of their Spirit began to be revealed. We got to learn that they were on a journey to attend “Adelaide for Christ” and they have met in Perth and became friends only a few months ago.
In the morning, our lady friends were already prepared to leave before we came down from our tent. We asked for permission for an interview and this was granted. We did a few basic questions and answers and thereafter a call to prayers was made by the ladies. It was just so touching to realise that these young ladies did have Christ in their minds. As we prepared to leave, we found a large rectangular enclosure containing two giant bird. These were Eagles. Looking at these birds at close distance brings about a better appreciation of what an Eagle is. The claws at their feet, the massive wing-span, said to be as long as 2.5m and their sheer strength are humbling. They however look sad, probably because of they were in a cage. The Golf across the Nullabor has a hole here in Cocklebiddy named Eagles Nest, most likely named because of these rescued Eagles in Cocklebiddy. It is a par 4 hole.
This is Part II of our expedition report – the road trip from Perth in WA across the Nullabor and reaching the shores of Sydney with detours to Adelaide, Melbourne and Canberra along the way. The trip video, once fully edited will be shared by K2TV vide its YouTube site.
It took less than an hour to get to Meckering, a town not far from Perth. We had been here before, during our trip to the Goldfields-Esperance region. The trip from Perth to Meckering was not a difficult one, though the traffic was not light. It was time to have a nature break and we pulled the Explorer off the road into a shade.
The saying goes that “people can tell you where they were when Kennedy was assassinated, when Armstrong landed on the moon and when Meckering had its earthquake”. It is a way of emphasising how extensive the Meckering earthquake was, touching 6.9 on the Ritcher’s scale. The day was 14th October 1968 and it was 10:59am when all changed for Meckering. The earthquake was so intense that it shattered windows as far away as Perth, 130 kms away. A fault line was created as a result of the quake. It is almost 5 decades after and the fault line has been filled and built up in a number of areas but one can still get to see a little section of this in the town. A road sign further down the road provides directions on how to get to see the fault line.
An open shed, on the right of the road as you travel eastward towards Karlgolie, is dedicated to telling the story of the earthquake. A section of the C.Y O’Connor’s pipeline is exhibited here and is said to have been removed from its original location and tossed some distance away. One can see the crack in the thick steel that the pipeline section was made of. The write-up on the wall also mentioned severe damage to the railway tracks linking Perth to Karlgolie. Visitors are encouraged to visit the town to see a preserved area where the fault has not been built up since the earthquake occurred.
A house, resembling a modern camera, stands a little further away from the open shed. It is the Big SLR Camera Museum, dedicated to the history of the Camera. Camera devices are so popular and affordable these days that many had forgotten that life had not always been like this. As I write this piece, the developers of the digital camera were being awarded the £1m Queen Elizabeth Prize, the highest award for engineering feats. This museum helps to fill the knowledge gap on how we transition from the age of the pin-hole to the digital cameras. Apart from the unique design of the building, there was nothing inviting on the outside. In reality, the outside presents itself as a derelict of a filling station that had been pulled out but the environment was not fully restored. Gothic in appearance and can do with a good make-over. We had also visited this museum previously and had taken pictures there and were not of any interest to do this again.
As we return to the Explorer, we met a mother and her two daughters heading towards us sipping cold drinks from paper cups they were holding. It was hot, really hot. It seemed as if the Sun was angry with the Earth and decided to scorch her to death! We exchanged pleasantries and talked about the heat. They were heading towards Perth. I drove the Explorer across the road and it was time to satisfy the thirsty beast.
Site of World Record for Road Trains
The Great Eastern Highway connects Perth to the gold town of Karlgolie-Boulder. It is a well trafficked road and aptly called the Road Train route for a reason. The road trains were many. They serve as the vital artery that sustains commerce in Perth as a result of its remoteness. The Merredin Tourist Bureau has a signage erected on the highway to show that it holds the World Record having successfully gotten a 610.7m long road train with 45 trailers travel a distance of 8.67kms on 3rd April 1999. There is no reason to doubt this record, we left the site with an agreement that if the record truly exists, we don’t know of anywhere else in the world that would have been more suitable for this.
We soon came across the Rabbit Proof Fence. At, 3,253 km (2,021 mi). It is said to be the longest fence in the world though evidence exists that the Dingo Fence of South-East Australia is actually longer. The Rabbit Proof Fence, at the time it was completed in 1907 was a demonstration of ingenious solutions to problems encountered by the Australian farmers. Unlike the Berlin Wall, erected to keep people out, the Western Australia Rabbit Fence was erected to keep rabbits out of farmlands.
The Rabbits came on the First Fleet, along with the convicts. Then they became a problem as they are extremely prolific creatures and
Site of the Rabbit Proof Fence
spread rapidly across the southern parts of the country. The conditions in Australia were ideal for a rabbit population explosion and farm losses from rabbit damage grew. Western Australia’s response, to contain this damage, was to construct the Rabbit Proof Fence. It is now known as the State Barrier Fence, regularly maintained.
I left the rabbit proof fence site with a lesson – history can be unfair. Thomas Austin, whomever he was, must have received accolades in 1859 when he released 24 wild rabbits for hunting purposes. In so doing, he has, much later, became the brunt of blame for introducing this pest to Australia.
As we proceeded on our journey towards Coolgardie, we drove past the town of Cunderdin, the site of one of the No. 3 Steam Pumping Station for the goldfields water supply scheme built in 1901-1902. The town has a weird building, standing next to the highway. It is the replica of Ettamogah Pub, originally devised by cartoonist Ken Maynard and featured from 1959 in the Australasian Post magazine.
By the time we approached Coolgardie, it was getting late for continued safe driving. We chose the Goldfields National Park as a resting place and met not less than eight other groups camping there. We picked a nice spot and parked the Explorer. It was my job to set up the tent for the night, my very first real experience with camping in a tent. I struggled, but eventually got the tent up. The camping ground was lovely and we were surrounded by nature. A few meters in front of us was the Boondi Rock, a massive outcrop of igneous rock. To the left was a man-made dam, one that had stood the test of time. It was made to provide water for the locomotive steam engines of yesteryears. It was an ingenious solution – channelling the rain water into a huge reservoir. Water is scarce and difficult to come across in the goldfields. We had our meal and soon climbed into the tent for a deserved rest after the long day trip.
In the morning, the flies were already out. What a nuisance these were? They are also proud features of Western Australia and the Boondi Campground is no exception. We took a walk around the park, visited the dam and proceeded to the top of the Boondi rock. Weathering was silently at work, as it had been through the ages, helped by the continuous changes in temperatures from cold nights and morning to hot steaming afternoons. The top layers of the rock was flaking and cracking. We saw the skilful use of these rock pieces to create a water channel leading into the dam. The water in the dam and the vegetation it supports have attracted different species of coloured birds to the area. Chirping and darting around the shrubs, they add some vibrancy to life in this area. Salmon gum trees were all around the park and the occasional sounds of the road trains passing on the nearby highway is the only noise that pierce this serene atmosphere.
A couple were camping directly next to the dam and they volunteered to be interviewed. We completed the interview and exchanged pleasantries. The man is an Australian Nurse and stays in Kalgoorlie while the lady, a French national was on her way back to Perth, the city we had just left. We went back to our tent and I started the process of pulling it down and folding it up. My wife took the time to prepare a meal for us and we were soon on our way.
Veni, Vidi, Vici so Julius Ceasar was quoted to have said and I can beat my chest and say the same. We came, we saw, we conquered. Suffice it to say that you should venture out of the coastal cities of Western Australia only if you are in love with
Mile Zero - Starting in Perth, WA
spinifex shrubs, salmon gum trees, long desolate arid land and smelling dead Kangaroos. If I stophere, it will be grossly unfair. There are great rewards for this uncommon excursion. The amazing stretches of beaches, undulating rolling hills, land formations and the impressive wine country sceneries that you will start experiencing, once you overcome your fear and cross the wide desolate lands are sights that are uncommon in other parts of the world.
The wide open roads appeal to me, in a way that I am still yet to fully comprehend. I seem just unable to resist its call. So I can understand your “what-in-the-heck” feeling on reading this to discover it’s all about one of the longest road expedition known to man. It probably has to do with a sense of adventure, not really knowing what little secret lies behind the next bend or turning on a road. I have done my fair bit of driving, to places that many would just get aboard a plane and fly to. I seem to have a satisfaction in the old age adage that stress the importance of the journey rather than the destination. Flying, for adventures, is not my thing. It simply denies the traveller the experience of the diversity in this beautiful planet that we have been made custodians of. That little cottage on the road, the thriving community in the middle of nowhere, the undulating plains and rolling hills, the magical meeting of the land and sea, the unplanned meeting with the wild – a lone or group of animals crossing the road in search of a meal. The traveller is denied all these experiences and more, when he travels by air. He gains time but loses the opportunity to become one with nature and appreciate its true beauty and diversity.
My recent fascination was to connect with the Pacific Ocean from the Indian Ocean by land. It was a modern day expedition of the sort that Edward John Eyre made in 1840 to reach Western Australia. Ours was to find a route to the city of Sydney on the Pacific Ocean by land from the warm waters of the Indian Ocean that bathe the beautiful city of Perth. Of course many have done this prior to us but we set out to have a unique adventure, like that of no other. To pull this off, we needed a strong will and a great sense of adventure.
The sheer thought of the adventure itself was enough to put many people off. An Hema map of Australia will quickly remind those who have forgotten that Australia is not only a country, it is also a continent. Add to that, the fact that it is a very big continent with the inter land mostly arid. The distances are huge. Perth to Sydney by road without any detour is 3,934 kms. That is daunting and for me, a trip must involve detours. The must-see places are usually away from major roads and I needed to visit these places, experience them, document them and take one or two lessons with me about human civilization and achievements.
The first task was to choose a means of transportation, a beast of burden so to say. The choices were many and the costs varied. We settled on the Toyota Landcruiser. It is simply unbeatable and is widely regarded as the King of the Roads. For Australia’s rugged terrains and harsh weather conditions, the Landcruiser is a capable vehicle. No wonder, Australia is regarded as the Cruiser Country.
The Explorer:
The Explorer
The “Explorer” is what you get when you take an already off-road capable Toyota Landcruiser 200 Series, adjudged as the King of the road, and upgrade it. It wasn’t an easy task to get a vehicle retrofitted with the kind of equipment we have on the Explorer. Each of the added upgrade was made to address some perceived risks on this expedition. First, the long range fuel and water tank. The distances in this southern land are enormous and fuel prices are penal in the interior. Replacing the factory fitted 45 litres Petrol Auxiliary Fuel Tank with a Longranger Combination Fuel and Water Tank (122L Fuel and 55L Water) was an amazing feat. This engineering marvel involved repositioning the extra tire from its space underneath the vehicle and using the empty space to hold the new tank.
The guys at ARB were a marvel. A bull bar was added to the vehicle. The Kangaroos that are ever sprinting around the country continue to be a danger to many vehicles. This ARB built bull bar is sturdy and made to also carry a few other equipment around. Mounted on it, was the UHF radio antenna. Getting stuck in any of the remote inland in this wide and sparsely populated continent is a possibility. The UHF radio would help to reach any of the truck drivers or other passer byes to assist with recovery. The Wintech Winch was a needed addition. Heavy and capable to winch the Explorer out of any danger that might have immobilized it. This comes with a prize, the enormous power means it is a heavy equipment and only the ARB bull bar was strong enough to keep it in place. Also mounted on the bull bar is a set of Halogen Lamps and an LED bar light. These were to aid in safe night driving on the bush roads and penetrating the thick darkness of the interior.
The Explorer is not complete yet, it has a raised suspension to increase its ground clearance. A second battery was added to serve as a backup to the main battery as well as provide power to camping equipment. An additional spare tyre was added and now positioned at the back as there is no longer any space underneath the vehicle. This was done by adding a Keymar Spare Wheel carrier at the back for the two tyres. At the top of the vehicle, a roof top tray was mounted. There were a few more accessories added but in general the Explorer is like no other.
Starting Out:
Armed with a Hema map, in addition to the in-vehicle GPS map, we plotted our trip. A day was chosen and we got flagged up on the trip from Perth. Peth to Coolgardie was an easy drive. As recent as two months ago, we had followed this road on another trip. Along the way, you will encounter the various pumping stations of the Goldfields Water Supply Scheme. In fact, the trip will seem like a competition between you, the seemingly unending pipeline and the train tracks. These trio, the road, the rail line and the pipeline, are of great importance to the development of the hinterland, especially the cities of Coolgardie and Karlgolie-Boulder. The most important? The pipeline. Not because it is carrying oil or any other mined commodity, it carries something much more precious. Water. Testaments, as to how precious this water is, are dotted along the lengths of the pipeline where signposts encourage the passers bye to call a certain number if they notice a leak. Depending on whom you ask, a beautiful story of vision, heroism, doggedness and a sad death would be told to you about C.Y. O’Connor – the Engineer responsible for conceiving and developing the pipelines. A 530km pipeline, taking water from Meredin to Karlgorlie was not a simple feat of engineering, even by today’s standard. Yet this was completed and commissioned in 1903, 113 years ago.
This is still a work in progress and the details are being fine-tuned each day. All names in this write up are fictitious. All rights to this work is reserved. For concerns please email me at bimbo@bimbobakare.com. With the comedy that #dasukigate has become by the day, the revelations are providing more information that would be enriching to this work. The work, which started as an element of fiction giving some hindsight to how corruption destroys a nation, has now become visionary.
People say corruption is rife in Najaria, the international media have done a lot of expose on the country but not much has changed. Some say that Najaria has the happiest people on earth and this makes the situation much more baffling to the international community. The Conundrum that challenges even the casual observer is how people can be this happy when everywhere the cankerworm of corruption spreads undisturbed? They say the corruption has permeated the churches, the mosques and even the traditional worship places.
Often times, it’s a great burden that Najarians outside the country carry – trying to show that all is well with the country despite what others are saying. Yet, the actions of many Najarians continue to put a dent on the image of the country. A well-meaning Minister was so perplexed with this issue that she felt that what was needed was to rebrand the nation. She was ingenious and came up with a branding “Najaria – Great Nation, Good People”. Whatever it was, it did not take time for the brand to die… Unsung. The Minister also followed suit, as some say, out of helplessness.
It is this same Najaria that these series of events you are about to read happened and it all started with the annual budget. The current administration is in its third year and the President has told his ministers that this year’s budget must be placed before the houses of parliament timely. They already know what to do and what is expected of them.
The Honourable Minister for Police Affairs, Mr Jenbeteru, on leaving the Federal Executive Council meeting had called his team and requested that they put together the budget package for the ministry. Every unit was consulted and the top hierarchy of the Police Affairs Ministry came up with a budget figure of N50billion which, apart from the recurrent salary, included provision for Speed Monitoring and Alcohol Testing (Breathalysers) Equipment meant to reduce the carnage on the roads. After extensive deliberations with his team, based on previous years’ experiences, the Minister for Police Affairs requested that the figure be increased to N70billion, the extra N20billion to take care of budget cuts that may follow the meeting of the Federal Executive Council. This directive did not go down well with Muktar. In his opinion, this smacks of fraud and a lack of integrity. He approached his boss, the Senior Special Assistant to the Minister on Budget Matters. He was counselled that if he doesn’t want to end up out of the street, like many of his classmates, he should go ahead and make up the budget to the N70billion as requested by the Minister.
Muktar is a recent graduate of one of the nation’s top institutions. While in the university, he was a staunch leader of the Student Union. Fiery, fearless and full of youthful vigour for a different Najaria. He was dejected, having just secured this employment six months ago, he was confused on what he should do. At home that evening, he looked at the poverty that surrounds him. Out of his five siblings, he is the only one with a decent job. His father died almost four years ago and since then the mother has been making out a living for the family by selling food items in front of their two room rented apartment. He considered the consequence of his losing his job and how this can wreck his mum and it became obvious to him that the deplorable condition of his family has already made the decision for him – he would do whatever it is that the minister requests. The poverty of his family has made him to lose his voice.
Jenbeteru has been the Minister for Police Affairs for the past three (3) years, he knows how things work in the country and he needs a buffer to take care of all the greedy shylocks that he would need to get their buy in before the allotment to his ministry is made. Muktar re-submitted the Budget package to him for N70billion and he approved that same should be passed to the Budget and Planning Department for consolidation with those coming from the other Ministries.
With the budget passed onwards, Jenbeteru felt a sigh of relief, at least for the time being. He has been a product of the establishment. As he sipped the cold beer placed before him at the Staff Club, he thought of how far he had gone. He surely believed he has paid his dues. Upon graduation from the premier university in the late sixties, he had joined the service of the colonial government working in the Customs and Exercise Department. He grew through the ranks and after twenty five years of service, he retired. He had become extra ordinarily rich and used the wealth he has amassed, as well as the networks he had developed, to contest elections as a governor. He won and held on to the post for eight years. Following this, he became a Senator in the House of Assembly and served out two terms. It was subsequent to this that he was offered the Ministerial position that he currently holds. Jenbeteru never considers himself as one of them, the greedy, corrupt and insatiable crop of leaders that are ruining the country. He is different. He attends the Lighthouse Saints Church and never misses the Sunday service. His Pastors consider him an ardent believer. Given that he pays his tithes regularly he was made the chairman of the elders’ council. His tithes is substantial and it goes a long way to offset the running expenses of the church which is majorly the salaries of the Pastors and their expenses. The Pastors know the importance of keeping Jenbeteru happy, they can’t afford to have him leave the church.
The Director General of the Budget Office, Mr. Orovu, has requested that all budget submissions from the ministries be brought directly to his desk, he just couldn’t trust his deputies to exert due diligence. On receipt of the budget submission from the Police Affairs Ministry, he knew there was something wrong, he expected it and even if there was none, he was ready to create one. The DG noted that the N70billion being requested is a significant variance from the N35billion appropriated to the Police Affairs Ministry the previous year. He directed that the budget be rejected and the Police should rework its numbers to not more than N40billion. When this feedback got to Mr. Jenbeteru, he wasn’t surprised. Actually, he was expecting same. He knew what to do. It’s similar to what happened the previous year. He placed a call to Orovu and requested that they meet at the Club that evening. At the club, the issue was discussed and Mr. Orovu will allow the Police budget figure of N65billion to sail through if $250,000 gets paid to him for his support. The deal was struck, $250,000.00 in cash was passed to Mr. Orovu the next day and following this the Police reworked its numbers to N65billion and resubmitted to the Budget and Planning Department. The Director General has gotten his cut – $250,000 but not yet the common man. Mukhtar, you remember him, was given an expenditure slip of $300,000 to pass into the journals, the description was “Costs for deploying anti-riot troops”
A couple of weeks later, the Federal Executive Council was conveyed to review the Budget Proposal. The Finance Minister made her presentation on pegging the budget to a Crude oil price of $60 per barrel and as such, given the expected revenue, the entire Federal Budget needed to be reduced. Anything short of this will lead to a budget deficit and needs to be funded through loans from the World Bank or other Creditor nations and thereby increasing the nation’s debt. The President grinned, this sure makes sense and if the nation takes more loans, there would be more contracts to award to his cronies and a lot more coming back to him in one form of gratification or another. While we would do the ultimate best to operate within our revenue, he responded to the Finance Minister’s presentation, we cannot afford to reduce economic activities in the nation as well as delay the massive investments needed to upgrade our infrastructure for the benefit of the common man. The Finance Minister understood, she knows that she would be the one to negotiate the terms of any loans to be taken and, of course, her pockets would be lined as well. The Budget was ratified as it is and sent to the National Assembly for appropriation.
On getting the Appropriation Bill, the Senate President forwarded this to the committees to review and one could see the joys and glimmers on the faces of the Senators, especially the Chairmen of the Senate Committees. It was similar to what you would find in a colony of rat that has suddenly discovered a massive supply of cheese! The Chairman of the Senate Committee on Police Affairs, Senator Musiliu asked his office to send a letter to the Minister for Police Affairs informing of the date and venue for the defence of the Police Budget. At the same time, he conveyed a meeting with the other five (5) members of his committee to set out the expectations and modalities for conducting the budget defence. The whole meeting lasted only twenty (20) minutes and all that was discussed was the percentage of the Police Budget that must be paid to them before they would endorse the budget. This year, they agreed they would have to take N1b, this was twice what they took the previous year. Their justification? The Police budget has also increased by 100%.
On getting the Budget Defence Invitation Letter, Mr. Jenbeteru knew exactly what he had to do. He called Senator Musiliu’s Secretary to book a late evening appointment with the Senator. They agreed to meet at “The Watering Hole”. Over a bowl of hot pepper soup, Jenbeteru asked Musiliu what it would take for the Committee to approve the N65billion. Without blinking an eye lid, Senator Musiliu said N1.2billion! The negotiation has started and eventually a compromised figure of N800million was reached but that would be for N58billion. Of course, the Senate needs to be shown that the Senate Committee on Police Affairs did its work and shaved off a significant reduction in the Budget Proposal, as submitted by the Police Affairs Ministry. They shook hands and agreement was reached on how the funds would be transferred to Musiliu, it was to be a discrete payment to Arambe Nigeria Limited.
The next day, Musiliu called another meeting of the Senate Committee on Police Affairs. This was a longer meeting, it took thirty (30) minutes because of the bickering and disagreement on the N600million that Musiliu has informed that would be gotten from the Police Affairs Minister. Also a bigger deliberation took place on how the N600million would be shared amongst the six (6) ranking Senators and how much would need to be sent to the Senate President as well. Eventually an agreement was reached and the date for the defence of the budget re-affirmed.
The Police Affairs Minister and his team of top ranking Police Men showed up at the venue of the defence, it took a while for the various committee members to arrive. After a delay of almost an hour, the budget defence process started. The Minister for police Affairs went into a long speech talking about the various social vices and crimes plaguing the nation, the list of equipment and their costs that the Police needs to have to combat this as well as the desired police to population ration that he planned to have so as to have an effective police team. He talked of the huge Salary Bill that constitute over 80% of his recurrent expenditure as well as the need to replace the armoury of the police which is made up of antiquated equipment. After patiently listening to Jenbeteru, Musiliu responded noting the severe weakness in the nation’s revenue and the need to curtail spending to the barest minimum necessary to keep crime at abeyance. He questioned a few of the projects that the honourable minister has mentioned and requested that such projects as the rehabilitation of the various Police Barracks be deferred till next year when the revenue may probably become better. He and his team agreed to recommend N55billion to the Senate and the meeting came to an end. Assistant Superintendent of Police (ASP) Baguda was bewildered. How can they shelve so much off the budget and request deferment of such an important project that should help to motivate the men of his force to combat crime? He voiced out his concerns to his Minister, Jenbeteru. Jenbeteru, shrugged his shoulders and could say nothing.
A Senate session was eventually conveyed to review the various recommendations of the committees regarding the Appropriation Bill. Senator Namoda, who is not a member of any of the Senate Committees, picked up the Police Affairs component as a concern. He noted the significant variance between the N35billion that was appropriated the previous year and the N58billion that has now been recommended by the committee for Appropriation this year. It was the Senate President that responded to Senator Namoda and mentioned that this has been thoroughly reviewed and the N58billion was the reasonable budget that needs to be appropriated to the Police Affairs Ministry. Unknown to Namoda, Musiliu had met with Senator Iyanya, the Senate President, and the previous night and delivered to him his share of the N600million paid to Arambe Nigeria Limited. Oh, by the way, Musiliu is keeping for himself the N200million on top of the N600million as well. Now the Senators who are members of the Senate Committees have benefitted and so also has the Senate President. They are altogether N800million richer but not the common man.
The Federal Budget was finally appropriated and the Appropriation sent to the President. The President minuted this to the Finance Minister to make the funds available to the ministers and departments. This was in January, the passage of the current year’s budget had been one of the fastest in recent times. Her Excellency, Mrs Jeunsoke, the Finance Minister knows that it was now time for her share. No funds should be released to any ministry or parastatals except she approves same. Unlike a few Ministers who are not yet adapt at the game, Jenbeteru knew he had to reach out to the Finance Minister on time so that his Ministry’s appropriation could be released. H knew the Finance Minister’s house and made a visit a week after the Appropriation was received in her office. The discussion was very cordial and Jenbeteru mentioned to the Minister that Arambe Nigeria limited just informed him that N50million has been passed to the account of the Minister’s younger brother. She knew what the money was for and though she would have loved to protest and ask for more, she could really make do with the N50million right now. She thanked Jenbeteru and mentioned that the Police Affairs funds will be released in the next three (3) days.
Ngozi, a Senior Executive with Ziana Bank, has her contacts within the Finance Ministry. She showers everyone in the Minister’s office with gifts regularly. Of course, every fund movement in that Ministry gets reported to her. She knew exactly when the Police Affairs funds would be released to Jenbeteru. It was time to meet Jenbeteru, again. His number was on her speed dial and in the softest of bedroom voice, she said Hello sweetie. Jenbeteru understood and they agreed to meet at the great “WhoreHouse” to finalise the discussions. The great whorehouse is not in the city, it is located in the Kalamunri Mountain Ranges, a nice spot for a weekend getaway. Ngozi booked the flights and made the hotel reservations. She looked into her wardrobe for the most sensuous of clothes. She was not lacking in these. She settled on the most revealing and scanty of them all as well as the latest G String and bikini. She’s got to have this account and have it for keeps. Last year, she got the account but lost it to another top sassy with JeeTee Bank. She’s not going to allow this to happen again. No, not this year.
By the time she arrived at the Great Whorehouse, Jenbeteru has already settled in. He understood what is at stake and he knew the escapade that this week ends bring. These ladies would do anything to win the account of the Ministry. The pleasantries over and the cuddling and smooching led to the inner room and your guess is as good as mine. Less than an hour later, at the pool side, it was time to discuss the details of the offer. Ziana Bank is ready to pay the Police affairs Ministry 4% p.a for its deposit, an extra off the books 2% will be paid to Jenbeteru for the period the Ministry’s Money is placed with Ziana. Jenbeteru considered the 2% as ludicrous, JeeTee Bank has offered 2.5% p.a and Ziana should match this. Ngozi asked Jenbeteru for 5 mins for her to call her bosses. She placed a call to her Director, it was to agree that the extra 0.5% Jenbeteru is asking for would not reduce Ngozi’s Finder’s Fee of 3%. The agreement was reached and Ngozi relayed to Jenbeteru that Ziana would match the 2.5%. Of course, everyone is happy. Ngozi has been able to attract this N58billion at a total cost to the bank of 9.5%, well below the market rate of 14%. The bank is making a spread of 4.5% upfront and will further make a spread of another 10% when it lends this money to the manufacturers that need loans to produce. Oh, Jenbeteru, he is making a cool 2.5% on the N58billion with the cherry on top being the ongoing escapade with Ngozi! Nothing for the common man.
Jenbeteru was a wasted man when he got to work on Monday. He mentioned to his team that the N58billion has been appropriated but that there are commitments already made out of the money that needs to be settled. Jenbeteru requested the Finance Director in the ministry to transfer the N58billion to Ziana Bank and receive a Certificate of Deposit for this at 4%. The Finance Director knew it was time for his share as well. He knew Ngozi would call and he already knew what he would ask for – a business class ticket to Paris for himself and his wife. This wasn’t an issue to Ngozi, the request was met and the money was moved to Ziana. With the deposit safely in the account of the bank, Ngozi walked tall, she always did. It was straight to the Director for the Public Sector Accounts. Her delayed promotion as a result of losing the account to JeeTee Bank the previous year needs to be discussed and effected. It was a short meeting, she is now to be the Assistant Director for the Region for the Bank. She also got deposited into her account the finder’s fee of 3%. For N145million, her efforts were well rewarded and greatly offset the costs she had expended in getting the account.
The Store Manager had earlier on, at the end of last year reported being out of stock of many of the tools that the Police Department routinely uses. The breathalysers, needed to be ordered immediately as they have a long delivery time. The Order Request was made and got to the table of the Minister, just like so many others. The Public Procurement Act necessitates that all such purchases need to be publicly bided. So he had caused to be published in the national dailies an invitation to bid for these items. About 980 bids were received and based on the guidelines previously established, these were reduced down to only 12 competent contractors that can deliver the orders. Well the information was out and the 12 bidders were asked to submit their commercial bids, anyone of them could get the job done based on the technical. It’s now a matter of price, or so it seems.
Kotangawa Limited understands the tricks of the trade very well. It’s not what is in the commercial that wins the bid. It’s more about what is not in it. Alhaji Zungeru is well connected. He dines with the “who is who” in the nation. He belongs to all and yet he belongs to no one, except what serves his pockets. He brought out his custom made golden iPhone, a gift that he got from the President. He scrolled through his frequent contact list and soon came up with the phone number of Jenbeteru and an agreement was reached to meet at the club later in the evening.
At the club, he placed his unique proposition before Jenbeteru. Kontangowa is bidding for the supply of these equipment for N1.5billion. It surely is not the least cost bid but it is a juicy one. If awarded the contract, Alhaji Zungeru would get N100million to Jenbeteru as well as deliver within two (2) months. Jenbeteru mentioned that the Ministry was not driven by time but requested Zungeru to consider making the payment N200million. Zungeru agreed and they shook hands.
Early the next morning, it was the Director of Finance that came to Jenbeteru’s office. He mentioned that there was no money in their bank account to pay the Salaries of the policemen. Jenbeteru mentioned that the placed deposit with Ziana Bank would not mature until another two (2) weeks and he isn’t pretty supportive of terminating this. What then should happen to the payroll of the Police Officers, the Director of Finance asked? Jenbeteru asked him to go and solve that riddle. The Director took his exit. It was late in the afternoon when Jenbeteru mentioned that the ongoing contract bid should be awarded to Kotangowa Limited. The other committee members were not comfortable with this decision and sought to know why? He talked more about the experience of Kotangowa as well as the delivery lead time that the company has promised. These were better than those of the other contractor but there is a hefty premium for this, Kotangowa has quoted a price that was 25% more than the lowest bidder. The committee members were not convinced and a few that were vocal in the team requested that the contract be awarded to the lowest bidder. It was then that Jenbeteru introduced his Joker, there is at stake a modest fee of N20mm for each of the six (6) committee members if the contract is awarded to Kontangowa. There was initially silence in the room and then discord. Four (4) of the committee members are now in support of the award with two (2) still dissenting. The meeting was adjourned, further engagement was to be made with the members of the committee to reach a consensus. At a discrete location in the city, later that evening, Jenbeteru met with each of the discordant members and an agreement was reached, N25million was a more likely sum to sway them to support the decision. The N150mm was paid to the committee members and Jenbeteru keeps the balance of N50million and the contract was awarded to Kontangowa Limited. Everyone was happy and got a slice of the cake but not yet the common man. Maybe something is in the offing for him.
Kotagowa had promised to supply, amongst other things the breathalysers. The bid was that these would be sourced from the approved manufacturer in UK and same would be shipped to Nigeria and delivered to the central stores within two (2) months. Kontangowa knew this was not going to happen, the breathalysers from the UK are simply too expensive for Alhaji Zungeru to make a decent profit. He reached out to his contacts in China and samples of the UK made breathalysers were sent to the factory in China. Zhoungjin responded to Zungeru with three (3) quotes – a quote each for the high, medium and low grades with varying prices and warranties. Of course, the final products will all look alike, exactly like the UK manufactured breathalysers. Alhaji Zungeru weighed his options and concluded that having made the hefty payments, there was little to no risks with importing the low quality breathalysers, only upside in profits. He transferred the necessary funds to the Zhoungjin and gave the go ahead to manufacture, the low quality breathalysers. Orders like these are not new to Zhoungjin and in fact the company makes the most profit from such orders as International Standards are thrown aside and the output is whatever it is – both parties to the transaction knows that these breathalysers are not designed for any effective use. Two months later, the breathalysers are ready to ship and Kontangowa Limited made the necessary logistic arrangements to have them delivered to the country. The only problem now is with the Standards Organization with its men at the ports checking and requesting for certificate of quality around manufactured product. This is not a challenge that Alhaji had not previously handled, he has contacts in all the right places. A call was made to the appropriate quarters, the details of the arriving goods were given and agreements were reached as to what the “fees” to look the other way would be. It was all settled over the phone and Kotangowa made a deposit of N2million to the name of one of the boys. The boys in custom have also gotten their share, it’s only the common man that is yet to get his.
A week to the expiration of the two (2) months commitment, Kotangowa received its goods from the port and same were loaded into the necessary trucks for deliver to the Central Police Stores, managed by ASP Essien. The Lorries showed up and it was Essien boys’ duty to subject the goods to tests of quality to assure they are of the same quality that was ordered. They didn’t have to do these, they knew the quality was not the same. At least, that was what their prior experiences have taught them. ASP Essien’s attention was drawn to the issue and he told the delivery guys that the breathalysers were unacceptable. A call was made to Alhaji Kotangowa who knew he messed up, he was supposed to have called Essien before the goods would reach the stores. He called Essien, apologized for the oversight and an agreement was reached on what the facilitation fee would be to make the breathalysers acceptable to Essien. This would be N5million, Essien has boys and bosses that he needs to settle as well. Essien is a firm believer in Cash being Kinga and requested that payment should be made in a “Ghana must go” bag. It took a while but Alhaji got it done and late that evening, ASP Essien’s boys have to work tirelessly to receive these breathalysers into the store. A Goods Received Note was issued and signed off by Essien, Alhaji Kotangowa can now breathe easy. All he needed to do now was to meet with the Ministry of Police Affairs Finance Director to facilitate the timely payment of the Contract Sum due. He knows what it would take to get this done.
Sergeant Durotola was in charge of the Road Traffic Division and he is a veteran of some twenty something years in the force. He knows his onions well. If not, how could he have maintained being the head of the juicy Road Traffic Post for the past two (2) years? There are so many others within the force that have lobbied and keenly interested in the position. Durotola had succeeded these two years because he has learnt to play smart and to keep the ASP happy. Well if you don’t know what this means, you can’t be really helped much.
The festive season is approaching and he knew that this is his time of the year when his team makes it big. He doesn’t need the breathalysers to test for Alcohol, his nose can sniff the stuff out of anyone. However, the law requires him to provide undeniable proof if he were to successfully prosecute anybody for drunk driving. He sent a Store order Request to the store to provide his team with 100 units of breathalysers. The response he got was shocking, he wouldn’t have 100 but 35, the store does not have an adequate stock of breathalysers to issue to the various Road Traffic Teams scattered across the nation. Of course, the quantity of breathalysers supplied by Kotangowa Limited was supposed to be sufficient for the Police team for a year’s use. Unbeknown to Sergeant Durotola and his likes, ASP Essen’s team had effected a deal with a few local companies and sold the breathalysers to them at prices ridiculously below what is obtainable in the market. These companies are now offering these breathalysers for sale in their shops to institutions that needed to test their employees for Drugs and Alcohol Abuse. The Sergeant agreed to take the 35 units of breathalysers and already made up his mind on what to do and how to effectively use these “ineffective” tools. It took another week but he eventually got the 35 breathalysers. He knew the right spot where to station his team to catch motorists for his tests. There is a popular night club, not far from Fiktoria Island that is patronized by the rich and the spoilt children in town. It was at a corner not far from here that he chose for his team.
It was around 2am that Ricky decided to leave the club. He’s had a groovy night and with all the drugs and alcohol that was circulated, he was stone dead. He got behind the wheel in his Ferrari, fumbled with the ignition keys and brought the car to life. Somehow, he believed he would make it home, his house was just a few blocks away. As he manoeuvres the corner where Sergeant Durotola’s team is, everyone knew that all was not alright with the driver of the vehicle. Ricky was brought to a stop with the flickering torch lights. Corporal Buba approached the driver’s side and the alcohol stench in Ricky’s breath greeted him as he said “Officers how now?” He was asked for his Driver’s license which he produced with some efforts having searched through his pockets and finally the glove compartment of his car. Buba took a look at the name and the address and straightaway knew that they had caught a big fish. Ricky was asked whether he had been drinking to which he responded “No”. The breathalysers were brought and Ricky blew into it. No indication of Alcohol was found in his breath. Now Corporal Buba was perplexed, this guy smells like a brewery yet the breathalysers says he is not drunk! He approached Sergeant Durotola for advice. If they arrest this guy, he could sue them and get them in trouble especially given that the Alcohol test has indicated negative. They knew whom Ricky is. His full name is Rico Inyanya, the only son of the Senate President. Sergeant Durotola counselled that Buba should let Ricky go. Buba went back to Ricky, handed over the driver’s license to him and asked whether he has anything for the boys. Ricky dipped his hands into his pockets and brought out a wad of note that he handed over carelessly to Buba. Ricky drove off. Buba was busy counting his stash of notes when in the far distance a loud noise was heard. The same was followed by a burst of flames. Buba and Durotola sensed what has happened and quickly called the team together and they disappeared from the check point. They could have moved to the accident scene but nobody needed to know they had mounted this illegal check point that night. Ricky managed to crawl out of the burning car and was in deep pain having broken some bones. He could move no further. Had help arrived timely, he could have escape the inferno that finally gutted the car and the broken down truck that was parked on the road that he ran into.
The papers were with blaring headlines the next day. Tragedy! Senator Iyanya’s son was killed in a freak accident. Nnaemeka had graduated from the University and completed his national service three (3) years ago. He is without a job and not with a slight hope of getting one soon. His favourite past time is to visit the Vendor’s stand in the morning and browse through the newspaper for the day, he could not afford buying them. The headlines caught his attention. He was full of sorrow for the young man that just died an untimely death, he was also sorrowful for his parents. Unknown to him, fate has worked in his favour. Now it’s his turn to have a share and benefit in the national cake.
The Senate President was furious, how could this be? His only son dead in an accident, within a few distance from his house! He ordered a probe into the activities of the Road Transport Unit. How come an articulated trailer was left packing on the road without same being removed or a warning sign placed by it? Some said the cause of the accident was the drunkenness of the driver, others said so many other things. However, we know that corruption had a big part in this death!
It’s a been a very warm summer morning in Lagos and having successfully maneuvered through the early morning Lagos traffic, we made it to Ikeja Airport. With check-in completed, we took our seats at the waiting lounge. The calls were soon made to board and we took our seats. Soon, the plane completed its taxing and increased speed with its nose tilted upwards. It’s take off time. As the sights of Lagos recedes from my window, I took a look at the passenger next to me and let out a long sigh. It was a sigh of relieve. The mission begins.
It’s really now that I can give greater thoughts to the new life that I was about to begin. It’s been a wonderful journey these past two decades and my complaints about the nature of my job were not much. Now I have left all these behind and am commencing on a journey. These are untested waters for me. I have fared well within the protective shelter of others. For the whole period of my working life, I have had others at the helm of the boat and was just paddling along, at the commands of the different captains. Now, I have decided to Captain my own boat, I mean ship. Sink or float, I am totally responsible.
In the almost two decades that I spent with the Company, I have grown from a young man to a matured one, with hairs almost completely grey. I have managed to remain healthy. Reasonably. I have managed to keep out of the hospital bed by the grace of God. A couple of well-meaning friends have looked at the decision that I took to exit the Company and called it wide ranging names from it being insane to utterly sacrilegious. We all see differently, depending on the lens we are looking from. From their perspective, they are right. I saw differently. I saw an opportunity.
It wasn’t a decision I arrived at lightly, it was a monumental one and the impacts are wide reaching. I started toying with this decision half a decade ago and kept on laying this before the one that has the whole world in his hands. As the years passed by, I was almost aborting the revelation but either side I turned, there seemed to be no way out of this. I am foremost a family man, before anything else. The decision was soon made easier, when the choice that faced me was between the job and the family. The past few years have not been the best for my closely knit family, we got separated across the wide divide of the oceans. Something needed to give – either the family or the job. I chose the job. This was counter-intuitive to many as they had chosen the family, in similar circumstance.
Everyone else can afford to fail, I can’t. There is too much at stake. As with all great opportunities, there are great risks. As a Christian, I have read the story of the Exodus of the Israelites from Egypt. I am going over this story again and it is now making new meanings to me. Previously, I felt the Israelite were so damned stupid in desiring to return to Egypt as the LORD led them on a journey to a promised land – a land that flow of milk and honey. Well, now that the story lies closer home I can feel their pains. The assurance of good food, sheltered accommodation and opportunities that Egypt provided were more alluring than the uncertainties that the promised land offered. Simply, the old age wisdom that a bird in hand was worth more than a thousand in the bush lies in the head of the Israelites. I now fully understand the challenges with the choice that God asked these folks to make, don’t ask me how. Making it much tougher was God’s decision of revealing only in bits that part of the future glory as they needed it and not entirely at once.
But herein is the glory, if we have the revelation power to understand it. We work by faith and not by sight! If HE has said it, HE would do it. Since faith without works is dead, each day we need to take steps moving us closer to HIS will. We must work as well. No major achievement of our human specie has been accomplished in a comfort zone. While the comfort zone is always attractive and a very comfortable place to stay, there is a need to disturb the status quo, to give birth to fresh ideas. I am constantly nudged by the need to create a different future, a future for my family and I that provides financial freedom and economic security.
It is the burden of this onerous responsibility that overwhelmed me as I fly out of the city of Lagos, a city that I had called home all the years of my adulthood and is now no longer one. I am going ahead to conquer new territories and take a few hostages along. As I bid Lagos bye for now and for some season, I look forward to being warmly received at our new home. It’s a little city located on the eastern shores of the Indian Ocean, South East of Lagos. Some have described it as the most remote capital city in the world. Whatever you call it, it doesn’t matter much to me. I now call it home.
I hope in five years from now, when I hope to write a follow up to this article, I would hopefully say, it’s a worthwhile decision and well rewarding. As for Lagos, I am still deeply knitted to her fabrics, she won’t let go and neither will I. She is a vibrant African beauty with all her allures. I have made a lot of memories and friends in this city.
I plan to visit frequently and will never forget you.
The Dawn heals and life moves on
(Nature continues unspoilt) – A poem by David Finley.
I sit all night – on this cold rock.
The day then breaks – as new sun shines.
My tears ignore – the crowing Cock.
And I see not – the warming signs.
The Dew of dawn’s – first breath lays down.
Where spiders web – must take the strain.
Between new grass, – a Toadstool’s crown.
And for a while – I now am sane
Eternal springs – this daily dance.
Of life unseen – beneath our feet.
As crushed by those – too big to glance.
But long evolved – to not be beat.
Each day’s new world – replaces old.
My heartache fades – and pain wiped clean.
Nought is lost that – was once to hold.
Relegated – to place once been.
I raise myself – and hold my fears,
avoid the web – and damp Toadstool.
l brush fresh Dew – and wipe my tears,
and leave the rock, – now warmed from cool.
This is still a work in progress and the details are being fine-tuned each day. All names in this write up are fictitious. All rights to this work is reserved. For concerns please email me at bimbo@bimbobakare.com. With the comedy that #dasukigate has become by the day, the revelations are providing more information that would be enriching to this work. The work, which started as an element of fiction giving some hindsight to how corruption destroys a nation, has now become visionary.
People say corruption is rife in Najaria, the international media have done a lot of expose on the country but not much has changed. Some say that Najaria has the happiest people on earth and this makes the situation much more baffling to the international community. The Conundrum that challenges even the casual observer is how people can be this happy when everywhere the cankerworm of corruption spreads undisturbed? They say the corruption has permeated the churches, the mosques and even the traditional worship places.
Often times, it’s a great burden that Najarians outside the country carry – trying to show that all is well with the country despite what others are saying. Yet, the actions of many Najarians continue to put a dent on the image of the country. A well-meaning Minister was so perplexed with this issue that she felt that what was needed was to rebrand the nation. She was ingenious and came up with a branding “Najaria – Great Nation, Good People”. Whatever it was, it did not take time for the brand to die… Unsung. The Minister also followed suit, as some say, out of helplessness.
It is this same Najaria that these series of events you are about to read happened and it all started with the annual budget. The current administration is in its third year and the President has told his ministers that this year’s budget must be placed before the houses of parliament timely. They already know what to do and what is expected of them.
The Honourable Minister for Police Affairs, Mr Jenbeteru, on leaving the Federal Executive Council meeting had called his team and requested that they put together the budget package for the ministry. Every unit was consulted and the top hierarchy of the Police Affairs Ministry came up with a budget figure of N50billion which, apart from the recurrent salary, included provision for Speed Monitoring and Alcohol Testing (Breathalysers) Equipment meant to reduce the carnage on the roads. After extensive deliberations with his team, based on previous years’ experiences, the Minister for Police Affairs requested that the figure be increased to N70billion, the extra N20billion to take care of budget cuts that may follow the meeting of the Federal Executive Council. This directive did not go down well with Muktar. In his opinion, this smacks of fraud and a lack of integrity. He approached his boss, the Senior Special Assistant to the Minister on Budget Matters. He was counselled that if he doesn’t want to end up out of the street, like many of his classmates, he should go ahead and make up the budget to the N70billion as requested by the Minister.
Muktar is a recent graduate of one of the nation’s top institutions. While in the university, he was a staunch leader of the Student Union. Fiery, fearless and full of youthful vigour for a different Najaria. He was dejected, having just secured this employment six months ago, he was confused on what he should do. At home that evening, he looked at the poverty that surrounds him. Out of his five siblings, he is the only one with a decent job. His father died almost four years ago and since then the mother has been making out a living for the family by selling food items in front of their two room rented apartment. He considered the consequence of his losing his job and how this can wreck his mum and it became obvious to him that the deplorable condition of his family has already made the decision for him – he would do whatever it is that the minister requests. The poverty of his family has made him to lose his voice.
Jenbeteru has been the Minister for Police Affairs for the past three (3) years, he knows how things work in the country and he needs a buffer to take care of all the greedy shylocks that he would need to get their buy in before the allotment to his ministry is made. Muktar re-submitted the Budget package to him for N70billion and he approved that same should be passed to the Budget and Planning Department for consolidation with those coming from the other Ministries.
With the budget passed onwards, Jenbeteru felt a sigh of relief, at least for the time being. He has been a product of the establishment. As he sipped the cold beer placed before him at the Staff Club, he thought of how far he had gone. He surely believed he has paid his dues. Upon graduation from the premier university in the late sixties, he had joined the service of the colonial government working in the Customs and Exercise Department. He grew through the ranks and after twenty five years of service, he retired. He had become extra ordinarily rich and used the wealth he has amassed, as well as the networks he had developed, to contest elections as a governor. He won and held on to the post for eight years. Following this, he became a Senator in the House of Assembly and served out two terms. It was subsequent to this that he was offered the Ministerial position that he currently holds. Jenbeteru never considers himself as one of them, the greedy, corrupt and insatiable crop of leaders that are ruining the country. He is different. He attends the Lighthouse Saints Church and never misses the Sunday service. His Pastors consider him an ardent believer. Given that he pays his tithes regularly he was made the chairman of the elders’ council. His tithes is substantial and it goes a long way to offset the running expenses of the church which is majorly the salaries of the Pastors and their expenses. The Pastors know the importance of keeping Jenbeteru happy, they can’t afford to have him leave the church.
The Director General of the Budget Office, Mr. Orovu, has requested that all budget submissions from the ministries be brought directly to his desk, he just couldn’t trust his deputies to exert due diligence. On receipt of the budget submission from the Police Affairs Ministry, he knew there was something wrong, he expected it and even if there was none, he was ready to create one. The DG noted that the N70billion being requested is a significant variance from the N35billion appropriated to the Police Affairs Ministry the previous year. He directed that the budget be rejected and the Police should rework its numbers to not more than N40billion. When this feedback got to Mr. Jenbeteru, he wasn’t surprised. Actually, he was expecting same. He knew what to do. It’s similar to what happened the previous year. He placed a call to Orovu and requested that they meet at the Club that evening. At the club, the issue was discussed and Mr. Orovu will allow the Police budget figure of N65billion to sail through if $250,000 gets paid to him for his support. The deal was struck, $250,000.00 in cash was passed to Mr. Orovu the next day and following this the Police reworked its numbers to N65billion and resubmitted to the Budget and Planning Department. The Director General has gotten his cut – $250,000 but not yet the common man. Mukhtar, you remember him, was given an expenditure slip of $300,000 to pass into the journals, the description was “Costs for deploying anti-riot troops”
A couple of weeks later, the Federal Executive Council was conveyed to review the Budget Proposal. The Finance Minister made her presentation on pegging the budget to a Crude oil price of $60 per barrel and as such, given the expected revenue, the entire Federal Budget needed to be reduced. Anything short of this will lead to a budget deficit and needs to be funded through loans from the World Bank or other Creditor nations and thereby increasing the nation’s debt. The President grinned, this sure makes sense and if the nation takes more loans, there would be more contracts to award to his cronies and a lot more coming back to him in one form of gratification or another. While we would do the ultimate best to operate within our revenue, he responded to the Finance Minister’s presentation, we cannot afford to reduce economic activities in the nation as well as delay the massive investments needed to upgrade our infrastructure for the benefit of the common man. The Finance Minister understood, she knows that she would be the one to negotiate the terms of any loans to be taken and, of course, her pockets would be lined as well. The Budget was ratified as it is and sent to the National Assembly for appropriation.
On getting the Appropriation Bill, the Senate President forwarded this to the committees to review and one could see the joys and glimmers on the faces of the Senators, especially the Chairmen of the Senate Committees. It was similar to what you would find in a colony of rat that has suddenly discovered a massive supply of cheese! The Chairman of the Senate Committee on Police Affairs, Senator Musiliu asked his office to send a letter to the Minister for Police Affairs informing of the date and venue for the defence of the Police Budget. At the same time, he conveyed a meeting with the other five (5) members of his committee to set out the expectations and modalities for conducting the budget defence. The whole meeting lasted only twenty (20) minutes and all that was discussed was the percentage of the Police Budget that must be paid to them before they would endorse the budget. This year, they agreed they would have to take N1b, this was twice what they took the previous year. Their justification? The Police budget has also increased by 100%.
On getting the Budget Defence Invitation Letter, Mr. Jenbeteru knew exactly what he had to do. He called Senator Musiliu’s Secretary to book a late evening appointment with the Senator. They agreed to meet at “The Watering Hole”. Over a bowl of hot pepper soup, Jenbeteru asked Musiliu what it would take for the Committee to approve the N65billion. Without blinking an eye lid, Senator Musiliu said N1.2billion! The negotiation has started and eventually a compromised figure of N800million was reached but that would be for N58billion. Of course, the Senate needs to be shown that the Senate Committee on Police Affairs did its work and shaved off a significant reduction in the Budget Proposal, as submitted by the Police Affairs Ministry. They shook hands and agreement was reached on how the funds would be transferred to Musiliu, it was to be a discrete payment to Arambe Nigeria Limited.
The next day, Musiliu called another meeting of the Senate Committee on Police Affairs. This was a longer meeting, it took thirty (30) minutes because of the bickering and disagreement on the N600million that Musiliu has informed that would be gotten from the Police Affairs Minister. Also a bigger deliberation took place on how the N600million would be shared amongst the six (6) ranking Senators and how much would need to be sent to the Senate President as well. Eventually an agreement was reached and the date for the defence of the budget re-affirmed.
The Police Affairs Minister and his team of top ranking Police Men showed up at the venue of the defence, it took a while for the various committee members to arrive. After a delay of almost an hour, the budget defence process started. The Minister for police Affairs went into a long speech talking about the various social vices and crimes plaguing the nation, the list of equipment and their costs that the Police needs to have to combat this as well as the desired police to population ration that he planned to have so as to have an effective police team. He talked of the huge Salary Bill that constitute over 80% of his recurrent expenditure as well as the need to replace the armoury of the police which is made up of antiquated equipment. After patiently listening to Jenbeteru, Musiliu responded noting the severe weakness in the nation’s revenue and the need to curtail spending to the barest minimum necessary to keep crime at abeyance. He questioned a few of the projects that the honourable minister has mentioned and requested that such projects as the rehabilitation of the various Police Barracks be deferred till next year when the revenue may probably become better. He and his team agreed to recommend N55billion to the Senate and the meeting came to an end. Assistant Superintendent of Police (ASP) Baguda was bewildered. How can they shelve so much off the budget and request deferment of such an important project that should help to motivate the men of his force to combat crime? He voiced out his concerns to his Minister, Jenbeteru. Jenbeteru, shrugged his shoulders and could say nothing.
A Senate session was eventually conveyed to review the various recommendations of the committees regarding the Appropriation Bill. Senator Namoda, who is not a member of any of the Senate Committees, picked up the Police Affairs component as a concern. He noted the significant variance between the N35billion that was appropriated the previous year and the N58billion that has now been recommended by the committee for Appropriation this year. It was the Senate President that responded to Senator Namoda and mentioned that this has been thoroughly reviewed and the N58billion was the reasonable budget that needs to be appropriated to the Police Affairs Ministry. Unknown to Namoda, Musiliu had met with Senator Iyanya, the Senate President, and the previous night and delivered to him his share of the N600million paid to Arambe Nigeria Limited. Oh, by the way, Musiliu is keeping for himself the N200million on top of the N600million as well. Now the Senators who are members of the Senate Committees have benefitted and so also has the Senate President. They are altogether N800million richer but not the common man.
The Federal Budget was finally appropriated and the Appropriation sent to the President. The President minuted this to the Finance Minister to make the funds available to the ministers and departments. This was in January, the passage of the current year’s budget had been one of the fastest in recent times. Her Excellency, Mrs Jeunsoke, the Finance Minister knows that it was now time for her share. No funds should be released to any ministry or parastatals except she approves same. Unlike a few Ministers who are not yet adapt at the game, Jenbeteru knew he had to reach out to the Finance Minister on time so that his Ministry’s appropriation could be released. H knew the Finance Minister’s house and made a visit a week after the Appropriation was received in her office. The discussion was very cordial and Jenbeteru mentioned to the Minister that Arambe Nigeria limited just informed him that N50million has been passed to the account of the Minister’s younger brother. She knew what the money was for and though she would have loved to protest and ask for more, she could really make do with the N50million right now. She thanked Jenbeteru and mentioned that the Police Affairs funds will be released in the next three (3) days.
Ngozi, a Senior Executive with Ziana Bank, has her contacts within the Finance Ministry. She showers everyone in the Minister’s office with gifts regularly. Of course, every fund movement in that Ministry gets reported to her. She knew exactly when the Police Affairs funds would be released to Jenbeteru. It was time to meet Jenbeteru, again. His number was on her speed dial and in the softest of bedroom voice, she said Hello sweetie. Jenbeteru understood and they agreed to meet at the great “WhoreHouse” to finalise the discussions. The great whorehouse is not in the city, it is located in the Kalamunri Mountain Ranges, a nice spot for a weekend getaway. Ngozi booked the flights and made the hotel reservations. She looked into her wardrobe for the most sensuous of clothes. She was not lacking in these. She settled on the most revealing and scanty of them all as well as the latest G String and bikini. She’s got to have this account and have it for keeps. Last year, she got the account but lost it to another top sassy with JeeTee Bank. She’s not going to allow this to happen again. No, not this year.
By the time she arrived at the Great Whorehouse, Jenbeteru has already settled in. He understood what is at stake and he knew the escapade that this week ends bring. These ladies would do anything to win the account of the Ministry. The pleasantries over and the cuddling and smooching led to the inner room and your guess is as good as mine. Less than an hour later, at the pool side, it was time to discuss the details of the offer. Ziana Bank is ready to pay the Police affairs Ministry 4% p.a for its deposit, an extra off the books 2% will be paid to Jenbeteru for the period the Ministry’s Money is placed with Ziana. Jenbeteru considered the 2% as ludicrous, JeeTee Bank has offered 2.5% p.a and Ziana should match this. Ngozi asked Jenbeteru for 5 mins for her to call her bosses. She placed a call to her Director, it was to agree that the extra 0.5% Jenbeteru is asking for would not reduce Ngozi’s Finder’s Fee of 3%. The agreement was reached and Ngozi relayed to Jenbeteru that Ziana would match the 2.5%. Of course, everyone is happy. Ngozi has been able to attract this N58billion at a total cost to the bank of 9.5%, well below the market rate of 14%. The bank is making a spread of 4.5% upfront and will further make a spread of another 10% when it lends this money to the manufacturers that need loans to produce. Oh, Jenbeteru, he is making a cool 2.5% on the N58billion with the cherry on top being the ongoing escapade with Ngozi! Nothing for the common man.
Jenbeteru was a wasted man when he got to work on Monday. He mentioned to his team that the N58billion has been appropriated but that there are commitments already made out of the money that needs to be settled. Jenbeteru requested the Finance Director in the ministry to transfer the N58billion to Ziana Bank and receive a Certificate of Deposit for this at 4%. The Finance Director knew it was time for his share as well. He knew Ngozi would call and he already knew what he would ask for – a business class ticket to Paris for himself and his wife. This wasn’t an issue to Ngozi, the request was met and the money was moved to Ziana. With the deposit safely in the account of the bank, Ngozi walked tall, she always did. It was straight to the Director for the Public Sector Accounts. Her delayed promotion as a result of losing the account to JeeTee Bank the previous year needs to be discussed and effected. It was a short meeting, she is now to be the Assistant Director for the Region for the Bank. She also got deposited into her account the finder’s fee of 3%. For N145million, her efforts were well rewarded and greatly offset the costs she had expended in getting the account.
The Store Manager had earlier on, at the end of last year reported being out of stock of many of the tools that the Police Department routinely uses. The breathalysers, needed to be ordered immediately as they have a long delivery time. The Order Request was made and got to the table of the Minister, just like so many others. The Public Procurement Act necessitates that all such purchases need to be publicly bided. So he had caused to be published in the national dailies an invitation to bid for these items. About 980 bids were received and based on the guidelines previously established, these were reduced down to only 12 competent contractors that can deliver the orders. Well the information was out and the 12 bidders were asked to submit their commercial bids, anyone of them could get the job done based on the technical. It’s now a matter of price, or so it seems.
Kotangawa Limited understands the tricks of the trade very well. It’s not what is in the commercial that wins the bid. It’s more about what is not in it. Alhaji Zungeru is well connected. He dines with the “who is who” in the nation. He belongs to all and yet he belongs to no one, except what serves his pockets. He brought out his custom made golden iPhone, a gift that he got from the President. He scrolled through his frequent contact list and soon came up with the phone number of Jenbeteru and an agreement was reached to meet at the club later in the evening.
At the club, he placed his unique proposition before Jenbeteru. Kontangowa is bidding for the supply of these equipment for N1.5billion. It surely is not the least cost bid but it is a juicy one. If awarded the contract, Alhaji Zungeru would get N100million to Jenbeteru as well as deliver within two (2) months. Jenbeteru mentioned that the Ministry was not driven by time but requested Zungeru to consider making the payment N200million. Zungeru agreed and they shook hands.
Early the next morning, it was the Director of Finance that came to Jenbeteru’s office. He mentioned that there was no money in their bank account to pay the Salaries of the policemen. Jenbeteru mentioned that the placed deposit with Ziana Bank would not mature until another two (2) weeks and he isn’t pretty supportive of terminating this. What then should happen to the payroll of the Police Officers, the Director of Finance asked? Jenbeteru asked him to go and solve that riddle. The Director took his exit. It was late in the afternoon when Jenbeteru mentioned that the ongoing contract bid should be awarded to Kotangowa Limited. The other committee members were not comfortable with this decision and sought to know why? He talked more about the experience of Kotangowa as well as the delivery lead time that the company has promised. These were better than those of the other contractor but there is a hefty premium for this, Kotangowa has quoted a price that was 25% more than the lowest bidder. The committee members were not convinced and a few that were vocal in the team requested that the contract be awarded to the lowest bidder. It was then that Jenbeteru introduced his Joker, there is at stake a modest fee of N20mm for each of the six (6) committee members if the contract is awarded to Kontangowa. There was initially silence in the room and then discord. Four (4) of the committee members are now in support of the award with two (2) still dissenting. The meeting was adjourned, further engagement was to be made with the members of the committee to reach a consensus. At a discrete location in the city, later that evening, Jenbeteru met with each of the discordant members and an agreement was reached, N25million was a more likely sum to sway them to support the decision. The N150mm was paid to the committee members and Jenbeteru keeps the balance of N50million and the contract was awarded to Kontangowa Limited. Everyone was happy and got a slice of the cake but not yet the common man. Maybe something is in the offing for him.
Kotagowa had promised to supply, amongst other things the breathalysers. The bid was that these would be sourced from the approved manufacturer in UK and same would be shipped to Nigeria and delivered to the central stores within two (2) months. Kontangowa knew this was not going to happen, the breathalysers from the UK are simply too expensive for Alhaji Zungeru to make a decent profit. He reached out to his contacts in China and samples of the UK made breathalysers were sent to the factory in China. Zhoungjin responded to Zungeru with three (3) quotes – a quote each for the high, medium and low grades with varying prices and warranties. Of course, the final products will all look alike, exactly like the UK manufactured breathalysers. Alhaji Zungeru weighed his options and concluded that having made the hefty payments, there was little to no risks with importing the low quality breathalysers, only upside in profits. He transferred the necessary funds to the Zhoungjin and gave the go ahead to manufacture, the low quality breathalysers. Orders like these are not new to Zhoungjin and in fact the company makes the most profit from such orders as International Standards are thrown aside and the output is whatever it is – both parties to the transaction knows that these breathalysers are not designed for any effective use. Two months later, the breathalysers are ready to ship and Kontangowa Limited made the necessary logistic arrangements to have them delivered to the country. The only problem now is with the Standards Organization with its men at the ports checking and requesting for certificate of quality around manufactured product. This is not a challenge that Alhaji had not previously handled, he has contacts in all the right places. A call was made to the appropriate quarters, the details of the arriving goods were given and agreements were reached as to what the “fees” to look the other way would be. It was all settled over the phone and Kotangowa made a deposit of N2million to the name of one of the boys. The boys in custom have also gotten their share, it’s only the common man that is yet to get his.
A week to the expiration of the two (2) months commitment, Kotangowa received its goods from the port and same were loaded into the necessary trucks for deliver to the Central Police Stores, managed by ASP Essien. The Lorries showed up and it was Essien boys’ duty to subject the goods to tests of quality to assure they are of the same quality that was ordered. They didn’t have to do these, they knew the quality was not the same. At least, that was what their prior experiences have taught them. ASP Essien’s attention was drawn to the issue and he told the delivery guys that the breathalysers were unacceptable. A call was made to Alhaji Kotangowa who knew he messed up, he was supposed to have called Essien before the goods would reach the stores. He called Essien, apologized for the oversight and an agreement was reached on what the facilitation fee would be to make the breathalysers acceptable to Essien. This would be N5million, Essien has boys and bosses that he needs to settle as well. Essien is a firm believer in Cash being Kinga and requested that payment should be made in a “Ghana must go” bag. It took a while but Alhaji got it done and late that evening, ASP Essien’s boys have to work tirelessly to receive these breathalysers into the store. A Goods Received Note was issued and signed off by Essien, Alhaji Kotangowa can now breathe easy. All he needed to do now was to meet with the Ministry of Police Affairs Finance Director to facilitate the timely payment of the Contract Sum due. He knows what it would take to get this done.
Sergeant Durotola was in charge of the Road Traffic Division and he is a veteran of some twenty something years in the force. He knows his onions well. If not, how could he have maintained being the head of the juicy Road Traffic Post for the past two (2) years? There are so many others within the force that have lobbied and keenly interested in the position. Durotola had succeeded these two years because he has learnt to play smart and to keep the ASP happy. Well if you don’t know what this means, you can’t be really helped much.
The festive season is approaching and he knew that this is his time of the year when his team makes it big. He doesn’t need the breathalysers to test for Alcohol, his nose can sniff the stuff out of anyone. However, the law requires him to provide undeniable proof if he were to successfully prosecute anybody for drunk driving. He sent a Store order Request to the store to provide his team with 100 units of breathalysers. The response he got was shocking, he wouldn’t have 100 but 35, the store does not have an adequate stock of breathalysers to issue to the various Road Traffic Teams scattered across the nation. Of course, the quantity of breathalysers supplied by Kotangowa Limited was supposed to be sufficient for the Police team for a year’s use. Unbeknown to Sergeant Durotola and his likes, ASP Essen’s team had effected a deal with a few local companies and sold the breathalysers to them at prices ridiculously below what is obtainable in the market. These companies are now offering these breathalysers for sale in their shops to institutions that needed to test their employees for Drugs and Alcohol Abuse. The Sergeant agreed to take the 35 units of breathalysers and already made up his mind on what to do and how to effectively use these “ineffective” tools. It took another week but he eventually got the 35 breathalysers. He knew the right spot where to station his team to catch motorists for his tests. There is a popular night club, not far from Fiktoria Island that is patronized by the rich and the spoilt children in town. It was at a corner not far from here that he chose for his team.
It was around 2am that Ricky decided to leave the club. He’s had a groovy night and with all the drugs and alcohol that was circulated, he was stone dead. He got behind the wheel in his Ferrari, fumbled with the ignition keys and brought the car to life. Somehow, he believed he would make it home, his house was just a few blocks away. As he manoeuvres the corner where Sergeant Durotola’s team is, everyone knew that all was not alright with the driver of the vehicle. Ricky was brought to a stop with the flickering torch lights. Corporal Buba approached the driver’s side and the alcohol stench in Ricky’s breath greeted him as he said “Officers how now?” He was asked for his Driver’s license which he produced with some efforts having searched through his pockets and finally the glove compartment of his car. Buba took a look at the name and the address and straightaway knew that they had caught a big fish. Ricky was asked whether he had been drinking to which he responded “No”. The breathalysers were brought and Ricky blew into it. No indication of Alcohol was found in his breath. Now Corporal Buba was perplexed, this guy smells like a brewery yet the breathalysers says he is not drunk! He approached Sergeant Durotola for advice. If they arrest this guy, he could sue them and get them in trouble especially given that the Alcohol test has indicated negative. They knew whom Ricky is. His full name is Rico Inyanya, the only son of the Senate President. Sergeant Durotola counselled that Buba should let Ricky go. Buba went back to Ricky, handed over the driver’s license to him and asked whether he has anything for the boys. Ricky dipped his hands into his pockets and brought out a wad of note that he handed over carelessly to Buba. Ricky drove off. Buba was busy counting his stash of notes when in the far distance a loud noise was heard. The same was followed by a burst of flames. Buba and Durotola sensed what has happened and quickly called the team together and they disappeared from the check point. They could have moved to the accident scene but nobody needed to know they had mounted this illegal check point that night. Ricky managed to crawl out of the burning car and was in deep pain having broken some bones. He could move no further. Had help arrived timely, he could have escape the inferno that finally gutted the car and the broken down truck that was parked on the road that he ran into.
The papers were with blaring headlines the next day. Tragedy! Senator Iyanya’s son was killed in a freak accident. Nnaemeka had graduated from the University and completed his national service three (3) years ago. He is without a job and not with a slight hope of getting one soon. His favourite past time is to visit the Vendor’s stand in the morning and browse through the newspaper for the day, he could not afford buying them. The headlines caught his attention. He was full of sorrow for the young man that just died an untimely death, he was also sorrowful for his parents. Unknown to him, fate has worked in his favour. Now it’s his turn to have a share and benefit in the national cake.
The Senate President was furious, how could this be? His only son dead in an accident, within a few distance from his house! He ordered a probe into the activities of the Road Transport Unit. How come an articulated trailer was left packing on the road without same being removed or a warning sign placed by it? Some said the cause of the accident was the drunkenness of the driver, others said so many other things. However, we know that corruption had a big part in this death!
“My compatriots, It is one year today since our administration came into office. It has been a year of triumph, consolidation, pains and achievements. By age, instinct and experience, my preference is to look forward, to prepare for the challenges that lie ahead and rededicate the administration to the task of fixing Nigeria. But I believe we can also learn from the obstacles we have overcome and the progress we made thus far, to help strengthen the plans that we have in place to put Nigeria back on the path of progress. We affirm our belief in democracy as the form of government that best assures the active participation and actual benefit of the people. Despite the many years of hardship and disappointment the people of this nation have proved inherently good, industrious tolerant, patient and generous. The past years have witnessed huge flows of oil revenues. From 2010 average oil prices were $100 per barrel. But economic and security conditions were deteriorating. We campaigned and won the election on the platform of restoring security, tackling corruption and restructuring the economy. on our arrival, the oil price had collapsed to as low as $30 per barrel and we found nothing had been kept for the rainy day. Oil prices have been declining since 2014 but due to the neglect of the past, the country was not equipped to halt the economy from declining.
The infrastructure, notably rail, power, roads were in a decrepit state. all the four refineries were in a state of disrepair, the pipelines and depots neglected. Huge debts owed to contractors and suppliers had accumulated. twenty-seven states could not pay salaries for months. in the north-east, Boko Haram had captured 14 local governments, driven the local authorities out, hoisted their flags. Elsewhere, insecurity was palpable; corruption and impunity were the order of the day. In short, we inherited a state near collapse. On the economic front, all oil dependent countries, Nigeria included, have been struggling since the drop in prices. many oil rich states have had to take tough decisions similar to what we are doing. The world, Nigeria included has been dealing with the effects of three significant and simultaneous global shocks starting in 2014: A 70% drop in oil prices. Global growth slowdown. Normalization of monetary policy by the United States federal reserve. Our problems as a government are like that of a farmer who in a good season harvests ten bags of produce. The proceeds enable him to get by for rest of the year. However, this year he could only manage 3 bags from his farm. He must now think of other ways to make ends meet. From day one, we purposely set out to correct our condition, to change Nigeria. We reinforced and galvanized our armed forces with new leadership and resources. We marshaled our neighbours in a joint task force to tackle and defeat Boko Haram. By the end of December 2015, all but pockets and remnants had been routed by our gallant armed forces. Our immediate focus is for a gradual and safe return of internally displaced persons in safety and dignity and for the resumption of normalcy in the lives of people living in these areas. EFCC was given the freedom to pursue corrupt officials and the judiciary was alerted on what Nigerians expect of them in the fight against corruption. On the economy, in particular foreign exchange and fuel shortages, our plan is to save foreign exchange by fast tracking repair of the refineries and producing most of our fuel requirements at home. And by growing more food in Nigeria, mainly rice, wheat and sugar we will save billions of dollars in foreign exchange and drastically reduce our food import bill.
We resolved to keep the Naira steady, as in the past, devaluation had done dreadful harm to the Nigerian economy. Furthermore, I supported the monetary authority’s decision to ensure alignment between monetary policy and fiscal policy. We shall keep a close look on how the recent measures affect the Naira and the economy. But we cannot get away from the fact that a strong currency is predicated on a strong economy.
And a strong economy pre-supposes an industrial productive base and a steady export market. The measures we must take, may lead to hardships. The problems Nigerians have faced over the last year have been many and varied. But the real challenge for this government has been reconstructing the spine of the Nigerian state. The last twelve months have been spent collaborating with all arms of government to revive our institutions so that they are more efficient and fit for purpose: That means a bureaucracy better able to develop and deliver policy That means an independent judiciary, above suspicion and able to defend citizen’s rights and dispense justice equitably. That means a legislature that actually legislates effectively and Above all; that means political parties and politicians committed to serving the nigerian people rather than themselves. These are the pillars of the state on which democracy can take root and thrive. But only if they are strong and incorruptible. Accordingly, we are working very hard to introduce some vital structural reforms in the way we conduct government business and lay a solid foundation on which we can build enduring change. An important first step has been to get our housekeeping right. So we have reduced the extravagant spending of the past. We started boldly with the treasury single account, stopping the leakages in public expenditure. We then identified forty-three thousand ghost workers through the Integrated Payroll and Personnel Information system. That represents pay packets totalling N4.2 billion stolen every month. In addition, we will save Twenty-Three Billion Naira per annum from official travelling and sitting allowances alone. Furthermore, the efficiency unit will cut costs and eliminate duplications in ministries and departments. Every little saving helps. The reduction in the number of ministries and work on restructuring and rationalization of the MDAs is well underway. When this work is complete we will have a leaner, more efficient public service that is fit for the purpose of changing nigeria for the good and for good. As well as making savings, we have changed the way public money is spent. In all my years as a public servant, I have never come across the practice of padding budgets. I am glad to tell you now we not only have a budget, but more importantly, we have a budget process that is more transparent, more inclusive and more closely tied to our development priorities than in the recent past. 30% of the expenditure in this budget is devoted to capital items. Furthermore, we are projecting non-oil revenues to surpass proceeds from oil. Some critics have described the budget exercise as clumsy. Perhaps. But it was an example of consensus building, which is integral to democratic government. In the end we resolved our differences. READ ALSO: Buhari makes striking confession about EFCC operations We have, therefore, delivered significant milestones on security, corruption and the economy. In respect of the economy, I would like to directly address you on the very painful but inevitable decisions we had to make in the last few weeks specifically on the pump price of fuel and the more flexible exchange rate policy announced by the central bank. It is even more painful for me that a major producer of crude oil with four refineries that once exported refined products is today having to import all of its domestic needs. This is what corruption and mismanagement has done to us and that is why we must fight these ills. As part of the foundation of the new economy we have had to reform how fuel prices had traditionally been fixed. This step was taken only after protracted consideration of its pros and cons. After comprehensive investigation my advisers and I concluded that the mechanism was unsustainable. We are also engaged in making recoveries of stolen assets some of which are in different jurisdictions. The processes of recovery can be tedious and time consuming, but today I can confirm that thus far: significant amount of assets have been recovered. A considerable portion of these are at different stages of recovery. Full details of the status and categories of the assets will now be published by the Ministry of Information and updated periodically. When forfeiture formalities are completed these monies will be credited to the treasury and be openly and transparently used in funding developmental projects and the public will be informed. On the Niger Delta, we are committed to implementing the United Nations Environment Programme report and are advancing clean-up operations. I believe the way forward is to take a sustainable approach to address the issues that affect the delta communities. Re-engineering the amnesty programmes is an example of this. The recent spate of attacks by militants disrupting oil and power installations will not distract us from engaging leaders in the region in addressing Niger Delta problems. If the militants and vandals are testing our resolve, they are much mistaken. We shall apprehend the perpetrators and their sponsors and bring them to justice. The policy measures and actions taken so far are not to be seen as some experiment in governance. We are fully aware that those vested interests who have held Nigeria back for so long will not give up without a fight. They will sow divisions, sponsor vile press criticisms at home and abroad, incite the public in an effort to create chaos rather than relinquish the vice-like grip they have held on Nigeria. The economic misfortune we are experiencing in the shape of very low oil prices has provided us with an opportunity to restructure our economy and diversify. We are in the process of promoting agriculture, livestocks, exploiting our solid mineral resources and expanding our industrial and manufacturing base. That way, we will import less and make the social investments necessary to allow us to produce a large and skilled workforce. Central Bank of Nigeria will offer more fiscal incentives for business that prove capable of manufacturing products that are internationally competitive. We remain committed to reforming the regulatory framework, for investors by improving the ease of doing business in Nigeria. Meanwhile, the first steps along the path of self-sufficiency in rice, wheat and sugar – big users of our scarce foreign exchange – have been taken. The Labour Intensive Farming Enterprise will boost the economy and ensure inclusive growth in long neglected communities. Special intervention funds through the Bank of Agriculture will provide targeted support. Concerns remain about rising cost of foods such as maize, rice, millet, beans and gari. Farmers tell me that they are worried about the cost of fertilizers, pesticides and the absence of extension services. The federal and state governments are on the same page in tackling these hurdles in our efforts at increased food production and ultimately food security. I would like to take this opportunity to express my appreciation for the increasing role that our women are playing in revitalizing the agricultural sector. Modern farming is still hard and heavy work and I salute our Nigerian women in sharing this burden. In this respect I am very pleased to announce that the government will shortly be launching the national women’s empowerment fund, which I have approved to provide N1.6 billion in micro-finance loans to women across the nation to assist in rehabilitating the economies of rural communities, particularly those impacted by the insurgency and conflict. READ ALSO: Has Buhari failed Nigeria already? With respect to solid minerals, the minister has produced a roadmap where we will work closely with the world bank and major international investors to ensure through best practices and due diligence that we choose the right partners. Illegal mining remains a problem and we have set up a special security team to protect our assets. Special measures will be in place to protect miners in their work environment. For too long, ours has been a society that neglects the poor and victimises the weak. A society that promotes profit and growth over development and freedom. A society that fails to recognize that, to quote the distinguished economist Amartya Sen “ poverty is not just lack of money. It is not having the capability to realize one’s full potential as a human being.” So, today, I am happy to formally launch, by far the most ambitious social protection programme in our history. A programme that both seeks to start the process of lifting many from poverty, while at the same time creating the opportunity for people to fend for themselves. In this regard, Five Hundred Billion Naira has been appropriated in the 2016 budget for social intervention programmes in five key areas. We are committed to providing job creation opportunities for five hundred thousand teachers and one hundred thousand artisans across the nation. 5.5 million children are to be provided with nutritious meals through our school feeding programme to improve learning outcomes, as well as enrolment and completion rates. The conditional cash transfer scheme will provide financial support for up to one million vulnerable beneficiaries, and complement the enterprise programme – which will target up to one million market women; four hundred and sixty thousand artisans; and two hundred thousand agricultural workers, nationwide. Finally, through the education grant scheme, we will encourage students studying sciences, technology, engineering and maths, and lay a foundation for human capital development for the next generation. I would like to pay a special tribute to our gallant men and women of the armed forces who are in harm’s way so that the rest of us can live and go about our business in safety. Their work is almost done. The nation owes them a debt of gratitude. Abroad, we want to assure our neighbours, friends and development partners that Nigeria is firmly committed to democratic principles. We are ready partners in combating terrorism, cyber crimes, control of communicable diseases and protection of the environment. Following on the Paris Agreement, COP 21, we are fully committed to halting and reversing desertification. Elsewhere, we will intensify efforts to tackle erosion, ocean surge, flooding and oil spillage which I referred to earlier by implementing the United Nations Environment Programme (UNEP) report. We are grateful to the international community notably France, the US, UK and China for their quick response in helping to tackle the recent Ebola outbreak in our sub-region. We also acknowledge the humanity shown by the Italian and German governments in the treatment of boat people, many fleeing from our sub-region because of lack of economic opportunity. We thank all our partners especially several countries in the EU. READ ALSO: One year in office: PMB lists achievements as military rescue 11,595 B’Haram captives We appreciate the valuable work that the UN agencies, particularly UNICEF, ICRC, the World Food Program have been doing. We must also appreciate the World Bank, the Gates Foundation, the Global Fund and Educate A Child of Qatar for the excellent work in our health, education and other sectors. Fellow citizens let me end on a happy note. To the delight of all, two of the abducted Chibok girls have regained their freedom. During the last one year, not a single day passed without my agonizing about these girls. Our efforts have centred around negotiations to free them safely from their mindless captors. We are still pursuing that course. Their safety is of paramount concern to me and I am sure to most Nigerians. I am very worried about the conditions those still captured might be in. Today I re-affirm our commitment to rescuing our girls. We will never stop until we bring them home safely. As I said before, no girl should be put through the brutality of forced marriage and every Nigerian girl has the right to an education and a life choice. I thank you and appeal to you to continue supporting the government’s efforts to fix Nigeria.”
It would be forty (40) years, later this year, when death came calling and struck thrice. Stealing from me three very important people. He started with my maternal grandfather, that fine gentleman. I can remember “Baba” clearly. He comes back home each evening on his precious Suzuki motorcycle. As I rushed to welcome him home, he would bring out a piece of boiled egg from the pocket of his “Buba” and give me while carefully parking the Suzuki in the corridor of the house. It never stays outside and the unwritten rule was “never touch the Suzuki”, he cared for it as one would take care of a precious wife. We buried him in a white porcelain ladded grave. I still see the grave now, each time I visit Sita Street.
We were just rounding up with his burial when death struck again! Stretching his grim hands, he took away my paternal grandfather. That was painful, I had fond memories of him too. He was a customary court judge who went about his business with a lot of dignity and respect for people. That fateful day, it was said that he w’s returning from the court home and was about climbing the two steps that lead to the raised balcony of his house when he tripped and fell. He was rushed to the hospital where he was bed ridden for many days. He never made the trip back to the house, alive. It was a long drive from Daura to Ibadan in the Red Lada, for us to attend his burial. It was during this trip that I got to see the then mighty Jebba Bridge of which I have a story to tell, sometimes later.
Death dealt the biggest blow in October, when he hit below the belt. My Dad fell, never to rise again. It all started as a well rehearsed play. We had relocated to the ancient city of Ibadan about a month before this sad event happened. It was not part of the Act, there was no role for death in the play. Through crude mischief, death showed up and snatched my father away. What was in the Act was for Daddy to close up his affairs in Daura, meet the family in Ibadan and continue his journey to Europe, where he planned to pursue some studies of some sort. Rather than receive him with warm hugs and kisses, what we got was his lifeless body from Daura. Life was never the same again. With an ending like this, all the good experiences that we had in Daura during our three (3) year sojourn vanished. They were easily replaced with feelings of resentment, anger and great loss. How could Daura do this to us? No family meeting was held but, written in each of our hearts was the conviction that, Daura was not to be forgiven. It’s the least likely of places to be visited, ever again.
Well that was then. Forty years was what it took God to move the Israelites from Egypt to the promised land. It was long enough for God to touch us as well, especially me. It is long enough to forgive, to let bye-gone be bye-gone and to start a new chapter in life. That of acceptance and reconciliation. My renewed interest in Daura was kindled when the lanky and elderly Muhammadu Buhari (Sai Baba) won the Nigerian Presidential Elections. He is a full blooded Daura son. He had retired to Daura following his earlier incarnation as the military head of state. The adventurous spirit in me, that same spirit that oftentimes make me to wander to unfamiliar territories, craved a need to see where our new President comes from. Added to this was the urge to step again on the grounds of Daura School II, a school that contributed in no small measure to whom I am today. Now I have a potent mix, it becomes difficult to resist a trip to Daura. Daura Teachers College was also on my mind. It was the bill payer, this was where my Dad traded his knowledge for the income that sustained us. Remembering how elegantly my father stepped out each day from the house to drive his Red Lada to this school was enough to put Daura back on my adventure map. It all seemed like yesterday again. I could recollect the seemingly long walk to school and one particular trip where we got caught up in watching a domestic fracas and I ended up fracturing my left arm. The sight of the Emir’s Palace, especially during the Durbar with the elegantly dressed up horses and the riders with flowing robes, came flashing bye. I also could see the “Kasua” with the meat stalls and the endless bags of beans and other legumes being sold. The Aroma was indescribable. And of course, our house. Our Kerosene powered fridge was unique. In the hot, humid and dusty Northern Nigeria’s weather, it brought amazing relieve to us. It was an invaluable treasure that we had. My dad also had a portable vinyl player. No one else in the family, apart from me, was allowed to operate this. How can I forget our scheming as little children, one of which led to our using a razor to cut into the cloth fabrics of the Red Ladas seat. We got the beatings of our life, which was well deserved. As young children, who spoke little Hausa, we wandered free from home yet with little cares and worries. All these memories were all slowly coming back to me. These were the allure of Daura.
There wasn’t much rigor applied to the plan. I got on google.com and searched out the closest airport to the ancient city and settled on a simple plan. I would fly to Kano and take a road
Traffic Lights in Daura
trip to Daura. I thought of having my mum along on the trip, I felt this would help to revitalise her but she had other plans – the Deeper Life Easter retreat comes first, above all other things in her life. I settled on a day – it was to be Easter Friday and I would spend four (4) days in Daura to savour the old charm that the town held for us. The trip was not to be or so it seemed as other commitments soon came clashing with the departure date of Friday. I was resolute, no matter what, I will make the trip. On Saturday, with a lot of courage, I booked the flight, it was to be on the first flight that departs Lagos by 6:40am. This itself was challenging, to be at the Murtala Mohammed 2 Airport before 6am requires a lot of logistic coordination. It was a Sunday, except for the bottleneck on Mobolaji Bank Anthony Way where the riotous fuel seekers had blocked the main road queuing for fuel, the trip was enjoyable and short. Within 35mins, I was at the Airport Car Park.
I entered the Terminal and was amazed to see Technology at work. The automatic ticketing machines, four of them, were staring at me. I am a man of great hope. I approached one of them, followed the on-screen prompt and, “Walla”, had my boarding pass printed out. Amazing, Technology can work also in Nigeria? I first encountered these in South Korea in 2005 and had been wondering when this will make itself to Nigeria. With the boarding pass on me, I took the escalator upstairs, avoiding the queue at the ticketing counter. Well my excitement was soon cut short as I would not be allowed into the departure lounge, I needed to go back downstairs and obtain a little receipt from the counter. Now, this is the Nigerian challenge, we always have to put some bottlenecks to ensure that technology doesn’t work as designed. I went back to the queue that I thought I had avoided. I soon called out to one of the attendants and she graciously obliged me with the missing slip. I went back up to the departure lounge. It wasn’t long that the boarding call for Air AZMAN was called. Another surprise. Given my experiences in the past two years with a few Nigerian carriers, I had come to expect delays as normal part of flying. This wasn’t to be with Air AZMAN this morning. We departed as scheduled and landed in Kano as planned. It was great to be in Kano again, I haven’t stepped on the soils of the ancient city in the past twenty-one years. The Airport looked elegant. It was fit-for-purpose and nothing in it brings the sadness that the Port Harcourt Airport connotes. I made my way out of the Airport and got to “Kofar Ruwa”, where I had been told that I would get a connecting vehicle to Daura. It was a motor park. The choices for my trip were not many, concerns for personal safety was paramount. I thought of taking a chartered vehicle to Daura, I felt it would be risky. I wasn’t going to stand out in the crowd. I chose to join a regularly scheduled commercial bus for the two (2) hour trip to Daura. I made this choice that it was the less risky of every other alternatives as I could easily blend in amongst other commuters. It took forever for the bus to get filled up and then a joker was played on me – four other people will be loaded in the bus as attachments. Now, all comforts were gone and the hope to take in the sights and sounds of the arid landscape of the north, while we made the trip, was lost. In all, there were 15 souls in this bus whose seats were designed for 10 people. It was to be a tortuous two hour trip. I kept
Emir's Palace, Daura
shifting uncomfortably from side to side, yet I neither got an increase in comfort nor a reduction in inconvenience. My feet were crammed and I blamed myself for choosing this “talakawa” mode of transportation for the visit. Mid-way into the trip, somewhere in Jigawa state, the driver pulled away from the road and hurriedly commanded the conductor and three (3) others who were sitting as “attachments” to come down from the vehicle. There were motorcycle operators (“Okadas”) waiting by the roadside. Without understanding any word of the Hausa that was spoken, I felt relieved and really thought these folks have alighted from the vehicle and I would now have some comfort. The Driver drove off and in less than a minute, we were accosted by the Vehicle Inspection Officers (VIOs) who took a look at the vehicle and satisfied themselves that the vehicle was not over-loaded. The driver was allowed to continue his journey and he pulled over again, less than two (2) minutes from the check point. It was then that I realized what was really happening – somehow the message had been passed to him as to the presence of the VIOs and to deceive them he had made four passengers to alight from the vehicle, paid for the Okada to ferry them through the checkpoint and we were now waiting to pick them back. I got convinced that we all, especially all the occupants in the vehicle that did not raise our voices to let the VIO know what has happened, are all part of the corruption that has besieged our nation. If we were to assume that the VIO were oblivious to the scheme that just took place (and I doubt this), shouldn’t we the passengers bring this to their notice so that they can keep our roads safe?
As we drove through Jigawa State, I saw “Jaura” and I was frightened. Was it possible that the destination of the bus was Jaura in Jigawa State and not Daura in Katsina? If we were heading to Daura in Katsina what were we doing in Jigawa State? I was confused and my limited understanding of the Hausa language became a problem. I was unable to communicate and ask the needed questions to address my concerns. I soon gave up and made up my mind that whatever happens, it was all part of an adventure.
Daura School II
After what had seemed an eternity of pain in the Nissan commuter bus, we reached Daura and the bus pulled into a “Kofar”. I alighted and made for the main road, the Daura-Kano road. I had earlier seen a signboard showing the way to the Emir’s palace and got convinced that the areas where we lived as little kids were not far from the “Kofar”. At the new Total Petrol Station (I believe it was recently constructed to honour Buhari), I asked for the best hotel in town and was directed to Daura Motel. I flagged down an “Okada” and in less than three (3) minutes, we were at the hotel. It was undergoing renovations but the sight at the reception told me all that I needed to know – you can’t stay here! It was dusty, the windows were left fully open and no air-conditioner was anywhere. I called for the receptionist, no one answered my call. I saw about three middle aged men talking together outside the reception hall but paying no attention to me. I left the reception and walked to the gate. I needed to look for another hotel. I got brought to Takare Inn, which I was told was the second hotel in Daura, none else. I had my many reservations but having been told that there was no other place for me to lodge, I grudgingly made the payment and got assigned a room. I could feel Joseph and Mary’s pains as they arrived Bethlehem and there was no room for them in the Inn. It had its many failings but I could pass the night in it and still wake up alive the next morning. I spent like five (5) minutes in the room, and was soon out, to explore the city which was the main purpose of my trip to Daura.
I asked to be taken to “Bayajidda Well”. As a child, I had listened to and retold the Bayajidda story severally. It was because of Bayajidda that Daura holds a place of prominence amongst the Hausa states. Just as we, the Yorubas have our cradle of civilization as “Ile-Ife”, the Hausas hold Daura ,with respect, as theirs. The valour of Bayajidda in killing “Sarki”, the snake was the foundation of Bayajidda’s marriage to Queen “Magajiya” Daurama, a relationship that produced the Hausa “Bakwai” States. A variant of the story also gives insight to the “Banza Bakwai” states. It took some time for the Okada to understand me but he finally did. We passed by the Emir’s Palace and it looked much nicer than it used to look as per my recollection. We got to the little house, in the midst of Old Daura, where the well is. It is now called Kusugu Well. I talked with the keeper who allowed me access. Just as with most things Nigeria, not much efforts have been expended to make this a tourist attraction. Apart from the Gold Plated inscription on the wall, there wasn’t much that tells the story of this well and that of the Brave Bajayidda, without which there would have been no city called Daura as at date. There were a few pictures of past Emirs of Daura on the wall and if one were not to be told, it’s most likely that the average visitor will pass bye without noting the significance of this place. Truth be told, the house and the internals of the building were kept very clean. I did not spend up to five (5) minutes before a group of about five (5) kids came in with their water cans. I exited the building, paid the fifty naira token demanded by the keeper and started my walk in the Old Quarters. I soon came across the Old Prison Walls. I wanted to get closer only to be told not to by one of the sentries watching the facility. Seriously, it is questionable what an old prison like this is still doing in service and has not been turned into a national monument. No wonder Boko Haram found it an easy target to invade in 2013. I moved on, waded through the area and kept on asking myself whether I would be able to identify our old house, my school and the Teachers’ College. I soon reached the Emir’s Palace and went in through its beautiful gates. At the entrance were a few soldiers who demanded to know my mission. I told them but they won’t let me in. They requested for my Identification Card and I obliged yet they refused me entrance, I turned back and walked towards my hotel passing through the “Kasua”. There were no stalls, of the type that I recollected with the Old Daura. It was hot, and I picked up a few essentials on my way back to the hotel. As I approached the hotel, I saw the “Mai Suya”. I stopped by and noticed this was Guinea Fowl Suya. I requested for one, which he put next to the fire and in few minutes, sliced and packed for me. I got into my room, took a brief shower and settled down to the Guinea Fowl Suya. It was tasty and well prepared. I soon fell asleep and by the time I woke up, it was 5:00pm.
Farm Transportation
I stepped out of Takare Inn and waved down an Okada. I requested for directions to “Gidan” Muhammadu Buhari. I was told that the house was at the GRA. The idea was to evaluate how modest the house was. Stories have been told that since Muhammadu Buhari’s exit from the military, he had maintained an austere life and had not amassed properties like many of our past rulers did. Some point away from the Kano-Daura Road, the Okada branched left and we came to an open street on which the whole left side of the street consist of sprawling buildings and the right was bare except that it was dotted here and there with military and police presence. We soon got to the second traffic barrier on the street and the sight of the detachment of soldiers watching over the white house told me that it would be trouble for us to go towards the house to take a look. I told the Okada to turn back and it was at this point that we heard a loud voice screamed “Wait There”. We stopped took a turn and went to meet about three (3) Soldiers who had taken to their feet and were coming towards us. They sought to know what our mission on the road was and I explained to them. The leader of the group, in good English Language, expressed concerns with the manner in which we came to the street, turned back without approaching them and advised that in future we should meet with them to express our desires. I wanted to but I was not bold enough to take pictures of the President’s personal house. Somehow, with these soldiers, it would be a suicidal move. Without much ado, we left the place and I was taken to my old School, Daura II.
A lot has changed with the school. It was sporting a new look with better brick constructed buildings. In the middle of its grounds were school desks laid out in the open, for no special reasons. I took in the sight with some nostalgia. I can’t visibly remember which class I was but could recollect how we sat on our bare bottoms on the open grounds of the school and were taught the English Alphabet. I also remember the seemingly long straight walk to the school. I vividly could now recount the incident that led to the first of two fractures on my left arm. It was one school morning, as we were approaching the school that we beheld commotion from one of the houses. There was domestic violence going on and a man was having his moment of madness with one of his wives. As students, we gathered and were watching the scenes, when suddenly someone else brought out a whip to disperse us. It was in the process of running from the whip that I fell and other students stepped on my left arm. I got my first fracture and was in pains for months until it healed up. I walked out of the school grounds towards the street where I thought the event occurred. I could not identify any of the houses, everywhere looked different. I took a left turn and was soon within the old quarters.
A street in Old Daura
It was evening and around the time for the evening prayers. A lot of people were on the streets. Daura has a thriving population. I could see the cars, the flowing dresses and the differing looks on the faces of the men and the kids. I also could see the “Almanjirins” and I concluded we have problems in this country. I saw the “Mai Ruwa”, the water seller and noticed that not much had changed with this profession, except that they now ply their wares using Plastic containers and not the 50 litres Iron Containers of old. I kept on walking and started seeing the decaying old mud buildings, they have seen the years and as evidence of the harsh weather on these structures, one could see them falling apart in different places and the owners putting up mud structures to support them. All the women, with no exception, had their coverings on. Everywhere I turned, the young girls with their brightly painted lips, “laali” on their feet walked the streets with their heads covered. Daura is fully a Muslim city though I heard that there is the presence of a church somewhere within its boundaries. Nearly every other house has a Mosque and people were gathered all around these. With more mosques than industries, it’s easy to conclude that Daura, like many other Nigerian cities, is extremely religious. What I could not conclude is whether she is Godly! Not far from where I stood, I saw a young man operating a grinding machine for a lady, he was either blending millet, maize or beans for the evening meal. All the streets were tarred and the outside of most houses were swept clean. Life around these places was vibrant. I took a few pictures with some fear – fear that I could be accosted as evading someone’s privacy and it doesn’t take much to excite these teeming youths in this region. I asked around for “Bayajiddah Street” and no one could locate such a street, all I kept being referred to was the “Bayajiddah School”.
I soon got to “Kofar Sarki Bashar” where I saw a few youth that I felt were educated enough to converse in English. I asked for directions to “Daura Teachers’ College” and was gladdened to be told it was just in front of me. What I saw was the Federal Government College, Daura. I showed my confusion and this was cleared when one of the young men told me that it used to be the Teachers’ College but was converted many years ago when the country chose to do away with the Grade II Teachers Qualification. I asked for “Bayajiddah Street” and again no one could provide a direction to the Street. I said my thanks, took a few pictures of the entrance to the Federal Government College and turned right, heading back to my hotel. I saw the “Bayajiddah School” with its modern one storey buildings and clean compound. I took a few pictures and soon came across a woman frying and selling Akara by the road side. I joined a few men waiting to buy the Akara. When it was almost my turn, the woman said “Baa Turenshi” to which I replied “Baa Hausa”. Everyone laughed and I gesticulate to show I wanted to buy fifty naira worth of Akara. She packed these and gave it to me and I handed over the money to her.
A City Gate (Kofar) in Daura
As I walked towards my hotel, it was then that I noticed the street lights, they were all on and helped to dissipate the darkness. I soon noticed the Traffic lights at the junction of Kano-Daura Road and that of Mamman Daura Road. I noticed that everyone was obeying them, including the notorious Okadas. There was no policeman at the traffic light junction to control traffic yet everyone moves only when the light is green. Daura works! I was soon at my hotel and I settled down and ate the Akara, with a bottle of water.
I came, I saw, I conquered, goes the famous saying by Napoleon. I have seen nearly everything that I came to look for in Daura, it was time to pass the night. I made sure my doors were firmly locked and settled on the bed and slept off. Tomorrow would be another morning. I kept on thinking, what was the secret behind this thriving remote post in North Central Nigeria? The next town to Daura is in Niger Republic and it was probably, in my understanding, the town that helped the Nigeriens and Nigerians to facilitate trade. There were no other notable resources to support this town. I could see three well- built commercial bank offices located on the main road – First Bank, Access Bank and of course Unity Bank. I still couldn’t fathom what keeps the population here thriving and staying firm in Daura? These were the thoughts on my mind before I dozed off. I woke up on Monday morning to a dusty, dry Harmattan weather. The sun lighted up the room and the tall “Dongoyaro” tree by the window did a brilliant job of shading the room from the full intensity of the sun. I did my morning rituals and was soon out of the motel. Downstairs, I picked a “Sai Buhari” Cap at a princely sum and then headed to the city limits. Having promised myself that my journey out of Daura had to be with much more comfort than the trip in, I was able to get a cab that took me on the one and a half-hour ride back to Kano. I negotiated with the driver not to take on excess passengers and agreed to pay for the seats not filled. Despite this, he still carried two (2) other gentlemen in the booth. I had my comfort and the much needed leg room.
Without much ado, we left Daura and soon passed through the Katsina State’s border into Jigawa. Here I saw an amazing spread of fresh green vegetables being grown at the road side. I saw this as a revelation about the fertility of the soil in the area and what a great food basket the area could be turned to with some significant investment in irrigation. Saudi Arabia did this and so did Egypt around the Nile. Nigeria can do same as well. We were soon faced with the mountain range of Jigawa as we approached Kazaure. The sight was awesome. Looking at the formation, I jumped to the conclusion that this was a limestone rock. We soon approached the Vehicle Inspection Officers and the same scenario that I witnessed during the earlier trip repeated itself out. The two (2) men in the boot alighted and took Okadas while my cab proceeded through the checkpoint without any issue. Once through the checkpoint, at a safe distance, the cab stopped and picked the two (2) men who continued the journey in the boot. I got reminded of Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart where Eneke the bird says that “Since men have learned to shoot without missing, he has learned to fly without perching.” I concluded with a question – Who is fooling who? The Drivers, the passengers or the VIOs. It won’t be surprising to find out that the VIOs are the owners of the bikes that they have rented out to ferry people across the checkpoints!
As the cab continued its journey across Jigawa, I saw the open pit mines dotting the landscape. I had learnt over the years that Jigawa is blessed with Kaolin and this was probably what was being mined, along with sand mining, in the open pits. The dangers of erosions were glaring and concerted government efforts to stop this environmental degradation act would be needed. You can’t ignore the billboard of the National Agency for the Great Green Wall, it stares you right in the face! I saw it earlier as we drove to Daura and I am seeing it again. Do we have an agency for Secret Societies or are we in a sort of clandestine collaboration with China for something around the Great Wall of China? I couldn’t fathom what the Great Green Wall was all about and why there should be a national agency established for this. Well, the little research I did when I got back to Lagos helped to cover the gap in my education – the Agency was all about afforestation and was established in 2015 by an Act of Parliament. As we approached Kano, around Dambata, we came across a River on our right side. It was sprawling with life and vegetation. I concluded that this must be River Kano (I may be wrong) but as I enjoyed the sight of the river, I thought of the economic importance of this river to the area and the need to continually keep the river healthy. We arrived Kano around half past ten in the morning and I made my way to the Airport. My flight to Lagos was to be by 2:40pm in the afternoon and given my previous experience with Air Azman, I was looking forward to a timely departure. This was not to be. We did not board until around 4:00pm and even with this, the flight was routed through Abuja where we spent some time on the tarmac for Abuja passengers to disembark and take on more passengers to Lagos. I arrived Lagos around 6:30pm a weary man. I made my way to the parking lot, picked my car and drove straight home.
As I reflected on the trip, I was thankful that I am alive and well and could revisit moments of my childhood. I can now comfortably strike out Daura from the list of cities that I needed to visit.
As with other families out there, my wife and I call each other very frequently each day. This day was not different, except as it regards the nature of the call she made. As I picked up her call and said my “Hello”, the words were still in my mouth when she asked how I was and whether I was taking any medication. Of course she knows the medication that I was taking but apart from these, I wasn’t taking any other. Well, she said “you must start taking some multivitamins”. It was an order and I knew I wasn’t going to win any argument if I were to start one. Having been married to her for close to two decades, somethings have become very obvious.
As soon as she picked me up and welcomed me back home, off she went and when she came back it was with some packs of pills. Okay, I was taken aback and asked must I really take these? She gave me the silent look and continued with selecting a combination of these pills. As I watched, it was like an attempt by her to replicate the colours of the rainbow. She held the pills in the pill bottle cover in one hand and with a glass cup of water on the other hand, she asked that I open my mouth. Like a baby, I opened my mouth and in went the water and then the pills. It was a great effort for me to swallow the pills as they were big but I eventually succeeded. Without further being asked, her training as a medical personnel took over and she started explaining to me how our bodies age and become unable to fully breakdown food nutrients. As this occurs, she mentioned, the body needs help through the use of supplements for it to continue to function at tip top shape.
Well, she went ahead and brought the different packs of the supplements that I had just swallowed and told me they are one of the best in the market and that they had cost her a fortune and if I was interested, I should go online and read a little more about them. As we went to bed that same night, she told me how much she worries about me and cares. That in recent times, we’ve witness the loss of a couple of close family friends and colleagues and that she felt that the little way she can help was to get both of us to take care of our bodies. She mentioned that she wanted us to age gracefully together and does not wish any of us to spend our old age alone without the other. She added that she realized that God is in control and surely is the one who will decide when it is time to call us home but before he makes that decision, we should do what is needful to keep ourselves in great shape – Spirit, Soul and Body.
As I held her and listened to the words she was speaking, I was deeply touched. I have never had course to doubt her love for me but I was again moved by the extent of her care and concern for our wellbeing. I pulled her close and gave her a peck to her face and told her how grateful I am to have her as my wife. I jokingly asked her, what was in this for her? She turned towards me and said it was her insurance for a graceful old age. I knew it, she wanted me alive so that I could run those little errands for her and provide for our daily living. You are using me, I cried out! In her sleepy silent voice she responded “isn’t that what you are good for”?
Each day since, she has kept me on a daily regimen of these multivitamin, multimineral and concentrate dietary supplements to which she also added an omega-3 complex. Sweetheart, I know you will read this and it is another way through which I am saying thank you. Thank you for being there, dependable and truly caring for me and for our great kids. Love you tons, now that you have made me a “drug addict”.
Recently, I made an online ticket reservation on wakanow.com. I was issued with a booking invoice advising me of the bank account details to make payment to as well as the amount. Lucky me, Wakanow supplied details for the same bank that I am using. Immediately, I transferred the stated sum to Wakanow, taking care to follow the specific details that had been advised and noting my booking number in the remark field of the bank transfer. I forwarded the evidence of transfer to the advised wakanow.com email box as an attachment and waited for my ticket to be issued.
Three (3) days after, I was yet to be issued with a ticket. I sent an email to Wakanow to request for my ticket and then it hit me like a bolt – I was informed that my reservation had been cancelled because Wakanow had not received the online payment that I had made. To make matters worse, I was informed that the ticket price had risen and asked to re-purchase the ticket at the new price. This was wrong and Wakanow was not telling the truth! The online transfer from one account to another account within the same bank was instantaneous. My bank account was debited immediately for the full amount and a debit note was issued to me by the bank confirming the time and date that the money was transferred. Obviously the money was not hanging in the hair. Have we not been taught in school that every debit must have a credit? Someone within Wakanow had neglected doing his duty and now I was being requested to bear the burden on an increase in flight cost and make payment!
As many will understand, businesses that lack integrity may profit for a while but will eventually die from same. I refused to succumb to the entreaty to buy a new ticket. I thought an apology from Wakanow was well deserved but none was given. I requested Wakanow to refund my money and went ahead to purchase another ticket from another vendor.
Well, if Wakanow would not apologize for its sloppy handing of my ticket issuance and would not incentivize me for it, one would expect that the process to refund the amount that I had paid would be made painless and immediate. This was not also to be. I made a refund request same date and t be fair, I received an acknowledgement of this request the next day though I did not receive the refund. 9 days after I had made the ticket payment, I sent another reminder to Wakanow requesting for the refund. I still did not receive the refund and followed up with another request five (5) days after. It was not until17 days after I had made the payment that I eventually received the refund. In essence, Wakanow has traded with my money for 17 days free of charge. This was unbecoming of any enterprise that has plans to grow and I am most displeased.
I have decided to blacklist Wakanow from those companies that will benefit from my business or the business of people that I am related with because of the following:
1. The Company lacks integrity – it got paid for tickets and never issued same as per our contract;
2. The Company is not truthful – it collected funds and denied collecting same;
3. The Company lacks morality – it collected funds, traded with it for 17 days without paying a kobo for the cost of the fund;
4. The Company is not Customer focused – through this unbecoming event, the company did not consider it worth it to own up to its failure and apologize for same.
Will it surprise anyone if this business fails when it lacks care and concern for its customers? A business that does not treat its customers with respect and honor its agreements will not be around for long.
I was on the return leg of a trip to Port Harcourt and unlike at other times, the plane arrived on time to take us all back to Lagos. It was the Aero Contractor’s first flight of the day to Lagos. The flight was the Aero Contractors (ACN) flight 314 to Lagos.
Boarding went as planned and I was just settling to my seat when a mini drama started to unfold before me. I became curious, what seemed to be the issue? A middle aged, courteous and well-dressed gentleman had approached a row where his assigned seat was and wanted to take his seat. He found out that a young woman had taken same. Politely he asked the lady to give up the seat as she probably was mistaken in terms of where she ought to seat. The response from the lady was amusing – she asked the man to take the next available seat as she was the first person that got to the row of seats.
Her response was not found amusing by the gentleman and he tried persuading the lady that it was not free seating but that he needed to take his assigned set. The lady refused and the lad had to take another seat on the same row. Unfortunately, this seat belonged to another passenger who had now shown up and would like the man to get up from her seat. The man tried to but couldn’t as the other lady was still occupying his seat and remains unperturbed. She kept on holding on to the fact that she got to the row first and it doesn’t matter which seat anyone sat on and as such she wasn’t going to yield her seat.
A little crowd was building up in the plane as the aisle was blocked as a result of this seat issue. The attendance of the flight attendant was called, she also tried persuading the woman to yield the seat but to no avail. Noticing that this may escalate into a big problem, the man chose the path of peace. He abandoned the entire row of seat and chose a seat away from the lady.
Our unperturbed lady, I was later to find out, was a Mrs. Oshinowo Omobolayi. She was totally an insensitive lady and had no concerns for trampling on other’s rights.
It took thirty six years but I finally saw it. I not only saw it, I also entered it and it really is nice.
Early in 1979, the future was bleak and I knew not which institution that I should trust with my future. I was then living in Bodija and the first choice was the Methodist School, Bodija. It came naturally, I had spent the previous two (2) years attending the primary school so progressing to the secondary school of the same institution seemed like an obvious choice. My mom thought otherwise, she wanted to make a man out of me and thought I needed to be somewhere different. Somewhere where my character can be moulded and I can also acquire some life skills. She was passionate about Mayflower. Yes, the Mayflower School, Ikenne.
Why Mayflower? Well someone must have sold her the idea that in addition to the academic studies, the students are made to make their foods by themselves. They had their farms, grew Cassava, Yams etc, make their breads and soaps and a lot more. To her, there was no other school like Mayflower and this was where her son must attend.
Into the picture came my uncle. He also had his own ideas. It must be Abeokuta grammar School. If that school was good enough for the Kuti’s and Abiolas, he was of the opinion that same was good enough for his cousin. Of course, I had more than one uncle. My other uncle also had his opinion, he would want me to attend Lagelu Grammar School. Reason? He gave none but I can deduce it was because the school bears the name of the first settler of Ibadan.
Well, all the Secondary School Entrance examination forms for these schools were obtained and I had to sit for their exams. My recollection was that I passed all these exams but I did not get admitted to all the schools. I couldn’t get through the panel of interviewers at Abeokuta Grammar School. Mayflower Ikenne had no space for me, I was not a product of the primary school and neither did I make it to the reserve list. I must have impressed the interviewers at Methodist High School and Lagelu Grammar School as both schools granted me an admission. The rest of the story is history.
Suffice it to say that despite not being admitted into Mayflower, I had always thought of how great my education would have been in that school. As I grew up, I came to know a little more about Tai Solarin and this knowledge kept on fuelling my passion for the school. It was a school that I did not even know where it is situated apart from the fact that it is in Ikenne.
Today, I was on a trip to Ijebu-Ife and as fate will have it, there was an accident on the way and traffic was diverted through Ikenne. There it was, resplendent with its untainted glory, the Tai Solarin Mayflower School Ikenne. Though I was in a rush to get to Abeokuta, I couldn’t just let the opportunity slip by. I diverted and drove into the school premises. I noticed the big banner announcing that the school will be sixty (60) years old in January 2016. This wasn’t surprising, I am more amazed that despite the demise of Tai & Sheila Solarin, the Solarin family has carried on strong in managing the school. I drove inwards and soon saw students sited on the lawn and studying their books. It dawned on me that the public power system was unavailable and instead of the students to loaf around, they were meaningfully engaged in reviewing their books using the natural sun light and the free cozy breeze. As I drove back towards the gate, I noticed a building inscribed as the School’s Bakery. I also saw the moulded bursts of both Tai and Sheila next to the national flag of Nigeria. I drove out of the gate, fully elated that finally I got to enter the school.
Having attended Lagelu Grammar School and turning out as pleasant as I did, I am without any regrets in not attending Mayflower. However, my heart will always think of Mayflower in good lights.
I pride myself in the quality of education that I got. It wasn’t costly but it was top notch. It has served me well and I remain eternally grateful for it. I passed through the classes of notables like Professor Familoni who I consider a wizard in econometrics…till today, I can’t say I really grasped the essence of that harrowing course.
As I was taught, the invisible hands, first proposed by Adam Smith, is said to be the best determinant of price as well as allocator of resources in a free market economy. But is it really? Up comes the challenges posed by the increasing number of unoccupied houses in Lekki. It is the case of the more you try to rationalize it, the more confused you become. Is economic theory really applicable in Lekki?
The major puzzle here is that given the large stock of real quality houses in Lekki, rental prices should be on the downward swing but they are not. The second challenge is similar to the first, why are there still a large number of house rental houses construction projects ongoing when the occupancy ratio of the current stock is low?
Any economist out there with reasonable answers to these question is welcomed to express his thoughts.
I haven’t seen “Doctor” for quite a while, frankly not in three (3) months or so. We’ve been meeting thrice weekly on the Lawn Tennis Court in Ikoyi and it was a given that I would walk away from the matches being the victor. This day was different. Not only did he beat me, I went home limping. I was later to learn that I just got Planter Fasciitis, don’t bother asking me what this meant.
Well, I have been in and out of the clinic mending this. Now, having missed my regular dose of tennis, my tummy has started bulging out. I needed to make a choice between having a sagging tummy and injuring my foot further. I called “Doctor” and we arranged to meet on Friday. The game was good, real good but the pain in the foot was disturbing. I had my pound of flesh and after playing for a little over an hour, we called it off.
The time was a little past eight and I remembered the prostitutes. Yes, I said the prostitutes. It would be nice to know how they operate their night business. I drove my car into Lekki Phase 1 and you really do not need a guide to know where they were. Scantily dressed, hidden partly by the darkness. A couple of them were there, at the second right turning, once you enter the estate. As I turned my car into that street, I noticed there was another car parked on my other side, already negotiating his business. As I pulled to a stop, I could see two of them approaching. “Hey, honey!”, “Hi Sweetie”, they made their calls and came to my passenger side.
My heart was beating faster, mostly from the appreciation of danger regarding this experiment. I rolled down my passenger side window one third of the way downwards with my doors locked. She was in her early twenties, her dressing was more descent than that of the other lady that was fast approaching. She could be taken to be on her way to see a friend within the neighborhood. Her hair, I mean the attachments, need some upkeep but overall she’s pretty presentable. I was short of words on what I should say but she helped out. Sucking is N7k and Sucking and Fucking is N15k. I asked for clarifications, how much it would cost if I were to take her home that night. She said N15k but I should tell her how much I was ready to pay. I said I needed to think about this. She requested that I should tell her any amount that I wanted to pay. I said my thanks and drove off. Yes, I drove off and you could believe anything else that you want to believe.
As I drove off, I kept on thinking of what economic hardship would have thrown just a seemingly descent girl to the streets. Then I remembered the cluster of boys that I had seen near the Lekki-Ikoyi bridge area. I steered my car towards the area and took the left turning before reaching the bridge’s roundabout. A little further down the road, the serenity of the street changed. Milling all around, in front of one of the bars by the waterside are countless guys. As my car approached, about six to seven of them ran towards my driver’s side. Each carrying a black bag and in his hand is a small transparent pouch with weeds in them. This was Marijuana, being sold openly in Lekki. I asked what it was they were selling but they refused to answer, preferring to thrust the sachet to me through my window. I didn’t bother to ask for the price. I was more afraid that a Policeman or detective could be lurking around in the darkness. I drove off and there was no policeman trailing me.
All in one night and within a few meters of each other, I met them all. The low lives that live amongst us. The drug peddlers and the prostitutes. And who knows, who else could be found within the multitude that have made Lekki Phase 1 their grounds each night. I couldn’t stop thinking, are these vices hidden from the knowledge of our policemen or they are too busy fighting other crimes that these evidence of moral decay in our way of life goes unchecked?
It all started as a joke, like most other things do…but underneath it, a portent message with significant undertone for a nation of 165million people.
I had some issues to attend to in the house and a bit of scaffolding work was needed. Unfortunately, in this country, labor isn’t cheap and I either do the work myself or pay a hefty price to get it done. I chose the former. In company of my wife, I decided to visit the “Hire Guys” for the scaffolding. Well, the lad at the desk asked for some sort of ID so that he could release the scaffolding and I had none, I supposed. Then I remembered that I just got issued with the Nigerian National ID Card. I proudly brought this out, it was in mint condition and shinning, and handed over to the gentleman at the counter. He took a look at it and with a cold voice responded that he would be unable to take the ID for the transaction, we should provide him with another.
I thought I knew what his reason was and requested my wife to give him her ID, one that had nothing to do with Nigeria. My inquisitive mind couldn’t help itself and I had to ask the dude why my factory mint ID would not be accepted by him. I heard him say that seeing the word “Nigeria” on the ID makes him believe that the ID was fake and as such would not accept it. Surprisingly, I wasn’t caught aback and pleasantly too, I was in no mood to defend the indefensible. Whatever informed his opinion, it wasn’t going to change if I had put up a spirited argument or protested at his maligning the name of the biggest black nation on the planet. As we headed home, I asked my wife for her opinion, regarding what transpired. She mentioned that the actions of a few members of the country are responsible for the way people of other nationalities treat us as a people.
I had almost forgotten about this incident when a similar one ensued. It was as if the gods were intent on making a jest of me. Same evening, I was in an Outdoor shop looking for a fishing line. Having gotten what I wanted, I approached the cashier to make the payment. A conversation ensued between the man and me around outdoor living and I had expressed my fears of going to the outback based on the various tales that I have heard. Well, he asked where I was from originally and I mentioned Nigeria. He then said he would be more afraid to live in Nigeria than go to the outback. He didn’t say this to be offensive but with the tales of the gruesome murder by Boko Haram, it sure would be a hell of a place to live for any westerner. But it hurts. I feigned indifferent by the remarks and carried on with the conversation.
Arriving home and laying on my bed, it was the moment for sober reflection and the two unrelated events kept nagging my soul. How did we get here? How do we move away from this and what can I do to help the generation unborn from carrying with them this big stigma that robs the cream of the nation from opportunities around the world?
You have answers? Please leave your comments below.
It’s Eid el Kabir and it did not come unannounced. As usual with me, I deliberated on the various places of interest that I should visit, given this gift of four (4) continuous work free days.
The initial thought was focused on visiting Daura, a town that I had spent some of my early years. It is also the city from which the current President of Nigeria, President Mohammadu Buhari (PMB), comes from. The intent was to see how the town had changed over the years.
I searched for the best connecting route to Daura and this would be by flying to Katsina and taking a taxi to Daura. I got online and tried to book a flight from Lagos to Katsina and soon realized that no airline has that route in its stock. I also looked for an alternate route, fly to Kano and then go by road to Daura. I got Egypt Air which planned to take me to Cairo first and then join a connecting flight to Kano for a trip of fifty four hours and a hefty price tag of $1,600! Obviously that wasn’t the right option. Then I got Arik Air, a better alternative. However, no Arik Air flight was planned to leave Lagos on Thursday to Kano. This did not look good. Daura will have to wait, till another opportune time.
Well, I came up with another brilliant way to spend the days – a trip to Idanre and then to Oshogbo and Oyo.
Why Idanre?
I have always been fascinated by the pictures of Idanre that I had seen. A little South Western Nigeria city located in Ondo State surrounded mainly by huge Igneous Rocks. The pictures were postcard quality and I wanted to experience the views myself. For me, the next question was how to get to Idanre. I have a love of adventure, I enjoy driving but am very afraid of long journeys on Nigerian Roads. Well, the roads are a notable cause of death for many travelers. Just less than two (2) weeks ago, an acquaintance of mine lost his life on the Lagos Ore Road in an accident, most likely a preventable one. Drivers have to cope with pot holes on the highways in addition to a total absence of Road Furniture such as signposts to alert on dangers and upcoming changes in road conditions. All these are in addition to the very high traffic on the roads. These were things that bothered me but not as much as the presence and antics of our Policemen, they can make the best of days become a nightmare. I have had my various encounters with these men in uniform and would do everything possible to avoid them. A glitter of hope came when I remembered that the new Inspector General of Police had announced the removal of all Police Checkpoints from our roads. Now, I need to think of the opportunistic Armed Robbers, these are lesser evils to worry about.
It’s always an effort to get my frame off the bed each morning. Thursday 24th September was not different, in fact it was a little worse. I woke up to see the room full of sunlight, checked my time and noticed it was a little after 8am. I felt like having a little more sleep, turned around on the bed and faced the other side. I was soon off asleep. The room became uncomfortable and I came off my slumber only to realize that PHCN has “held” the power! Well, this is becoming the exception and not the norm, at least since “Sai Baba” took over the mantle of leadership in Nigeria. This got me thinking, power may be off for the rest of the day. I checked my time and it was already getting close to 10am. I got off the bed, said my prayers and determined that I would not sleep in Lagos that night. Idanre, here I come.
I gathered the little things I thought I would need for the trip – I am not the best back packer out there but I do get by. I was soon out of the house and got into my car, the trip has started. It was a little past 11:30am. Getting out of Lekki deserves some dexterity in driving and I am mastering this challenge each day. It took some time but I got out of Lekki and drove Eastward. The plan was simple. Drive to Epe, join the Sagamu Ore Expressroad at Ijebu Ode and get to Ore. Make a diversion northwards at Ore to Ondo and find my way to Idanre. A lot of things are changing in Nigeria. I called my Junior Brother and informed him of my impromptu travel. It wasn’t alarming to him, he has gotten used to such trips and notices. He wished me safe trips and promised to call often to check on how I was progressing on the journey.
As I set out of Lekki, the heavens opened up and the rains came pouring down. I knew that this was an endorsement from God for the journey. I also knew that it was his way of warning me to be very careful on the roads – wet and slippery, they bring added dangers for motorists. I was soon out of Lekki and in Epe. I took the right and went in through Epe Township snaking my way to join Ijebu Ode. I had time on my hand and I kept reminding myself that the destination was not as important as the journey. I made it to the Sagamu Ore Road and the rains abated. I took the right and headed eastwards looking forward to getting to Ore. Not much has improved on the road, a few pitches here and there and numerous pot holes. I soon became adept at maneuvering around this, taking sudden swirls here and there and it all reminded me of the computer games that my son plays. I got to Ore and I was hungry. I took my car off the road to one of the roadside Cafeteria and ordered a plate of Eba with Egusi. It was not the best of choices but my hungry tommy did not reject it.
At Ore, I asked for directions and took the Left turning which would lead me to Ondo town. The rainfall had done some havoc here. At Ajue, a settlement on the road, the rainwater has washed onto the road and for those unfamiliar with the road, we had to wait to be sure it was motorable. It was just brownish water all over! I got to Ondo uneventfully. Then I saw a rock. This was a break from the undulating plain that had accosted my sight all the way from Lagos. I stopped and took a few pictures and continued. I soon got to Adeyemi College of Education, or pardon me, it is the Adeyemi University College of Education. My Dad passed through this institution in the forties or so and I diverted from my trip to take a tour of the school. My Dad is not around anymore so I missed the opportunity of calling him to find out how much the institution had changed from when he was a student. I got to the Art College and there were sculptures – Iron and Cement on display – showcasing the projects of past students of the school. I was unimpressed. Not with the sculptures but with their presentation. Weeding the environment and a little investment in a building would have been befitting to these sculptures. It would be an additional money spinner for the institution. I took some pictures but my attention was deeply caught by the Iron piece titled “The menace of Okada”. As I drove out of the area, I saw the unbelievably ugly and stomach turning work of a student which ought to have been a master piece. It was of a bird of prey feeding its young one in the nest, on top of a rock. The concept was world class butthe delivery was at best ordinary.
I visited the Olusegun Obasanjo Hall and then headed out of the gate. As I continued on my journey, I kept on thinking about my Dad. He hailed from Ibadan and he schooled here, in Ondo. How did he make the trips? As a young man, what a sacrifice! I became grateful for his sacrifices and continued with my journey. I came to Owenna and was advised to take the right turning to get to Idanre. At the Owenna Junction, on the Ondo Akure Road, I got the impression that Nigeria was at war. The heavy military road blockage could not go unnoticed to any traveler! My knowledge of current affairs could not help me situate which war we are fighting that necessitated this road presence. A few meters after leaving Owenna, I started seeing the road markers, guiding me to Idanre. It states “17kms to Idanre Hill Resort”. I knew I was close and my sense of excitement got a boost. I soon came across a well manicured and flowered piece of land on my right. It stood apart from the rest of the terrain and I just had to stop to find out what this was. I soon realized that it was the Ondo State Golf Resort. This knowledge created more questions than answers. Golf in Ondo State! In the middle of nowhere! The people in the area have a need for better projects than the elitist Golf Resort. I took out my camera and took a few snaps and continued on my way. As I turned the corner, I saw it. It was the impressive first sight of the hills of Idanre. It was more than words can describe. The view was poster perfect. It dwarfs the scenic view of table mountain in South Africa, if the efizzy that comes with that is removed from it.
I no longer could wait. If this is the view from the outskirt of the town, the views from the town would certainly be much better.I drove into the town, there was no pomp and pageantry. Not that I expected any but this being Sallah day, I was expecting to see “Owambe” parties around the town. I transverse the city on the straight road that I had been following from Owenna and the signposts on the road soon led me to the Idanre Hill Resort. Disappointment was an understatement. All my zeal became deflated! There was nothing remarkable with the resort but the hills. I parked the car and pulled my weary frame out of it and sought directions to the reception. I introduced myself to the receptionist and asked for a room for the night. The lady was polite and she offered to take me to the two (2) challets that were available – Ile’rigi. She opened the door to the chalet and the stench that confronted me was nauseating. I requested that the lights be turned on but she mentioned that all the bulbs were burnt and no light. I switched on the torchlight from my phone and soon requested that we take a look at the other chalet. The sights from the other chalet wasn’t different from that of the first. She mentioned they could clean the challets up and this would cost me N35,000.00 per night. I was at a loss on where I would sleep for the night when she introduced me to the manager of the facility. The man, with an unmistakable Ondo tribal mark on his face, understood my disappointment with the facility. He explained that the facility was in-between a management transition and suggested one of the staff to take me back to the city to Lodge at Rock Valley Hotel. I appreciated his honesty and promised to visit the facility again in the morning when I would go to the top of the rocks.
Rock Valley Hotel wasn’t anything special but it offered a warm cozy bed for the night. Somehow it was fully booked for the night but they managed to get me a room. Once I was checked in, I decided to drive around the city and it was then that the words of that artist in Adeyemi University College of Education came hunting. Yes, the menace of Okada Riders. I was taking a left turn into a major road when an Okada Rider, following me closely, lost control of his bike and within the twinkling of an eye, somersaulted and his bike ran into the crowd. My car was missed narrowly. I came down to attend to the Okada Rider and there also came the crowd. Miraculously, he had no fractures but a few bruises especially around his foot. Not far from the scene was a chemist. We got to the chemist and got first aid applied to him and I was soon on my way. It was just God otherwise I would have suffered broken tail lights or the rider would have had fractures and that would have necessitated a visit to the hospital with the attendant high bills. I went round the city and found out that it was bigger than I thought. There was a downtown area and commercial activities were ongoing despite that it was getting late in the day. I turned back and headed for the Rock Valley Hotel. I slept deeply and did not know when it was morning.
I called the restaurant and requested for a breakfast of yam and eggs with coffee. It wasn’t remarkable but was palatable. My phone rang and the person on the other side of the line said “this is Manish”. I know that voice, it was Manish. We’ve not spoken in over a year and chatted a while, to catch up on events that have transpired in the past year. The call lasted for almost 30mins and then we said our byes. I looked at my time and saw it was approaching 10 in the morning. I headed out for the resort. I needed to climb the rock, I just had to. As I drove out of the hotel, I noticed a medium sized SUV pulling out of the hotel as well and it followed me. Could it be that I have kidnappers trailing me? I glanced through my rear view mirrors and noticed that the occupants of the vehicle were not interested in me. I soon forgot about them. The drive to the Hill Resort was easy – it was a straight drive from the hotel. As I maneuvered my vehicle to a parking spot on one of the outcrops in the resort, I noticed that the other vehicle had also pulled into the resort. The occupants of the vehicle, two (2) folks of European descent along with about four other Nigerians alighted and were giggling, engrossed in their chat. I walked into the reception. This time I noticed the layout of the reception and its internal décor. It looked welcoming and suitable to such a resort. The lady, with her thick Ondo dialect welcomed and remembered me from the previous night encounter.
A lanky young man was assigned to me as the tour guide. He advised that I should get a bottle of water as the trip up and down the hill may take more than an hour and would be 660 steps. I wasn’t scared. No I couldn’t be. I had gone up the steps on the Great Wall of China, nothing was expected to be more daunting. We started the ascent in earnest and the young man was leaping ahead. With a lot of effort, I pulled myself up the very first 220 steps, panting and my heart sending me all the red alarms, I had to call for a stop. We were by the side of the first sit out and I took my rest, looking at the town spread openly downhill similar to cassava that is spread out on the ground to dry. I engaged my tour guide in discussions about how long he had been working at the resort. He held nothing back. It was a story of woes and doom – of government ineptitude and lack of care to the resort as well as to its employees. He talked of having not received a pay in seven (7) months.
After feeling sufficiently rested, we continued on the uphill climb. I did call for a break at least two (2) more times before we reached the top of the 660 steps. Mid-way up we reached a narrowed pass through two rock boulders. I was told by the guide that the point was “Dagunro Spot”. There was a marker at the point and the tour guide told a story of how Dagunro, an ancient progenitor of the Idanrepeople used the spot as a look out. The story was that for any approaching war against Idanre, Danguro will chant some words and the rocks around Idanre would close and the approaching warriors would be unable to find their ways into the town.
I had hoped that getting atop the last step would mark the end of the climb, it did not. Apparently to generate some fancy number, the steps were limited to the 660. They could have been more.We soon took a right turn and came to an open clearing on top of the rock. The view that accost the eyes was simply amazing. One could see the whole Idanre City laid out flat below and surrounded by the rocks. Everywhere I looked, I simply was lost for words, how were these rocks formed and why are they predominant only here in Idanre? I took some selfies and asked the guide to take me some as well. Not far in the distance were a set of building made of sandcrete blocks. They must have seen better days but their current appearance was derelict and looked totally unkempt. I approached and the sight I saw made me scared of going inside. My tour guide informed that a group does come annually with its generator and rent these chalets. If these were better kept, I would love to have spent a week in them but they were not. I felt a rush of sadness through me. It had to do with the enormous tourism potentials that this place commands and yet the place is derelict and the people are wallowing in poverty. I thought of the magical moments we had on the Cape Town’s Table Mountain, of the various businesses that thrive just because of this mountain. Yet, here lies a greater attraction than Table Mountain and we had failed as a people to turn it into a cash cow!.
I felt I had seen enough, despite the urging of my guide to go further uphill. We were soon on the journey downhill. Lost in my thoughts and unwary of the slippery nature of the steps, I slipped and was soon rolling downhill. I managed to pull myself together and stopped the fall. I managed to escape unhurt. Thereafter, I descended with a lot of caution. By the time we got back to the base of the resort, more than an hour and a half has passed.I greased the palms of my tour guide and said my goodbyes. As I got back into my car, I noticed the presence of a lot of people. In fact, there were two bands of performers, preparing to get on a stage. Close by was a bus belonging to the culture ministry of the state. It showed there was a performance about to happen. I got out of my car and then I hear my name shouted out. I turned and there he was, Eric! Eric and I had done all our possible best to meet in Lagos but we couldn’t just get to working this out. Of all places, here we were both in Idanre. We exchanged greetings and I got introduced to his friends. We got talking and took a walk round the resort. Finally we drove off together, Eric to Lagos. Myself? It was to conquer another land hitherto unvisited by me.
As I drove off, I kept thinking about the missed opportunities. My tour guide had told me that the ower of La’Campaigne Topicana, a chain of tourism resorts in Nigeria, had approached the government of Ondo State to take over the management of the Idanre Resort. It was reported that he was given the consession. Based on this, he had started works on getting the resort into shape – creating a new bar, furnishing the reception as well as holding the last Idanre festival. However, a dispute ensued between him and the governor and the concession was withdrawn. No wonder the resort was in the shape that I met it.
It wasnt the best of mornings, I had gone to bed with a terrible bout of cold and woke up with some of this not having dissipated from my body. I was very sluggish and must have laid in bed for an extra one hour before i summoned the courage to drag my feets to the kitchen for a cup of hot tea and bread and fried eggs as compliments.
I looked at the clock, it was way past 10 and sure knew that going to church on this holiest of all days was not going to be possible. I lay down on the bed again, grabbed the copy of “In God’s Name” by David Yallop, a novel that I had been reading for almost a week. The plot was thickening and I didn’t want to miss anything about the conspiracy of Calvi, Sidonna and Marcinkus – any of whom may well end up being the one responsible for the death of Albino Luciani. Luciani was Pope John Paul 1. This went on for another two (2) hours and finally I remembered my commitment, to visit the Nike Art Gallery.
I had made two previous trips to the gallery and on each of the occasions did not wander past the ground floor. Something in me had been telling me that there was much to learn in the gallery, after all collecting arts is a passion that I want to turn into a business. I made it to the bath tub and then to my wardrobe. I settled on a very colorful shirt from Vanuatu and armed with my cellphone, laptop and some Naira notes, I made my way out of my abode.
Well, I got to the gallery and was alighting from my car when my phone rang. It was from my little brother and the discussion was that my attention was needed somewhere else. This was not the plan but when he calls, I needed to leave and off to where he was I went. An hour later, I was able to achieve my escape and drove back to the gallery.
At the entrance to the gallery stood Chief Nike Okundaiye – simple, yet sophisticated. She is art personified, in fact deified. She was wearing an Adire, as if anyone would ever find her in anything else! With hair barbed very low, she looks much younger than her age. There she was, attending to clients in her newly opened café, an addition to the Art Gallery. I got in through the massive doors and was accosted with the gleaming white paints enhanced by the various works of art that were hung on the walls, laid on the floor by the walls as well as arranged in beautiful symmetry on the tables. I introduced myself to the lady occupying the receptionist seat and soon made my way away from her desk to the walls of the gallery. I was simply stunned, elated, surprised with the teeming works of many a Nigerian Artists, all dotting the space with their arrays of colours, mixture of art forms and diversity in materials selection.
It took me the better part of an hour and a half to work my way to the last floor of the four (4) storey building. It was art all the way. On the staircases, on the walls, everywhere, there were works of Art in different media. There were works on Pastel , Metal Works, Sculptures and Pottery of different forms. The gallery features the works of notable Nigerian Artists such as:
Kunle Adegborioye – an impressive artist born on April 20, 1966 in Ibadan, the cosmopolitan Yoruba city set on seven hills. He has an Afrocentric world view and his political leanings and ideology are well reflected in the arrays of paintings he has on display at Nike Art Gallery. His works are also available on bohams.com and invaluable.com, the world’s premier auction sites for artworks. He lives and works in London. He also had on display a Map of Africa made out of fabric with the Madiba, Nelson Mandela, depicted.
Oyerinde Olotu – I was taken in by the oil on canvas paint of the Nigerian Prime Minister (Sir Abubakar Tafawa Balewa) conversing with the Duchess of Kent on the grounds of the State House Gardens Marina in 1960. It was a minute of history that got frozen in time and was well captured by this artist. This work summarises the speciality of the artist – capturing, in paint, old things and events. Oyerinde was born in 1959 and as such must be a tiny little baby in his mother’s arms when the Duchess came visiting.
Emenike Ogwo – An accomplished painter and a documentary artist, born in Abia state of Nigeria. His artworks have Terra Kulture and is a mix of different media. He is a versatile artist in terms of his paintings that are currently exhibited at Nike Art Gallery.
Ibie and his work with chain belts creating a horse head and a human head with glasses
Chigozie mat on sticks depicting a sea of humans 2012 work
There were many other artists with various works on display. One cannot talk about art in Nig
eria without mentioning the splendidefforts of Prince Twins Seven Seven. Born as Taiwo Olaniyi Oyewale, he ailed from Ogidi, the same city
where Chief Nike Okundaiye comes from. There must be something in the waters of Ogidi that made these people exceptional Artists. He was an accomplished painter, sculptor and musician. His work titled “Festival of Age Mate” is inspiring and will catch the attention of any art lover, as displayed in the gallery. One will also come across the painting of the current President of Nigeria, Goodluck Ebele Jonathan, done by Owolabi Ayodele. I wonder why the President has not sent for the procurement of this work. It has the President, deep in thought with an expression that seems to convey he has found a solution to the myriad of problems that ails the nation.
It will be unfair not to mention the creative works by Adeola Balogun. A lecturer in the Fine Art Department of the Yaba College of Technology, an institution that has the unique record of producing the finest and best of Nigerian Artists. His work was with a mixture of materials – Car Tyres, Bottle Covers, Fan Grill and items that others would have considered a junk. He creatively recycles them to produce masterpieces of art.
There were other works by Tola Wewe, born in 1959 and with a 1983 fine art degree from the, then, University of Ife. So also are there works by Owolabi Ayodele, Joereal Emeh Okwun, Abdulrazaq Ahmed and Prince Eze. The 2014 work titled “Maidens” by Prince Eze is worth a special mention. In this beautiful piece, you have Calabar or Ibibio Maidens replete in the traditional skimpy skirts and half tops expressed in a dance. You will leave this painting with many things being suggested to your poor soul. There was also Toluwalase Aliki, an artist that must have deeply fallen in love with circles, arcs and bright and captivating colors. As I looked at his artworks, I can see over and over again the scintillating shapes of our female folks well expressed all over and none of us men. There it was, he must be a sexist, of the type my daughter always scream at me over.
By the time I relieved myself from the captive strengths of these various paintings and made it to the fourth (4th) floor of the gallery, I was accosted by the work of that artist – Darasen R. Using a mixture of materials, he depicted five able bodied men determined to right a falling pillar and place it firmly on its foundations again. I was soon deep in thought and recognized this Artist as a prophet. If this were biblical times, he will be regarded similar to Jeremy the prophet. His work spoke to me. It telss me of a rebuilding that my nation, Nigeria, is going to witness. Without a word, it says the art of rebuilding the nation will take the efforts of all and sundry. It says, Nigeria will rise again. It will take the toils and sweat of Nigerians but the fallen pillars of our nation will be placed on their firm foundation again.
I approached Nike for a price to take this particular artwork home. Her answer? It was in the millions of Naira and no, you are wrong, the price is more than just a few millions. I was dejected. She was helpful, if I can come up with somewhat of a meaningful price around the range she had mentioned, she can help to talk to the artist to come down on his price.
It was almost a little less than two hours, after I walked into the gallery that I eventually stepped out. There I met a team, visiting from Abuja. There were four foreigners and a Nigerian in the team. We exchanged pleasantries. Given that the gallery is open to all and currently does not charge an entry fee, no one in Lagos and its environ should complain of boredom ever again. There is a lot to see and do in Lagos. A visit to Nike Arts Gallery will do any soul, a lot of good. I do recommend it and guarantee that you will have a great day there.
Apparently, 240 is a really large number. This was not obvious to me until I showed up at the Ilasan Housing Estate Polling Booth to discharge my civic responsibility to vote. This was the number of voters that were accredited in my polling station but to get this done, it was an uphill task.
The day started with a lot of optimism, it was the day that the change we so clamoured for as Nigerians would finally become a reality. I turned on the TV, listened to the situation reports coming in from around the metropolis and adjudged that it was safe enough for me to venture out of my cocoon. A little bit after 9am, I set out with a cold bottle of water for the 20 minutes’ walk to the polling station. Soon I crossed the Lekki-Epe Expressway which unlike its usual self was deserted. I didn’t have to look right nor left to cross the road to the other side where I continued my journey through to Jakande. There, right at the roundabout, were fierce looking armed soldiers with barricades around the road to bring to a halt any traffic.
Of all the ills of Jonathan, one cannot accuse him of unfair elections. He had the machinery of state well positioned to deal with Barricades at Jakande Roundaboutviolence and trouble shooters, thus guaranteeing the freedom for the electorate to discharge their freedom of choice. Although, I am yet to grasp why we do restrict movement on election days. The event subsequent to Saturday, especially the continuation of the elections on Sunday with no restriction of movement, show that we can actually carry out an election without restricting movement.
I finally got to the station at around 9:50am, almost two hours from when the polls were supposed to have commenced. As at the time I got to the polling station, there were already sited not less than 50 people, all anxiously waiting for the electoral officers. The electoral officers, who had been announced would be at the various polling stations by 8am were nowhere to be found. There and then, for me, as with other individuals who took the discharge of their responsibility serious, the waiting started. It was to be a long wait. After about thirty (30) minutes, I got tired of waiting and took a walk around the neighbourhood. It was an effort geared towards getting to know where the exit points were, in case any untoward event were to happen later on. Talk of being anxious for nothing!
At about some minutes to twelve, they finally arrived – the electoral officers, in a Dando! We were expecting a set of electoral officers for our polling station, we got two (2) as if INEC was trying to compensate for the delays experienced so far. With the level of efficiency, usually associated with that group of God’s creation called the Snails, the two electoral officer parties set up at two different location and announced they were for Ilasan Polling Booths 004 and 005. With a level of rowdiness usually associated with catching a Molue in Lagos during the rush hours, we formed a queue. Utilising our voters cards we were asked to ensure we were queuing at the appropriate booth. I looked at my card and noted it is for polling booth 005 and joined the long line, so did many others. I glanced to my right, to look at polling booth 004 and was amazed that no one was on the queue there. Something definitely was wrong – were there people meant for polling booth 004 on our line 005?
It soon became apparent that no one will queue in front of polling booth 004 and the suspicion was raised that the electoral officers must have set up here in error. They were advised to relocate to a different area, about 10 minutes’ drive from our polling area, where someone identified as the location of polling booth 004. They were adamant, they refused.
Finally, the young lady who was the Polling Officer finally approached the queue. With a sense of humility, she apologised for their lateness which she said was due to logistic challenges around transportation. She announced that accreditation would commenced earnestly and that actual voting would start by 3pm. She also requested that the elderly, the physically challenged and those that were frail should form a different queue so that they could be attended to speedily.
Oh, by the way, we have not forgotten about the other set of polling officers that showed u and set up a different polling booth for ward 004. After several entreaties from all, the voice of reason eventually prevailed. Since no one had a voter’s card for ward 004 at this location, it suddenly dawned on them that it was probably true that they were at the wrong ward and so started unpacking their set up. Eventually they got into another Danfo and off they went, probably to the right booth this time around.
Nigerians were simply amazing. It was hot, it was humid. The putrid smell emanating from the open sewage was enough to deter any right thinking human being from continuing staying in this area. However, for us, this was not a deterrent. The odour from the perspiration of many on the queue won’t deter us as well. Neither was the rowdiness nor the tardiness of the electoral system, we were all united around a common purpose – we would vote and our vote would count! I remembered the national slogan that the late Professor Dora Akinyuli promoted while she was the Federal Minister for Information and Communication – Nigeria, Good People, Great Nation. It is really true except that we are saddled by bad leaders which had not made the “Great Nation” part of the slogan to manifest.
There was pushing and shuffling and of course a couple of those that were convinced that it was their birth rights to jump the queues began showing what type of animals and reprehensible human beings they were, not minding the fact that others have been generally patient on the same queue. By now, I had finished my only bottle of water and craved for more. I sought the understanding of those next to me on the queue – in front and at my back, and went looking for a bottle of cold drink. With my eyes focussed on the line, I took my drink and returned to the line, a little well refreshed.
Finally the accreditation started, and the shuffling and rowdiness became worse. With a dogged determination, I held my grounds. No one was allowed to join the line in front of me, I had gotten tired of those that had been jumping the queue. I finally got to the Assistant Polling Officer (APO), presented my card and my finger prints. Hurray, in my case, unlike the case of many, my fingerprints were recognised, my permanent voter’s card (PVC) was recognised as well. I got accredited, my left thumb was marked and I was out of the line. Now to wait for the voting, expected to start by 3:00pm. Those that could not be accredited were requested to wash their hands with detergent, apply talcum powder and retry their fingerprints with the machine. In most cases, there were no changes – they still could not be recognised. Unfortunately, the polling officers were not provided with the right forms to capture these exceptions and utilize manual verification methods for these teeming numbers. I knew that problem was brewing – the dis-enfranchisation of many.
By 3pm, the accreditation was still ongoing and the machine was rejecting the fingerprint of many more. At about 4pm, the verification exercise was completed and the polling officer announced that voting would commence. Those who could not be verified now requested to know how their case would be handled and the officer mentioned that they would not be allowed to vote. That started the trouble, as these teeming number of people then took the position that no one would vote. The young lady, the Polling Officer, by now was confused and at a loss on what to do. She desperately put a call to her bosses at INEC requesting for the dispatch of the exception forms.
By 4:30pm, the voting, promised to start by 3:00pm had not started. I gave up. It had become too much for me to bear. I had sacrificed much, a whole day wasted towards carrying out a very simple civic duty. By 4:33pm, I started walking back to my accommodation. I had walked for five (5) minutes when I reconsidered the issues. I can’t give up. No, not now. I had to see this to its end. I must vote! I turned and went back to the polling booth, to join the teeming populace of other Nigerians that have made up their minds that “enough was enough”.
I was back to the dilemma that faced the Polling Officer, the NYSC corp member, regarding what to do. After a long wait, common sense prevailed, we settled on a decision that voting should be allowed to commence for those that have been verified and for those that could not be verified, they would vote, once the exception forms are received. However, if the forms were not delivered, the vote would not be counted and the officers cannot leave with the ballot boxes.
For the corp members of the National Youth Service Corps (NYSC), you just can’t place a value to the sacrifice and endurance of these young souls to the service of their country. They toiled, put at risk their lives and really endured the much they could which was contributory to the success of the elections. I doff my hat to them for their selfless sacrifice.
With this agreement, we joined the queue again, this time I was the second person on the line. However, there soon came elderly women and men and with compassion we allowed them to join the front of the queue. I was able to cast my vote finally at 5:20pm and felt relieved that I had finally discharged my civic duty. I could claim to have done my best to shape our collective future as Nigerians. I thought of waiting, to ensure that the votes were counted and recorded appropriately. I remembered that I still had a twenty (20) minutes’ walk back to my accommodation, my rational choice was to leave and allow others who were present to take over that responsibility of ensuring that our votes count. I left with mixed feelings. On one hand, I was happy that I did vote but on the other, I was unhappy at my inability to stay to get the result.
Luciani then expressed his wish that the words of Sandhu Singh would perhaps one day no longer be true:
“One day I was sitting on the banks of a river. I took from the water a round stone and I broke it. Inside it was perfectly dry. That stone had been lying in the water for a long time but the water had not penetrated it. Then I thought that the same thing happened to men in Europe. For centuries they have been surrounded by Christianity but Christianity has not penetrated, does not live within them.”
In God’s Name by David Yallop. 2007.Page 48
“The possible mistake of the superior [the Pope] does not authorize the disobedience of subjects.” Cardinal Felici, Page 22
Ghandi “I admire Christ but not Christians.”. – Page 47
If you come across error, rather than uprooting it or knocking it down, see if you can trim it patiently, allowing the light to shine upon the nucleus of goodness and truth that usually is not missing even in erroneous opinions. – Page 13
“….Some time later Marcinkus got me an audience with Paul VI (the Pope), who thanked me because in the meantime I had sorted out some problems of the Ambrosiano Library. In reality, I ynderstood he was thanking me for buying Banca Cattolica del Veneto” recorded statement of Roberto Calvi in Vatican Incorporated. In God’s Name by David Yallop page 131
“…Then Pope Paul VI died….When he heard the name of the new Pope, Albino Luciani, Calvi was shocked. Virtually any of the other 110 Cardinals would have been preferable….Then Calvi heard the news he had been dreading. Bishop Paul Marcinkus’s days were numbered. If Marcinkus went, total exposure of the entire fraud was inevitable. He recalled what Marcinkus had said to him by telephone within days of Luciani’s election: ‘Things are going to be very different from now on. This Pope is quite a different man.’ ” Vatican Incorporated in In God’s Name by David Yallop Pages 140 to 141.
“…When the Cardinals elected Albino Luciani to the Papacy on that hot August day in 1978 they set an honest, holy, totally incorruptible Pope on a collision course with Vatican Incorporated. The irresistible market forces of the Vatican Bank, APSA and the other money-making elements were about to be met by the immovable integrity of Albino Luciani.” Vatican Incorporated in In God’s Name by David Yallop Pages 143 to 144.
“Earlier, on September 6th, during a General Audience, members of the Papal entourage, fussing around the Holy Father in a manner reminiscent of irritating flies around a horse, publicly displayed embarrassment as Luciani held over 15,000 people spellbound. Entering almost at a trot into Nervi Hall, which was filled to overflowing, he talked about the soul. There was nothing remarkable in that. What was unusual was the manner and the style.
Once a man went to buy a new motor car from an agent. The salesman gave him some advice. ‘Look, it’s an excellent car, make sure you treat it correctly. Premium petrol in the tank, the best oil in the engine.’ The customer replied, ‘Oh no, I can’t stand the smell of petrol or oil. Fll the tank with champagne, which I like very much and I’ll oil the joints with jam.’ The salesman shrugged, ‘Do what you like: but don’t come and complain if you end up in a ditch with your car.’
The Lord did something similar with us: he gave us this body, animated by an intelligent soul, a good will. He said, ‘This machine is a good one, but treat it well.'” The Thirty-three Days in In God’s Name by David Yallop Pages 147 to 148.
It was early September 2014 that Mr A., a close family friend and I, were discussing and we talked about plans for the Vacation period. We talked about a planned Cruise trip and concluded that it would be a nice experience for his daughter to join the cruise.
Soon after, we looked at the requirements for a Visitor’s Visa to Australia and put together the needed application package. Since the cruise will take her out of Australian waters and then back, we concluded that she will be needing a multiple entry visa and as such need to pay for her cruise trip so as to demonstrate to the Australian Visa Officers the genuineness of our intentions. The needed payment was made to the Cruise Line and the relevant tickets were issued. The cruise would depart Australia on 6th Dec 14.
Our dear lady made the needed appearance at the VFS centre and on 24th Sep 14, the Visa Application was sent to the Australian Department of Immigration and Border Protection Pretoria for processing. This was a clear Ten (10) weeks and a few days before the planned Cruise departure on 6th Dec 14. The posted timeline for the processing of visitors visa is six weeks as per the department’s website. It then seems everything went dead. We never heard from the Department. Visits were made to the VFS office in Lagos and emails were sent to the Pretoria office as well. All was silent.
Well, there was virtually nothing else that we could do – no one to talk to or lodge a complaint to. The day of departure of the cruise ship crept in and still there was no Visa nor any correspondence from the Department. As a result, we did not purchase a flight ticket. Suddenly, out of the blues on 3rd Dec, an email came from the Department informing that processing has started on the Visa and there was a need for us to forward the young lady’s immunization records to the Department. We quickly attended to this, and on 5th Dec 2014 a Visa was issued to her.
Now, the challenge was how to get to Sydney Australia within 18hrs and join the cruise. This was an impossible feat and we kept wondering what could the Visa officer be thinking in delaying the processing of the Visa till it was too late for the lady to make good use of it. Could this have been just sheer wickedness? Any other explanation does not suffice given that the application was submitted to the department ten (10) weeks earlier and the purpose and date of the trip was clearly stated in the application.
Being on the receiving end of such a treatment does not help promote Australia. While this might have been an isolated act of a particular Visa Officer, the message it conveys transcend just a single individual It leaves a sour taste in the mouth of many and I would suggest the Australian Government reviews this process to understand what went wrong. When genuine visa applicants get treated in this manner, the reputation of Australia as a visitor friendly country suffers irreparable dents.
I have heard of tales of distant lands. Of course, I believe you would have too, especially if you grew up in post-independence Nigeria, the era when the various Nigerians that had sojourned abroad returned back home. You will remember we had a name for them – Tokunbo!
The return leg of a trip that I took to the San Joaquin valley in 2005 brought me to San Fransisco. It was here that I had my first encounter with the waters of the Pacific. Then, in my trip logbook, I had noted my gratitude to God stating that despite having been raised in the back waters of the Atlantic, I had become one of the very few on this planet of ours to see the Pacific.
Fastrack to 2014. The time came for me to leave “home” for a season. I headed westward, back to my roots, across the Indian Ocean and to the Gulf of Guinea where the city of Lagos lies. That was not a most pleasant journey but a few months after, with a lot of enthusiasm I boarded the first of a couple of flights that will end up taking me to reconnect with family and friends. Anchored offshore Mare, New Caledonia 11Dec14There was a lot of excitement in the air. It started with my daughter constantly counting down and reminding me of how many days we had to be aboard the Carnival Legend. As expected, the anticipated date arrived and we took an early morning flight across the continent to the East Coast to join the cruise. A short commute to the Overseas Passenger Terminal in a taxi landed us right next to the Legend, a ship of the Carnival Fleet. It was massive and at the same time awesome. Located between the Sydney Harbor Bridge and the Sydney Opera house, it presented an opportunity to capture the amazing sites of the Sydney Harbor in pictures.
Having gone through Immigrations and Customs and was through with all the needed registration requirements, we were soon on the Tenth deck of this monster of a ship with its swimming pools and water slides. It was then it dawned on us, and probably more on me, that this was going to be an amazing holiday, second to none other that we’ve had as a family. The ship’s advertised departure time was 5pm on 6th December 2014. Given that we got into town early, we were able to settle into our rooms and explored the interior of the ship. I wandered from the Follies Lounge which provided a great settings for many of the live entertainment that we would be enjoying. From there I visited the Comedy Lounge on the first floor and then to the Casinos as well as the Truffles restaurant on the third floor. The ambience of these spots portrays that the owners of the ship have put a lot of thought and experience to designing this amazing vacation and they have left nothing out. It was an opportunity to spoil ourselves and indulge in this self gratification to say we survived!
I was soon lost in the belly of the ship and did not realize when the ship pulled out of the Sydney Harbor. By the time I made it to my state room on the fourth floor, I could only catch glimpses of the harbor. I felt cheated though more annoyed with myself for allowing such a wonderful opportunity to be missed. I consoled myself with the idea that I would do all I needed to do to remain awake and capture the ship’s arrival at the same harbor in 10 days time.
I was on the open deck on the 10th floor taking on the view of the rock formations that created the unique Sydney harbor and before I knew it, we were out in the open seas. Of course, this was the Pacific. Yea, the same Pacific waters that I had gotten introduced to its western shores in California in 2005. I am now at its Eastern shores and embarking on a voyage to discover the Pacific Islands. A trip akin to the one by Mungo Park through which he discovered River Niger. I beamed a smile and said to myself I would be re-writing history. The History of how Bimbo discovered the Pacific Islands. The history, unlike that of Mungo Park, will be replete with pictures and modern words such as “selfies”, a word that never existed in the English Dictionary at the time of his journey.
If the Ships Director of Entertainment, Eli, were to be believed, we were going to have so much fun. As per plan, we will be spending two full days at sea after which we will drop anchor at the Isle of Pines. The next day we would visit Noumea, the capital city of the French Overseas Territory of New Caledonia. Our next port of call would be Mare and then we would set sail for Port Villa, the Capital City of Vanuatu. Once we leave Vanuatu, we will sail on the open waters of the South Pacific for another three days before docking in Sidney. I looked forward to this journey as it would unfold itself.
I had my fears. It was not of Sea Pirates. Of course these are not the waters of the Caribbean Seas in the 18th century. Neither are these the waters of the Gulf of Guinea or the Arabian Sea in this 20th Century. It was not about if the ship will capsized. This ship wasn’t named the Titanic and neither had anyone lifted his heart against God that this ship is unsinkable. My fears were more about what Eli had said – on the average it was expected that a member of the cruise party put on 5 kilos within 10 days. I won’t be able to manage that given that my “Little Red Pumpkin” had started giving me names because of my developing pot belly. I was also afraid that I would get Sea Sick. Despite having been around the Atlantic Waters all my life, I have never been drawn close to it. I can count the number of times that I had been on a boat or small vessels on water.
As we make our ways North Eastwards, I looked around me and all I could see was water. Lots and lots of it. It was then that the full meaning of the Christian song “When all that surrounds me become like shadows in the light of you” dawned on me. I realized that all that surrounds me was water and the magnificent Carnival Legend had become infinitesimally inconsequential as far as the waters of the South Pacific were concerned. I also remembered the lost Malaysian Flight MH370. I now fully realized how daunting the challenge of finding the wreck of that plane is. Looking for a needle in an haystack will be an understatement of what is required to find this. When you are at sea, everything and everywhere look the same. There are no landmarks to serve as reference points. It doesn’t matter where you face – east looks much the same as any of North, South or West. All you see is water and per adventure if you are lucky enough, you may see in the distant horizon a container vessel or an oil tanker. Such sights create unnecessary excitements that reassure that you are not alone.
And the winds, I never considered them as a problem. I was to later realise that if you ignore them, you do so at your peril. A look at the ocean waves with its swellings caused by the violence of the winds will leave you in no doubts as to how powerful the winds are. If that wasn’t enough to convince you, the ship becomes unstable and you have to suddenly start mastering the act of self balancing your steps as you move around the ship. The instability of the ship being a direct cause of the force of the winds on the waters and the ship structure itself. These are apart from the needed adjustments that the Captain and his crew need to make to the ship’s course to assure we arrive at our destination and not become lost at sea.
Aboard the ship were different characters and I took the liberty to give them names from characters in my life experiences. There was the Undertaker and I am sure many watchers of Wrestling will remember this person. Our man, the Undertaker, on the cruise was a young teenager that goes around the ship without wearing shoes and is always dressed in black with a long tail coat. He had the appearance of the Devil himself though my kids tell me he was nice. We also had the Lilliputian family members. In this case, a man with his midget wife, midget mother in-law and midget three children. The wife is talkative and carries herself with gait in a way that suggests her saying that I know I am a midget and there ain’t anything you can do about it, Like me or fuck off, you can’t miss not noticing this family.
And Oh, my Macho Man. Captain Legend! A well built muscular six footer of a man fond of wearing muscle shirt and walking around in a manner that loudly says “Don’t mess with me and not with my adorable wife as well”. We also had the Psycho, a middle aged man that runs at anything and everything. There was Mama Mia, a fat teenager lady with a big weird tattoo on her right back which she liked showing to the whole world by keeping her top half back uncovered. Oh Yes, I can’t forget.
We were on International waters and as I would learn later, the cruise was also international. The Captain was Italian and we had onboard Ukrainian, Indians, Russians. Peruvians, Thais, Malaysians, Filipinos and then Indians again. It seems there were more Indians than any other nationality amongst the ship’s crew. There was also a Zimbabwean, the only African that was part of the cruise.
So I got “home” after being away for quite a while and my daughter presented me with a boat. She requested that when I am well settled, I should open it up because it contains words that express how she felt about me.
Well, after all the pleasantries and the sumptuous meal, I finally got to opening up the boat and the text below represents the words that were written by my daughter, hidden up in the boat. I felt proud as a father and plan to cherish these words for as long as life is in me. It is for moments like this that all the efforts of training them up are rewarding.
My Little Red Pumpkin, I am proud of you always and believe so much in you that you will achieve greatness. Keep pushing at it, girl!
Hi Dad,
In case you are wondering why I would make this letter into a boat, it’s simply because this was the first thing you showed me how to make with paper. I remember it so clearly, we were in our apartment in Korea siting on the rug, where the chairs were in front of the projector. You took some newspapers and showed me how to do it. At first, I couldn’t get it but you had patience with me and I did it!
I just want to simply thank you for all the patience that you’ve had with me for the past 14 years. I love you so much dad. Welcome home.
Following the fraudulent diversion of funds meant for me to a Barclays Bank Account in London, I got in touch with Barclays Bank Fraud Unit. I had a lengthy phone conversation and was then requested to send in my written complaint.
I did as requested and did not get a response from Barclays. I called to follow up and was told that I will only get a response in not less than three (3) weeks. Finally, this week I got Barclays response and it was shameful. The response in summary states that prior to being notified of the fraud, the funds have been paid out by Barclays. As a result, Barclays does not see anything it could do further.
Excuse me? Is Barclays unaware of its Know Your Customer responsibilities? Should Barclays not have the details of the person that opened this account – his identity and where he resides? Ought Barclays not be concerned with the unbelievable fact that a fictitious account was opened in its branch, received reportable funds within 3 days and the funds withdrawn instantaneously?
It is shameful that Barclays will wite the sort of letter it wrote and not assume responsibilities for the lapses in its process of account opening and operations.
I am sitting on my bed listening to “Yungba Yungba, a music piece by Buga. Each time, I am opportuned, I love listening to Buga with his fast moving beats laced with the bata drum and underlying trumpet creating a unique music piece that is second to none.
Across the room from me is the television and a replay of the Saturday encounter between the Super Eagles of Nigeria and the Red Devils of Congo was being shown. I was truly relaxed, I have heard of the great efforts of the Super Eagles, who against all odds, defeated the Devils at home in Pointe Noire by two (2) goals thus claiming the three points at stake.
I looked out of my window and could see that the traffic on the Lagos Epe Expressroad is still there. I just escaped from this terrible traffic almost half an hour ago and I am glad that I am in the comfort of my room and not in the craziness that was outside. It is much cooler in here!
I started reflecting on the week gone bye and suddenly recollected my experience at the Driver’s Licensing Office. I beamed a smile. Yes, I did it. I got my new driver’s license. It was an obstacle that seemed impossible but in the end I have it. Ooops, what I have is the Temporary Card and not the Permanent One. That, if I believe the officials at the Licensing office, would be mailed to me before January next year. Whatever, I have a License and I can drive on Nigerian roads with no fears of being molested by any law enforcer.
The whole experience started sometimes in August, in the office of my close friend Pastor Amos. It was there that I got introduced to our man “M.O.T”. What MOT lacks in height he has in popularity. I was told that he could help to get my license for me. We got talking and he told me what his charges were, which was a princely sum, much more than the officially posted cost for the driver’s license. I requested some justification for why I should pay that much and he gave me a laundry list of all the things involved in getting the license, none of which I understood. Well, I agreed to his charge and within a few minutes he had given me the Application Form for me to complete.
I completed the Form, added the agreed fees and handed over to our man MOT. A few days later, I received a call from MOT that my appointment at the Licensing Office had been fixed for the next day by 10am. I was amazed at how fast he was able to get this done and I was under the impression that once I attend this appointment, the next thing would be to receive the driver’s License. I was in for a shocker. I got to the Licensing Office in time for my appointment and that was when I started appreciating the magnitude of our planning challenges in Nigeria. Just like me, there were hundreds of other folks over there as well for the appointment. There was neither a numbering system nor organization to help to manage the sea of human heads. Soon my man MOT showed up, he told me to be patient. He went inside the offices and re-appeared signalling that I should come to the test centre. I was handed a piece of paper with a couple of questions to test my driving knowledge. These were not that challenging and within three minutes, I had completed and handed over the answers to the officer. After about 10 minutes, our man MOT re-surfaced with a list of documents that he handed over to me and asked that I join a queue.
While on the queue, I took time to examine the documents and I was shocked. I had a document that evidenced that I had sat for an eye examination and that my vision was good. Another document evidenced that I had taken a driving test and I performed successfully. I was amazed and wondered how these documents came to be. The hours started counting and it felt as if my turn will never arrive. Finally it was my turn, I got called and went in for the data capture. this part of the process was not as painful as others and I was soon out of the office. My form was stamped and a date in October was written when I was requested to come over to the same office for the fingerprint and picture capture. By the time I looked at my watch, I had spent a little more than three (3) hours at the office. I got in my car and headed back to Lekki.
I noted the date I was requested to re-appear in my diary. Weeks later, I got an SMS message requesting that I visit the office. Unfortunately, my schedule was tight for that day and I was unable to attend. I thought of looking for MOT but somehow I forgot about doing so. Almost another four (4) weeks later, I got another SMS requesting that I visit. This time, it was convenient and I arrived at the office by 10am again. It was commotion galore. I had to linger around the corridor for another half an hour before an official showed up and started calling names. I was impressed with his efficiency and dedication to his task, despite having little or nothing to work with. My name was not on the list. I approached him and laid a complaint, which after I had shown him the text message that I received, he collected my form from me and assign me a place in the queue. The wait started and I really did wait. After a period that seemed like eternity, I was finally called and ushered into the office where my fingerprints and picture were taken. There I met a young lad responsible for operating the computer and getting the database updated. I would have scored him 100 marks for his work except that he needed a little lesson in being polite. The word “please” seemed lacking in his vocabulary.
I left the “data centre” and went back to the waiting hall, where almost twenty minutes later I was handed over my Temporary Driver’s License. I was requested to fill a register with my phone details to signify that I had picked up the temporary card. I did and soon after left the office. That was four(4) hours after I arrived.
In all, I saw a tremendous opportunity for things to be improved and I will suggest a few here:
1. Introduce an electronic machine to automatically assign numbers to applicants as they arrive at the centre;
2. Introduce a software enabled system to assign applicants to one of three (3) officers responsible for data capture as they arrive;
3. Validate and verify applicants submitted documents – it doesn’t augur well for us as a nation if our processes are being circumvented;
4. Make it easier for people to comply with the documentation requirements.
I arrived at the table late for lunch on Friday. The “group” had already taken their seats and were almost through with their meal when I arrived. I managed to secure an empty seat and settled in, trying to catch up on the conversation that I had missed.
It was then I remembered that Lagos State had declared the day a work free day for civil servants to be able to collect their voters’ cards. I interjected the discussion that was going on and I asked the “group” what their plans were to collect their voters’ cards. The response I got ranged from sheer apathy to one bothering around a loss of faith in the electoral system. As it is with me, I raised the need for us, as the educated and privileged to participate in the electoral process by going out the next day to pick up our permanent cards. With some reservation but a deference to the wisdom in my advice, everyone agreed to pick up the cards and one person added “even if I so decide not to vote later on”.
Fast forward to Saturday, I woke up from a very nice night rest. One of the not so many that I have had in a long while. I freshened up and remembered that I had a conflict – a need to get to Oyingbo and also to pick up my voters card in Lekki. I got in the car and with my fellow sojourner, we were off to Oyingbo in no time. I made mention to the other fellow with me that on returning from this foray to Oyingo, I needed to pick up the card. Well, Oyingbo will always be Oyingbo. The experience during this sojourn is a cause for another write up. It took some time but I eventually left Oyingo disappointed. My brain ran through the choices I had and the decision that I had to make. I concluded that it was better off that I pursue a different course of action, I got in the car and we headed back to Lekki. I must have been asleep for the whole journey and got a jolt from the voice reminding me of the plan to pick up the card.
I alighted form the car, with a couple of steps taken in my flight up the staircase, I was in my room. I shuffled through my very few possessions and within minutes was able to fish out my temporary voters’ card that I was issued in 2011. I got back into the car and off we drove into the inner side of Jakande looking for the INEC centre where I originally registered. We overcame the gullies in the middle of the road, manoeuvred around the broken down refuse truck and managed not to knock off the wares displayed on the side of the road. We eventually got to the building. I came down, expecting to meet a crowd of fellow Lagosians queueing to pick their cards. Alas, this was not to be. I was pleasantly surprised and for once thought that maybe there was great planning behind the process and this had ensured that no one needed to be on the queue at all. I looked for INEC officials but saw none. I looked for displayed lists of registered voters and again I saw nothing. I got confused and thought maybe I missed the centre. A few guys were hanging out in front of the building and not far from them was a ladies hair salon. I approached the guys and asked them for directions to where I can pick up the cards. “Oh, you are in the right place” was the response I got. The lady braiding hair in the salon added that picking up the voters card has been delayed by another week and that I should plan on coming back then. I said my thanks. Dejected, I went back to the car and headed back to my abode.
As I lay on my bed, I thought of my dear Professor Jega. I thought of my dear eko o ni baje governor – Babatunde Raji Fashola. I asked why my dear professor caused this great display of crap incompetence to happen. I thought of how BRF would have been disappointed for giving public servants in Lagos state a work free day in order to be able to exercise their civic responsibility and this was marred by the organizational incompetence of the team that my dear professor is responsible for. Then I thought of the always vocal Lai Mohammed and how he would craft this inaction into tales of sabotage and collusion between INEC and PDP against ACN.
Oga Jega, the polity is already heated up and you need to stand tall and make a difference. Please let’s have our Permanent Voters’ Cards and do not directly or indirectly disenfranchise us. As I write this piece, I look forward to the “I told you so” conversation that I will have with “the group” on Monday during Lunch.
It was the 14th of September, a Sunday. I woke up late and within minutes rushed out of my temporary abode, which for all means and purposes is my home for now. Off to Church I drove. This Sunday, Church was to be the Church on the Rock and I was to visit the Cathedral, the current address of the church in Lekki. Truth be told, the cathedral is prestigious and dwarfs everything in its vicinity in terms of size. No wonder, thousands of worshippers flock into this building every Sunday. It is an address that everyone would like to be associated with.
I didn’t just wake up and went to the church. It was a result of a decision that I had made the previous night. In deciding where I was to worship the next day, I had visited the church’s website. I read through many things and thought it will be good to know more. My attention was unusually drawn to the page on the pastors at http://houseontherockng.com/our-pastors.html. Paul Adefarasin was stated as the founder, prelate and senior pastor and then his wife, Ifeanyi, was written about. There was no mention of any other one as being of significance in the House on the Rock churches. I think the opportunity exists to make the webpage better – focussing on the souls out there and reducing the focus on self. It is not disputable that the pastor was all that was stated on the webpage, and probably much more. However, the details as currently expressed on the webpage will make the casual visitor leave with the impression that the web page is self-serving. I don’t think this was the intent of Pastor Adefarasin. It is time to add the profiles of the other pastors in the church and focus on the great works the church is doing in the area of bringing lost souls to Christ.
I had never been inside the Rock Cathedral, the name the massive edifice in Lekki is called. Little wonder that on entering I got lost wandering within its maze of corridors. Lucky me, I ran into an acquaintance that I just met the previous week and he offered to usher me into the church where the worship was ongoing. It was a blessing, my acquaintance happened to be a high ranking member of Pastor Paul Adefarasin’s team and he was able to secure a front row seat for me.
There I marvelled at the beauty and the simplicity in design of the massive auditorium. I was taken away with the splendour of this work of men until I remembered, as noted by Paul in Acts 7:48, that the Most High does not dwell in houses made by hands. Soon, I got caught up with the praise and worship, excellently delivered and with the whole auditorium filled with sonorous human voices praising the most high. The sound quality and the aesthetics were great.
It was then that the great Power Holding Company (PHC), the public electricity supplier, decided to show its might. The lights went off and immediately the emergency lights came on. This break in power supply would not have mattered if not that the whole public address system depended on it and as such the communication was disrupted. While efforts were made to get the backup power supply working, this became a challenge. As we were to learn later, there had been a short circuit of the electrical system and somehow the backup plans were not working. Looking at the Pastor from the vantage point where I stood, I could see the looks of concern on his face, he was obviously unhappy. First he called his assistants to go and get the problem resolved. They did as they were told but it soon became obvious that this will not resolve the problem. One can say that the Pastor is an ardent believer in the idea that if you want something done, you go do it yourself. He soon left, with a trail of his personal staff to oversee the resolution of the power issue.
In all these, I felt concerned that the Pastor might have sent a wrong message to the flocks that he was shepherding. Yes, the power cut was disruptive but we ought not to take our attention off the worship of the Almighty, in whose presence we stood. In the Pastor’s desire to get the ugly situation under control, he got on his cell phone and was reeling out some requests. This was in the middle of the worship to the Almighty. A situation that reminded me of the Mary & Martha in Luke 10:41-42 where the Lord said to Martha, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary…..”
Mike Aremu came on stage and it was a great performance. Watching Mike on the trumpet playing the notes and the sounds of worshippers providing the complementary wordings of the songs was celestial. As always with me, I looked around and asked myself is God here? I had my answer immediately. As I looked, I also asked are people faking it or are they truly this joyous? Have I finally found a people that are true worshippers? I did not get an immediate answer but did get my answer later. The answer to my question came when the nice looking, confident and radiant lady officiating minister took to the pulpit to wrap off the praise and worship. She rounded up with prayers and after rounding up with prayers requested people to shout to the Lord. As if she had heard my question, she asked people to fake it even if they don’t mean it! Whao! That hit me like a bomb shell. I got my answer.
Of all things, one has to admire the pastor. His dressing was immaculate and his appearance and introductory words were well chosen and well crafted. He acknowledged the birthdays of members of the church, recognised a couple of people and the birth of babies. His recognition of his wife’s birthday on the 16th of September was one that I recommend to all men. He was sincere in his expression of love towards his wife and acknowledgement of the steadfastness of the wife in going through life with him, even when all things were not that rosy. I consciously noted this and promised myself that when I get home, I would call my wife and express my love to her openly as well Thank you pastor!
He went on to educate the congregation on what they need to do to prevent Ebola and then dwelt on the importance of everyone exercising their civic responsibilities – register to vote in the upcoming elections. In his word, no matter how long it takes you to vote, vote. Vote your value system, what preserves and protect your interest. He acknowledged the new attendees and recommended a couple of churches available in Lagos to them, encouraging them to find the place that God has designed for them. If God leads them to the House on the Rock, he really wanted to be their pastor. Will God find faith in Nigeria when he comes?
That Pastor Paul Adefarasin is an orator is not in doubt, he is a very good speaker. In his sermon for the day that he titled “Higher Dimension”, he mesmerized the crowd, including me. He took us through the scriptures. Starting with Eccl 9:11 he moved to 1King 19:19 – 20, he taught on how to embrace the future, going into space, time and season for which we’ve had no experience but will have to rely on humility. The bullet points from his message are:
1. You will endure a fight that doesn’t befit where you are. That doesn’t mean that God has cast you out but the opposite might really be the truth. The enemy is not fighting you over your now or your past but over your future. Don’t quake when you see this but know there is more to you than where you are but where you are going. He told the story of how he endured a similar fight 15yrs ago over the site for the Rock Cathedral. The enemy, according to him, wants to rob you of your destiny and not your present. When this happens, you need to ask, is the enemy bringing out all the arsenal for the little chicken that you are or the eagle you will become. When BIG boys start fighting you, it is because you are a BIG boy in their perception!
2. If GOD allows you to fight a fight that deep, it’s because he sees you BIGGER than whom you think you are and he allows you to go through it because HE believes you are ready for the task or can take it.
3. There are levels and there are dimensions. The numeric numbers 1 to 10 on a level is the same on another dimension. Levels are on the horizontal while dimensions are on the vertical. There are levels of Peace. There are also levels of Joy. There are however dimensions of these as well. God is getting ready not to change your level but to change your dimension. At a new dimension, you start from the very beginning of the level for that dimension and you will need God as well.
4. Elijah was ready to raise leaders in the secular space. Passing the baton from the Elijah generation to the Elisha generation. Elijah knew what was to happen but Elisha had no inkling of what was to happen. He was to experience a total change, a transformation in his life. This happened with the mantle, which was significant. It was a message to the angels that as you work with me, so should you work with Elisha. Elisha was not one of the sons of the prophet, he was not enrolled in the school of prophets but he was a man already producing and ploughing. He was successful in the family business but he wasn’t fulfilled.
5. Elisha knew by instinct that this he had a higher calling. Every design component in his constitution needed to find their highest usefulness. Same principles BUT on a different dimension. By instinct, there are components in you that are designed for higher usefulness. You can use an ipad as a tray and it will do a good job but that is not a great use for its design features. Intellectual process will not help. The instinct is your horse but the intellect is your cart. Do not put the cart before the horse. Also consider, the sea turtle and how they use their instinct to head towards the ocean, once the’ve consumed the resource structure present in the egg shell. They know that despite having lived all their lives on land, they are sea creatures and instinctively move towards the sea. Don’t be trapped in a cage as a Parrot born in captivity which had never flown before. The cage initially feel like paradise but sooner than later you need to break it. Turtles have flaps and can move restrictedly on land but they are not made for land but for the ocean.
6. You live and eat at the level of your vision – the tortoise and the giraffe both eat at the level of their visions. The giraffe position cannot be explained to a tortoise person. They will be right, when they criticize you but they are right at their tortoise level of vision. A giraffe will die, from the rush of blood to its head, if it starts eating at the tortoise level.
7. Instinct cannot be taught. It is an inborn trait. Mother Eagles lay their eggs on mountain top and make comfortable nests for the eggs. However, when it is time, she overturns the nest and the little birds become free falling. The same God who made you comfortable on one dimension will make you uncomfortable at the same dimension so that you can move to the next dimension. Fear is not evil BUT it is the spirit of fear that is evil. Fear will make you pray and is an inborn trait that makes you aware when danger is near. It is dangerous to remain comfortable on the same dimension. Don’t use the wrong timing like Moses. The instinct was right but the timing was wrong. Moses an orator became a stammerer and was put down for 40years. Have you exhausted the current dimension,
8. Everything in David’s life was by instinct. It was instinct that made him know that he was bigger than the bear that came to snatch the goat. It was instinct, and not intellect (like his brothers) that made him know that when Israel had the national problem of Goliath that he can defeat him. The thing God wants to do with you, do not make any sense. Elijah’s generation was a powerful but a crude one. Elisha’s generation will do twice what Elijah did. The real test of instinct is when opportunity presents itself like in the case of the woman with the issue of blood knowing that if she missed that moment, she may not be healed.
9. Love righteousness and seek justice.
10. Insecurity and low esteem are indicators that you are now on a new dimension.
I come from the ancient city of Ibadan. I am a citizen of the world and wherever I go, whatever I be, I will not forget my origin – the city of Ibadan.
I am proud of my heritage and very appreciative for my upbringing.
Ibadan,
ilu olokiki,
ilu oloye,
ilu onimo, ilu olola, ilu olowo.
Sikiru Ayinde Barrister
Ibadan,
running splash of rust
and gold — flung and scattered
among the seven hills like broken
china in the sun.
My new abode is right across a chapel of the Redeemed Christian Church of God (RCCG). Yesterday evening, the sound of the Praise Worship in the church attracted me to its evening service. It happened to be a joint service of Bible Study and sharing of the Lord’s Supper. I took part in the Lord’s Supper and the Pastor asked us to pray that God should put an end to all evils that surround us. I prayed asking God to quiet all the storms that surround me.
Later in the evening, as I checked my phone, I had received various texts from my lovely wife – all indicating that all was not well with my in-laws. She made certain requests of me and I dutifully carried them out and thereafter went to sleep. It was about three (3) hours later when I woke up and saw a text message from my wife saying “My sister is dead”. This wasn’t good. While I wasn’t shocked, for she has been sick for quite a while, I knew that I had to place a call to my wife. I called and the voice at the other end was one of sobering, my wife was crying! Now, I had seen her crying once before and in our years of marriage, I have decided that anything that will cause her to cry, I have to prevent it. In this case I failed or was t that I could not have prevented this? She was never consolable when she cries and my heart melts in such instances.
I tried all my possible best to persuade her to stop her tears and request that she should make a trip this way, if she wants to otherwise direct me the way she want so that I can help to address things she wanted done. Her cry wasn’t stopping and with a barrier of distance, it was impossible for me to have my hands around her, cuddle her and provide the support she needed in this period of grieve. I knew how well she was concerned for her sister and what the sister meant to her. I could understand how emotionally pained she was regarding this death and yet I was helpless in this period of her need.
Now, the bible makes us to understand that it is given for us all to die only once and following this will be judgement. None of us is going to escape this earth alive, except a few that will see the Lord at his appearing. In the past couple of weeks, the news have not all been well. A friend lost his wife, my daughter’s tutor lost his son and now my in-law is dead. Death has a peculiar way of reminding us all of our mortality and that one of these days, we will succumb to its cold cruel hands. As a result of this constant reminder, I have changed my mantra. I have started asking myself, what I can do differently each day to bring happiness to my life and the lives of those that surround me.
The founding fathers of the American state got it right when they declared independence in congress on the 4th of July 1776 stating that ”We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness”. It is our individual rights to pursue happiness, whatever that means to each and every one of us.
As you read this piece, please ask yourself what makes me happy and how can I further such causes that provide happiness to me and those around me. Remember that life is temporal and one day you will be gone just as my in-law has gone. When the end comes, will you be full of regrets of the things that you should have, could have, would have done but did not do or would you gladly yield to death in the expectation of a more glorious home in heaven?
Adieu Mama Ojo!
….and off goes Baba Ojo to join her..
For most of the day, I was away on a work assignment. The day was drawing to its end when I alighted from the speed boat that had conveyed me to the place of my work assignment. My feet were just touching the land at the jetty when I heard the tone signalling that a message was coming in on my phone. I reached for my pockets, pulled out the phone and there it was. Another dark day of our lives, Baba Ojo was dead.
Less than a month ago, he was hale and hearty. No one would have thought that dead was lurking behind, so close by to take him away. The news was that he tripped while coming back home from work, hit his head on the floor and lost consciousness. From then hence, it was a case of a stone rolling down the hill. He was rushed to an hospital, revived from a coma and then taken to Badagry General Hospital to be cared for. Alas, it was too little, too late.
Today 15th Oct 2014, he said bye to mother earth and he is gone….never to come this way again. Life is short and yet we all are hustling and bustling all around, never giving thought to what happens after our temporary sojourn here. This world is not our home, we are but passing through!
It’s 5th October and I am at the Kotoka International Airport awaiting my flight to Lagos to start boarding. Time flies or so it seemed. It was barely 5 days ago, on my bed in Lagos that I decided that visiting Accra would be a good way to spend a late minute two (2) day vacation that I got.
That I came and I saw was not disputable. However, whether I conquered as Napoleon did was altogether a different issue. However, my objective of coming to Accra was not to conquer it but to put to test the myths around Accra. As I started my trip, I got on twitter and created a harsh tag #Mythsaboutaccra to document my thoughts on the truth behind these myths. I was not waoed by Accra. As I leave, I am leaving with disappointments. It was the story of another African nation abounding in talents and resources but saddled with crap leadership and morally insensitive government.
I arrived Accra late on 1st October 2014 having endured an unapologetic flight delay of more than 1 hour on Arik Air. I was disappointed. Disappointed in the leadership of Ararume at Arik, with all the expectations around quality. In my mind, I asked, do these people ever think the market doesn’t penalise for this insensitivity to keeping appointments or have they forgotten that the flight ticket is a contract? An offer by the passenger to pay a certain sum if the airline will convey him to a predetermined destination at an advertised time and an acceptance by the airline? Anyway, I am sending a nice little note to our ceo@arikair, just in case he is surrounded by incompetent self-serving teams that protect him from that truth that is called reality!
Going through Kotoka was smooth and seamless. These guys were efficient and was not looking for any tips or hands down to sway them from doing their jobs. I noticed that the heat sensing body thermometers at use in Accra were larger than the ones that I have come to be accustomed to in Lagos since the beginning of this West African Ebola Epidemic. I engaged the port health official in a conversation around this and she pleasantly addressed my concerns with charm. I saw a couple of ATMs and presented my Nigerian Bank issued Debit card and got a ward of cedis at an exchange rate of 56Naira to 1 cedi. I got through customs and immigration in a breeze and I was soon at the Taxi Park. The tidier, neat surroundings of the Kotoka Airport and the appearance of order was noticeable, different from the chaos that surrounds the MMIA. As I got to the Taxi Rack, the difference become barely undistinguishable, it was riotous and the pool of human heads were the same. All trying to pull you into their car and drive you off to your location, while reaping you blind! After I had dodged the entreaties of two or more of these drivers, I finally landed in the hands of one that offered to take me to my hotel in the Adabraka area for 15cedis. While I gladly accepted this, somewhere in my mind I had the gut feeling that I was being ripped off. As I later were to discover, a couple of days hence, the trip was worth between 6 and 10cedis. I bit my lips, in anger.
I arrived at my hotel within minutes and was soon settled in my room. The trip from Kotoka to Adabraka was nice and it took me through some of the nicest neighbourhoods and roads in Accra. We went through a couple of traffic lights which as the case was in Lagos were obeyed by the taxis and buses but were apparently not visible to the Okadas ( I must note that these were not truly Okadas, commercial motor bikes are uncommon in Accra). The hotel was not what I was expecting but I can’t complain. It was value enough for the amount that I was paying. I laid my bag down and went for a stroll in the neighbourhood to look around. There was not much to see, nothing from the usual. I started my slow paced walk back to the hotel and it was then that I started noticing the girls and then the ladies. Poised at different locations around the road and skimpily dressed in sensual ways, I was to realise that these were the ladies of the night. They came in different sizes and shapes and it seemed that for their profession, beauty really doesn’t matter! I noticed two of them, probably in their late teens chatting in front of me and swaying their you-know-what. I moved on, got to my hotel an requested for the internet password. I got into my room, connected my phones and laptop to the wireless internet and started reviewing the day’s emails and made a few calls to families and friends. The quality of the connection was better than average – things work in Ghana!
The next morning was a Thursday. I had picked up on the inflight magazine of Arikair and selected a couple of places that I needed to visit in Ghana. Top on the list was the famous Makola Market. It was promoted as a must see – on the top list of things to do in Ghana. If I had known that I was going to another replica of Isale Eko, Idumota or Oke Arin market, I wouldn’t have ventured out. There it was, Makola market in all its glory – of people and filth. I had come to Ghana being told of how clean and different Ghana was from Nigeria. The sight of Makola market wiped away every good imaginations that I have had about Ghana. I walked through the market, it was all familiar to me – a smaller replica of the Jankara market in Lagos. I soon wiggled my way through the dense cloud of humans and waved down a taxi to take me to my next stop – the Kwame Nkrumah Memorial Park and Mausoleum.
I loved this place, it was the epitome of the Ghanaians bringing to live their deep sense of history and possible appreciation to the foresight and leadership of their first president. The fourteen (14) flute men (seven on either side of Kwame’s statue) as well as the cleanliness of the park was a great sight. I approached the ticketing counter and declared upfront that I was a visiting foreigner – a declaration that ended up costing me ten (10) cedis as opposed to the two that a Ghanaian would have paid. I took some nice pictures around and found my way into the park office which contains different memorabilia depicting the life and times of the fallen hero. Kwame lived a great life and most likely a fulfilled one, ending up to be a co-president of Guinea! He was a man and one with his own faults too. I left without a doubt in my mind that had the military let Osagieyefo be, he would have been a president for life in Ghana. The nice lady at the office took me around the park and talked me through the three burials of Kwame, and pointed out in the distance the Cardillac that Kwame used to ride in to me. With the Cardillac, I was disappointed, it could have been better preserved! My mind rushed back to the fact that Murtala Mohammed’s car in which he was assassinated, is suffering not a better fate in Lagos as well.
I left the park and walked into the nearby magistrate court. It was hot in Accra and I earnestly craved a bottle of coke which I got for 2 cedis. I requested for directions and took a leisure walk through about five minutes of dirt road with its nauseating stink and arrived at the cliff bordering the Gulf of Guinea. The sight was not the most pleasant and looking around I just couldn’t fathom that ,as a people, we have not understood how to preserve and improve our environment. I thought of what could have been, this same cliff could be transformed into a valued relaxation spot for the people of Ghana and also be an income yielding asset as a tourist attraction. Where are your listening ears, oh leaders of Ghana? I couldn’t bear the sight for long, I turned and briskly made my way back through the beaten dirt roads that I took to the place. I did not miss the commercialization of Christianity as gleamingly being displayed by a nearby church. Broadly advertised was a coming service to be anchored by the Nigerian Pastor Ayo Oritsejeafor. I noted that the Ghanaians are closely following the footsteps of my nation. Rich pastors and poor church members.
Not far from where I stood wad the Ghanaian Central Bank. I crossed the road to take a picture of it and walk through the back of the bank to the General Post Office Accra. It looked splendid in its colonial structure which has all appearances of being well maintained from the outside. I walked around it and took a few pictures. I noticed that while the computer age has caught up with many on the African continent, a couple of Ghanaians were still plying their trade in the typing of affidavits using the typewriters of yonder years. I smiled to myself. I got to the back of the post office and there they were – rows and columns of private office boxes. I could link these numerous boxes to the inscription on each and every commercial vehicle in Accra, one that requires the P.O.Box number of the owner to be detailed on the vehicle. It seems its working well. I was tired and felt that I had seen enough, I called a taxi and headed back to my hotel.
Later in the evening, I took a walk around Adabraka. I walked up the Kojo Thompson Road up to the overhead bridge and then back through an alternate road. Nothing exciting struck me, it was a tale of people plying their trades on the road side without any inhibition whatsoever. I walked into a restaurant, having been attracted by the bold advertisement at the entrance, only to eat the worst prepared rice meal of my life.
The next morning, I took a taxi and visited the Accra Mall. In the mall, I saw the Bata shop, which brings about a reminiscence of my early childhood. I am a fan of the Bata Shoes as they are well made and last years. I used to possess a Bata Cortina shoe which I used for many years as a child. These Bata shops have closed out in Nigeria yet they are thriving in Ghana which made me to ask, what kills businesses in Nigeria yet sustain them in Ghana? I was later to come across Barclays Bank, also long gone from Nigeria but yet thriving in Ghana. I purchased two pairs of shoes and then wandered leisurely through the shopping mall admiring the various Kente fabrics and the creations that had been made out of them. I settled down for a nice lunch at the food court and thereafter made my way out of the mall, across the road where I got accosted by street urchins begging for money. I waved down a cab and went to the Marina Mall at the Airport area. I took some servings of ice cream and settled down to watch Ghanaian movie producers at work filming a scene just next to me. I was attracted by the Latante DC10 Restaurant – a restaurant inside a DC10 aircraft formerly owned by Ghana Airways. I wanted to visit the restaurant but could not figure my way there from the mall and soon gave up the idea. I took a taxi to Labadi Beach Hotel and fell in love with the neat, well-manicured gardens of the hotel that fronts the beach. I ordered a soda drink and sat down for a long while, enjoying the cool breeze of the Atlantic as well as the beautiful scenery around. After I felt that I had taken enough, I strolled leisurely across the manicured garden, visited the swimming pool. It was a nice way to spend the afternoon, a dip in the pool was all I needed to cope with the soaring heat.
This is an alert. An alert to friends that the 419 epidemic is wide spread and largely uncurtailed. I almost fell victim of a well orchestrated 419 attack recently and am willing to share my experience with those who want a detailed download of what happened.
Suffice it to say that we all need to be conscious of the following details and if any surfaces around you, please call the law enforcement agents. These are the details of the fraudster that attempted to defraud me:
His IP address is 41.138.172.146. and service provider is Visafone Communications Ltd.
I have contacted Visafone who is yet to take action on this individual
He maintains Account No: 3080158616 with First Bank of Nig Plc
My contacts have written to First Bank and reported the fraudster’s account.
That his phone number is +234 704 628 7978.
That his name or alias with which he operates his bank account is Olaosebikan Abiodun
If you need the full details of my experience, please send me a mail at bimbo@bimbobakare.com and I will gladly share the detailed experience with you. It is disheartening to realise the extent to which our young men have gone. No one is safe and eternal vigilance is required in our day to day dealings.
Please put away the notion that your email exchanges are secured – they are not. An hacker, unaware to you, may be intercepting your mails. and may be generating mails in your name to other people giving them different instructions without your knowledge. I will advice that you contact the people and businesses you frequently deal with and reiterate that they should not act on any emails purportedly originating from you, without a confirmatory phone call.
Kindly take heed, no one is safe anymore from these yahooyahoo boys. Unfortunately, there is a Part Two to this encounter. It was deadlier and I was actually defrauded. I am still working through the various institutions to claim some of the losses.
The Nigerian Police on 13th of July 2012 arrested house of representatives member Farouk Lawan, chairman of the ad hoc committee of the House of Representatives for receiving bribe from shady oil business magnate Femi Otedola.
As at date, the case is yet to be decided BUT the Nigerian people are patiently watching. The probable scheme within the corridors of power is to sweep the case under the carpet but we should not allow that. Farouk should have his day in court and let justice be dispensed.
We also need to remember that justice delayed is justice denied. Time is of essence and it does no one any good for our courts to drag this case for long.
Lest we forget a little leaven, leavens the whole lump. If we do not dispense justice on this issue, we will continue to be a pariah in the community of nation states.
Somehow, the words of the old national anthem kept drumming in my ears.
Why did we give up this anthem that ought to have been a constant reminder to us all about what our allegiance to the country requires? I have heard all the argument about the colonial undertones in the anthem as well as how derogatory the word tribe was. These do not provide sufficient explanation, it really had to be something more. Something really BIG! Somehow we need to get our conspiracy theorist to look at this.
My opinion? I think General Obasanjo and his group changed the anthem in 1978 because they gave up on handing over to our children “a banner without stain” as stanza 2 of the anthem required us to. It sort of dawned on them that, as a nation, we were incapable of doing that. It was also probably that they were visionaries. They saw the future and noted that the generations of rulers we would have won’t be thrilled with a stainless banner. If they consider handing over any banner at all, they would rather have it stained, torn and shredded! As visionaries, Obasanjo and his team might have seen that Nigeria was not going to be a land “where truth and justice reign”. They must have deeply thought about it and concluded that they do not want to be sycophants or pharisaic and it was better they expunge such onerous commitments from the anthem.
How else can we explain the current situation in Nigeria in the light of what it used to be? My kids, who have been beneficiaries of God’s grace, attend schools with facilities that are amazing. I usually tell them of the facilities that we had in my days in Ibadan that they were equally comparable to what they are having now. In response, they say “Daddieeee”. That is their word for incredible, too good to be true!
Growing up in Bodija, with “incredible” roads and well laid out houses interspersed with green vegetation was lovely. That environment was comparable to any environment you have in the suburbs of London or any other international city of now. Again, my kids will say “Daddieeee”. I spent years of my youth in Agege and Akoka. While these places were not as amazing as Bodija, we had tarred roads and public water was a reality. Going round these areas now is a pointer to how bad things have become – an open sore that has failed to heal.
When NYSC, in its wisdom, sent me miles away from home to the South East, one of the immediate learning was how blessed Nigeria was. The journey was 8 hours by J5 (not many will remember that Peugeot contraption that was the vehicle of choice for commercial transportation by Roadtune) through lush vegetation crossing the beautiful River Niger bridge at Onitsha. Absolutely no pot holes on the roads. I travelled a section of that journey a few years ago by flying to Port Harcourt and then by road along similar terrains. The roads were gone, erosions have created gullies all over and the journey took almost 6hrs. Note that this journey was less than 1/8th of what I used to cover in 8hrs.
I sort of understand my children’s measuring yardsticks. They’ve seen it all in their years – the deplorable state of infrastructure around them as they grew up. The insecurity of lives and properties and the general lack of care for anything good by the majority of our people. Now, added to this , is the terrible news that, day after day, is being churned out of that space of this earth called Nigeria. I have stopped being bothered by their “Daddieeee”. I would have given the same response (if not more, though I might have ended up getting a few slaps) if I were in their shoes.
NIGERIA’s NATIONAL ANTHEM 1960-1978
Nigeria we hail thee,
Our own dear native land,
Though tribe and tongue may differ,
In brotherhood we stand,
Nigerians all, and proud to serve Our sovereign Motherland.
Our flag shall be a symbol
That truth and justice reign,
In peace or battle honour’d,
And this we count as gain,
To hand on to our children
A banner without stain.
O God of all creation,
Grant this our one request,
Help us to build a nation Where no man is oppressed,
For many of us, with not enough funds to buy exercise equipments and maintain a gym in our houses, Lake Morgan has become somewhat of our exercise spot. Apart from the scenic beauty of the lake and its well kept surroundings, it provides a 3.5km walk trail that is so easy for the young and old to use at most part of the day. If you are into running, skating, cycling, jogging or walking, this trail is amenable to whatever you bring its way. Whatever you do, you will not be alone and will find company in both old and young doing the same around the lake.
My wife and I have come to find this walking trail our shared opportunity to temporarily leave life’s challenges behind and enjoy the company of each other while catching some much needed exercise through walking. You will most likely find us on the trail doing the long stride walking or jogging and chatting at the same time.
A grateful heart
This morning we were on the trail. Rather than drive to the Lake, we chose to walk straight there from our house and back. The weather was calm and nice and the walk to the lake was just pleasant and enjoyable. We did our normal walk but on getting mid-way, our attention was drawn to the shed next to the exercise equipments.
We have often used the exercise equipments but at no time have we paid attention to the tent looking shed near by. After the body stretching, I walked into the shed and was surprised to realise that it is a monument dedicated to the many Australians that, in their death, have donated their organs to many others so they may live.
The roll call dates back to the 1960s but the list of names then was not many. In recent years, 2011 to 2012, the list has grown showing that the idea of giving ones organs to others, when one is gone has caught on. It is not only a nice thing to do, it is what God will like us to do. At that point, I remember that Jesus gave his life on the cross that we may be released from the bondage of sins. While we cannot repeat what Christ did for us, I thought of how nice it will be to know that giving my heart, lung, kidneys or other internal organs, after I am dead, has allowed one individual out there to live a longer healthier life.
The shed of Remembrance
I left the shed thinking of the story of the good Samaritan as told by Jesus to the rich man. I remember that Jesus concluded saying that “whomever you are able to help, that person is your neighbour”. I wonder what a better world it will be if as many of us as can, will sign up to donate our organs to help those in need.
“Startled, stunned,
You begin to run,
‘Til you hear the gun,
Then the baffling is done.
Frightened, stricken,
Your footsteps quicken.
Another gunshot then,
You hear the sounds of dogs and men.
One thing echoes through your mind,
Run! Run! RUN!
One thing is on their mind,
Gun! Gun! GUN!
You finally escape,
But then shouts the man in the cape,
‘Don’t stop until he is done!’,
The chase has begun.”
Port Hedland out of the way…
Well it should be an old story now that VirginAustralia almost messed up my family vacation to Sydney last year. Being one that believes in holding businesses accountable for their actions, despite all attempts by VirginAustralia not to accept it erred, I was eventually able to squeeze some sort of compensation from them – a credit to my travel bank account. The airline expected me to utilise within a year. Time passes very fast, especially when you are having fun. A year has just gone by and I must use the balance in the travel bank or lose it. The question then was, in this vast continent called Australia, where do I really wanted to go. It was either darwin or Port Hedlands that was on my mind, that was until I heard of Broome from a colleague.
So why Broome? The answer was in the history of the town. It was the capital of commercial Pearl farming in the world and hence had a rich history in the diversity of people that call Broome home. It was also because of what I have heard about its clear blue waters known and depicted by its most popular beach – Cable Beach. As I was told, at low tide if you look carefully at an unmarked spot you will be able to see the footsteps of a Dinosaur! I was also told that it was the gateway to Kimberly, one from which many an adventurer set up for their exploration journey of the Kimberly – an area that consists of ancient, steep-sided mountain ranges. It is a popular stop for cruise ships in Western Australia and features in many Australian Travel magazines as one place that one needs to visit in his lifetime. All these were the reasons why I had to jettison the idea of Darwin or Port Hedland and chose to visit Broome. I knew the answer was certainly not about its future – not much economic activity was happening there. The sands are red…. the sort that do not support farming. As to mining, it wasn’t Broome that commands the pride of place as well.
Broome is a remote northern city of Western Australia. It is around 2,200kms away from Perth. If that doesn’t say much, consider that as being 30hrs drive away by road or 2hours 30 minutes by a jet plane.
I wanted to be a backpacker….
I wanted to be a backpacker. One of my ambitions, when I retire, is to travel and see the world without this costing me a fortune. This was to be my first experience in backpacking and I gladly embraced it.
In planning for the trip, I wanted to stay at a budget hotel and have an opportunity to mix with that group of people that are always on the move, exploring new territories and taking in the sights and sounds of our beautiful planet. I got on booking.com to reserve accommodation but the options I got were not appealing. Consider sharing a room with 4 bunks and paying $50 per night? I freaked out. That would be a lot of body odour and possibly smelling shoes in a container box. I am sure my constituents will rebel at this and may catch some sickness there from. I settled for the next sensible thing, a 5 star hotel advertised as “Broome with a view”. The Mangrove Resort Hotel.
That part of my backpacking experience, the one that was doable, was to find my way to Perth’s Domestic Airport Terminal 2 without my car or using a taxi. I called in the help of maps.google.com and thereafter commenced my journey. After a sweaty 2hrs of walking and using Transperth, I arrived at the Airport. This was a trip would have taken me less than 30mins by car. In making it to the Airport in one piece, without my car, I was pleased with myself.
…and it was take-off to Broome.
The trip was in a Fokker 200, a plane designed for 100 passengers. We had a full flight, probably with 2 empty seats. Everything went well, except for a little delay at take off, Perth airport must be having too many flights taking up and landing than its runway infrastructure could cope with. It needed to expand, Perth is no longer a little city, not anymore. Our flight was delayed for about 30mins but we finally took off. I sat next to a middle-aged couple, they were sort of a nice pair but not much conversation took place between us for the two and a half hours flight, except for a simple hello and thank you here and there, when beverages were passed.
Maybe it was Quantas announcement of its losses and plans to slice 5,000 jobs or maybe it was just that VirginAtlantic was miserly and was trying to cut costs to address the loss it also announced, the refreshment provided aboard the flight was one of the worst I’ve had in a very long time. The flight was smooth, smooth enough that I wanted to catch some sleep. I did not succeed with this. The attraction to take in as much view of the vast barren land that makes a large part of Western Australia and was fleeting past my window was enough to stop sleep in its tracks.
Yes, you'll need a 4X4The pilot’s voice finally came on the speakers informing us to prepare for landing. The plane landed and ,again, as I had witnessed several times over the passengers that have patiently sat in the plane for more than two hours could not wait for an extra five minutes for the doors to open. They were all up in the aisle, flinging the luggage racks open and displaying that impatience that is common to most men. Me? I was calm and quiet, after all I was on vacation. I alighted from the aircraft to be met with the warmest gust of air of a type I can hardly say I had experienced before. Surely, this was Broome and we were in the northern fringes of Australia! I walked into the arrival terminal, across the carousel and in no time was out of the small airport building. I got to the taxi rack and after a wait of about five minutes, a taxi came along and I made my way to the front passenger seat.
The driver must just have finished a stick of cigarette as the air in the bus was fouled with a nauseating cigarette smell. I hate cigarette smells and was getting annoyed when the driver tried to start a conversation with me. Where are you from? I am originally from Morocco. I answered that I was from Nigeria. He paused and then said “what the fuck is going on over there? Men there’s a lot of killing in that country!” For the second time, in two days, I was being called to act as the Njgerian Minister for Communication, a position that I was neither being paid for nor appointed to by the Nigerian government. View of the Roebuck BayI confirmed the killings and mentioned that it was an attack by the Islamists against Western Education. One thing that gave me hope, in the ensuing conversation, was this guy was probably a Muslim and he was unhappy on how a group of people, under the guise of religion, will reject rather than embrace an opportunity! The opportunity that western education provides. It tells me that true Muslims were not supportive of the “jihad” that is being waged against innocent, men, women and children in North East Nigeria.
I was soon at the hotel. Remember, the one whose slogan is “Broome with a view”? An elderly lady was at the counter, one with a charming smile who tenderly asked “how may I be of help to you today?” I was in the best of mood, probably it was the smile that disinfected me of the anger that was brewing in me earlier. Oh, top of the day to you, if you’ll give me a second, I will hand over to you a beautiful piece of paper so that you can help me find a wonderful room in this BIG city of yours. She did whatever people of her type does on the computer and handed me a key with directions on how to get to my room. I walked across the frontage of the hotel, made a corner, took a flight of steps and was at my room’s door.
The room was modest but far away from anything luxurious. I was disappointed. I settled in, took a shower and was out of the room. It was time to explore and on the agenda was China Town.
There was nothing Chinese about China Town…
When is a name not a name? Well if you ask me, it is when the name depicts something and the thing named is not in the least a semblance of the name. You got it! There was nothing Chinese about China Town!
When I browsed through the top 10 things to do in Broome earlier on Tripadvisor.com I didn’t pay attention to the things travellers had written about China Town. Chen's ChineseWho would? If you have been to China Town in Singapore, Korea, San Francisco, you would have already made up your mind on what to expect in China Towns. Think Different, so advised Steve Jobs. Broome’s China Town was a world apart from such China Towns. At 7pm on this Friday, there was nothing to see. The shops that adorned the town, the Pearl Shops, were locked up and the only thing that depicted a semblance of life was an odd bar with a couple of hippies at the front yard.Japanese Monument
I walked further then I met the original landowners of Australia – the Aborigines. The truth hurts but must be told and I do this with a deep sense of apology. They were everywhere on the field and the sight depicts homelessness and a general abandonment of whatever potentials that life may hold. It was a mix of generations – the old, the new and the very new. It was a sight that I behold nearly everywhere I have been on this vast continent. I also saw the presence of government, it’s efforts in providing medical care to this group. Right there, on the field, was an ambulance attending to whatever medical needs these people have.
I kept on walking until my stomach started speaking in tongues which I deciphered as it saying “I am hungry”. Then came the tempter. In my case, I wasn’t being asked to turn stones to bread as it was with Jesus. It was a still, subtle voice saying you deserve a McDonalds. I took a look at my expanding waist line and remember how my daughter taunts me on this. I said No, I don’t. Aborigines on the moveThen the voice became persuasive, just across from you is a McDonald, it’s the closest place to get a burger. I was yielding to this reason and was about to cross the road when I got strength from above and said begone from me, you Devil. I am not having a burger. I settled for fish and chips and took this along with me to the hotel. It would be my delicious supper. Oh, I almost forgot, it was also with water as I also said No to Coke as well.Yeepee, I survived the tempter!
On getting to the hotel, I noticed an unusual number of vehicles parked everywhere. I went to the receptionist asking to know what was happening. She informed that there was a pool party going on with a live band. I made it to the pool side and there was a lady playing a mixture of cool soul songs to the guitar strings of another member of her band. I took a seat and spread my fish and chips on the table, it was time to eat. I was at peace with myself looking at the vast waters of Roebuck Bay, the harmony between the water and the mangrove forest around it and how calm and easy going the people around me were. Everything was devoid of stress. I imagined this was the way the good Lord wanted the world to be. Damn Adam! He shouldn’t have eaten the forbidden fruit and brought a course upon us all. I took a look at the Cliffs around the bay and the different layers of brownish rocks that have been exposed by the years and years of the water pounding on the cliffs. I concluded that the earth was from old and my faith was once again reaffirmed in the creation story in the book of Genesis.
I looked at my watch, it was a little bit after 9pm, I walked back to my room, placed a few phone calls and fell on the bed with a heavy sigh of “a-ha”. I put on the TV and listened to the news about man’s foolishness and stupidity across many places in the world fuelling wars and death. I said my prayers, closed my eyes and slept.
All he saw was potential…
I woke up to the gleaming rays of sunlight penetrating into my room. I shrugged my shoulders and turned to the other side. If there was anything that I had come to accept as fait accompli in Western Australia, it was the early risen of the morning sun. The sun, in all it’s full glory, rises over the land as early as 5:30am on most days. Today, I am on vacation and was least bothered with the sun. I tried to catch some more sleep. It was futile, I soon gave up as my body clock seemed already programmed to come alive and will not yield to the manual override that I was suggesting. I said my morning prayers, took a quick shower and off to the hotel’s dining room I headed. Got there only to be told that breakfast was not included in my room rate and that I needed to pay $25 extra for this. I chose not to do this.
I headed to Cable Beach as I had been told that no vacation to Broome was complete without visiting this beach. It was the town bus that I joined. This bus looks told a story that it had seen better days and the end was coming to it. The Driver was white bearded and his look was one that suggested he took his work more serious than life. I paid my $4 fee and took my sit at the back of the bus, joining only two other passengers. We passed through China Town, the Airport, the Crocodile Farm and finally were at Cable Beach. The trip afforded me the opportunity to see Broome for all it was – a sleepy old town with a coastline whose glory days have passed. The roads were good with a trickle of vehicles on the roads. The houses were not new and reflect ages in their existence but were well taken care of.
I went straight to the Indian Ocean shore and was whaoed by the sheer cleanliness of the water. It was untainted by filth in any form. Cable BeachYou can see through it and it was luring. For as far as the eyes can see, it all was crystal clear water and there were no dirts anywhere on the beach. It was as if some fellow cleans the beach and he does this diligently and frequently. The beach was not crowded and the few people there were busy pursuing their different passions – yoga, running, walking, swimming and for some just sitting down and taking in the clean fresh air. I took a few pictures, captured the sight on my GoPro and was walking back until the sight of some unusual looking rocks in the middle of the beach caught my attention. I walked towards this mound and was met with another wonder of nature. Cable Beach RocksRight around me were black rock boulders on a floor that seemed to have been tiled by a skilled workman. The tiles were made of limestone rocks that have been smoothened and polished by the incessant washing of the ocean water. It exhumes a sort of beauty. A different kind of beauty. I took some pictures with a plan to print these and frame them up for my wall. I walked back towards the cliff and once again was accosted by the red soil. It was everywhere, covered with some overlay of grasses and other light sand. I am sure those interested in finding out how old the earth was will find some amazing things to work with here. I took a slow climb up the ladder and headed to Sunset Bar & Grill. I settled down to a full continental breakfast for 28 quids, taking my sit at a spot with an unhindered view of the ocean. I ate in silence, slowly, but the whole world around me was noisy, full of chatters. There were family tables and others of friends all having breakfast and talking from the same mouth. It was a delicious meal and after giving it some time to digest, I walked towards the bus stop.
Passing through the car park, I came across the burst image of a gentleman with a parrot on his shoulder. His name, Robert McAlpine. Freeman of BroomeI read the tribute to him and what really caught my attention was the statement “all he saw was potential”. Robert came to Broome from the UK in the late 70s, a time when Broome had been in significant decline with the hay days of the Pearl Industry gone. He saw opportunities to invest in tourism and promoted the rehabilitation of the historical aspects of Broome and he pursued them significantly becoming the architect of present day Broome as a tourist destination. For this, in 2012, the people of Broome awarded him the Freeman of Broome title. I said to myself, if he is the freeman supposedly every other man in Broome is under bondage, a slave maybe?
Well, that said of McAlpine, he did what many in his time would consider brave, he bought into many Broome properties. Some say it was as many as 85, many of which were in disrepair and for a town with no meaningful source of income, one will consider this as great risks. He was said to be responsible for the remodelling of the Sun Pictures, reputed to be the world’s oldest operating picture gardens. In essence, he single handedly managed the transition of Broome from a dying remote town with its lost glories in pearling to the darling of many adventure seekers as a tourist place of interests. As I walked away from his burst image, I wondered whether I see the same thing in Broome to which my answer was an emphatic No. Its not the sort of place on this beautiful planet of ours that I will like to live. I then asked myself again whether I see such opportunities in my home town and country. That got me thinking. Opportunities abound everywhere.
As I moved towards the bus stop shed, I encountered a few camper vans. The dusts on these vans tell a whole story of what they’ve been through to made it to Broome. The occupiers were mainly teens and young individuals whom I assume had taken a gap year out of school to pursue some weird adventures like touring around Australia. A few of them are lazing around in the shades the trees provide while I saw two fellows and a lady, in her bikini, take the trip to the Beach to cool down. I felt this was one thing that I needed to do. To throw all the cares and concerns of life aside for a year or so and be free. Freedom in the sense of seeing the wild beauty that Australia and some other countries provide.
After what seemed an eternity and a lot of sun tanning, the town bus finally arrived with our dear bearded driver at the wheels. As we entered, he took a special interest in one bloke and asked where he was from. Mandurah, the bloke answered. Our bearded driver said something, which I didn’t catch, to mean that he knew him as he had lived in Mandurah before. I was just so happy to be in the bus, with its air condition and shielded from the hot rays of the sun. I thought of the sight of the vast empty lands that I saw from my window in the airplane and concluded that the reason they remained uninhabitable for this long is the fierceness and mercilessness of the weather agents like the sun. Just imagine how people will survive in the wide open under this sun. We were soon at the market, an open local market that holds every Saturday. I alighted from the bus with a couple of other tourists. We crossed the road and were in the market where various articles were displayed for sale, mostly dresses and pearl necklaces. There were a couple of food vendors as well as local paintings. Broome MarketI took a look around, found nothing of significant interests, except for the paintings. The paintings were well presented and were the artists representations of the various relief features of the Kimberly – cliffs, rivers, birds, crocodiles etc. Albeit, these were over-priced and ,to me, they did not represent value for money. I took a few pictures and walked to the Broome Visitors Centre.
…and all I saw was nothing to do….
At the Visitors Center, my attention was drawn to the warning to be careful about purchasing pearls in Boome and to attend a presentation on pearls and what to look for. Visitor CentreI entered the exhibit, with the thoughts of buying a pearl ornament for my wife. After going through the exhibits, the pearls were just not impressive to me and again, like most things in Australia,they were over priced! I walked to the visitors centre look through the various activities and tours on offer like 4X4 drive through the Kimberly, Helicopter flight over the Roebuck Bay, Catamaran trip, open roof bus tour of Broome, visit to the crocodile farm and similar attractions. There was simply no interest from me on these. I took one of the visitors guide and sat down looking through it to see if anything attractive will jump out to me. Nothing did.
It was lunch time and I was hungry. This time there was not much debating between me and myself, I crossed over to the Chicken Place and ordered an ordinary sized chicken burger. I ate this in silence while looking across the oval or field. In the open plain of the field, despite the heat, were the Aborigines in groups. My thoughts wandered on whether these group of Australians were without a home where they could rest their heads and avoid the heat of the day. I could not fathom what the issues were and gave up. When I was done with lunch, I found my way back to the hotel. Mid-way through, my fitbit vibrated, a notification that I had achieved 10,000 steps for the day. I got to the hotel, with a lot of perspiration, and quickly turned on the air conditioner, took off my soaked dress and fell on the bed for an afternoon nap. I woke up around 5pm and went down to the back of the hotel, taking in the beautiful sight of the Roebuck bay, its vegetation and the muddy flats created by the low tides. In the distance, I noticed something unusual, whipped out my camera and zoomed on it. It was a boat, with two men in it, Stuck on the mud flats?possibly stuck in the mud and waiting for the tide to come in. They looked relaxed and were probably fishing as well. The musician started his performance and the crowd started trickling in, taking their sits across the yard. I went to the bar and ordered myself some crocodile meat with a glass of orange juice. I was in the yard for another one hour or so and returned to my room to catch up on the day’s news and what stupid acts men have engaged in again for the day. What was news for the day was the problem in Ukraine and the decision by Russia to mobilise its troops across the national borders of Ukraine to protect its citizens there. I ruminated over this a little and concluded that this was nothing but an act of aggression by Russia. That was not the wisest of all moves. The crazy attack in China of a gang of men wielding knives and stabbing people randomly at the train station, killing 33 in that singular incident, was also mentioned. O God, please help mankind! This was my thought when I went to sleep.
Back to the hustle of Perth…
It was 8am when I woke up the next morning and remembered that I needed to check out of the hotel in less than 2 hours. I called the receptionist and requested for a late check out which she granted without any fuss. I considered whether I could make it to Church here in Broome and felt that was not likely. I got on my phone, made a few calls and then was back to my itinerary on what I needed to do before leaving Broome. It was a visit to the Museum and the gift shop. I was told that today being Sunday it was most unlikely that the two places will be open.
I took my time in saying my prayers, took my bath and read the days papers. Found out that my idol, Dolly Paton just performed at the Perth Arena over the weekend, I was unhappy and asked how come I never knew that Dolly would be in town. I turned on the television and got hooked on an Australian outback trip to Kununnura, a border town in Western Australia, east of Broome. I was awed by the sights shown on the TV, the beautiful mountains and the fresh river that flows for 55km with its residents amongst which were the crocodiles. I concluded that there was a lot to see in Australia and I have not started yet. I packed my few belongings, and went to the receptionist to check out. This time, the receptionist was a young lady of European accents. She wanted to know where I was headed to and I made her know this was Perth. Something in that answer doesn’t satisfy her and she asked where I was originally from. I said Nigeria. She said, a-ha, then the heat here should be nothing to you. I told her that it was something as Nigeria doesn’t get this hot. That was a shocker to her as she said she expected it to be much hotter in Nigeria. Taking on the toga of the Minister of Information for Nigeria, as I have often been called to do, I took some time to explain the weather in Nigeria to her. She told me she was from Scotland and it’s always cold over there. She must be one of the many European students that visit Australia to work and vacate for a period of six months to one year. I said my goodbyes, took an apple from the counter and walked to Chinatown.
I sat down at the Aarli’s bar and ordered a Chicken Meal. On finishing my meal, I walked the 1km distance to the airport, checked in and used the available time I had on hand to finish this journal.My experience in Broome is that it was a sleepy little old town that you may want to visit if you are seeking for some quietness and want to be away from all pressures of modern day city living. However, if you are the very adventurous, unless you are ready to drive a 4×4 and head out into the Kimberly, there is virtually nothing to keep you engaged. Oh Yes, the bars were pretty populated and if you drink, you will find some good company in these. For me, it was another experience and was relaxing to the body. It allowed me to give some thoughts to some pending issues and overall, with someone else paying the bill for the flight, I have no regrets.
The marker that I placed on this book shows that I purchased it in Abuja on 19th Oct 2011. Thinking back, I faintly recollect attending ICAN’s Annual Accountants Conference and must have purchased this book, along with others, at the foyer of the conference. I love books but if the truth must be told, it is not easy finding time within my busy schedule to read and do justice to each of the books in my collection.
Going by the purchase date, I must have started reading this Obama book the very next day it was purchased. I do remember that as I read the first few chapters, I could not put the book down. Having watched Obama deliver different speeches in his current role as the President of America, I have come to admire his oratory skills. He is enchanting and probably more gifted in his ability to use words to move mountains. We saw him do this and getting Obama Care through the house. He recently repeated this in getting the Republican lawmakers to back down on the budget stand-off that would have shut the government and plunge the United States into default. Whichever way you look at him, apart from being the President, he is an interesting orator. In reading his memoir, I was interested in understanding how he came to acquire this skill. Additionally, being the very first black president of the United States, I believe he not only understand what racism is but has coped very well in managing this in a way that equipped and got him into the White House. I wanted to know what he knew and understand how he was able to rise above all odds.
Then, I had to relocate and move my house. I must have struggled between what I needed to take along and what needed to be stored – in the face of restriction on the weight of things that I can ship. Sadly, I could not take the book with me, as with some other very important items also. A recent trip to the storage and high on my list of things to retrieve were the books. Suffice to say that finally, I have finished reading the book. A book that tells of how an ordinary boy of mixed parentage traversed Hawaii, Indonesia, Chicago and in the midst of this was constantly battling with identifying himself – who am I? To me, this is reflective of the battle that goes on daily in the life of many African Americans, Latinos and people of different races growing up in Western Culture. Unfortunately for these people, they are mostly not accepted by their race and not least by America or the Western Country (be it Germany, Australia or UK) that they now called home. So the battle rages on.
For Obama, the trip to Kenya, in search of an answer to the question Who am I did not help to fully resolve this. One thing, however, was that he was able to establish his root, understand the cultures to which he is remotely linked by blood and probably for the very first time, found acceptance in a people that can identify that his name “Obama” doesn’t sound strange! He knew Kenya was home.
One great lesson that one should not miss in the book is that our life journey, the experiences are all important in aiding us to achieve our full potential. Obama the President was Obama the activist, he was Obama the rebellious little Hawaiian boy, who rarely met kids whose families had less than his. The same Obama that all respect and hold dear today was that little boy who was flying kites in Djakarta. He was the same Obama that was moving from one house to another, spending winter in Chicago, to canvasing for better amenities in Altgeld, a dump – and a place to house poor blacks. We should also learn that good parenting is powerful! Where would Obama be today if not for Toot and if not for Gamps? Obama learnt values from his mother and we all should teach our kids values – these outlast everything. He learnt that if he wanted to grow into a human being, he needed some values, values such as Honesty, Fairness, Straight Talk and Independent Judgement.
“All too rarely do I hear people asking just what it is that we’ve done to make so many children’s hearts so hard, or what collectively we might do to right heir moral compass – what values we must live by. Instead I see us doing what we’ve always done – pretending that these children are somehow not our own.” Barack Obama
“There may not be any bad kids,…, but there sure are a lot of bad parents”
“The white man alone is like an ant,
He can be easily crushed.
But like an ant, the white man works together.
His nation, his business –
these things are more important to him than himself
………
Black men are not like this.
Even the most foolish black man
thinks he knows better than the wise man.
That is why the black man will always lose” – Onyango
Following my not too savory experience in Singapore, being a man that will not go down without a fight, I wrote a letter to the Singaporean Immigration Authorities. I sent copies of the letter to the Nigerian High Commissions in Australia and Singapore as well as to the Singaporean High Commission in Australia.
Prior to leaving Changi Airport, on arrival, I had sent in a feedback to the authorities of the Airport. On April 25th, I received a request for further information from the Terminal Operations Manager of the Airport and swiftly provided the requested information. The Airport is yet to get back to me on its position concerning this issue.
However, on Friday I received a very pleasant phone call from the Nigerian High Commissioner to Australia – Amb. Ayo Olukanni. The discussion I him reaffirmed my faith that “we shall overcome someday” our challenges as a nation. The challenges that have made us to be treated with infamy by many nations are basically from the way some of our countrymen have acted or failed to act. The solutions will be in the actions and failure to act of those of us that see a need for change. He was humble, he understood the issues and he was ready to pursue necessary courses of actions within the foreign diplomatic community to ensure that this does not happen to others. He was also frank concerning the challenges that we face as a nation and how this limits the extent to which the consulates can act.
What I appreciate about the call from the Ambassador was that he made the call himself! He did not leave it to any other member of the diplomatic corp to do this, to show his concern, he did this himself. Dear Ambassador, thank you.
I still eagerly await the response from our Singaporean friends and I will keep all updated. However, the message here is for us to be shining examples of Nigerians in every sphere of life we find ourselves. If in doing this, we encounter situations that impinges on our humanity, we should fight back. They that come to equity must come with clean hands, so says our learned friends.
As I sluggishly raised myself off the bed yesterday morning, made a little prayer to the Almighty God, I started the now habitual routine of singing to the almighty. However, just after a few songs, I found myself singing out the Government College Ibadan school song….School of our pride built on the rock.
Yesterday, was a different day. After going through the three (3) stanzas, something compelled me to start once again from stanza one and sing the anthem over and over again. I brushed my teeth and kept on singing the school song, I started meditating on the words. Not that I haven’t done this before, in reality it is something that I do frequently. However, yesterday, it all came to me with a different meaning and a question that I haven’t asked myself before stirred up in me – how have I held true to the words of the school song that I have professed with my lips?
Well, to be candid, I think I have done well, really well. Stanza 1 verse 3 is a prayer that our learnings in school should affect our conduct in life. In my case, those two (2) years I spent within the walls of this great institution kept on shaping my attitude to life and my daily conduct. Given where I am in life today, I will say this prayer is largely answered.
Stanza2 verse 1 professes that I should not be selfish in the rendition of my services; I seem not to have been fully compliant in this regard. Well, to some extent, I will concede that I fell short of the service requirement and …., before you crucify me, I think as a student of Adam Smith, I am justified! Was it not Adam Smith in his “Wealth of Nation” that propounded the gospel that men should be self serving and it is by doing so that the larger society prospers? Like it or not, Paul Samuelson, the renowned economics also supports this when he penned down the following words in his book Economics:
“As every individual … therefore, endeavors as much as he can,….. By pursuing his own interest, he frequently promotes that of the society more effectually than when he really intends to promote it”
There you have it, the society is much better off when I promote service to myself (being selfish) than when I seek the common good of the society! For those who have watched the 1987 film, Wall Street, and the 2010 sequel Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps, you would not deny knowing Gordon Gekko. He was the one that uttered the statement that Greed is Good in 1987. After spending 23 years in prison, he came out in 2010 to reaffirm that Greed is not only good but it is legal!
Yes, I am aware that many will ask – Bimbo are you nuts? No not really. I still believe in service to others but I disagree with the “not to self” ending in that stanza. I think it should change to service to others and to self.
The next stanza encourages consideration for Nigeria first in all my doings. Well I have always been moved by this and despite the happening on in Nigeria, I still remain committed to this ideal. The Christian Faith, which I profess, in Psalm 122:6 commands us to pray for the peace of Jerusalem. In my case, Nigeria is my Jerusalem and it is important for me to pray and seek its peace always. In Jer 29:7, concerning the captives of Israel, God commanded that they should:
“…seek the peace of the city whither I have caused you to be carried away captives, and pray unto the LORD for it: for in the peace thereof shall ye have peace.”
So if God commands us to pray for our captors, it does naturally follow that we should seek the peace of our own land.
When it comes to showing honest labours dignity, I will give myself a pass mark in this also. I have endeavored to do this through my actions and not by the words of my mouth but as many will agree, this is rather a herculean task.
At the end of this monologue with myself, I recommitted myself to the vision of the school and sang the school anthem with a new sense of pride, knowing that I have not deviated from its ideals. How I wish I can stand again before Principal Fashina and sing the school song.
For my readers, can you share your school songs in the comment to this piece? Have you hold true to the ideals enshrined in the words of the song?
Government College Ibadan – School Song
School of our pride built on the rock,
By order, justice and fair play ruled,
May what we dare to learn from thee in youth
Be our guide light throughout our lives
School of our pride we build on thee.
Service is to others not to self,
Consideration for our Nation first,
By our examples and not by precept,
Show honest labours dignity,
School of our pride we build on thee.
Generations shall come and go,
But our pride youth will for aye remain,
May be not in the confines of your walls,
But in Alumni world-renowned.
School of our pride we build on thee
Lagelu Grammar School, Ibadan – School Song
Who are students bright and gay,
here they are in Lagelu
Diligent and disciplined,
here they are in Lagelu
Chorus: Wherever I go; whatever I be,
I’ll always uphold your name.
Hold you dear;hold you near,
to my heart, Lagelu
In classroom work;
in the field of play
social life and everything,
lazy drones, cheats and idlers,
have no room in Lagelu
Over the years, I have read a couple of biographies and when this book was sent to me by a friend, my reaction was – this is another one of them. My approach to reading biography is always one of caution, I am cautious because I know that everyone likes to look good and as such any biographical work ends up in being an advertisement of how “holier than thou” the subject was. Of course, I do not believe that any human being is a saint, perfect and without blemish!
Thank God that Eric Metaxas did not potray Dietrich as one of these saints, that job was left to the Westminster Abbey who has classified him as one of the 20th Century Martyrs. Eric Metaxas simply led us through the live and times of Dietrich and allows us to end up with the conclusions that we want to make of this life – a gift from God for his generation and our generation.20th Century Martyrs
Before the German’s murdered democracy with the tools of democracy and the German state became Hitler’s stronghold, the Bonhoeffer family was already an accomplished one with an envious lineage. It was to this family that Dietrich was born, who in 1920 decided to become a theologian! This, to me was his first act of rebellion, At 14, he was already a rebel. A rebel against becoming an accomplished scientist like his dad or a high profile lawyer like his brother Klaus became with Lufthansa. He was a theologian from a family that wasn’t churchgoing. It was to the credit of Paula and Karl Bonhoeffer, Dietrich’s parents that they treated Dietrich’s choice with respect and cordiality.
The entire book, to me highlights the struggle of a man – Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who appeared to be a captive of God and it raises the question of how impossible it is to reconcile God’s calling with the popular belief system in the world without being looked at as someone with a nut missing upstairs, just like Jeremiah in the Bible? Obedience to God is simply enmity with the world and enmity with the world will almost always certainly lead to one having to lay down his life. As Henning von Tresckow, one of Dietrich’s co-conspirators in the plan to assassinate Hitler puts it, a human being’s moral integrity begins when he is prepared to sacrifice his life for his convictions. This was an issue that confronted Dietrich, it is the same issue that confronts us all on a daily basis. The bible makes us to understand that though we live in the world, we are not of the world – John 15:19. So like Dietrich, are we willing to lay down our lives in defence of our faith?
Again, in 1933, before many within the German state became conscious that they were far from shore, alone in a boat with a madman (Hitler), Dietrich’s rebellion came to the surface. This time, the church was dilly dallying and a stance need be taken – to be with Hitler, which was the most obvious choice to many and popular, or to support the Jews against the Nazi and the state. The church could not take a stand but Dietrich did. He took a stand. Though he was not a Jew, he would stand with the Jews and hence incur the wrath of the state. It was one that was unpopular but one he took with God. He declared that it was the duty of the church to stand up for the Jews. As if that was not enough, he also put three responsibilities before the church then –
1. It must question the state;
2. It must help the state’s victim and
3. Work against the state, if necessary.
There you have it, the seed of rebellion was germinating and would grow up to be a tree of conspiracy. Let’s contrast this with the stance Martin Niemoller took, a stance that haunted him all his life, and led him to putting together these infamous words:
First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out –
because I was not a Socialist.
Then they came for the Trade unionists, and I did not speak out –
because I was not a Trade Unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out –
because I was not a Jew.
And then they came for me –
and there was no one left to speak for me.
Dietrich’s had a calling, one that was quite clear to him. What was not clear to Dietrich, was what the end would be. He wasn’t bothered by it and he needed not to – as he was entirely submissive to the one who had called. Even in the face of imminent death, such was his submission that a co-prisoner testified that he
“saw Pastor Bonhoeffer kneeling on the floor, praying fervently to God…so devout and so certain that God heard his prayer….I have hardly ever seen a man die so entirely submissive to the will of God.”
Isn’t this descriptive of exactly what Jesus did on at Gethsemene? There he cried out to the father and asked
O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt. Matt 26:39
Dietrich and Jesus, were entirely submissive. Though they would rather not want to die but were ready to lay down their lives in total obedience to God – if that was what God willed, which happened to be the case for them. Just like Dietrich, we all have our callings and I will argue that it is clear to us. In one place, Jesus spelt it out that we should go into the world and make disciples of all nations. Again, like Dietrich what is unclear to us all is what the end would be to us and we remain bothered by this which we ought not to be, if we believe on him that has called.
On April 9th 1945, Dietrich, this prisoner of the living God was hanged – he had been imprisoned for two years and it was just two (2) weeks before the Allied Forces marched into the same Flossenburg concentration camp and freed all the other prisoners. Listening to Dietrich’s sermon, years back in London in November 1933, one is tempted to conclude that his death finally was freedom to the beginning of a new life. In that sermon he had stated:
“No one has yet believed in God and the kingdom of God, no one has yet heard about the realm of the resurrected, and not been homesick from that hour, waiting and looking forward joyfully to being released from bodily existence.”
I asked myself the question – why did the living God allow Dietrich to die so close to when he could have been liberated and end up doing so much more work for God amongst the living? This question is made more troubling in that this same living God, our God, in his permissive will also allowed Hitler, the evil incarnate, to escape his assassination.
Claus Schenk von Stauffenberg, regarding Hitler, said he had searched his conscience
“before God and before myself. This man is evil incarnate….It’s time now for something to be done. He who has courage to act must know that he will probably go down in German history as a traitor. But if he fails to act, he will be a traitor before his own conscience”.
With that in mind, he took the courageous step and planted a bomb – six feet from the Fuhrer’s legs. This was the plan, to which Dietrich and others were co-conspirators. It was to remove Hitler and spare the world the agony and the pain that was being unleashed on it. Yet Hitler would be saved and get more hardened declaring that
“It was Providence that spared me….This proves that I’m on the right track. I feel this is the confirmation of all my work”.
Well, some will argue that maybe Dietrich in this instance did not hear from God. Did God tell him to be part of the conspiracy to remove Hitler? Was it not the same God that prevented David from laying his hands on Saul in a cave in the wilderness of Engedi? Despite the Spirit of God having departed from Saul, David will not put forth his hand against the LORD’s anointed but cut off a piece of Saul’s skirt to evidence that he could have killed Saul? Could God himself not have slaughtered Pharaoh and let the children of Israel go but rather requested Moses to carry out ten signs through which he gradually hardened Pharaoh’s hearts and then laid his hands on Egypt so that they came to know that “He is the LORD”?
It will be difficult to fault such a logic but again God works in mysterious ways. With God allowing Hitler to live, through his permissive will, the world would witness more agony, despair and the death of uncountable numbers of Jews and that of Dietrich in concentration camps. The world will come to know that HE is the LORD and rules in the affairs of man! So why will God permit Dietrich to die and Hitler to live? Would my creator not have demonstrated his mighty powers to the world more by allowing the bomb to blow up Hitler and spare the world the agonies and sufferings to come? So if God had required Dietrich to act on his conviction and be a part of the conspiracy to remove Hitler, should God not have shown up with signs and wonders?
Just stretching my imagination, could it be that God wants him to die as a martyr and not from cancer, after all he was a cigarette smoker? I don’t know the answer but it was God’s will and Dietrich died. The answer to these questions are at the heart of why we have atheist in the world. In the biography of Steve Jobs by Walter Isaacson, the reporting on the sufferings of the Biafran children was what led Steve Jobs out of the church. He never came back and death took him as an atheist or if you like, a Buddist. He just could not fathom why a just God will allow the unjust to flourish in the world and cause much pain and sufferings. The only consolation I have, that we all have, as Christians, is that God’s works are perfect and his ways are just. As Moses puts it in Deuteronomy 32: 3 -4 :
For I proclaim the name of the Lord;
Ascribe greatness to our God!
The Rock! His work is perfect,
For all His ways are just;
A God of faithfulness and without injustice,
Righteous and upright is He.
Through the mouth of Isaiah (Isaiah 55:8-9) God himself said:
For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways,
and my thoughts than your thoughts.
So why do we think we are different and that our calling is not to die in obedience to God? In this was a challenge to me, and maybe to all of us who claim to be a Christian – there are simply no guarantees with the faith we profess. But isn’t there one? Did God not assure us, again through the mouth of Isaiah in Isaiah 43:2 that:
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
and the flame shall not consume you.
For I am the Lord your God,
the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.
Yes, there is a guarantee that we will pass through the waters and surely through the fires as well but we will not be consumed. How then does one interpret what the word “consume” mean, seeing that Dietrich died? For Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, they were spared death yet they went through the fire. Their faith was of such that they were prepared and defied the King even if God whom they serve will not deliver them out of the Kings hands. In their case, God showed up for them and delivered them while they were in the fiery furnace. God did not show up for Dietrich, neither did he show up for Jesus – they both died. And then, God showed up. In Dietrich’s case, the world came to know and receive him as a martyr, one of the very few in the 20th century. We all know of Jesus.
So we all do pray and want God in our lives but are we willing to be like Dietrich or be obedient as Christ disipes and live out our calling as Christ-ians – Christ like? Just before we answer and get on our knees for our next prayer, let’s consider Jeremiah. He was just as much flesh and blood as we are, a human being like ourselves? He was entirely submissive to God and yet he went through pains, was mocked, brutalized and generally upbraided as a disturber of the peace, an enemy of the people. He was a prisoner and he had to follow. His path was prescribed and it was the path of the man whom God will not let go, who will never be rid of God. At God’s instructions, he did things that caused him pain and sufferings, was taken captive, held in chain.
Now let us pray, knowing that our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. This is the way Paul puts it in 2 Cor 4:17. this is the only way to look at our trials and temptations while we are still part of this world. Let us pray to be of use to God and that his will, not ours be done. Isn’t that what Jesus commands in the LORD’s prayer?
If all the message of Dietrich’s life is lost to us, one message that should not be lost is that anything short of complete obedience to God is “cheap grace”. Action must follow what one believed, else one could not claim to believe it.
Are we acting out our believe and leaving God to take care of the ending? So Steve G, thank you for sending this book my way and making me another like you – thought provoked and challenged.
The plan for the day was to get to the Ion Mall and buy a few clothes for the kids. We took the very first step by calling a cab and requested to be taken to Orchard Street. The trip from Marina Bay Sands to Orchard Street was a fifteen minute drive and one gets caught up with the sights and sounds of Singapore. Before we knew it, we were there.
On alighting at the mall, the plans changed. I wasn’t the least surprised by this, it’s in the character of my family to do this as often as they can . At least, until I say enough. This time, they will like to have their breakfast before anything else. We wandered around a bit and then at a corner I saw the Popeyes logo. I was enthralled and parted ways with the rest of the gang, who by now have chosen to have their meal at a high end restaurant. I have always relished cajun food and all the gombos that come from Louisiana.
The lady that attended to me was cautious and the aroma from the kitchen was mouth watering. Soon, my meal arrived and I settled down to savor it. I was enjoying the meal when I started looking at the layout of the shop, the art decors and the various designs on the wall. Then I saw it. The 7 Nations of Louisiana.
It couldn’t be! Was it me? I wasn’t sure. After all my kids have been telling me recently of how bad my English had become. Even if they were right, something was wrong with the poster. Seven nations, Louisiana? Oh yes, its the nation word that is amiss. The modern invention called smart phones has made all needed information to be available at one’s fingertips. Soon I brought out my Samsung Galaxy from where it was hiding and with a few strokes here and there, I was on dictionary.com to get a definition of the word – nation. Of the four definitions that I got, the most apt states that a nation is an aggregation of persons of the same ethnic family, often speaking the same language or cognate languages.
I knew it, the piece by Popeyes was wrong. Popeyes had stated that Louisiana was settled by people from seven different nations and went on to list these nations as Native American, England, Germany, Spain, Italy, France and Africa. The truth is Africa is not a nation in the way that any of England, Germany, Spain, Italy or France can be regarded as one. At the simplest, as any elementary geography student would know, Africa is a continent of nations. To compare like terms, it might have been permissible for Popeyes to state that Louisiana was populated by people from three continents – America, Europe and Africa.
So on what basis will anyone regard Africa as a nation? I pondered a little on what the thoughts were that went through the minds of the Popeyes advertising team. I couldn’t fathom it. With 54 fully recognized sovereign states and at least 1billion people, I still cannot understand how this large land mass has come to be regarded as one nation. Yet the smaller land mass called Europe was broken down by Popeyes to show the respective constituents of England, Germany, Spain, Italy and France amongst others. I think a similar comparison would have been to mention the Zulus, the KhoiKhoi, the Maasai, the Touaregs, the Yorubas, Hausas among other countless nations within Africa.
For the records and, perhaps, to correct the fallacies that Popeyes had made, Africa is a continent, in fact the second largest continent. It is not a nation, no matter the way that word is stretched. I hope the good people of Popeyes will correct this, being more enlightened and believing that this error was a result of an honest mistake and not intentional mischief.
By the way the word nation has been in use since around 1250 to 1300, hence not much excuse exist for Popeyes for the wrong usage of the word.
Being an African or a Nigerian does not make me a criminal.
The country of my birth is not a factor that should be used in determining my criminal tendencies. Of the various life choices that I can make, neither the circumstance of my birth nor who my parents are was within my power of choices, the reality is that others made these choices for me, before I had my first breath on this planet. This holds true for each and every human that shares this space called Earth with me. What each of us can then only do is to live out our lives within the confines of these two choices that have been made for us.
As Martin Luther King rightly looked for, many today are still looking for a world where they will not be judged by the colour of their skins but by the content of tbeir character. Unfortunately, this simple dream made public at the steps of the Lincoln Memorial on 28th August 1963 remains a dream for many almost fifty years after MLK groaned it out.
I was born in the rainforest of Nigeria to a family of modest means. In my years of existence on this part of eternity, I have jealously protected my name and created an expectation around the name – one that many have come to agree stands for honesty, justice and godliness. I stand untainted by blemish, of any form. This is my little light that I am making to shine. To be fair, given the thick darkness that pervades my environment, my little light shines really bright.
Unlike many that share the same circumstance of being Nigerian with me, I have been favourably smiled at by the creator who has taken me to the far and near of this wonderful world that he made in six days. Starting with road trips to the Republic of Benin, my world sojourn grew to encompass other countries as the United Kingdom, the United States and then France. My travel map covers such countries as South Korea, Germany, Hong Kong, Thailand, Qatar, UAE, China and South Africa. Oh I forgot to mention Singapore as well. Yes, same Singapore which I visited visa free in 2006.
In these sojourns, I had gone through various experiences at the hands of immigration officials, some not so good and others simply wonderful. The very first was in California in 2005 while trying to cross the Pacific to Korea. My family and I got pulled back, from the entire passengers that were to board the United flight, for bomb tests .Of course, I protested that this was racial profiling.
I had always told the world, at least those who cared to listen, that when it comes to acts of terrorism, the world should focus its energies somewhere else away from Nigeria. It was a sound argument, and it held true, until my countryman Abdulmutallab decided to give a Christmas gift to Nigeria by becoming the first recorded Nigerian suicide bomber. Arguments abound as to whether one can truly regard him as a Nigerian, given that he spent more years out of Nigeria than he did within it. However the reality is that he carried a Nigerian passport. Shortly after, I was leaving Houston and words are not enough to describe the humiliating experience of being pulled aside and being thoroughly searched because I some from a country of interest. Thank God that, with much outcry, the United States soon changed her policy and the Nigerian passport does not necessarily put you on the radar for special treatment.
I thought I had seen it all, how wrong I was! It all started with a desire of the family to vacate somewhere outside Australia. The plan was to spend a few days in the Phillipines and since we would transit in Singapore do same as well in Singapore. We sent in our papers for Visa to the Singaporean embassy, paid the required fees and gotten the eVisa. Remember, as at 2006 when we visited this country, as a Nigerian you do not need a visa. The pre-approval for the Phillipines Visa came a little below two weeks before our planned departure. To send our passports to the consulate for tbe phillipines visa was adjudged high risk as we may not get this back before our planned travels. So we decided to spend all the travel days in Singapore.
We arrived Singapore in the early morning hours and then going through immigration, I was reminded of my reality that I am a Nigerian when the official pulls my son and I apart for further examination. We watched as the entire passengers of our flight were allowed through immigration and no other persons were pulled aside. We were taken to a different room and our passports subjected to such scrutiny as a medical researcher would do to a specimen under a microscope. Then followed the barrage of questions – Who were we, what were we doing in Singapore, What do I do In Australia and on and on. Thirty or more minutes passed and we were then handed over our passports. I asked the official why we had to go tbrough this and he said it was because we are Nigerians. And why was that an issue? Simply they’ve had issues with some Nigerians that were travelling on fake passports.
When I got reunited with my wife and daughter, my girl in the innocency of a child asked “Daddy, why were you taken away and nobody else was from the passengers? How do I start explaining to her that it is the burden that comes with carrying a Nigerian passport? How do I complain to the Singapore officer that what he just did was ridiculous and is racial profiling? Given the news about the monstrous atrocities of the Boko Haram sect in Northern Nigeria, the MEND in the south and the continued piracy along the coasts of the Nigeria state, how do I convince the Singaporean officer that subjecting me to such scrutiny in their desire to protect their people and border was wrong?
I was angry, angry that my family and I had to go through this ridicule, angry at each and everyone of our citizens that has made the name Nigeria synonymous with 419 fraud, religious bombings, public corruption, moral delinquency and a tendency towards a failed state. I was angry at myself that I have not done enough in changing the trajectory of that country. My anger was more about us as a people and less about Singapore.
The very next morning, my son drew my attention to an article in a Singapore Magazine stating that a Nigerian Internet Service Provider leads the world when it comes to sending out sham mails – 62% of the addresses controlled by the ISP were noticed to be sending out spam.
As you read this piece would you join me in being the change that Nigeria needs. Remember, our little lights will shine brighter and will eventually overcome the thick darkness.
This Wednesday, at the corner of Essex and Cambridge, I stood waiting for the bus that will take me on my daily commute to earn a living. In my hand was the book Bonhoeffer, a book that I have been reading and just have not been able to finish because of life’s other engagements. Noting that it will take the bus another five minutes to get to me, I opened the book to the page where I had stopped previously with the intent to continue with my reading. I soon realised that the lighting at the bus stop was insufficient, the last thing that I was looking for was to hurt my eyes. I closed the book and was soon lost in my thoughts.
What it was, that I was thinking, I cannot remember but I saw walking directly towards me, the frame of a man. He was bent, his strides were not without efforts and his sagging tummy seems to tell of a man that has let life gone past him. Added to all these were the loud grunts, he gives one of these with each movement of his leg. All these done while walking with a posture that seems will topple over at any second.
It did not take time for me, or rather my mind, to jump into conclusions. Simply, this was a man that had lived a rough life and deserve whatever sickness or ailment that was bothering him. By this time, the man has gotten to where I was standing and took a seat under the bus shed. He called out , Hi Mate and I responded how are you today.
Not good, not good at all, I am the pill man, he said. I asked him why he is the pill man to which he explained that he takes more than a dozen pills. None of these pills work at curing his ailments but to reduce his pains and sufferings. He mentioned how sad he was and that he is looking forward to the day he will be happy, when his ailments are cured. By this time, the milk of human kindness, which I did not believe I had enough of, have started flowing and I took a seat by him. I tried to make him see each day as a beautiful gift that he should cherish and be happy with. I explained that the journey is of more importance than the destination. He talked of his habits earlier in life and how these destroy his lungs and now to live each day is a struggle. I encouraged him not to give up and we talked on a few more issues and then I saw my bus approaching. Hey, the bus is here, I said let’s go. He said he was not waiting for the bus but was sitting down to catch his breath and will soon be on his way. I said my goodbyes and took my seat in the bus.
I was soon lost, again in my thoughts, and was oblivious to everything else during the entire journey to the office. This time, I thought of how I was so selfish in my personal pursuits that I had not taken stock of the very many things that the good God has made available to me. I thought of my health, my work, my kids and my family and I ended up saying “Thank You Lord”. I also thought of the Pill man and I said a little prayer for him – that God should lay his healing hands on him and bring joy his way.
On Wednesday, I had a very different day at work and at home, all because I met the Pill Man.
The Bible encourages that we should give thanks, in all things. I have been younger and been through circumstances and situations that I thought was the worst thing to befall a man. Looking back at those situations now, my mouth is filled with laughter knowing that “it always could have been worse”.
Meritocracy was further undermined in 1979 by the introduction of the Federal Character Principle, which sets a quota for the number of public servants to be appointed from each state. It applies both to recruitment into the public service and to appointments to the top echelons of the service, such as permanent secretaries, directors generals, and heads of extra-ministerial departments and agencies………Although the underlying principle is sound in a diverse country such as Nigeria, its application is said by civil servants themselves to be grossly abused, with merit often sacrificed to mediocrity as patently less qualified people get appointed to posts in the name of fulfilling the principle.”
Reforming the Unrefornable – Lessons from Nigeria by Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala page 5.
The Master Workman.My Pastor, Ben Johnston of the Subiaco Church, in continuation of his teaching “At the feet of Jesus” gave a wonderful illustration of what faith is and why God wants us to have faith in him.
The story is about a traveler who has hiked for many miles across the Desert Mountains and in doing so has completely used up his water supply. He knew that death was imminent if he didn’t find water soon. He soon came across an abandoned cabin where he discovered an old well. To the well pump was tied a can with a note inside.The note said:
“Dear stranger: This water pump is in working condition, but the pump needs to be primed in order for the water to come out. Under the white rock, I buried a jar of water, out of the sun. There’s enough water in the jar to prime the pump, but not if you drink any first.”
The Stranger was faced with a dilema of the sort we all get faced with, when there is a tempting of our faith. Given the rustiness of the pump and cabin, it was obvious that the note had been written a few years back. So the question was, even if the note were to be true as at the time it was written, how certain could the stranger be that the pump would still work? Conventional wisdom suggests he should simply drink all the water in the bottle and not risk the danger of death from thirst by pouring the water into the pump, that is if the pump didn’t work.
The stranger sat for some while and ponder over the choice he had to make and the many variables that faced him that he wasn’t in control of. What if the pump worked? Finally he chose to pour the water in the pump and started working the pump with all the energy he had left. No water came out but as he worked the pump harder, there was a burst of water and the water just kept flowing such that he jad a full fill that he needed as well as washed and soaked himself in the water.
He noticed that the note also said:
“When you are finished, please fill the jar and put it back as you found it for the next stranger who comes this way.”
He filled the bottle, corked it and place it in the original place where he foud it. Next, he took out his pen and wrote in his handwriting on the bottom part of the note:
“Please follow the instructions in this note to the letter, believe me it work
signed – weary, thirsty, almost dead traveller that got his life back by following the instructions”
They that don’t learn from history are bound to repeat its mistakes.
Stella Odua is embarking on a journey, she is taking a familiar route and how I wish someone will draw her attention to the fact that we have taken this same route before. Someone once said that doing the same thing, the same way, over and over again and expecting a different result is the height of foolishness. Will someone tell her that the solution to the problems with the nigerian Airline Industry is not in the Federal Government setting up a new carrier or even buying planes.
Sometimes ago, she was sending out the right signals and it seems she has recently been bewitched by the high and mighty. We need strong airlines and not a multiplicity of weak ones. Mergers in the aviation industry will achieve this.
The recent pronouncement of our dear President, at the burial of the late General Andrew Owoyi Azazi, makes my stomach stir violently. According to Jonathan, “Corruption is not the cause of our problem, Nigeria has more institutions that fight corruption.Most of the issues we talk about are not corruption.If we do things properly, if we change our attitudes of doing things most of the thing we thinks are caused by corruption are not.”
When I read this, I thought maybe the newspaper erred and that a refutal will soon follow. However, since neither the President nor his very vibrant mouth piece, Reuben Abati, has come out to refute the newspaper article then I believe the President actually made the statement.
Given Jonathan’s unhindered access to the daily security reports, we do expect that the President should be atop of the going ons in the country that he governs. Also, we do know where Nigeria stands on the Transparency International’s Corruption Perceptions Index. Just in case we have forgotten, we are 139th out of 176 countries surveyed in 2012. According to this report, Nigeria is said to have remained entrenched in corruption without making much progress to fight the menace!
Now we have two reports – Our dear Jonathan’s and that of TI. At home, the experiences of our common citizens tend to support the fact that corruption is endemic in our society. Have you tried to apply for a Nigerian Passport? What of filing an application for installation of meter in your home, admission to universities for your kids and getting a police report, amongst many other things that Nigerians do on a day to day basis? If God were a man, Nigerians will device all manner of ways to cause him to be corrupt but thank God, he is God and not man.
Given the pronouncement of GEJ, I tried to fathom why someone expected to have so much information will know so little about what is happening in the nation. So I arrived at the conclusion that it is either he is getting a whole lot of doctored and false information about the country or he is just a little less gifted in the area of understanding. Even where any of these two options were to be true, I am still ridiculed that he is not lacking as to the gift of sight – he sees. When he saw the corpse of Azazi, should he not demand to know why a military helicopter came crashing despite the massive budgetary provisions for defence?
My dear Mr. Jonathan, the beginning of recovery is to know what really is our problem. It is only when we have fully identified what our problems are that we can actually start a true journey at solving them. Since you do not even know what problems besiege our nation, I doubt if you will ever be able to set this nation on the path of recovery.
My fellow Nigerians, we are in a deep trench and unfortunately we will be there until this administration packs up. Don’t look up to GEJ for a solution, apparently there is much more confusion in Aso Rock than anywhere else in the nation.
Many might have forgotten but in March this year, we had a Nigerian Police Chopper crash which took the lives of four (4) top policemen, including DIG John Haruna. In the wake of this accident, I wrote a piece on my blog Ooh the Chopper went down!. The premise of my write up then was that these machines don’t just suddenly stop flying, it usually has to do with human failures in maintenance as per the dictates of the manufacturers.
Maintenance is costly and I need not re-check the budget of the federation to know that huge sums of money are earmarked for these, for the Police and the military forces. So the question that needs be asked is what happened to these allocations if they were not used for the maintenance schedules for which they were appropriated? One doesn’t need an Harvard degree to reach a conclusion that these funds were consumed by the corruption that has eaten so deep into the fabrics that weave the Nigerian nation together.
While all death is saddening and the nation mourns the death of Yakowa and Azazi, we should brace up for more! I am not a saddest but the truth is always a bitter pill to swallow. If we continue on the path of misappropriating funds and starving critical needs of funds, there will be increasing mishaps similar to the one that has claimed the lives of these two gentlemen, amongst others.
The mystery of death is that not many of us knows when and how we are going to die. Unfortunately the grandiose attached to the office of those who are ruling us has deluded them into thinking they are not as mortal as the majority of us are. This in itself is not a phenomenon new to man. In Ancient Rome, legend has it that victorious generals while parading through the street were often trailed by servants whose job it was to repeat to them “Memento mori”:Remember you will die. While our death is a certainty (except for those who are fortunate to witness the rapture), lest it not be said that we hasten our death by being directly or indirectly responsible!
If there is any lesson at all to learn from this loss, it is the need for all of us to shun corruption and get our dilapidating equipments and infrastructure maintained. Again, the paper is awash with news of how the government will investigate the cause of this naval crash in Bayelsa, who is fooling whom? When the Police helicopter crashed in March, the Inspector General was also all over the press promising an investigation. Have we stopped to ask what was the outcome of that investigation? What lessons did we learn from that investigation? What measures have we put in place to assure this will not happen again?
The bell is tolling again and who is next, we do not know. Lest those who are in the corridors of power stop a second and think of their mortality. Let them think of what legacy they will leave behind. This corruption is killing us all.
Not all things that are lawful are necessarily expedient! Apostle Paul makes this known vividly when he said that “All things are lawful for me, but all things are not expedient: all things are lawful for me, but all things edify not” in 1 Cor 10:23
No matter how we decide to slice this issue, I think these purchases (as it is with such other purchases by many of our men in white robes) are a result of error in judgement. Many people do judge books by their covers (despite the conventional advice that we should not). Rightly or wrongly, many men of different faith persuasions will never step in a church in their lives but their understanding of the Christian faith will be assessed by the flamboyant wealth display of our jet owning pastors. Of course they are more glamorous and adorn the cover pages of our magazines than those faithful few that are tucked in the remote corners of the country doing great missionary works for God.
As I understand it, the word Christianity means to be Christ like – it was first used for the disciples at Antioch where they had everything in common and touched every life. Jesus was able to command money out of the mouth of a fish to pay his taxes. This suggest, at least to me if not o anybody else, that if Jesus were to be in need of money to meet with any of his “wants”, he could have easily gotten this but he chose not to fulfil his wants but was content with satisfying his needs – which he expressed as basically to do his father’s will. Have we considered that in the days of Jesus Christ there were horse driven chariots and Jesus owned none? Could Jesus also not have acquired one on the pretext that such was needed to spread the gospel to the “uttermost part of the earth”. I can’t recall the master has having done this.
So let’s ask ourselves, what is the excuse for the jet planes that our pastors have now come to crave in a country where many are living in squalor? Have we run out of people that we can make impacts to their lives? Would society not have been better served if these funds were otherwise used to “buy the future” by investing in missionary schools, the likes that gave many of them the lives they are currently enjoying?
Judgement is coming and it will start from the house of God!
On 17th November 2012, Fareed Zakaria lived to his billing – a good orator with sharp insights of the undercurrents that shape politics and economy. I am pretty sure that neither Airtel (the organizers of the Night of Influence) nor the 500 influential men and women that attended the event were disappointed.
Fareed came, delivered his message, (most likely collected his speaker’s honorarium) and has since left the shores of Nigeria, maybe never to step back. What I find disheartening is that there is simply nothing new that Fareed has told us that we did not know about. To be fair to Fareed, this was not due to lack of research or preparation on his part. No! Simply put, there is nothing new that we need to hear as to how to fix our country.
A couple of months ago, I was at a professional conference in Abuja. The invited speaker was asked to come and speak to us regarding corruption. This wise sage, who has also grown weary about being invited to lecture on corruption, came to the podium and announced why he was invited to the conference. Thereafter, he asked the question whether there was anyone in the audience that did not understand what corruption was. No hands came up. Thereafter he followed with the question – “Is there anyone that does not know how to stop corruption”? Still, no hands were raised. As a courtesy, he said he will help us, in case there was anyone in the crowd that doesn’t understand how to stop corruption – do not give and do not take bribes. Thereafter, this man went back to his seat and told the conference organisers to continue with the agenda.
We all know what our problem is in Nigeria – we have leaders who are epitomes of corruption and we have followers who are indifferent and too weak to demand accountability from the leaders. If we simply address these, we need no Fareed nor any sage out there to lecture us on “Political Economy of Africa: the Challenge of Leadership”. Fareed was on point in terms of the weakness in leadership but this is not a new lesson to us. The greater question is how do we address this and are Nigerians really ready to change this? I think the answer is “NO” – Nigerians are simply too resilient, cowardly and will rather continue to be onlookers until the nation is completely plundered.
One maxim that comes handy and that I expect Fareed and everyone that really want to help Nigeria to preach is this – “They only deserve freedom, who are prepared to defend it”. The question is are Nigerians prepared to defend a corrupt free Nigeria? The lesson from the Arab Spring that forced the rulers of Tunisia, Egypt, Libya and Yemen from power is that when the people are really ready for change, change will definitely come.
Thanks Fareed Zakaria, but we as Nigerians need to step up and determine our fate.
What are you reading? I am currently reading Steve Jobs by Walter Isaacson.
“In July 1968 Life magazine published a shocking cover showing a pair of starving children in Biafra. Jobs took it to Sunday school and confronted the church’s pastor.
“If I raise my finger, will God know which one I’m going to raise even before I do it?”
The pastor answered, “Yes, God knows everything.”
Jobs then pulled out the Life cover and asked, “Well, does God know about this and what’s going to happen to those children?”
“Steve, I know you don’t understand, but yes, God knows about that.”
Jobs announced that he didn’t want to have anything to do with worshipping such a God and he never went back to church”
According to Jobs, “The juice goes out of Christianity when it becomes too based on faith rather than on living like Jesus or seeing the world as Jesus saw it.”
extracted from pages 14 to 15 of Steve Jobs by Walter Isaacson. Published by Simon & Schuster 2011.
Some questions to ask –
1. If this Pastor were to know his answers would cause Steve to renounce everything about Christianity, would he have handled this differently?
2. Could any answer have caused Steve not to renounce Christianity. In essence, was he using this Biafran issue as an escape opportunity?
3. What is the appropriate role of faith in Christianity, remembering that the Bible says that without faith, it is impossible to please God and even jesus rebuke his disciples for being of little faith? Should everything be based on faith with no provision for common sense?
“He was not a model boss or human being, tidy packaged for emulation. Driven by demons, he could drive those around him to fury and despair. But his personality and passions and products were all inter-related, just as Apple’s hardware and software tended to be, as if part of an integrated system. His tale is thus both instructive and cautionary, filled with lessons about innovation, character, leadership, and values.”
extract from page xxi of “Steve Jobs” by Walter Isaacson
For those who know her, she must have told you countless of times that she is growing up to become a model, a dancer and a singer.
Well, as we are told, the mighty Iroko tree started from being a small plant. Kiishi, participated in the dance presentation by her age grade in her school recently and the dance effort is here for all to enjoy. She is starting out well on her chosen path and for all you out there that are fans of Beyonce, this is your opportunity to witness the history of a greater than Beyonce.
Her name? Simply call her Kishia (and I hope I spelt this right this time as she has been accusing me to be an awful father that can’t spell her daughter’s name).
Let’s Stand up and give a rousing ovation for Kishia. Please click here for the video.
Chinua, our own Chinua, widely respected all over the world and the author of the best selling book ever to be written by an African(Things Fall Apart) recently put his personal experiences as a Nigerian and then a Biafran together and named the book There Was a Country.
To start with, he stated clearly that the content of the book are his personal experience and one should commend him for his views. At the very least, Chinua is entitled to write his opinions, experiences and views of the events that happened in making him the man that he is today. That is no sacrilege. Also, at no time did he make any attempt at claiming that his views represent those of the larger society. Additionally, he went to great extents to provide written references to support various assertions that he made in the book. To me, anyone that is interested in understanding the Nigerian dilemma, why a country blessed with so much has only strive and poverty to show for it, needs to read Chinua’s accounts as well as those other books that he referenced.
History, many says, is bound to repeat itself. If we as Nigerians do not get a grasp of our past, then our future remains bleak as we would have denied ourselves that very important piece of knowledge informing us of where we have been. As an elder and a constant voice over the decades in the build up of the Nigerian project, when Chinua speaks, people are bound to listen. Much more. Many are bound to hold his words as the words coming from the gods, especially our kinsmen from the East. As a result, Chinua owes us to speak the truth without coloration. He owes the present, the needs for objectivity in his discussions regarding the past. He owes the nation, and those other friends of Nigeria, to be without guile and rise above ordinary men by being conciliatory.
Did Chinua deliver on his debts as summarized above? My personal views are that he came not a little short from fulfilling these expectations. I will quickly accede that after all, he is also a mortal man with his weaknesses and colorations, no matter the efforts at disguising them.
The Nigerian Civil War shaped the destiny of the then budding nation. Unfortunately, the wounds left by the war are yet to heal almost fifty years thereafter. Yes, the Igbos were hounded out of the North and many lost their lives as a result of the senseless killings, especially following the July 1966 coup. Of course, the action of bringing all Igbos home by Ojukwu was the wisest thing to do and he was courageous in doing this. To an extent, one could also support the secession by Biafra. However, knowing when to advance and when to retreat is very important. I think the majority of the losses in human lives and social standing by my fellow countrymen of the Igbo stock was the inability of the leadership to exercise this wisdom. The war should have ended much earlier and the doggheaded refusal of the secessionists to accept the establishment of a land based food and relief corridor largely account for the majority of the war dead.
Chinua is requesting for the leaders of the Nigerian war efforts to be brought to book as their aim was to completely eliminate the Igbo people. I doubt whether many do agree with his views on this, especially beyond the boundaries of the east. While he Igbos should and must complain about the unnecessary killings by the Nigerian Army, this case is not much helped by the fact that the Biafran strategy in countering the Nigerian invasion was to make it a gorilla warfare. In a gorilla warfare, there is nothing much to distinguish an opponent’s soldier from the civilian. Anyone could harbor death for the Nigerian Soldier. Since the Biafran had chosen the war tactic, the response by the Nigerian forces was predictable – each and all men they come across we’re predictably a part of the Biafran Army. Chinua mentioned the choice of his family house, by the Biafran Army, as a good site to position artillery to fight the invading Nigerian Army. In doing this, the Biafrans have indirectly made a civilian structure to become a target for military action. How many more houses, schools, hospitals were used as Biafran Military bases, I do not know. However, eact time the Biafran chose to do this, they have inadvertently turned such into targets for elimination by the Nigerians, hence endangering more Igbo lives. This, to me, was a clear demonstration of leadership apathy to the decimation and suffering of its people.
We are all parts of history, shaping and molding it. Never should we try to re-write it. We should carefully consider how we are affecting current and future generations when we decide to color our stories to make it look good. When Ken Saro-Wiwa was executed by Abacha, I happened to be in the city of Port Harcourt carrying out a work assignment for the bank I was working for. I was led on that trip by Ugo (surname withheld) a senior colleague. Days after the execution, the military decided it was good enough time to announce Ken’s death. When this was broadcast on the radio, Ugo was jubilant, ecstatic and full of rejoicing. He came to my room in the hotel where I was staying to share his hat redness of Ken for being responsible for the take over of the Igbo’s properties in Port Harcourt and then for the penury suffered by Ugo’s family immediately after the war. I saw the hatred in him shown and I was disappointed that Ugo, a man of education and of whom I had tremendous respect could be that base. It is a fact that many Igbos left Port Harcourt and moved to the hinterland, to pursue the Biafran Republic. It is also a fact that many old their properties in doing this and of course lost good fortune as such. Should we hold this against Ken and if we should, should Ken’s execution for a totally different issue be a cause for joy?
This sordid tale, in it’s many varieties, still abound in Nigeria today and is eating deep into the fabrics that bind us together as a people. I believe it is time to let go of the animosity and hatredness. This might have been justifiable during and immediately after the war but four decades later is enough time to let go of the hurts of the war. We should not forget what caused the war and what injustices were suffered by people on both sides of the battle ground and work on building what remains of us as a people.
Chinua, it is time you become a Nigerian again and let go of Biafra – this was good while it lasted.
The process of applying and getting approved for a Visa to stay in Australia was not one of the easiest in the world. After getting my job offer, the hurdle was to prove to the Australian authorities that we were not coming over to Australia to infest the resident population with diseases from Africa. The medical results from our reputable medical practitioners were not enough, the Australian Immigration insisted that the results must be from one of only two approved practitioners for the whole of Nigeria.
One beautiful morning, we left our abode to get the required medical tests done. We succeeded in tracing the obscure address in downtown Lagos. The medicals involved filling a series of questionnaires and then getting examined by the doctor focussing on such diseases as Malaria, Hepatitis, Fever, Whooping Coughs, etc. Tests for HIV were carried out as well Following this, there was a need for Chest Xrays and we have to make another tortious and, to me, an unnecessary journey to Victoria Island. The results were then mailed to Sydney for the authorities gracious review and approval for visas. The way the examinations were conducted, I left with the thought that Australia must be a rodent, pest and disease free piece of God’s heaven on earth.
On arriving at Perth, it didn’t take long for us to be pulled aside by the Australian Immigration Officers having noticed our Nigerian Travel documents. Politely, questions were asked as to whether we have taken Yellow Fever vacinnations to which our answer was No. With friendly smiles, we were issued a ticket requesting that if we develop any of some listed symptoms within two (2) weeks, we should show ourselves to a Doctor for treatment. Well, I was not expecting that we would develop any sickness and none of us did.
Our sojourn in Australia began on this note until I saw a cockroach. The creature with its feelers was busy strolling out of its hiding on a cold evening when we met by the door of the laundry. Of course, I won the contest of who has the right to live in the house.
It wasn’t long after this that I had to visit the University of Western Australia (UWA). I simply could not stop thinking about the similarities and differences between this university and my alma mater – the University of Lagos (Unilag). Both Universities are situated next to large expanse of water – Unilag is by the lagoon while UWA is by the Swan River. The location of these campuses by a body of water brings some beauty to the views that accost their patrons. I think that is where the similarities end. While the Ijaws have managed to take over the waterfronts of Unilag and build shanty houses on stilts on top of the water, their relatives have not managed to get themselves into the Swan River and do the same. I believe this must be one of the results of the strict Australian regime for Visa approvals. However, in the absence of the invasion from the Ijaws, the bourgeoises have taken over the waterfronts of UWA and turned these into a park for their luxury yachts. The colours and ambience that this adds to the view from the grounds of the University is beautiful. Years of non enforcement of environmental laws to control waste disposal in the Lagos lagoon has resulted in the pollution of the water at the Unilag Lagoon. It is virtually impossible to see clearly beneath two or three inches of the water. This was not the case at the UWA, I was able to see clearly beneath the waters. In fact I was tempted to drink from it as it was.
On leaving the shores of the Swan River at the UWA, I needed to ease myself and found my way to the rest room of the Faculty of Arts. As I started the task that brought me to the restroom, I lifted up my eyes and there it was. I almost shouted and then I pulsed a little, I just couldn’t believe it. It was a Mosquito, unperturbed with what I was doing, lying on the wall near a spider’s web. Then my attention was drawn to another and then another and I counted at least six (6) of them.
Finally, I got the evidence I needed. Australia is not really the piece of heaven I had been made to believe it was. It has its own mosquitoes, cockroaches and spiders as well. The question then is – what makes Australia free from Yellow Fever, Malaria,cholera and other such diseases that are prevalent in Nigeria? Answers anyone? Did I hear someone say leadership?
In February this year, my family and I attended the presentation of this play in Lagos, Nigeria.Now in Perth, the play is presented at the Subiaco Regal Theater by the Arts Projects Australia by a cast direct from London.
My family and I were able to attend the last presentation on 27th October and this affords us an opportunity to compare the Lagos and Perth presentation. The story is the same and this has been documented in my previous post. The differences relate to the ambience of the theatre in which both were presented, the costumes as well as the audience appreciation of the work done by the cast. While the Muson Theatre is a newer building, the stage and lighting does not compare favourably with those of the Regal Theatre, despite the Regal Theatre being a much older structure. The organisation and sitting arrangement in the Regal Theatre and YES…the working Air Conditioning system, makes this latter experience more enjoyable. As to the costumes, despite my initial critic, I seem to appreciate the costumes of the cast in the Lagos presentation much more than those of the cast in Perth – the latter’s costumes do not bear much resemblance to those of pirates.
There must be a shortage of ladies in London otherwise I see no reason why the cast for the Perth show has no ladies among them – the roles of the general’s daughters were played by men dressed in ladies dresses but with a very good imitation of the carriage and sounds of our feminine ones.
The Perth Audience was a much lively one as the closing of each scene in the presentation was met with thunderous claps showing how well the audience appreciate the performance. Overall it was a nice presentation that spanned two (2) hours but I believe that the Lagos presentation was a better value for money. By the way, we paid $71.90 (N12,100) per person to watch the Perth’s show compared to the N2,000 per ticket in Lagos. Not much wander why the Theatre in Subiaco is well maintained and the air conditioning will continue to work.
Prior to arriving in Perth, my son had gained admission to the International School of Western Australia. I had looked up the school on the internet, asked a few questions here and there and concluded it will be the best fit for his education, especially since the school caters for the needs of the international community in Perth and beyond.
Off to Perth, we went with my firm believe that I had a spot for my son. As the situation turned out, the ISWA opportunity was not a best fit. We finally got another school for him and he has been blossoming there. Recently, as part of its course in Media, the school had a music project for his senior students. As parents, we were invited over to the school, one evening, where the children showcased their works and finalist were selected for the awards. While I am pained to say my son’s input did not win an award, I am however thrilled of the ingenuity behind his team’s submission.
As you browse through these pages, please leave your comments. I do appreciate that we all have differing opinions on issues and respect that. It is my intent to promote dialogue and use this to shape society to better the lives of mankind.
Shehu Shagari’s tenure is a classic instance of the encounter of the unprepared with the unforeseen…….
…..He was a man with neither charisma nor definable identity. His was a face that would get lost in the crowd. But Shagari’s was a product of the peculiar dynamics of Nigerian politics. He rose so high not only because of his natural ability as a politician of means, but also because he was born in the ‘right’ corner of Nigeria. At the time he was elected president in 1979 there were many members of the Nigerian elite who believed that the leadership of the country should reside with the Hausa-Fulani oligarchy. But Shagari’s needed more than the mere accident of birth to win the number one spot. He was a seasoned political strategist who oversees his opponents by guided simplicity and measured eloquence of silence. He was a clever fox who survived in the gathering of impatient lions….
Quoted from House of War by Dare Babarinsa pages 166-167. Spectrum books 2003.
Nduese stood over the two corpses and barked repeatedly into the heavens. The dog mistook the still-twitching, protesting stump as sign of life – Concluding paragraph of Luxurious Hearses, one of the five stories contained in Uwem Akpan’s Say you’re One of Them (An Oprah Winfrey Bookclub endorsed reading). Bookcraft 2008 page 234.
Because the Nigerian State is so fragile we will be faced with these bush fires for some time to come. Father Mathew Kuka talking about the frequent Ervin and religious crises in Nigeria. Quoted from Karl Meir’s This house has fallen.
“Information is a beacon, a cudgel, an olive branch, a deterrent – all depending on who wields it and how. Information is so powerful that the assumption of information, even if the information does not actually exist, can have a sobering effect.” p63 of Freakonomics by S.D. Levitate & S.J. Dubner
The history of aviation in Nigeria cannot be described as most enviable, we have certainly had our ups and downs. I am impressed with Stella Oduah’s effort in trying to have stronger airlines that are not saddled with capital adequacy issues but when it comes to the way to achieve this , I think differently. So far, she has extended the olive branch to the Airlines to self regulate and create mergers that are not imposed on them by law. So far, the airlines have refused her gesture of goodwill. And so what should be done next?
When it comes to Airlines, certainly the bigger you are, the better positioned you are to manage the fleet of aircraft transversing the air space. All human lives are priceless and we cannot afford another air disaster. If we accept the fact that the Airline business is capital intensive with very little profit margin, then it is easily agreeable that the business is not an all comer one, especially for those who are motivated by short term profits. Scheduled Aircraft Maintenance are necessary to keep these big birds flying and safe. With vehicles, you can miss a scheduled preventive maintenance here and there, the risk you have is that of the complete break down of the vehicle. Since this is on the ground, costly repairs can resuscitate the vehicle. This is not the case with Aircrafts. You need to maintain them before they break, any failure will result in a catastrophic event- the big bird will simply fall down from the air and entomb in itself the people therein. By then, it is too late to repair.
So what do I advice Stella to do?
This is where leadership makes all the difference. It is true that she cannot coerce them to merge, I have not seen such powers granted to the minister or made to form part of the Companies and Allied Matters Act. However, using the various approval powers in her kitty, she can stipulate the minimum capital requirements for operators in the industry. I would add that she can make provisions as to the minimum number of aircrafts and ages that an operator should have to be allowed to fly within the Nigerian Airspace. She can add to this the number of pilots and their flying hours. Simply put, Stella has used the carrot and the airline operators are not responding, it is time to use the stick.
Up till 2005, there were only two (2) Airlines operating in the Republic of Korea – Korean Air and Asiana Airlines. They were efficient, highly capitalised and met the flying needs of the Korean Republic. With a growing needs from 2005 till date, an additional five (5) airlines to fly the air space. In Nigeria, we do not need many airlines. We need airlines that are efficient, can maintain the aircrafts and pay competitive salaries to their employees. Demand is not an issue, the problem is with the quality and not quantity of supply. When it comes to airlines, we need quality and not quantity.
Stella, please do the needful – revisit the qualification criteria for operating an airline in Nigeria and I promise you all the airlines will force themselves into mergers and Nigerians will be better for it. If you don’t believe me, call Sanusi and he will share with you the CBN experience concerning our under capitalised banks. Today, these banks are performing wonders and some of them are now rated high amongst other banks in the world.
The trip had been in planning for some weeks, it comes with the job. I was told this much at the time of taking the offer. In one of my last jobs, before I left Nigeria, I had the unenviable routine of flying to our own version of Barrow every week. It wasn’t exciting then and I felt the flight to Barrow will not be much different, especially if I have to do this on a single engine light aircraft that have to cope with tremendous wind gust on the way. The trip, then, was a Thursday regular and my kids were not always excited about it either. Every Thursday I left home early, drive to VGC and board the float plane for the one hour trip. On a good day it works perfectly well- I leave Lagos by the float plane and return same day by the float plane. When it goes bad, I get yanked off the plane, in most cases because one of the very big shots decided at the last meeting to travel. In such cases I had to take the energy sapping and torturing trip through the Lagos Domestic Airport home. On such days, it was guaranteed that I will get home grumpy, tired and weird. It was also guaranteed that I will do this around eight or nine pm for a journey that commenced by four.
Today, it was a little different. Knowing that my wife will raise hell if I were to ask her to drive me to the Perth Domestic Airport and thereafter pick the kids on the daily school run, marital wisdom acquired over Fifteen years informed that I needed a Taxi. So, the previous day, I went online and booked a Swan taxi to pick me up by quarter to six in the morning.
At my induction, a few weeks before, the facilitator did a great job of instilling in me the fair of the quarantine team. Simply put, Barrow is a class A nature preserve and for our operation there, the Australian government has requested all humans to abide by a very simple set of rules. I summarise these, in my words, in three sentences –
1. If you don’t bring it to Barrow, you can take it away from Barrow;
2. Whatever is not presently existing in living form in Barrow, you cannot take to Barrow and
3. If you are confused, see the quarantine team.
Of course, with every rule, there are exceptions. So we can modify rule two to mean that soils and seeds fall within the term – living form. The rationale for these rules will be discussed at other times but for today, implementing these three is simple rules involve setting up a world class quarantine operation. It is huge, humongous in the words of a friend of mine.
In my preparation the previous night, I painstakingly went through my items one after the other. I turned my bag empty and every single thing that I do not need for my trip I removed. Yes, I checked to see that I had no velcro fastener, that no bug or cockroach has decided at the last minute to be my companion on the trip. I also checked that no seed or soil residue exist anywhere in the bag. My Safety Shoes were just bought the previous day and I entertained no fear that they are quarantine compliant. I chose my trouser with care, ensuring it is not one with out turned folds that can hide any insect, seed or sand. Then it was the shirt, the hard hat, the gloves and the high visibility shirt. Convinced that all was well, I set up my alarms, not one but two of them to wake me up by 5am.
I was already awake before the alarms rang. Still drudgery but knowing I needed to get up, I looked at the still sleepy innocent looking frame on my left side and concluded that this innocence deserves a kiss. I planted a warm one on her cheeks and moved to the bathroom to do my thing. Once done and dressed up, I engage my wife, who was still half asleep, in some little conversations, said my goodbyes and off to the sitting room downstairs I went to wait for my taxi. I haven’t sat down before I heard a voice asking Daddy is today Thursday? Are you leaving now? You promised to be back today? It was my daughter wanting some re-assurance that I will be back. I answered yes to her questions, went to where she was lying down and gave her a kiss. I held her, prayed for her and asked her to promise not to do silly stuffs at school. I do this always, each school day.
To make judicious use of the time I have left, before the Taxi will show up, I continued with the configuration battle with the internet router that I was unable to win the previous day. I was still racking my brains on how this little piece of technology when I perceived that the Taxi had arrived. The taxi man showed up, a short beaded Asian man speaking very fluent English. I eased myself out of the house into the taxi. We were soon on our way to the Airport and the taxi man and I struck it good. In conversation we talked of Pakistan, its weather and diversity of terrain – mountains, beaches and deserts. He informed he has been in Australia for three years and has a general bachelor degree. He wanted to know if I had any knowledge in how to make “tim” (whatever that was, I don’t know) from other materials – with the wave of terrorism plaguing the world he seems lost on the suspicion that such a question earns him. About 35mins later, we were at the Airport. I obtained my boarding pass and moved to the quarantine team for pre-boarding checking. I had to complete the quarantine cards and answer truthfully a set of questions on whether I was carrying anything unlawful to the island. Following this, I had my safety boots, iron brushed to remove any residue of the perth soil and then my bags and pocket turned out entirely, with a careful examination of all the contents that were found on me. It took some time, but I was soon through with the quarantine and strolled into the departure lounge to wait for our flight to be announced for departure. In the quiet world that I rolled in, while sitting at the lounge, my quietness was disturbed by the sight of a quarantine officer and her dog. Moving from one passenger to another, she points at each passenger’s carry on baggage and the dog dips her nose around the bag and move to the next. Nothing was found by the dog from this examination, in this instance. I have heard other stories of how the dog had helped to detect other non quarantine compliant materials on other passengers.
The Cobham plane soon took off and we started the journey that will take us North West from Perth. I was uncomfortable with my sitting position in the plane, I was away from the window and the little view I had was blocked by the plane engines. From where I sat, I could see the farms and their arrays of colours resembling giant rectangular pieces of a jig saw puzzle. It was obvious that the different colours are the result of the different farm produce grown on these lots. Soon this beautiful landscape gave up to the uninhabited far away hills and greyish looking soil that suggest the reason why most of Australia is uninhabited. One of my colleagues soon reached out to me and doused my curiosity – It’s all brown dirt in Barrow.
Two hours later, the jet plane made its descent and we disembark from its cabins into the waiting hands of men, all dressed in uniforms of blue and yellow with reflective bands in it. Our driver, a young, beautiful Aussie lady soon recited the safety precautions and off we were to the construction offices. The work has progressed much, I was made to know that just two and a half years ago, all that existed on the Island was the WA Oil operation with its less than a few dozens man bed spaces. Today, it is astonishing what the labour of the men and women of this project has done. The Jetty, the beds, the tanks, the roads and all that were needed to support one of the biggest projects of all times in the world is taking shape. These things don’t build themselves, they arise from the vision of one man believing that it can be done and all else after this is actualising that vision.
My meeting took hours and when we were done, my hopes of touring the island was dashed, our flight was to leave in a matter of minutes. I picked up my bag and joined the bus and soon we were off the island. Throughout the journey back home, I could not stop to compare the path of development that the Australians have chosen concerning Barrow and what obtains where I come from. Simply, the Aussies are saying that if you need our resources, you must be ready to extract them with the slightest possible harm to the environment. This was the lesson for the trip and a lesson that I hope that someone will awaken from his slumber and require of all those after the natural resources that nigeria has to offer.
It’s another first for NIPOST – that colossus that rules the Nigeria’s antiquated postal system.
Sitting in the quietness of my office on the 19th July, I received a mail which was from the Institute of Chartered Accountants of Nigeria. I opened the mail to find in it the ballot papers for the Institute’s election to council. This attracted my attention, as it always had. I spent the next ten minutes going through the papers, reviewing the profiles of the contestants.
Just as I turned to complete the ballot paper, the title on the paper brought me to a stand still. It says Ballot Papers for 2010 Elections. Now, this was not funny. Was ICAN reusing old ballot papers, Was ICAN unable to fund its activities again or was this the printer’s devil. No it wasn’t any of these. It was our almighty NIPOST at work. I soon found out that these mails have been despatched since 6th April 2010!
For more than two (2) years, a mail was sent out and I did not get it till today. Three Big Claps for NIPOST, they have managed to move into the theatre of the ridiculous.
It’s strange how things that we normally take for granted bring us to reality and sends a jolt to our spines. Sometimes.
While wondering around in the late evening cool weather of Subiaco Square, my wife suggested that we branch into a coffee shop and have coffee. Given the lively activities in this area, there is a preponderance of coffee shops around and within minutes we found onion our path. We stepped in, as we were meant to do, and requested to be served with a cup of hot choco and another one of capuccino. To make these easy on the stomach, we requested for two slices of ginger bread cake.
Our orders were taken by a cheerful lady with an infectous smile. Once done, we took our seats amongst the other teeming customers. It is easily seen that many are foreigners like ours – the diversity of colors and tonnation of the English language spoken easily betrays this. The atmosphere was pleasant with a soft cool music playing but overridden with the chatting from the different tables. Our seats were carefully chosen by the glass windows so that we may have an unobstructed view of the going ons on Rokeby Road – the road on which the restaurant is located.
My wife and I were soon engrossed in our little chat of how our day went and what life changes we have had to adjust to within our very first month of taking abode here in Perth. Often, we take our eyes off each other to take a look at the activities going on around us. Right on the street, we saw couples holding hands and walking leisurely around. My wife took note of this and pointed out how gracious it is for a couple to grow old together – having a dependable ally by ones side as one sojourn through life. I also noted the young ladies, often in pairs but sometimes in groups. Just diagonally across from us was a movie theater and it didn’t take time for me to figure out that most pedestrian traffic ends there.
Ocassionally, we hear the loud booming noise of retrofitted silencers before seeing the cars. When the cars drive past us, in their different colours and makes, we look at each other and share a smile. What we exchange in our silence is often what life will be when our two bundles of youthful energy have left the house. The sights and sounds of Subi, as many fondly call Subiaco, is alluring. This is the reason why we chose Subi as our home.
A couple of minutes later, our order was delivered. My wife took a sip from her Capuccino and complained that it was bitter than expected. I knew what to expect of my hot choco – not bitterness but a pleasant sugary taste. That was one choice I put some thoughts into before the order. The hot drinks were a pleasant relief from the biting cold. We took slices from the cake and we were satisfied that our choices were right. In the moment we were going through our light meal, a couple of teens entered the coffee shop. From their familiarity with the service lady, this obviously was not their first visit, unlike us. They must have been regulars here. At our far end, we stole a glance and saw a man with grey hairs and slight baldness kissing a lady. She could be his wife or an acquaintance., whichever way you want to describe that, we knew not.
We were soon done with our meal and asked for the bill. The lady showed up. She handed it over with a smile and started packing the cups. I took a look at the bill and exclaimed that it couldn’t be true. I have just been handed a $45 bill for the meal. My wife looked at me and she asked to see it. The look on her face sums up the rest of the story – it is Perth, she said, and this is Subi. I looked into my wallet and grumpily counted the bills, move to the cash register and handed them over.
By the time we strolled into the street, out of the coffee shop, it was dark all around us but the clock on a building by us says 7:30pm.We held hands, cuddled a little and took our time to go through the ten minutes walk home. The sights on the way home were lovely. We passed by the train station with its busy human traffic, walked through Subi Centro while looking at the well manicured flowers, the beautifully designed and brightly coloured apartments and offices. We soon got to the lake at Juniper Bank Way and we wanted to spend a few minutes by the lake with its ducks. Other residents were there already. Some walking their dogs and others engrossed in keep fit activities of different forms. Not sure of what mischief awaits us in the house from our kids, we thought it wise to go home now and come to the lake at some other time. We were soon at the rotary and a few steps after we were answering “my little red pumpkin’s” questions. What took you so long? Why were you not picking your phones? We were so worried? The questions came in torrents and experience had thought me that it is great wisdom to respond back by giving her a big bear hug and apologise. The trip to Subi Square and back had taken less than an hour but it was enjoyable and well worth it.
By the way we’ve been back at the coffee shop and will always go back. Yes, this is expensive but this is Perth and it is also Subi.
The journey that started on Tuesday, with us rushing out of our Lekki abode around 3pm just to be in time for our flight to Dubai, eventually ended, almost 52hours later, when our plane touched down at the Perth Internaional. By this time, we had passed over various terrains. Starting with the Rain Forests of Southern Nigeria, we crossed over the Sahara Dessert and then the Nile, in all its glory, into Dubai. We continued our journey the next day, heading south across the Arabian Sea and then over the Indian Ocean before reaching the western edges of the Australian continent. The journey was long but enjoyable in the comfortable cabins of the Emirate planes and the courtesy limousines provided to pick us and drop us off at the Airports.
Whatever it is with Gold, I am not sure. In Dubai, my wife displayed that feminine attraction to Gold and dragged the family out in the hot and humid weather to the Gold Souk. Despite all my grumblings and the complaints by the kids, by the time we left the Gold Souk, some three to four hours later, I had parted with a sizeable amount of Dollars getting in return a few metals. These, to my senses, were just not value for money. Anyway, my wife was happy and as many married men will confess, once the wife is happy, all is great. While in Dubai, the stay at the JW Marriott was relaxing and the quality of service was just too great. Given that we had spent the previous nights at the Lekki Bellisimo Hotel, it wasn’t too difficult to explain to the kids the difference between “good” and “exemplary”!
Our arrival and passage through the Australian immigration shows that people could still get their jobs done while being courteous to the customers. We had been forewarned about the Australian zero tolerance to plants and animal products that are considered potential threats to the soil, fauna and bio-diversity of the continent. We ensured that we did not have any of such things with us. However, nobody brought our attention to the need to have our Yellow fever vaccination cards with us. As we passed through immigration, I knew it, inside me, that we were going to be pulled over, and we actually got pulled over. The offence? None other than that I did not look like the person in my passport and that we did not have yellow fever vaccination cards. The two officials that were called to attend to us were epitomes of courtesy. They were polite, did the checks that they needed to get done and within minutes, we were on our way to our luggage.
At the carousel, we picked our loads and headed towards the “something to declare” exit since I had with me my set of Golf Clubs and medications, items that I had read online were of potential interests to the quarantine officers. The officer checked what we had, asked a few questions, examined the golf shoes and then we were free. I was amazed at the simplicity with which the team of officers processed us and the other two hundred plus passengers on the flight that landed. They made it look so simple that my thoughts ran to what obtains at the arrival hall of our own dear Murtala Mohammed International Airport in Lagos. Surely, our officers can learn a lot from these courteous Australian officers who are ever so cautious of the fact that they are the first faces of Australia and that first impressions do matter.
Just after collecting our luggage, it seems our luck ran out. We exited into the arrival hall and our expectations that there would be a meet and greet personnel holding high our names was shattered. There simply was no sign of anyone waiting to receive us. Added to this was the quick realisation that my Airtel phone number, which I had requested to be roamed, was not connecting to any network. This digital void and the sheer size of our luggage threw my brains into its supersonic mode – it needed to process all the information available, evaluate the threats and make quick decisions to get us to our Apartment. I changed a few currencies, got to a phone booth and placed a call across to the relocation company. The voice on the other end of the line was friendly and informed that the driver left a couple of minutes earlier when he saw no signs of us coming out of the arrival hall. After a few other calls, the driver was sent back to us. When he showed up, it dawned on him that the vehicle provided was not spacious enough to contain us as well as our luggage. A few more calls later, another vehicle was sent and we breathed a sigh of relief.
In the mild coldness of Perth’s winter morning air, we were driven to the apartment. The driver of our car radiated so much warmth that we soon completed the journey of about twenty minutes without feeling it. He was a chatty person and fed us in with some quick facts about Perth. At the apartment the challenge was to find the receptionist, he simply was no where. I assumed he was probably asleep and we made all the noise we could make but there simply was no receptionist. Calls were made to all the numbers on the front desk, yet the guy was no where to be found. Then, suddenly he appeared. With no apologies and a sense of “why bother me” he checked us in and handed over the keys to the apartment. I was simply stunned and quickly recollected myself realising that some mothers do have ’em. Of all the Aussies we had met so far, he was the worst of the lot. He just dampened my enthisiasm about the people of Perth, whom I have come to consider as very loving and warm to strangers.
At about 3:00am Friday (8:00pm Lagos time) we finally settled into our apartment. What a relief! After such a long journey, the sight of a fluffy bed and cosy interiors was exhilarating.
The news is rife with the Terrorist Designations of Boko Haram Commander Abubakar Shekau, Khalid al-Barnawi and Abubakar Adam Kambar. In a Media Note dated 21st June, the Office of the Spokesperson for the US department of state announced that following consultations with the Departments of Justice and Treasury, the Department of State has designated these three (3) BKH leaders as Specially Designated Global Terrorists under section 1(b) of Executive Order 13224.
This action itself is not news, the whole world saw it coming and knew it was going to happen soon. What is news is the zeal with which the Nigerian nation, its leadership and people, welcomed this development. For the average man on the street, it is seen as the final end of the menace of BKH. With the embarassing failure of leadership in governance, it is well understood why the citizens will welcome this development. After all, many innocent lives have been terminated in their prime with the government response being to hold its arms in despair that the problem defies the ability of its security entities to resolve. for the government, the intervention of the US might have been taken to mean that the government responsibility to solve this uprising and threat to the Nigerian state is now that of the US. What a blunder!
As for me, the issue here is more than the designation of these three (3) people as persons of interests but what happens after? For those who could read between the lines, this action by the department of state means that these three individuals, wherever they may be found, are susceptible to elimination by the US forces and arsenals. In essence, if Abubakar Shekau were to be found in Maiduguri, the US can send its Special Forces or drones to eliminate him there. this is what worries me and unfortunately is of no concerns to our so called Leaders. In fact, to further encourage the US in doing this, the letter from the Nigerian Embassy in New York failed to remind the US government of the territorial sovereignity of the Nigerian State and hence warn it to desist from any act that will violate such. Rather the letter only urged the US government to ensure the safety of neighbours of the targets, whatever is done to deal with them, on the soils of Nigeria.
To put my fears in context, supposing these targets were members of the IRA or ETA, would the US have done the same and could it dream of sending drones on the UK or Spanish soils in order to eliminate such targets? I do not think so. Of more importance than drone attacks is the history regarding US interventions in various conflicts over the years. This history informs that once the US steps in, it never leaves. Evidences of this abound in South Korea, Japan, Afghanistan and Iraq where the US has sort of permanent camps for its forces.
We need to be wary of this greek gift by the US, afterall the US is not a charity and will do nothing except it furthers its interests. This is the more reason why despite the killings going on in Syria, the US has not thought it fit to intervene – that uprising will not impact oil prices! So the question is, what is in this for the US? Apart from the instability to the Nigerian State and the remote potential to affect crude oil eportation to the US, the immediate need of the US is to establish an African command. This has been on the table for a long time and the US has been seeking such opportunity to establish a base where it can host its Aircraft Carriers and launch attacks against targets perceived as enemies of the US.
It was President Bush that first announced plans for formation of a new U.S. military command based in Africa when he promised AFRICOM would “strengthen our security cooperation with Africa and create new opportunities to bolster the capabilities of our partners in Africa.” However, critics of the plan said the only thing AFRICOM would do was to bolster the U.S. government’s hold on Africa’s resources, especially oil and as such resisted the plan for AFRICOM to be based in Africa. This led to the establishment of the command in Europe. The US State Department views Nigeria as a “failed state,” and wants to make sure oil keeps flowing. I would think that the intervention in this BKH upsurge provides the US the opportunity it’s been looking for to establish a permanent command on our soil. We cannot afford this to happen and should resist it.
The Yorubas are full of wisdom, wisdom most often reflected in their parables. One of these parables says ” Ole ni oun o ba e so ile re, o je fura!”. Literally interpreted, it means that when a thieve offers to help you to watch over your house, you need to be wary. We need to be wary of this US offer. It is time for our government to be emphatic to the US that its presence on our soil is not welcome. We saw what happened to Iraq – Eleven years of US intervention in that state destroyed it totally and even with the commencement of the US troops withdrawal, bombs are still being detonated in that country. We do not want the same for our nation. The message to the US is simply that it can eliminate the BKH threat, whichever way it wants, but should not destroy any other Nigerian live in the process or step unto our soil to commit suc.
Finally finished reading this first written work by Lanre Ogundimu. Not a bad entry for a first work.
The writer’s attempt to appeal to a wide range of audience made the stories rather too short and most times I was gasping to understand the key message inherent in each of the short stories. I still struggle with how to classify the book – is this a story book, a biography or a work of fiction?
I enjoyed the opening chapter most and would have suggested to the writer to represent his American experiences differently in a form that vividly shows the differencies between that society and ours.
This Malabu Oil issue will not disappear and should simply not be forgotten. With the unfortunate crash of the Dana Airlines flight, not a few of this in our King’s palace will be praying that we should forget, but we will not.
The more I read the Attorney General’s response as to the role of the Federal Government of Nigeria in this issue, the more many questions are raised in my mind. May be someone could help to answer the following:
Why did the government become a broker between Shell, Eni and Malabu? Couldn’t government allow these entities to negotiate and settle the issues surrounding the OPL by themselves?
Into which account was the payment by Shell and Eni received? By law, all payments to the Federal Government should be received into the Federation Account.
If the payment was received into the Federation Account, by what Appropriation Bill provision was the subsequent payment to Malabu Oil done? If not received into the federation account, under what authority and legal provision was the money received and to which account?
Who is Abubakar Aliyu and why did Malibu make a payout to him following the receipt of transfer from FGN?
After church service today, I was a hungered (though not after 40 days and night of fasting as Jesus did). The church where I worshipped was close to Shoprite and I chose to eat at the KFC eatery therein.
All was fine at this KFC starting from the warm reception by the security man at the door to the courteous attendant that took my order. The simple order a Zinger Burger Meal was delivered within six (6) minutes. I chose a quiet part of the outlet to enjoy the meal but when I got to eating the fries, I was amazed with the sight that met my eyes – The tomato ketchup were imported. The “Delicio” Premium Tomato Ketchup boldly display that they were made in Oman by AATCO LLC. To add salt to the injury, these ketchup satchels bore no inscriptions that they were NAFDAC certified for consumption in Nigeria.
Just before you start crucifying me of being anti-trade and overtly nationalistic, I did not choose to question the presence of the Indian nationals that were predominantly supervisors of the various KFC franchises in the country. No, after all they risked their capital when all the Nigerian big men with scads of Naira tucked in their wardrobes or Swiss account refused to do do. However, which country will allow its economy to become so porous that it permits others to import Tomato into it when the truth is that there are thousands of Tomato growers in the country. A visit to the Mile 12 market will confirm to any doubting Thomas out there that Nigeria grows and have abundance of a tomato in its farms.
Others may want to argue that the issue here is not the availability of tomatoes but the processing and refining plants to make it available in such forms as are needed by food outlets like KFC. I will agree to the extent that we may just not have such firms noting that throughout my youth and growing up period in this country we have always imported Tomato Ketchup. However, should this not prompt KFC to support such businesses to setup and bridge a gap? Nigerian Content makes good business sense and I believe it is time for KFC to look inwards and take advantage of this unique opportunity of conserving foreign exchange. It will also help it’s image as it creates job opportunities for other folks to make a living out of processing agricultural products.
I have not looked at the source of the oil KFC uses but most likely it may be another story of importation. This is simply sad. We have companies that produce different type of oils – cotton seed, groundnut, soybean etc and patronizing them is key to making KFC. A good corporate brand that will be warmly embraced by all Nigerians.
On the part of government, I think someone needs to sit up and do his/her job well. Whoever is responsible for maintaining the import prohibition list needs to revisit the list and ensure that such widely available farm produce like tomato should be either banned from being imported or attract a very high, punitive, import duty rate. No matter what, as Nigerians, we have a responsibility to protect and grow our industries. Faced with a teeming population in search of employment, what better options do we have than ensure that foreign investors and domestic companies look inwards and make use of our locally available resources?
Ever wondered why we have a high crime rate? Easy, we have a population that crave foreign products which leads to creation of jobs outside our shores while denying our populace opportunities to earn a living. High unemployment fuels crimes since the devil will always find I’ll advised engagements for idle hands.
The issue at hand is more than Tomato. If drastic measures are not taken, we will soon be importing bottled water, and then, what next?
The happenings around Nigeria have usually not been great, in the very recent times I mean. However, it had never been as bad as it is these past few weeks when it’s been all tales of tears and sorrow. It is as if we, as a people, are eagerly engaged in a fierce and very severe competition to throw up, dismember and tear down everything that had held us together for the past century from 1914. Added to this is the fact that the God of luck seems to have departed from our shores and left us to face the sad consequences of our collective actions and inactions over time.
As an adult who grew up in this country, I hardly can remember more than a few times, in my sojourn on this side of eternity, that we have had causes as a people to rejoice and say YES, this is the Nigeria of our dreams. Wole Soyinka winning a Nobel prize was one of those periods and those brief moments when Nigeria’s name creep up in the center stage of world activities such as during the Atlanta Olympics with the Golden Eaglet winning Gold and Chioma Ajunwa creating a record in long jump. Oh, how proud I was that Nigeria has arrived. Subtly also when the US gave Nigeria a category 1 rating that makes direct connections between Nigeria and US possible by flight, that was also great.
I wonder if we were to ask a Nigerian kid of his great Nigerian moments if he would have anything to share except recount the tales of woes and horrors about the kidnappings in the Niger Delta, the constant killings in Kano and the new addition to Nigeria’s lexicon – Boko Haram. Nothing pleasant here and I feel for the Nigerian child whose future we have jeopardized with our insensitive ness and lack of care towards each other as a people.
The trajectory of things is heart dampening – not a single cause to shout Hurray in the last one year. Not that we expect so much from a government that derived its ascendancy to the throne from the inner scheming of the selfish and morally corrupt elite circle of power brokers. No, we did not. But was it too much to expect to be able to live our lives in peace? To live fulfilled lives and grow old? To have grey hairs on our heads and see our children’s children? I don’t think this is too much to ask from even the most insane government of them all. We have long given up on having the simplest of expectations – access to good pipe borne water, constant electricity, standard medicare and great social infrastructure. It took us a very long time to realize that, for us, these are just dreams and our leaders will not and cannot deliver on these! They are too engrained in corruption to see beyond their immediate selfishness.
What do we have, for our expectations? Callous and unnecessary deaths all around. A quick search on google for the word “Nigeria” will bring about tales of woe and I often wonder whether substituting this name with Iraq (during the decade of fights there) or with Syria will make any difference. I don’t think it will. People are dying and in great numbers. Is it the craziness of the onslaught of the Boko Haram set that should not cause alarms in the upper echelon of government or the increasing wave of piracy in the gulf of Guinea all around the Nigerian coasts? Why are we be saddled with leaders that are simply at a loss on what to do? It’s simple to conclude that after decades of abuse, the Nigerian project is finally grinding to a halt but this will be a fair accompli if we choose to think this way.
The news this week was on the preventable loss of 147 innocent lives – many in the prime of their youth when they were most useful in the project of nation building and development. The flying bird just simply got tired of flying and came down. Some will say it did so warily, some 10 nautical miles short of its destination.
And were we not expecting that this would happen? I doubt if anybody, including Harold Demuren himself will answer a No. The fact is we all knew something was bound to go wrong, someday. We just felt that the God of luck was still with us and we could keep on pretending that all was well when in fact nothing is well with our decrepit aviation system. Like the Ostrich, we were comfortable with burying our heads in the sands and hoping against hope that this disaster would pass us by.
The sad story is that all the early warning signals were there and they were visible for all of us to see. Let’s review them – is it the frequent cancellation of flights that our regulators were not aware of? The cancellations were often announced with glee that they were being done due to operational reason – now we know what the operational reasons are. The way our local flight operators were running these planes, we should have had many of these sad stories. We’re we also blind to the sad and sordid states of our terminals? One will ask what have these got to do with it and I will respond that this is a great indicator of how effective the Civil Aviation authorities are in regulating and maintaining sanity of our facilities. If we cannot maintain and regulate immovable properties such as Airports how confident am I that we are doing a great job of regulating movable Aircrafts? For months now, the employees of Nigeria Air have been shouting as to what they perceive are poor management attitude towards maintenance of the aircrafts and paying just wages to make the employees to discharge professional services, is anyone listening? No, not until something happens like the bed that just grew tired.
The actions of the aircraft operators, in response to the high cost and often inadequate availability of aviation fuel is not unknown to our authorities. Many at times, the air conditioning of the aircrafts would not be switched on until take off so as to conserve fuel, little wonder many believed the hypothesis that our flying bird ran out of fuel and could not make it to land at the Airport. This may not be the truth but whatever truth is eventually found out, it will be one of human failure which had happened times and times over and our authorities chose to look the other side without taking actions. Engines don’t just fail! They give warning signals. There are design limits, maintenance schedules which if operated within, these equipments will continue to deliver superior performance.
We lost fellow Nigerians in Majidun, we had lost innocent souls and fine officers in the Hercules crash, the Bellview crash and now it’s Dana, do we ever learn?
Those ruling us in Abuja who feel that they are immune from this should think twice. In the disaster list was Admiral Aikhomu’s son. I mention this not because the young man was deserving of death but to emphasize that we should all be concerned. If they feel protected in flying in the presidential fleet, are their wives, children, aunts, uncles, nephews, cousins protected as well? And will this be forever?
What we do this time around will cause us to make this the last of these perennial disasters in our aviation history or make it a child’s play compared with the next big one that will happen. Is anyone listening and taking action? The bells are already tolling again, for whom we don’t know but it might be anyone of us.
What is in a name? The eccentric economists Levitt and Dubner asked in their book Freakonomics and the answer will be startling to the average African – nothing.
However, I had often wondered why someone or his parents will pick up a name and call a guy “Government”. The word in itself connotes authority and the ability to shape the direction and affairs of a group of people. When the young man Tompolo hits the Nigerian news headlines as being a government in himself, controlling the enormous ill gotten wealth in crude bunkering and kidnapping in the creeks of the Niger Delta, I sighed a-ha.
Now, kidnapping is no longer in vogue, it is now the ability to shape the focus of Abuja and who gets what in the allocation of the resources coming from the creeks of the Delta. The news now is that our man, Government Tompolo himself, is now so influential in Aso Rock that he determines who gets what. If the news reported by Associated Press (and a few other Nigerian news agencies) is true, and there is no reason to believe otherwise, Government Ekpumopolo, a former militant leader in Nigeria’s oil-rich southern delta is linked to a private security company that signed a $103 million deal with the government to patrol the nation’s waterways against pirates.
Now the question that begs for answer is why Tompolo? Are the handlers of our national affairs serious minded at all? Doesn’t it dawn on them what the message being sent out to the wider public by this singular action is? Okay, I will help to put it in black and white, it simply states ” Hey you guys out there, if you take up arms against the state and are very forceful with it, we just might throw some millions of dollars towards you and make you welcome in the corridors of power”. So why do we bother about Boko Haram at all knowing that eventually these sponsors of state terrorism will be welcome to red carpet treatment in Abuja and some Juicy contracts, probably to police the entire north eastern corridor of Nigeria, will be thrown at them.
Don’t you just love this paradox and the tragedy we call government, oh in this case I mean Abuja and not the beloved Tompolo.
The world is watching while Syria is burning. The Arab Spring that started in Tunisia on 18 December 2010 with Mohamed Bouazizi’s self-immolation has seen to the change in government in Tunisia, Egypt, Libya and Yemen. The self styled Brother Leader was captured and killed by opposition forces, largely with the aid of the US and France.
Now the Syrian people have been on this path for more than a year – to be free from what they consider the repressive regime of Al-Assad but despite the brutal force that the state is using to crush the opposition, none of the world powers have come to the aid of the people of this country to stop the killing, stop the war.
I frequently ask myself where the US is on this issue. A fair argument can be made by the US that this is not its war. Added to this, the US can also say that Syria is a sovereign nation that should solve its problems by itself. However, lest we forget, it was Ben Parker, Spiderman’s (Peter Parker) great uncle that succinctly define the responsibilities of power to the world in his saying that “With great power comes great responsibilities”. The size of responsibility that one carries is directly proportional to the powers that one wields, and the US wields great powers in our today’s world.
The US cannot continue to stand aloof and watch as thousands are being sent to their early grave. Many co-inhabitants of this planet earth see the inaction of the US as deplorable and sometimes could be described as the ultimate height of irresponsibility. Others ask whether an intervention in Syria by the US has been discussed on the investment analysis table and a conclusion made that there is not enough oil to guarantee a decent return on investment for the US.
The argument that China and Russia should take the lead on this one, as they are the one that have consistently been blocking the security council from acting, is weak and absolutely an excuse for inaction. Someone should help me to jiggle my memory of where these two nations have ever acted to interfere in cases of gross abuse of human rights to life in the world, I bet the answer is never. Whatever the issue is, the world is watching and the world considers the US as the only nation that is bequeathed with the resources to stop the genocide that Syria is fast becoming.
Let it be known that if the US doesn’t act and Syria goes down in history as a tyrant and despotic nation where the people are repressed continually, the US will have no moral grounds to preach democracy to anyone in the world. Maybe it would preach it but the world will not buy the thrash that such would be considered to be. The blood of those opposed to the ongoing repression of opposing views by the Bashir government would ever remain as a memory to our collective psyche – we can’t just choose to act only when it is convenient. We must ALWAYS act when the fundamentals of human freedom is being abused anywhere on this planet.
Will someone nudge our dear President Obama and his people to act?
I am a man of faith. The happenings, in and around Nigeria, most times put this faith to test. However, with a resilient faith like mine, it’s been tough but hardly have I ever given up on Nigeria. Albeit, there have been very few occasions that have caused the light of my faith to burn brighter, one such occasion happened yesterday.
As I was driving home from my lawn tennis practice, I happenstance tuned my radio to FM97.7 and there, online, was Dr. Umar Buba Bindir talking about his team’s work at and vision for the National Office for Technology Acquisition and Promotion (NOTAP). Prior to that moment, I have never heard of the name Bindir but my interest was aroused in the program because of a faint familiarity that I have had with NOTAP. While growing up, we had as a tenant in our house a staff of NOTAP and I have always been curious as to why this office was set up and how it is expected to go about delivering on the vision of it’s founding fathers. Was this to be a Nigerian espionage office to “steal” technology from countries like Japan, South Korea, the USA etc?
The interview session with this great Nigerian was a pleasurable experience. Pleasurable in the way and manner this Fulani doctorate degree holder in Engineering went about with dissecting the issues around why Nigeria has remained undeveloped, on why technology has to be the bane of our development and the position of NOTAP in all these, especially with facilitating a coordinated development of such technology that is indigenous ti Nigeria. He was just brilliant, both in the display of his knowledge of what he and his team have to do as well as in his communication. He was not ignorant of the challenges his team has to face in getting to their eldorado however he believes that none of these is insurmountable.
In showcasing the progress his team had made so far, he mentioned the cooperation being received from Friesland in developing a Research & Development group within their Nigerian operation and facilitating the insemination of dairy technological knowledge fir Nigerian research fellows at Netherlands institutes. He pointed out progress with acquiring sperms from thoroughbred cows from Holland to be used on Nigerian cattle so as to, in years to cone, have a local dairy industry that could provide much needed cow milk for Friesland in Nigeria so as to put a stop to the decades long idea of milk importation into the country. Similar progress was mentioned with Indorama.
When the interview was rounded up by 8pm, I was yearning for more. Bindir has a brilliant mind and clearly understand what his vision of success is. He is a perfect definition of having a round peg in a round hole. How I wish we have many more minds like him holding different positions of repute in Nigeria. When he mentioned that he is a Fulani man, my mind could not disentangle itself from the present show of shame being canvassed by our northern governors blaming their incompetencies and inability to develop the region on not having enough share from the federally allocated revenues of Nigeria. Let’s consider this, if these governors will invest in education of such that has produced such a brilliant scholar like Bindir, will we be talking of Boko Haram and Almajeris in present day Nigeria? Would the story of the North not have been one of a big farming basin that supplies the whole nation with cost efficient farm produce and cause an economic turnaround in these states as a result of the income that would have accrued to these states from this venture?
Let’s know what you are reading and share your knowledge with others. Ralph Waldo Emerson (US Poet: 1803 – 1882) said “If we encounter a man of rare intellect, we should ask him what books he reads”.
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A group to encourage the reading culture among Nigerians. It is also a forum to share amongst members the thoughts and excerpts from books that members are reading. It is hoped that when we as Nigerians read, such readings will stimulate our thought processes, encouraging us to put pen on paper and create books for generations to come to read as well. A final aim is to translate the knowledge from our reading in transforming our country!
What are you reading?
http://www.facebook.com/groups/Naijaread
Thisday Newspaper of Thursday March 8th 2012 was exciting. Exciting in the sense that the Benue State Government chose this medium to advertise its achievements under Governor Gabriel Suswam watch. Such being necessary as to publicize the official visit of President Goodluck Jonathan to the state.
Now, in the words of a good friend of mine, you just can’t polish a toad, a toad will always be a toad. Eight (8) pages of the newspaper was taken by the government of Benue State to publicize its accomplishments, the most notable being New Governor’s Lodge. I must confess upfront that I do not have all the facts as to the cost of this beautiful edifice to the taxpayers and the citizenry of Benue State but I believe it would be a colossal sum. The point is, how Does building a new government house helps to alleviate the problems of the Benue Citizen? Arguments can be made that the new edifice is beneficial more to Suswam and his retinue of aids and hangers on but not to the ordinary citizens of Benue state.
We expect accountability from those who we have elected to manage our collective affairs. Suswam should take more joy in building schools, roads, hospitals and crating avenues for employment for the average citizenry. These are the things that are of importance to the people and will be regarded as good investment in human capital. When government choose to up the scale of their luxurious live style just as the new government house will do to Suswam as the acquisition of planes by our other friend from the South-South, then we need to ask questions whether these people are serving us or serving themselves.
Dear Governor Suswam, posterity will judge you not on the lavishness of the government house but on the lives you touch by providing social infrastructure and safety nets.
Things ain’t looking good in the news for Nigeria, it’s another tragic date. The newspapers of 15th March 2012 report the crash of a Chopper belonging to the Nigerian Police and causing the death of four (4) top policemen, amongst others. While we mourn this tragic loss, it behoves us to investigate the circumstance in which the Chopper came down.
A good friend of mine, a couple of years ago, pointed out clearly the difference between maintenance for these flying machines and those for road vehicles. For flying machines, you maintain and repair before something breaks while for road vehicle you have the luxury of waiting until something breaks before you fix it.
It is good to know that the Inspector General of Police has requested an investigation into the cause of the accident but I won’t be surprised if this has to do with the chopper not being maintained as prescribed by the manufacturers. It has happened before and if our habits is anything to go by, I believe it will happen again. We just don’t have that maintenance culture in us, either from the wide prevalent corruption or just our sheer inability to focus on doing the right thing at the right time.
In any case, the nation is at a loss again, a loss of another one of its finest brains (DIG Haruna John was described as such by the IGP. we also loss the massive state investment in training and bringing these policemen to the levels they were holding prior to their death. Our reputation as a nation also suffered another dent. I hope we’ve learnt a lesson and someone who has the responsibility for the maintenance of these aircraft is up and doing right now asking what could go wrong next with our military fleet.
As the Yoruba will say – “Ewu nbe l’oko longe, longe funrare ewu ni”. Simply interpreted, it means there is problem in the horizon. Just this Tuesday, the IMF Managing Director Christine Lagarde was in Lagos talking to the leaders of industry in a Ministry of Finance/ NESG sponsored Roundtable. I was there, in Eko Hotel amongst many other captains of Industry.
In her informed views, which she termed as collective wisdom, there are great dangers in the horizon and except Nigeria take appropriate measures now, we are not immuned from the happenings in the European Economy which has the ability to be transmitted by such channels of contagion as (a) Trade; (b)Foreign Investment and (c) Remittances.
What should Nigeria do? She advised that Nigeria needs to tighten its budget and plug wasteful spending. Increase the external reserve, that has dwindled from the 2008 levels, especially through the Sovereign Wealth Bond.Nigeria is encouraged to balance its fiscal adjustments with the need to provide growth friendly policies to act as a catalyst for medium to long term sustained growth. All htese should be done in addition to bringing down inflation.
The IMF crystal ball predicts gloom for the global economy and unlike in the previous meltdown, the economic power houses of China, India and Brazil will not be available to act as buffer to the long persistnet resilience that may be witnessed.
For the detailed report, please visit http://bit.ly/seLNKR.
Ever been in a situation where you think that it can never get worse than this and then, boom, out of nowhere a new low is achieved? Yes, you know what I mean.
In February, I complained about Arik Air’s unapologetic habit of running flights that are delayed beyond their planned departure time. In February, my experience was a delay of four (4) hours at the Lagos Airport. In May, I had my worst experience ever – a delay of more than ten (10) hours at the Port Harcourt Airport.
Now, it is a different thing if one were to know that his flight will be delayed by 10 hours – probably one would have gone back to the hotel and rest to come back much later to catch the flight. My experience did not follow that pattern. I arrived at the Airport at around 12:30pm to catch my scheduled 1:30pm flight from Port Harcourt to Lagos. At 1:30pm, the voice of the flight announcer came alive to inform that our flight had been delayed for an hour due to operational reasons. Now, if that was it, there would have been no need for this post.
Well, things were to really get worse as time after time, we got the message at odd intervals that the flight was delayed for different periods of time (45, 30, 60 mins)and then it was complete silence. Eventually, the plane showed up at 10pm. Boarding the plane became an issue. With three (3) flights already delayed, all passengers rushed to the tarmac and created a scene at the point of boarding. Another twist in this tale was the plane itself. There must have been some problems as the Pilot requested the space around the plane to be cleared while he fired the engine and do some tests. By the time we finally boarded the plane, the air condition system would not be put on until, according to the hostess, the plane begin to taxi on the tarmac.
The simple message to ARIK is to pack its plane and leave the airline business alone. Disaster is lurking in the air and this can be prevented by getting ARIK straight.
On Sunday February 5, 2012 at around 8:02am, a lady driving a black Volkswagen Passat with Lagos registration number JA604EKY approached the Chevron Lekki Roundabout. Instead of going the full circle round the roundabout, she took an immediate left turn and drove on the wrong side of the road.
1. Massive corruption and personal conversion of money held in trust for the development of Delta State;
2. For being a convict, having been convicted of handling a stolen credit card in 1991 and thereafter running for governorship of Delta State, an office he was not qualified to run for.
Pirates of Penzance
On Sunday, February 26, the Musical Society of Nigeria performed the comic opera, the Pirates of Penzance, by Gilbert and Sullivan.
The story centers around Frederic, a lad who was wrongly apprenticed to the pirates for 21 years by his maid, Ruth, having thought that his father requested she did so. Frederic’s father had requested that he be apprenticed to the Pilots and not Pirates. On completion of his 21 years of apprenticeship he abandoned Ruth for the very fair and beautiful Mabel, the daughter of Major-General Stanley, and the two young people fell instantly in love. I was full of pity for the 47 year old Ruth (with all her attempts to convince Frederic that she was just 42) whose beauty cannot compete with that of Mabel or any of the other 9 daughters of the General. Faced with the same decision, I would do the same thing that Frederick did, go for the beautiful Mabel. Who wouldn’t?
Frederic finds out,later and much to his distaste, that having been born on 29 February, technically, he only has a birthday each leap year. His apprenticeship indentures state that he remains apprenticed to the pirates until his 21st birthday (and not his 21st year, a most ingenious paradox!) and so he must serve for another 63 years. Bound by his own sense of duty, Frederic’s only solace is that Mabel agrees to wait for him faithfully.
The performance, by MUSON, was generally fair. Given the parlor equipment and the theater they had to work with, they made the best use of these. I do have my reservation with the dressing of the pirates, I am sure the African Pirates on the coast of Somalia and the Gulf of Guinea will protest vehemently that they dress better than this. The rubber rain boots worn by the pirates of penzance were just odd and it wasn’t that we cannot get better boots for pirates in Nigeria. However, the maidens, daughters of the General, were gorgeous in their dressing and general appearance.
The Shell Nigeria Hall of the Muson center was a little bit better than the last time my family visited – this time, the air conditioning worked though not as cool as desired. The decoration of the hall was modest for the event but I still get challenged that there are no curtains on the stage, to separate one Act from another.
Someone had said that within pirates, even there are codes of honor, one naturally find the codes of honor of the Pirates of Penzance amusing. With codes that state –
1. You cannot rob those who are weaker than you and
2. You should not take advantage of orphans
One wonders whether these guys are prepared for the business of piracy or are just Queen Victoria’s jesters on the coast of Cornwall.
The Muson Choir gave a good account of itself and the music director did beautifully well. The sonorous voice of Mabel was just enchanting and kept us all at awe. The policemen, with their colonial era batons just kept us all laughing – these guys were good comic, whether they knew what it takes to police and keep the pirates at bay, was another issue entirely. Their dressing was smart and the thought that kept going through my brain was that the Nigeria Police could actually learn a thing or two from these guys. At the minimum, the art of dressing smartly but could also add the knowledge of how to make a better mockery of itself in its faltering battle with men of the BokoHaram clan. Has anyone thought of the good that carrying batons, instead of guns, will do to our “Olopa” people?
Maybe it was just me, the white pirate really looked odd amongst the gang. Do we really need another white face to put some sign of acceptance to this play? I am sure the guy must have asked himself whether he was with the right crowd.
In totality, kudos to Muson for the opera – the seats were totally sold out. I will rate the entire theater experience 7/10.
Opportunities that I noted include:
1. The theatre could be made more friendly – provision of snacks such as popcorn, ice cream, drinks etc for audience to purchase would have helped, especially when you have children around.
2. Parking is a nightmare in Muson. This has improved with the extra parking space under the bridge but more parking spaces are needed.
3. The Shell Hall needs an upgrade. Sitting on plastic chair, in a theater, is unacceptable in the 21st century.
4. The Muson needs better publicity for its programs. Think of leaving your flyers in the eateries and other places frequently patronised by Lagosians.
A simple question, the King in Israel asked
Should we attack OR should we not?
Four hundred prophets, so they gathered
Trembling and fearful
To the Kings, they said
Attack,
God, to the kings, will hand over the city
The other King, a different spirit had
He of Judah, the true God knows
Isn’t there still a prophet in Israel?
The King in Israel a troubling answer gave
Micaiah, a man can seek the LORD’s will
O, how I despise him!
His prophesy has never been
One of prosperity but of certain doom.
Here he comes, this same Micaiah
Trembling and fearful
Not of the Kings but of the KING of Kings
One message and nothing else he has
That to whatever the Kings will ask
As certainly as the LORD lives,
He will say only what
The LORD has instructed him to say
Micaiah, the prison beckons!
So shouts the loud voice within
Say only to the Kings
That which they want to hear
That which the four hundred prophets
Trembling and fearful, Attested to,
Attack!
God, to the kings, will hand over the city
Fear the Kings and live
Fear the KING of Kings and go to prison
The choice to Many is obvious and easy
But Micaiah is not as Many
So the narrow path, he chose to tread
As certainly as the LORD lives,
I will say only what
The LORD has instructed me to say
The King in Israel knows
The message was too good to be true
To the King’s question, Micaiah has answered
Attack! You will succeed
They will be handed over to you!
Micaiah you’ve chosen to be comical
The truth, only the truth!
I beseech you to solemnly promise
Should we attack OR should we not?
The inconvenient truth then said Micaiah
“I saw all Israel scattered on the mountains
Like sheep that have no shepherd
They have no master. They should go home in peace”
Attack NOT!
You will not succeed.
Oops, did Micaiah say that much
Is he lacking in tact and wisdom?
Is the King no longer God enthroned?
Micaiah? he deserved what he got
First, it was Zedekiah that hit him on the jaw
And then, it was the King in Israel
O guard, put him in shackles till I am back
A little bread and water, give to him
Attack!
I will succeed
It is an inconvenient truth to say to the King [2 Chronicles 18] –
“That being the case, hear the word of the LORD: I saw the LORD sitting on his throne, with all the heavenly assembly standing on his right and on his left. The LORD said, ‘Who will deceive King Ahab of Israel, so he will attack Ramoth Gilead and die there?’ One said this and another that.Then a spirit 23 stepped forward and stood before the LORD. He said, ‘I will deceive him.’ The LORD asked him, ‘How?’ He replied, ‘I will go out and be a lying spirit in the mouths of all his prophets.’ The LORD 24 said, ‘Deceive and overpower him. 25 Go out and do as you have proposed.’ So now, look, the LORD has placed a lying spirit in the mouths of all these prophets of yours; but the LORD has decreed disaster for you.”
..copied from my 2010 post at http://nigeriascallobeyed.blogspot.com/
It’s strange how things that we normally take for granted bring us to reality and sends a jolt to our spines. Sometimes.
