Beyond the Shadows of Yesterday: Embracing Dialogue

The recent launch of former Head of State, General Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida’s (IBB), memoir has undoubtedly stirred a complex tapestry of emotions across Nigeria. For many, the name IBB evokes memories, both positive and deeply painful, inextricably linked with pivotal moments in the nation’s history. Among these, the annulment of the June 12, 1993, presidential election remains a significant wound, a stark reminder of a democratic aspiration denied.

The sentiment expressed by many Nigerians who grapple with this legacy is understandable. I feel the angst in the land, I get it. I was there, at Palmgrove, when boys who could have become men today, were mowed down in the prime of their youth. This is justifiable anger, but…the question that confronts us is how to navigate our complex past while forging a path towards a more unified future. The analogy drawn with the early Christian reception of Paul offers a compelling perspective. Imagine if the nascent Christian communities in Jerusalem, Philippi, Corinth, and Ephesus had remained solely fixated on Saul, the persecutor of the apostles? Would they have ever embraced Paul, the transformative figure who gifted the world the profound insights of the Pauline Epistles? In Paul’s transformation is the lesson that it is God, and only him, that forgives.

IBB could have navigated June 12 differently but for whatever reasons took decisions that have altered the path of growth of the nation. Should he be killed or perpetually haunted because of that? I think Jesus answered that question by saying ” “he that is without sin should cast the first stone.” Furthermore, the transformation of the thief on the cross, promised paradise despite his past transgressions, speaks to the potential for redemption. While the capacity for divine forgiveness rests solely with God, our approach to historical figures and events can be guided by principles of reconciliation and the pursuit of a better future. Leave IBB to seek forgiveness from Allah.

IBB’s decision to document his years leading Nigeria, regardless of one’s opinion of his tenure, should be commended. I think he has done well, he could have chosen silence, taking his experiences and perspectives with him. Instead, he has offered a narrative, a piece of the puzzle in Nigeria’s ongoing nation-building journey. Whether one agrees with his account or not, it serves as a catalyst for further discourse and understanding.The onus now lies on other key figures from that era, still living, such as David Mark, Abdulsalami Abubakar, Ebitu Ukiwe, and other IBB boys to write their own narrative about those dark days in 1993 and 1994.

Olusegun Obasanjo’s “My Command,” detailing his involvement in the Biafran War and his time as Head of State, and Godwin Alabi Isiama’s critical response in “The Tragedy of Victory,” exemplify the value of multiple perspectives in understanding complex historical events. These contrasting viewpoints enrich the national conversation and allow for a more nuanced comprehension of the past.Nigeria stands at a crossroads.

Acknowledging the pain of the past is vital, but allowing it to solely dictate the present risks hindering progress. IBB’s memoir, however contentious, can serve as a stepping stone towards a more comprehensive understanding of our history, provided it encourages further dialogue and the sharing of other perspectives.The path forward requires acknowledging the wounds of the past without allowing them to fester and consume the future. Nigeria must move onward, learning from its history, embracing open dialogue, and collectively striving for a future defined not solely by the shadows of yesterday, but by the promise of tomorrow.

From Accounts to Siberia: My Brush with Bureaucratic Corruption

Fresh out of University with an idealistic mind of a better Nigeria

Ever wonder how officials like Yahaya Bello allegedly divert public funds for personal use? This article lifts the veil on civil service corruption through a firsthand account. I share my experience as a young officer encountering a system where budgets are manipulated and projects become a source of personal gain.

It was at the turn of the decade that I got employed as a Grade Level 8 Step 2 Officer in the Lagos State Civil Service and posted to Agege Local Government as the Officer-in-Charge (OC) Accounts. I had just completed the mandatory one-year national youth service far away from home, returning to Lagos to start life after having spent the last two decades being prepared for it.

It was at Sita Street that I was introduced to Lagos, and this was where I called home. It was from here that I made the daily trip to the local government office on Abeokuta Street and back.

As the OC Accounts, my job was to ensure that the revenues and expenditures of the council were properly recorded, and that all expenditures were in line with the budgetary provisions as approved by the local government legislature as headed by a speaker. In short, to ensure compliance with the Lagos State Local Governments Accounting Manual, maintaining the Departmental Vote Expenditure Account (DVEA) and the Departmental Vote Revenue Account (DVRA).

To ensure this, all expenses were brought to my desk to confirm that there was a budgetary provision for the work and that the remaining provisions were adequate to accommodate the expenditure being made. It wasn’t a tedious responsibility for a young man aiming to become a Chartered Accountant, except that I wasn’t prepared for the politics that come with the position.

On this special day, as the hours on the clock ticked towards closing time, a voucher was brought to my table for approval. Reviewing the voucher, I realised it was for the installation of publicly funded pipe-borne water, not anywhere else but on Sita Street. I was alarmed! I had woken up and arrived at work from this street and had been unaware of any construction activities that would have led to a functioning pipe-borne public water tap being made available. Had I missed something? I held off on approving the voucher so that I could check out this good news.

Arriving on Sita Street at the close of work that day, I walked the entire length and breadth of the street looking for this public water tap and the accompanying infrastructure but found none. I asked my mum and siblings whether they were aware of any such installation, and the answer was No.

At work the next morning, I refused to approve the voucher and it was returned to the Council Engineer Office. Following this, the contractor who was to be paid for the work came to my office demanding an explanation, of which I told him that there was no such work done in the mentioned street. He drew my attention to the “certificate of work completion” issued by the Council Engineer, asking when it became my responsibility to validate whether work was done or not and left my office in anger.

Not very long later, one of the errand boys showed up at my office, informing me that the Chairman wanted to see me. At this point, I was frightened. I was just at the entry level of public service, so I had no direct communication line to the Chairman, and for the Chairman to request my presence was intimidating. For the very first time in my stay at the local government office, I was ushered into the expansive office of Mr Ajagunna, the chairman. Without looking much at me, he asked why I had refused to approve the voucher, a question to which I stammered to respond. Nothing I was saying made sense to the chairman, whose next instruction was, “Go and get me your boss.”

How I got downstairs, I still don’t know till date, but I surely did make my way to Mr Vaughan’s office. He was the treasurer, and having told his secretary about my mission, I was ushered into his office. He was a big man with a loud voice to match his stature. I explained to him that the chairman wanted to see him. Immediately, he heard that the call was from the Chairman; he didn’t bother to know why but started fuming, saying what have you, small boy, done now? Why would the Chairman want to see me? With myself in tow, we made our way back to the Chairman’s office, who flung the voucher at the Treasurer, saying, “Your boy has refused to approve this voucher, saying the work has not been done. Could you sign off on it?”

Muttering words of apology, he took the voucher and signed off on it in front of the chairman and promised the contractor, who was sitting relaxed at one end of the office, that the voucher would be expedited for payment. He took the voucher with him, and he continued bashing me with unprintable words as we made our way downstairs. He told me that my action was unauthorised as the work of validating whether a project had been done or not was that of the Council Engineer. All my protests that this was a public project claimed to have been executed in the street where I lived fell on deaf ears.


When you fight corruption, corruption fights back…

The version of me that left the council offices that day was the opposite of the ever-bubbling, confident self that had arrived earlier that morning. I knew the story would not end there; I had chosen to ride on the back of the tiger!

And truly, it didn’t. On resumption the following Monday morning, as I stepped into my office on the ground floor of the main secretariat building, I was handed a redeployment letter. Over the weekend, the civil service machine had been at its most efficient. I have been transferred and re-designated. I was no longer the OC Accounts but was now the OC Reconciliation. The humour was not lost on me; someone must have been ingenious in thinking that I would make better use of my investigative powers in reconciling the bank ledgers and statements.

I had been sent to Siberia. My Siberia was in sharp contrast with the Accounts Office that I had left behind. While the Accounts Office was on the ground floor of the main council building and was so big that it accommodated about six employees, Siberia was not. It was located at the back of the customary court area and away from any traffic or interactions with other people. In fact, until then, I had only heard of the office by name but was unaware of where it was located. It was a single room with no amenities apart from the ceiling fluorescent light, not even a fan. The office was messy, with files stacked wall-high and cheque stubs all over the place. At the account office, I had a team of about six reporting directly to me; in Siberia, that number was zero. My wings were clipped, and I could be of no further threat to anyone.

Nobody needed to say much to me; it was clear that I had no future career in Agege; my career in the civil service that had not started had ended already. I made up my mind that I needed to leave the local government for pastures elsewhere, and I did.

In a sad twist of events, related or unrelated, Mr Ajagunna was killed while he tried to be a Rambo on a rampage by Armed Robbers who invaded his house.

The Library on Wheels program….

But that wasn’t the only experience, though; it started with the Library on Wheels program. The council had conceived the brilliant idea of bringing the library to the people on wheels. I had been a beneficiary of the wonderful library system that Agege had, so I was sure that this initiative was one in the right direction.

Our Sita Street had a mix of kids when I was growing up – some more privileged than the others, and the Bankoles were surely privileged. We knew each other just faintly, as my uncle hardly allowed us to mix. With privilege also comes the opportunity to take life for granted and rebel. Not one of the Bankole’s pursued their education beyond the secondary school level, but then, with the privilege of being of the Bankole stock, one of them contested and got elected as the Supervisory Councillor for Education. With this election, he became one of the authorities that I needed to defer to.

On this given day, he had walked into my office with a voucher that had been approved for a training to be held in Ibadan. The problem was that there were no more funds on the vote for Education, and as such, I could not ascent to it. I explained this much, and he was furious. Condescending as well, calling me all sorts of names and questioning my competence. He asked me to use the budget of the proposed Library on Wheels, and I asked him to seek approval from his colleagues for the virement of the budget to cover this expenditure. He left very disgruntled and promised that there would be retribution for my subservience.

How the fund got paid to him, I don’t have a clue, but a few days after the training had taken place, I got a memo with the approval of the Treasurer to code the expenditure against the Library on Wheels budget head, depleting that budget line. At the time I left the council employment, the project had not taken off, and I doubt whether it did actually take off eventually or at the scale at which it was planned.

Mind where you thread…

Before all these events occurred, I had been forewarned by Mrs. Sanni, only that I did not take some of them seriously. Mrs Sanni was a kind soul sent to me divinely to guide me in my conduct as I got settled into working at the council. She was the OC in charge of Markets and was my direct report. We didn’t have a boss-subordinate relationship; how could we? What we had was more of a mother-son relationship. She was much older in years and had been working for the local government, probably from the time I was still in primary school.

She had whispered to me that I should be cautious of where I sit and where I thread in the council offices as there are those envious of my position who would do anything to hurt me and get me removed from the position. She narrated that as the OC markets, with responsibility for collecting revenues from all the stalls and women in the various markets in Agege, she was not conscious of this until she sat on a charm that someone had placed on her chair and developed a sickness that assails her, to the point of death, once yearly.

Until then, I never had an inkling of how powerful the position I held was and that it was the cynosure of the eyes of many of my colleagues. In those days, we had fash, pedi, and one young married lady as colleagues, all of whom had been sent freshly to Agege Local Government from the Ministry of Local Government Affairs. All these names have become big guys within the local government system and I disappointed not a few with the decision to exit the system such that a family member threatened never to have anything to do with me in the future, given that I was given an opportunity that he never got and I casually threw it away.

I started checking my seat before sitting down, removing the foot carpet before stepping on it and stopped sending the office attendant messages to buy lunch for me.

We get the leaders we deserve?

What I was to learn later was that society fuels the corruption that pervades the environment. Next to our house was a lady who had a drinks store, Iya Rashida known for her bleached skin and mingling with men of all sorts. Her beer parlour was the final calling place each night for people of different characters. She also wielded a large political influence as I guess she was the Ward’s Woman Leader for one of the political parties. Elections are not won on just promises; after all, anyone can promise heaven on earth. More importantly, they are not sustained either with emptiness; the boys have to be placated, and patronage in the form of opportunities for personal enrichment occur. A chairman that ignores this stands the risk of being removed by the legislators. She was a recipient of fridges, freezers and gas cookers from the local government, and I wondered how. What I came to learn was that by awarding fictitious contracts, contracts meant not to be executed, the party generates the money to run the organs of the party and buy the necessary patronage and votes of those in the local government that will make the next election possible. How else could people like Iya Rashida get the ‘dividends of democracy’ in the form of fridges and freezers?  It was through grafts like invoicing for work not completed that the chairman and his cronies amass the cash with which they gratify the people to secure their votes.

This process has become institutionalised in our lives. We only need to look a little closer at the multitudes of abandoned projects and contracts not executed but announced on radios and televisions to understand the ramifications.

Some have said that we should shine the light on the Lagos-Calabar Expressway to be sure it doesn’t end as ‘food for the boys’ by ensuring its execution.

Lying At Bethesda

 

At the place of kindness in Old Jerusalem, Bethesda, was a pool. Here lay a man, who for 38 years, was afflicted with paralysis.

For 38 years, he had coped with the challenges of everyday living arising from his condition – movement was ardous and slow. Some time, within those 38 years, he looked at his past, his present and future and concluded that a solution to his paralysis was necessary if he were to live a meaningful life. We weren’t told of the options he had considered but we know he ended up taking a spot at the place of kindness. What made the pool at Bethesda special was that the waters of the pool get stirred by an Angel but the efficacy of this renewal was just for only one individual, the one that gets in the water first thereafter, to be made whole.
He was focused, determined and was aware of the times and seasons. He wanted no handouts, no pity, nothing else but healing. But, he was not alone. Around that pool at Bethesda were many others with different life issues ailing them. There could have been other paralytics as well but these other competitors for the kindness that gives healing were not hindered in their ability to move. This much was revealed in his statement of self pity “while I am going, another steps down before me.”
Why he persevered and kept hope alive is beyond understanding as one should ask, ‘ realising his inability and the superior prowess of the others, what was he still doing by the pool?’ Jesus saw him and knew his story, understood his needs but still went ahead to ask him first “Do you want to be healed?”
The question could be considered unnecessary since Jesus already knew but in asking, he established communication with the man so that the work of miracle he was about to do could be meaningful and enduring. Yes, I want to be healed was all he should have said but he has had it and would like this stranger standing before him to know that his being by the pool was not for a fluke. He answered “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, and while I am going another steps down before me.”
One can say he expressed the hopelessness of his situation. In popular palace, many would be right to regard him a fool, afterall doing the same thing, in the same way, over and over again expecting a different outcome is what foolishness means. One should then ask why was he the one that Jesus directed his question to? As we did agree, there were others of his ilk lying there, at Bethesda, so why not others or why not to everyone of them?
There probably is no better answer than saying that the man’s resoluteness in a hopeless situation must have been known to the Saviour who then decided it was time to make a way where there was no way for the paralyzed man. In essence, the same thing that others had termed foolish was the one thing that brought mercy to him .
Could we also then say, Mercy is not for everyone? Afterall Jesus did not heal any other invalid at that pool on that day? Also, remember, the refreshing of the pool by the Angel was just that only one invalid, the one that gets in first, be healed, not everyone. Well, the Lord himself answered this question when he said to Moses “I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious, and will show mercy on whom I will show mercy”. Here was a man in need, he did not cry out like the two blind men in Jericho did, saying “Lord, have mercy on us, Son of David!” He did not get on a treetop like Zaccheous before Christ’s mercy found him. He did not follow Jesus around, hoping to touch the helm of his garment as the woman, up north in the region of Galilee, with the issue of blood did.

We could conclude, without being wrong, that up until that day, our man, perhaps, was not aware that there was a living, breathing saviour walking amongst men, healing the sick and setting the captives free. If he did, he wouldn’t have kept on at the pool in Bethsaida and would most likely have asked to be carried before Christ as the four men did with the paralytic whose sins Jesus Christ forgave. What we know is that, where he was, in the hopelessness of all situations, he that carries the annointing that breaks the yoke found him and healed him.
How do these pertain to us? Well, there is one lesson that we need to walk away with – mercy is only of God, it is not by any work that we do. It is God that dispenses mercy as he finds suitable. Why he does so and the yardstick he uses in doing so, we do not know. Not even the foremost Apostle, Paul, knows as he simply concludes that the potter has a right of what to make from a lump of clay – a vessel to honour or dishonour.

So, relax. If you are deserving of our Lord’s mercy, at his time, he will find you out and bestow it on you. Till then, keep the faith alive.

Moses’ Dilemma

Three Short Stories – Story 1

Leadership is difficult. It is made more difficult in a society if success is measured by riches and not many are concerned as to how such riches are acquired

Some moons ago, a gap-toothed man seized power in Arokostan, crowning himself king.

The people, of course, cried out against his tyranny. Among them, the voice of the khaki-clad school headmaster boomed the loudest. A fearless man, he led protests and lectured on what Arokostan should be, could be, but was not – unfazed by the king’s gun-wielding minions.

The headmaster was highly respected. After all, he had established a top-notch school, proving what good leadership could achieve in their community.

Despite being touted as the happiest nation; daily survival was a struggle for Arokostanians. Life was not a walk in the park. The gap-toothed king, a cunning leader, navigated Arokostan through economic, social, and political turmoil. He earned various nicknames. Some called him Arokostan’s Maradona, his political astuteness likened to the Argentine footballer’s dribbling skills, albeit with a touch of the “Hand of God.” While nobody saw him as a saviour, his undeniable intelligence earned him the moniker “evil genius” from some.

Maradona, tired of the headmaster’s constant wailing, spent sleepless nights plotting how to silence his nemesis while simultaneously winning over the people. The idea struck him like a sudden burst of light – a brilliant one. At dawn, he summoned his chiefs to a council meeting, sharing his plan. Of course, they were not as gifted as him in such matters so all they could say was that it would not end in praise. He was baffled – couldn’t they see his genius?

Maradona then sent out the town crier to announce the establishment of a “People’s Bank” offering soft loans to pursue various endeavours, with the esteemed village headmaster as chairman to ensure responsible management. The people rejoiced, expecting a new dawn. The headmaster, convinced it was a good thing for Arokostan, diligently took charge, determined to enact positive change.

Everyone seemed happy – Maradona with his gap-toothed grin, the headmaster and his ilk, and the people themselves. According to surrounding villages, Arokostanians were brash, self-centred, lawless, corrupt, and immoral. The king was not nicknamed Maradona for nothing; he was aware of this, something hidden from the headmaster who was consumed by his nationalistic fervour to improve Arokostan at all costs. Maradona anticipated the inevitable collapse and bided his time.

Arokostan had everything to be great – wonderful people and abundant natural resources, the envy of other villages. Despite this, Arokostanians were treated with disdain. Surrounding villages stopped trading with them and imposed excruciating permit processes for any visiting Arokostanian.

Well, a few moons later, the headmaster learned the harsh truth Maradona had known all along: Arokostanians were not ready for good leaders, perhaps didn’t even want them. Their actions spoke volumes different from their words. They only complained when things were not in their favour.

So, what happened? While the headmaster tirelessly strived to ensure a “better life” for the people, granting loans for what he saw as worthwhile opportunities, corruption festered under his leadership. When the scandal broke, he was in disbelief. How could this have happened? The very people he made policy decisions with were presenting fictitious projects to secure loan funding. Dejected, he approached Maradona, requesting prosecution for those involved.

Maradona, with a satisfied grin, placed a hand on the headmaster’s shoulder. “Sir, you’ve got the Moses problem. Remember him? While he was busy on Mount Sinai working with God, his people were busy making idols! While you focused on the bank’s vision, your people siphoned off the money.”

“So, sir,” the evil genius continued, “if you can’t manage a small thing like the People’s Bank, how can you handle Arokostan?” And uncle, he added, hammering home his point, “you’ve smeared my name because of my team’s corruption. It would only be fair if I blamed you too. But I will not, because I know who Arokostanians are. Why don’t you just go home and let me clean up this mess?”

Feeling humiliated, the headmaster went home, a broken man. How could this have happened to him? He was an honourable man and saw no justification to take part in any other protest against Maradona. The weight of it all likely contributed to his death a few years later.

His epitaph, self-written, reads: “Here lies Tai Solarin, who lived and died for humanity.”

by ‘Bimbo Bakare, the storyteller.

That candles be brought

To light our paths in these dark hours

Being my response to a planned protest by certain members of the Nigerian Association of Western Australia, planned for 30th September 2021 in Perth.

Having a dissenting opinion is not a ground for us to be uncivil. As such, I will like to crave the indulgence of all on this forum that may disagree with the thoughts that I will be expressing below, to be civil in expressing their disagreements. With that said, please find below my thoughts regarding this planned protest:

All foreign interests in Nigeria are exploitative, no nation comes to Nigeria (and none ever will) out of being magnanimous to help Nigeria become better. So, nobody is going to build Nigeria apart from Nigerians themselves – you and I.

Being convinced that we need to begin with the end in mind, I ask, what is the intent of this planned demonstration against bad leadership in Nigeria, on the streets of Perth? Is it to cause the Australian government to intercede in Nigeria? To levy sanctions against Nigeria or what?

I don’t know the answers that the organizers have but I struggle to understand how this planned demonstration will do Nigeria or her citizens any good. First, except there is an economic incentive, no government will intercede in the running of Nigeria. Second, if ever, sanctions are levied (which will not happen because of the exploitative relationship), I still don’t see how the common man on the streets of Ibadan or Auchi is well served. However, if the intent is to increase the level of despise the average Australians have for Nigerians, this is definitely a great way to achieve that. So let’s go ahead.

On a wall in an alley in downtown Perth I came across this inscription “Every country has the government it deserves.” I agree. Our government is a reflection of the larger majority of Nigerians. We won’t vote, we won’t volunteer for office, yet we want “the government of heaven on earth” but not one akin to that of Sat Guru Maharaji as one enters Ibadan! Where does this ever happen?

As Jesus asked those that were about to stone the woman caught in adultery, may I say that for anyone amongst us to have a moral standing to protest, such a person must have voted in the last elections. If your argument is that you have been away from Nigeria that long, please show that you have voted in previous elections while you resided in Nigeria. Now, the list of protesters has suddenly grown smaller.

This call for protest is against bad leadership in Nigeria. Peradventure, have we considered protesting against bad followership? Good governance doesn’t happen overnight, it requires two things, which we were taught in our Social Studies classes in secondary school – (a) Citizens must actively participate in electing their leaders and (b) they must hold their leadership to accountability. In these two responsibilities of a citizen, many of us have failed. We don’t hold leadership accountable by protesting in Perth, we hold each level of leadership accountable by asking them to account for their actions.

We all have elected representatives in the House of Representatives and the Senate. Recently, these people voted to deny the electoral commission (INEC) the power to transmit results of elections electronically. As members of the diaspora, this should be concerning. Fortunately, we do know how each member of the house voted and thus have enough data to hold them accountable for their vote. Did we get back to our representatives asking them to explain why they voted the way they did? Are we noting these self-serving acts against the time they come again for re-election? These are the simplest things we can do to ensure we have the right leadership and yet, we leave them undone.

All the cries are about Buhari this, Buhari that. However, the majority of issues that affect us as a people are best addressed at our local level – the LG and states. The bad roads within Enugu affects the common man more than the bigotry in Abuja. The youth joblessness in Oshogbo is something within the powers of Gboyega Oyetola to fix. Each month, the FAAC meets in Abuja and money is doled out to the states. When Rivers State receives its allocation plus the 13% derivation, what does it do with it? Has the Ikwerre man looked into why the roads in Port Harcourt are in the sorry state and the once enviable garden city has become so dirty? Do we know and relate with our Councillor, our local government chairman, our governor ….. in that order? We surely don’t but we are quick to jump all these and put the blame in Abuja.

What have we learnt regarding the open grazing issue? We have learnt that most of our issues can be fixed at the local level. After crying against it and with Abuja offering deaf ears, what smart states have done is to institute laws prohibiting open grazing within the borders of their states. Whether Abuja likes it or not, no Fulani man can run his cattle on the streets of Benue now, he will be promptly arrested and his cattle confiscated for free suya meat. I see this as a very effective way through which this issue of grazing routes has been addressed.

Economic well-being gives voice to the voiceless. Good government results when the majority of the citizens have a voice. In essence, where poverty is endemic, good governance will remain a mirage. The reason why I don’t know of any nation with a high poverty rate that is ranked high on the Human Development Index (HDI). The politics of stomach infrastructure is easily curtailed when economic opportunities are provided to the electorate.

Many have abandoned Nigeria to itself and only pay lip service to investing in the country citing high level of crime, lack of infrastructure and all the social ills that currently bedevil it. To show the heightened level of hypocrisy, some are going around seeking international entities to come and invest in a country where they, as citizens, have considered it suicidal to invest! Yet, the flights from the middle-east to Nigeria are always full of Chinese and Lebanese going to Nigeria which make me to ask – What are they seeing in the country that we are not seeing? And, how come we abuse and criticize these folks for their harsh employment conditions when we are not providing an alternative? Please don’t get me wrong, I do not support enslavement employment conditions in any guise. Basically, what I am putting forward is that there is a way to address bad leadership through providing gainful employment opportunities for Nigerians so they have a voice and look away from selling their votes for “Naira-in-Bread”. How many jobs have we created for our folks back home and on what morality do we judge them not to sell their votes to the highest bidder?

In summary, my point is that, we need to look before we leap. Let us answer the question – how will this demonstration in Perth help to achieve the aim of good governance in Nigeria. We should also consider the myriads of things that are currently available for us to do that we have left undone.

Comments are welcome and I entertain all civil rejoinders to this. May Nigeria be blessed.

The Muda in and around Us

My grandfather’s house stands tall in Oke-Labo, Ibadan, after all it was the house of Chief Samuel Tayo Bakare, the Mogaji of Sodun, the Ba’ale of Olorunda, Council Chairman and Grade C judge in his days. The house faces the main road that runs from Beere to Orita Aperin and shields many things from the commuters on that road. One of the things it shielded was a house behind it where mad men and women were brought for treatment, a mad house of some sort.

In the years that I lived in my grandfather’s house, my room was at the back and opening my wooden windows gave me unobstructed view of all the happenstance in the vicinity, especially the mad house. I was not particularly interested in the mad house but I had to leave my window open for most of the days and only keep them closed at night, despite the heat, to save my blood from being the only menu on the feast of the mosquitoes.

In those days, the house was the treatment centre for one middle-aged man that we came to know as Muda. How and when he was brought there, I can’t recollect. The “Doctor-in-charge” was one Alfa, who was mostly seen going around with a cane in hand, wearing a dull coloured Jalabiya, which started its earthly journey as a white piece of cloth.

The agonising cry of Muda was a constant feature that cuts through and above all other noise in the neighbourhood, and trust me there was a high level of noise pollution in those days. Yet, Muda’s could be heard well above all others, There were not that many days that I didn’t hear his cry. It was a given that once you see Alfa sauntering around in the premises, Muda’s cry would follow. As a child, I frequently used that relationship to understand the abstract that I was being taught in Economics on c”ause and effect.”

Of course there were other inmates receiving unorthodox treatment for madness from the Alfa. There were a couple of women too and I can recall an event where one of them gave birth leading to questions in the gossip community as to who did the implantation works and how. However, Muda stood out from all the inmates. For most days,Muda sat idly in front of the house, chained. On some occasions, where he was allowed to wander around, probably under the belief that his sickness was being cured, he did so with an iron rod linking two iron bracelets that were firmly locked to his legs. It was a pathetic sight to look at Muda as he walked, aimlessly for most part, around the neighbourhood. The sadness in his looks was perturbing but, as kids, we had the impression that the cure for madness was by caning. I could almost say this was evidence based, in that we saw the caning though we couldn’t ascertain that any was cured. It became written in our subconscious through what we saw, what we heard and the songs we sang. One of the song goes like this:

Ki l’ògùn wèrè
Ẹgba ni.

Years went by and I moved on from our house but Muda never moved on, he continued receiving the treatment at the house, though I can’t tell what eventually became of Muda. I forgot about him and in the years thereafter when I had made visits to our house, all I noticed was that the mad house had fallen into ruins following the death of the Alfa. Not a soul is there any longer.

Then my wife became a mental health nurse. She comes home at the end of each working period to give me snippets of the cases that she handled and educates me on the prevalence of mental health challenges in Australia. Suddenly, everywhere I looked, I started becoming conscious of the challenges as well. Folks of different ages and background are having to cope with different levels of this illness. It is prevalent in the society as just any other health challenge like hypertension is.

Earlier this year, I attended an Health Consumer workshop in the beautiful city of Nedlands. Gathered in the big hall were different folks from the public whose intent was to listen to representatives of the Graylands Hospital Management team talk about their plans for the future and provide responses to these plans.

Seated next to me in the high ceiling hall within this sprawling mental institution complex was a middle-aged man, probably nearing 60. He introduced himself and added that he is a mental health patient and has come to ensure that the hospital plans were broad enough to address the salient needs of other patients like him. I introduced myself as a Community Advisory Committee member and my interest is to ensure that my community’s voice was also heard.

There, next to me, was a Muda. Everything about this Muda was normal, normal just like me. He took active part in the workshop and did everything everyone else did. I thought about it, why was this Grayland’s Muda different from the Oke-Labo Muda?

Less than 2 months later, a high flying ex-colleague of mine found his “mojo” and declared on Facebook that he was and had been battling mental illness all his life, I was taken aback. I thought I knew him well, he was primus inter pares, how could he have been a Muda? For years he had kept silent about it and has only recently become very vocal probably because of concerns about how he probably would have been castigated at work. He wrote that his episode developed from just an incident at work that he had insufficient ability to cope with. Despite this challenge, he still went ahead to have a very successful career lasting 26 years because he had the needed medical care.

It was in his response that we see why there are differences in Muda outcomes for different individuals. Imagine if he had ended up in Oke-Labo under Alfa? He could have ended up living his life in tattered clothes with deep sunken eyes begging for help. This is the image of Muda that I have. One that hunts me these days, thinking I could have raised a voice had I known what I know now.

The point here is a need for us all to embrace our mental wellness. And, if out of ill-luck, we end up being psychotic, we need to speak out and realise that help abounds. Of course, I am not suggesting the kind of help from Oke-Labo. Though each case is different but there has been significant developments in this sphere of healthcare that every case can be managed in a way that each person will live life to the fullest.

On aborigine country

The whole continent of Australia was first populated by the Aborigines. It is likely that a foreigner will see the Australian Aborigines as a homogenic group. This is wrong. The homogeneity amongst the Aborigines extends as far as the skin colour and physical features. Away from this, they are as different as an Igbo man is from a Kanuri or Zulu man. The language and culture are different from one another. To understand Indigenous Australia Aborigines,  one needs to look at Australia from the structure in place in sub-Saharan Africa. The Zulus, Asantes, Songhai,  Igbos, Kikuyus,  Yaos and Hutus are all Africans yet they are different nations. In a similar manner, the Lurija, Anangu, Goorie, Nunga, Murrie, Arrernte are all Aborigines but different nations.  Aborigines prefer the use of the word country than nation. Had Africa not been balkanised, the set-up will most likely be similar to that of present day indigenous Australia.

Our plan today is to cover the 610kms from South Hedland to Broome, that is almost the same distance from Mombasa to Nakuru, passing through Nairobi. However, before we embark on this trip, we have come to the South Hedland Library to process some documents that are urgently needed back in Perth. Here in South Hedland, we are on Kariyarra country. This fact is visibly displayed by the bronze plaque on the wall of the library acknowledging the Kariyarra people as the traditional custodians of the land and paying respect to their Elders, past and present.

The Kariyarra country is bound by Ngarla country to the north, Nyamal to the east and Ngarluma to the southwest. Hearing these names, it was as if I was back in the History of West Africa class being taught about the ethnic nationalities that preceded the modern African states. In 2018, following a 20 year court battle, the Kariyarra people were adjudged as holding exclusive and non-exclusive native title rights and interests over approximately 17,354 square kilometres of land and sea in the Pilbara region, including the town of Port Hedland. With this judgement, all the non-Kariyarra occupiers of land in this area are now tenants of the Kariyarra people as represented by the Kariyarra Aboriginal Corporation. In essence, for any use of land in this area, consent and payment of rent to the Kariyarra Aboriginal Corporation must be negotiated.

With about 25% of all royalties collected by the state being returned to the countries through the Western Australia royalties for region programme, these are supposedly rich people.
Add to this, the fund coming to the Aborigine Corporation from the signing of Native Title Agreements with individual mining companies. In oil industry parlance, this is what is referred to as the cost of the social license to operate. Money from the exploitation of the Pilbara resources is flowing back, in some ways, to the Kariyarra people. It will not be far-fetched to conclude that this may be a key reason why the Kariyarra and other Aborigine nationalities are not proportionally represented in the workforce. Why would one work if there is a guaranteed share of the national cake assignable to him?

But, we need to get back to the library experience.  The building has been standing here since 1979 to aid educational inclusiveness of the people of this area. It is a small bungalow building, painted in light blue colour and located close to the main shopping mall in South Hedland. We had arrived well before the opening time of the library and had to wait a while, spending the period to observe the goings on in around us.  Conspicuously posted on the outer walls of the library was a notice that says “No cash kept on premises”. The burglary proofs, something of an aberration in major Australian cities, are here. The library doors and windows are secured with welded iron barricades and we were left wondering who will be interested in stealing books from a library. We watched a couple of first nation people passed by and noticed not a few walking bare footed. It is a way through which they maintain great connection to the land. Mother earth is very important in indigenous culture.

South Hedland Library

At the time posted, we approached the door and watched as the young lady inside exerted quite some efforts in opening the locks and barricades that protect the entrance door. Inside, the library is modestly equipped with desktop computers,  books, video CDs and more important, free Wi-Fi. We also saw that school bags are available for rent, something that felt strange to us. For the about the one hour period we spent here, the only folks that came in was a Caucasian woman and her daughter.  No Kariyarra native was here for the duration of our stay but we could see them from the library windows as they move about, walking mainly toward the shopping mall.

The long lonely road to Broome

We also noticed that there is an unusual high presence of police corps everywhere we have been in this area. This first occurred to us yesterday while at the shopping mall and we are now seeing them around the library, this early morning. The same will be seen at the gas station, later, as we fill up with gas for our long trip to Broome. It soon dawned on us that the further north we traveled, the more the intense the policing of these areas appear to be. Could this have to do with the crossing of the 26 degrees parallel as mentioned earlier?

Waking up this morning, I need to seek out medical help for my swollen gums. The tooth ache has become unbearable and I hardly slept the previous night. Using the search results from Google, I called some medical practices to book an appointment. None was ready to book me in and I was advised to go to the emergency ward of the nearest hospital. The only practise that was ready to see me requested that I pay twice the normal charge for consultation.  I weighed my options and told my wife that we should brave the odds and go to Broome.  Help should surely be available there.

Crossing the Great Sandy Desert in a motor vehicle would be on the Great Northern Highway, either be northwards from Port Hedland or westward from the Kimberley.  We are doing so from the former. As we left Port Hedland, we drove on bridges across a few river beds, all with the same dryness. The wideness of the river beds inform that these are actually big rivers in the wet season when they are flowing though currently no single drop of water could be seen anywhere on them. Once we drove past the Pardoo Roadhouse, the river channels disappear completely and we were now at the western extremity of the desert. On this segment of the trip, the Great Northern Highway is closely hugging the coast. Though we could not see the ocean which lies to our left, at no point on this road were we further than a few kilometers from it. Which begs the question, why is this area visibly dry that it is a desert? Again, the teaching of my geography teacher at Lagelu Grammar School came handy. Though I must have stolen a few looks at the very beautiful NYSC tutor that was assigned to our class, I could still hear her voice as she taught about relief or orographic rainfall. She had taught us that areas close to the coast with no mountain ridge may experience drought.  She had used the Namibian desert as an example and here are voice lingers on in my ear, as I observe the lack of water in the Great Sandy Desert.

The scenery was devoid of mountain ranges, everywhere we looked was just plain land covered with shrubs, no thick vegetation of any kind. In very few places, we could notice the pastoral leases with their cattle and wondered where the water for the livestock is from. Acess to water and knowing the location of wells in this area was important to the early settlers, a knowledge that was the exclusive preserve of the Aborigine who had tendered this land for centuries before the advent of the white fellas. The knowledge had been passed down from one generation to another but is now documented for all in the Hema Maps, a good tool for all 4WD adventurists like us. Looking at our Hema map, these wells and bores are located not very far from the Great Northern Highway and one can only conclude that the men that built the road were well influenced by these bores in choosing the exact path it follows. Today, the commuter in motorised vehicles does not need to bother about water, these can be gotten at the roadhouses.

At this point, we had handed over the Explorer to its cruise control function, there is no reason to be pressing and de-pressing the accelerator and brake. The road is lonely and for major stretches of the road we were the sole traveller, each experience being punctuated by a road train or another sole traveller returning from Broome. Traffic is very light and on this long stretch of the highway, the major risk to drivers is maintaining concentration. It is no gainsaying that vehicles on this road have to be in the most road worthy condition, any breakdown will be very costly both in terms of time and money.

As we passed by the much famed Eighty Mile Beach on our left, the road sign announces that we were now on the Nyangumarta-Karajarri country lands. We chucked a little in pronouncing the name, it’s probably the longest word we have come across on this trip. After what seemed an eternity, we arrived at the Roebuck Roadhouse, situated at the turning off to Broome Road, while the road continues its way to the Northern Territory. It has been one long drive to get here and immediately we noticed a change in the traffic situation, this stretch of road has a fair bit of traffic. The vegetation is also different with tall trees on each side of the road, a great contrast to what we had noticed on the highway previously.

The sunset on the Broome road was spectacular. The cloud formation in the horizon, hiding the sunset behind them, created a unique vista too beautiful to describe. It was like a fire burning in the sky. Saf could not resist this and she pulled the Explorer to a stop to take some amazing pictures of the sunset. The first impression of a visitor to Broome is that this is an old town. The well set-back houses, the grid-like streets  dotted with trees here and there and intersecting at roundabouts all add to this impression. There is not much modernity to it, no new buildings are rising up. No apartment complexes being developed and in fact there was not a single construction crane here.

After settling in to our room, we remembered that we were hungry and headed straight to the restaurant. We were given seats next to two odd fellows. One very stocky white fellow whose visible skin areas were completely covered with tattoos. Even the forehead was not spared. Added to this, he was sporting a long goatee beard running down his chin. The aura he exudes was one that says clearly “do not mess with me”. The other was a little bit lanky, tall and walked with a swagger. His mien was that of someone that wouldn’t blink an eyelid in skinning someone.  Surprisingly, they were not together. Our tattooed man was busy chatting away with another man while the lanky guy sat alone, drowning his alcohol. I was unsettled because of their presence yet they remain unbothered, probably unaware of my existence in that space.

Dinner was served and it looked sumptuous but my aching tooth told my brain in clear words “you can admire the food with your eyes but you are not savouring any part of it”. I made attempt to bite a slice off the pizza and screamed out from pain. Saf was empathic but continued to do justice to the meal. The pain has become unbearable and I can’t wait till morning to get a relief. Saf came up with a home remedy that has to be made from a mixture of alcohol, ginger and pepper.  We took a drive to the liquor store and purchased a bottle of gin, the active ingredient for this mixture and came back to prepare the concoction. Sleeping tonight would be an uphill task.

The river and the ocean

Kalbarri, sits at the mouth of the Murchison River, the very point where it flows into the Indian Ocean. When the explorer Grey landed here, unplanned, he wrote that this was a well watered and populated country.  It goes without mention that he was talking about the first nation people. We had wandered a little around the town yesterday for dinner and from what we could see, the Nanda people are no longer here in numbers, Kalbarri has become a caucasian city, like many others in Australia.

Getting out of our hotel this morning, we made our way to Chinaman’s Beach. Why it is called Chinaman’s is unknown to me but your guess is as good as mine. A previous trip to Broome had informed me of the early Chinese presence on the Western Australia coast hence a beach in Kalbarri noting this may not be out of place. This beach is the only place where fishing Is not allowed on the entire stretch of the Murchison River. It is also the take-off of many boat tours on the river and we could see some visitors being taken aboard a boat about to commence on one of such tours.

Of course, there also stood here a WWII Memorial. As I had mentioned somewhere earlier, hardly is there any Australian town without one. We will remember them, it proudly says. These memorials foster a sense of unity and belonginess in the Aussies, a shared memory of the past and an inhibition to the present from participating in senseless wars. Yet, Australia has contributed its men to every war in recent history. They were there in Iraq, they are still there in Afghanistan. There are some good ones, the involvement in East Timor is one, helping to bring peace to that country.

We left the beach area and joined the Grey Road, leading out of town. It was the same road that we had followed the previous day into Kalbarri. We were later to learn, at Red Buff, that the road was named after Captain George Grey who, along with his crew, were exploring the Carnavon in 1839 when one of their boats got destroyed in a cyclone and they had to row the remaining two for 56hours to reach Kalbarri. It was from here they then undertook the arduous walk of more than 500km back to Perth. It was said that they were barely recognisable when they finally arrived there.

The close to see attractions all have to do with observing the mighty sculpting works of the Indian Oceans over the years. The surrounding hills bear this testimony. We started at the Red Bluff Lookout, here we could look down at the raging ocean below and not far from where we stood, we could see the mixing of the waters, the waters of the Murchison and those of the ocean. There was a little sandy bar formed where these waters meet. A group of Asian tourists ahead of us had noted some whales in the distance and drew our attention to the point in the ocean where there was a ripple and soon, we could see the faint image of something breaking the waters. I honestly could not make out the shape of a whale but there was truly something in the water. Looking around us, the hill slopes gently down to meet the ocean, as we walk back to the car park and one has to resist the temptation not to follow this slope down to the ocean. The car park had only very few vehicles as at the time we arrived but as we depart, there was barely any parking space left.

We made our way to the  Natural Bridge and Castle Cove, which were a few kilometres from Red Buff. A Natural Bridge is a structure left behind when the coastline yields to the force of the ocean which has carved a visible space underneath the land. They abound everywhere on the Australian continent and we have come across them in Albany in WA and seen the famed London Bridge at Peterborough in Victoria. Getting here took a short walk from the park and is assessable by wheelchairs as well. Close by is the Castle Cove, a recess in the coastal landscape. In the middle of this stood the island rock, a solid piece of the land, all around which the other lands have yielded to the waves. Looking down at the cove and the rock, I was awed at the intermix of stubbornness and persistence. The waves are persistent in their continued bashing of the rock and the surrounding coast while the island rock stubbornly refuses to yield to the calamity that has befallen others of its ilk. One doesn’t need to be a sooth-sayer to know that it is just a matter of time, the ocean will eventually have its way. The moral of this? Persistence will overcome all obstacles with time.

Our plan was to visit the famed Kalbarri National Park and see Nature’s Window. The iconic pictures taken from this land formation appears in nearly all brochure used to market tourism to all to visit WA and it is an important stop on our journey. More so, we have been told that at the same park, a new exhibit has just been recently opened, the Skywalk. The debate was whether to go now or defer same to the next day and visit as we make our way out of Kalbarri. Giving the distance to be covered, about 50kms, we resolved to do so the next day.

We had also been encouraged to visit the Fisherman’s Wharf and this was what we did next.  As we returned back to Kalbarri, there is a little curve in the road that offers a good view of the city, the ocean and the river. We stopped here and met an older couple seated on the bench, observing the happenstance all around. They provided a great backdrop to the scenery which was one of extreme peace and calmness until one peeps downward and see the ferocious ocean at work.

Arriving at the Wharf, a little further out of the centre of the city, a large fishing boat was moored to the entire breadth of the jetty and the immediate surrounding has different smaller boats dotting the river side. A couple was in the process of getting their jet ski on the river while we had right next to our car an older man seated in his minivan, all windows wound up and engrossed in the book he was reading.

As we made for the jetty, the man came out of his car and started walking behind us, we felt that strange and told each other to be careful here. Ahead at the jetty was a family of two little kid and their father engaged in rod fishing. Caught anything yet, I asked? Yap and we were shown their catch, enough for a family dinner that night. At that point the old man reached into the river to examine his lines and it was then it dawned on us that he was fishing too. We loved his laissez faire approach to fishing. Not satisfied with having caught nothing, we watched him make his way back to his vehicle.

Fishing on the Murchison River is a favourite past time of the local and all visitors are encouraged to do so. I have my fishing rod in the boot of my car but wasn’t tempted to fish because it requires time, one we don’t have during this short stay in the town. If one is not into fishing, the fisherman’s wharf offer not much to the visitor. I had also thought that we would have been able to buy off some of the daily catch from fishermen at the area, I was wrong.

We were famished and headed back towards the town centre where we had seen some people having breakfast earlier. The whole town of Kalbarri is really a small one of which the Grey road is the major link and runs next to the river and sea. On the other side of the road lies all the vacation apartments and accommodation. The town is much loved because of its unique position next to the ocean, the river and the national park. It is not a trading outpost nor a commercial centre. Everything here is designed to cater for the tourists, especially the Grey Nomads.

During the course of the day, we came across a rather strange looking bike with a small German flag at its rear. We took some time in looking at it and got to speak with the owner. He goes by the moniker, paddyroundtheworld. He is a German national travelling around the world, with his dog, on a push bike. He has an interesting story to tell of his sojourn so far within Australia and his plan to cross into Asia and continue his trip. A little later, it was sunset and there was no better place to watch this than the Chinamans Beach. It was just spectacular and an opportunity to appreciate the many little wonders of our planet. The sun displaying a yellowish hue on the distant waters of the ocean as it goes down was beautiful. Many other vacationers were congregated here and just as the sun went down, we started feeling a little chilly and made for the warm comfort of the Explorer.

The Kalbarri Motel was a short distance from the Chinaman’s Beach and it boast a crowd of lively people which attracted us there for dinner. The environment was not opulent but with the coming and going of countless tourists from Kalbarri, it has become the place to be seen in the little town. We felt it would also have the best meal in town but we were soon proved wrong. Being African, we relish our food to be “well done” and it turned out that to the chef at the motel, well done is the same thing as “burnt”! Everywhere we looked, we were the only folks of our skin colour and it was most probable that our request was one out of the ordinary and the Chef wasn’t attuned to how to meet it.

At an ensuing discussion with a couple from Mandurah at the motel during dinner, we discussed Covid19 and the continued closure of the West Australian borders to other states of the commonwealth. They offered an interesting perspective, one that supports that the border should be kept closed for as long as possible. In fact, they are supporters for the independence of Western Australia, something that not a few people have been silently clamouring for especially during the GST crises of last year. The argument is that Western Australia, through its mining resource and others contribute a more than disproportionate sum to the GST bucket and doesn’t receive much back from the commonwealth. In addition, being remote from the other capitals, its way of life is much different and residents would want it that way, isolated and completely independent in determining its future.

The discussion left me to conclude that no matter the attempt to hide it, humanity is individualistic, the I before others syndrome. It reminds me of the different clamour in the Nigerian nation for an Oduduwa Republic or the on and off campaign for Biafra. While Australians have a patriotic zeal about the land and are very proud of what the nation has accomplished despite its small population size, there are still lines of divisions within. The Territorians do not feel they are being fairly treated by the nation and do clamour to become a state when it suits them. However, at the last referendum, the majority voted against the idea. The voting influenced majorly by the offer on the table for statehood not one against the very idea of becoming one. Western Australians do not feel much loved by others as well. In fact, many Australians from other states find a trip to WA akin to travelling to other countries, a different lifestyle. Prior to Covid, quarantine requirements have been in place regarding carrying fruit items across state borders, now Covid extends this to humanity. One nation, different people but yet still shares a lot of affinity to the flag.

Walter Rodney Wrote A Book

Seyi and I, go way back. As far back as 1986 when we both became undergraduate students at the University of Lagos. So, a call from Seyi is one that would always generate some excitements about our common past. Today, it wasn’t a call but a chat. He was asking whether I have read Walter Rodney’s “How Europe Underdeveloped Africa”. Well, as it happened, it was the book that has recently caught my attention, my bedside book of a sort. I mussed, thinking how great minds think alike!

Somehow, I knew that I did not buy the book by chance, something must have urged me to buy it. I was at the departing lounge of the Nnamdi Azikiwe Airport when I bought the book in 2003, that was almost 2 decades ago. Within that period, I can recollect that I had tried reading it twice or more and had to put it down. It was a tough read, same conclusion I had with Wole Soyinka’s “The Man Died”. First, it was devoid of pictures to attract some interests. Second, it was replete with names, events and times that I was not fully familiar with. Of course, and probably the most important reason was that it wasn’t going to put food on my table as time was a precious commodity to me. Then, I was focused on making a living and my productive hours could not accommodate any divergence to the pleasure of reading such a book that was not contributing to my professional development.

Fast forward to now, the year 2020. This time, was different. I had matured a lot within the space of two decades that all the challenges that I previously had were of no concerns in my picking the book up to read. It was the chat from Seyi that finally provided the innate reason on why I most likely had purchased the book. As Seyi was to remind me, it was a recommended text by our Political Science Lecturer, Derin Ologbenla. How could I have forgotten that, his lectures were those that I enjoyed most and always looked forward to as an undergraduate. Finance being a challenge, I couldn’t afford the books. So, any recommended text that was not freely available on the shelves of the University Library went unread. This, obviously must have been one of them, so it was no wonder that I didn’t get to read it then. It must have then been retained in my sub-conscious to be read. The human mind is a wonderful creation.

Seyi had just finished listening to the audio version of the entire book, I was probably mid-way into the printed version and we had a conversation on our different take from the book. I had talked about how impressed I was by the enormity of accomplishments that Walter garnered in his 38 years of existence on this planet, before he was assassinated by one of those left by the colonialists to rule Guyana. I had also mentioned to Seyi what a great opportunity Walter’s students must have had in listening to his lectures. For us, we are also very lucky that he refused to die with the enormous knowledge he was able to put together on the motherland – Africa. Imagine if Walter had not written this book, Seyi & I, Ologbenla and thousands of others would have been denied the opportunity to see Africa in a different light, one that is completely opposite to what the Western World has kept drumming into our sub-conscious about Africa. Through the media and historical and education texts written by Western scholars, we have been left with an under-appreciation of the development in Africa before the rude supplantation of colonization over the continent. We have been left to blame ourselves for the post-colonial development challenges of the continent with arguments that suggests that Africans are devoid of the capacity to lead themselves, arguments that fail to take account of the roughly seventy years of the cankerworm of colonization and how this has destroyed the very nature of the development trajectory of most African states.

To understand the evil unleashed upon Africans by the Europeans (and I am not talking about slavery yet, the worst of them all), permit me to use an allegory. In your mind, think of Africa as a wooden mainframe and the Europeans as ants. The pre-colonial, colonial and neo-colonial actions of the Europeans should be considered as the period of ant infestation and attack on the mainframe. Now, with the appropriate treatment, the ants have been chased away from the mainframe but that doesn’t mean that all will now be well with the mainframe. Blaming the mainframe entirely for its current weakness (indeed some are justified, as one can argue it should have resisted the ants) will be injustice.

The challenge with leadership in today’s Africa, and for years to come, will always be how to restore the lost strength to the mainframe. There are a couple of brilliant ideas available in the public space on how to achieve this. However, we should continually challenge three things:

  1. Any discussion of Africa’s development that fails to acknowledge the retrogressive impact of Europeans arrival on our shores;
  2. Thoughts and expressions that argue that the Europeans have left and Africa is now in the hands of Africans and they have not achieved development for Africans. Have they really left?
  3. Complacency – Dropping our guard and allowing the physical, cyber and other means of colonization from other fronts. The Chinese are currently making in-roads into Africa, this will leave us worse-off than the Europeans did.

Now, to Professor Ologbenla, the little acorn you sowed in 1986 has now become a full blown Oak. You should be satisfied in ticking off on your notes that I have now fully read your recommended text and am fully persuaded that colonization was evil. So are its aftermath.

Seyi, just like you I do not agree with Walter on all his conclusions but many of them are difficult to refute and argue against. As Larry Davids (“Curb Your Enthusiasm”), will say they are “pretty, pretty, pretty good”. I hope in the coming few articles to address this. By the way, thank you for your friendship over the years, I don’t get to say this often!

But God, turns Trials into Triumph

Anxious, probably. Afraid, not. Why would I be. He has told me in Isaiah 8:12 not to be.

However, Covid19 brought us as a family to the edge of despair. There was nothing in our training or experience that had prepared us for the anxiety that we felt and experienced in the past week. Having a daughter, thousands of miles away from us, with no immediate support network in the midst of a global pandemic was nothing that classroom or life education could prepare anyone for.

She had left home, filled with a spirit of adventure. She wanted to see the world, on her own terms…alone. We supported that decision, after all, one cant tie them to one’s apron strings forever. Yet, when it was time to say our goodbyes, my eyes welled up with tears. I just couldn’t let go. All I wanted was for her to run back to my waiting arms but she didn’t. Determined, steadfast, she went through customs and was gone. From Sydney to New Castle, LA to San Diego, I was following her sojourns, her travails and her moments of excitement. It was like Whatsapp Video was made for only fathers like me. I wonder what pains would have inhabit my heart without this app provided free by the Facebook team.

Then the world changed. It was in Wuhan that the news broke out about the Corona Virus. Well, many did think it was a Chinese invention and won’t last. Then Italy succumbomed and the news started filtering into Australia. The US was not spared. How do I get my baby to safety, somewhere she can weather out the storm. Cousins in Houston were quick to open up their homes to her. She would fly and hibernate there until normalcy returns to the world, as we knew it. Some semblance of peace returned to our frayed heart.

First San Diego closed its campus and then a recall of all foreign exchange students was sent by her school in Australia. Get my daughter here, my wife said with emphasis, Australia is closing its borders. Returning home is now the only prudent thing to do, no one knows how long this will last. Stuck in the US, as an alien, means that if she were to have a medical emergency she would be treated only after the Americans have been attended to. That is, only even, if there is surplus medical capacity which is a luxury in the face of Covid19 America.

That was when all the lines went dead. #Qantas was unreachable to reschedule her flight, the Travel Insurer was unhelpful, my heart started to race as my brain was thinking out what the best alternative was. A late minute travel ticket was bought and then came the concern on what to do with her car. Calls were made to friends and through them help was provided.

She hurried out of California, just 2hrs before the state started enforcing its movement restriction, will she be allowed into Australia? After a journey that took her South Westward across the Pacific and then North Westward, we were so glad to receive her in Perth.

She has been through a lot and so had we. But, we can’t hug her. I wanted to pick her up and carry her in the air but I couldn’t, the fear of COVID19 was real. Getting home, she started her mandatory 14 days confinement, what a bore this is. The days are passing slowly and we are counting them off our fingers.

Just like the world, we are hoping that normalcy returns, even though in a different form. To OOLU, DDGB and Tony, thanks for your support. You did so great to make me feel like a super dad, with tentacles everywhere. DABE, thanks for your calls and concern.

Ciao.

Guaidó, have we been here before?

The Late Bashorun MKO Abiola, the acclaimed winner of the June 12, 1993 elections in Nigeria

Oh Yes, we have Guaidó. Though our attention span is short but thank goodness we now have the internet that is a great reservoir of all our human stories.

So here we go, the dateline is 11 June 1994 and we find ourselves at the previously little known Epetedo in Lagos Nigeria. History was about to be made, so Juan Guaidó please pay attention.

Bashorun M.K.O Abiola would mount the stage that date and do what no one had previously done in the history of Nigeria, declare himself President in his speech that has come to be known as the Epetedo Proclamation and assume office as the democratically elected President of Nigeria.

The events that rapidly unfolded thereafter will see Abiola going into hiding and then getting arrested and thrown into the prison by the military government. His offence, treason! He never emerged alive from the detention which yielded his corpse in 1998

But, let’s backtrack a little for your sake Guaido. Abiola’s journey to his grave all started much earlier but definitely on June 12, 1993. That was the day that Nigerians went to the poll and elected Abiola as President.

The military junta of Ibrahim Babangida refused to release the full results and declare Abiola winner. Sounds familiar? I think it does. If you replace the names in the Nigerian debacle with yours and Maduro, you have the current happenstance in Venezuela.

The period of one year from the elections to 1994 saw Abiola globetrotting. Just as you are being assured right now, these same governments promised support for Abiola’s government. He was granted audience by the United States of America, the United Kingdom and even at the United Nations he met with Boutros Boutros-Ghali, its Secretary-General. Given these assurances, Abiola grew bold, took a flight back to Nigeria and declared himself President. It is certain that without the assurances, Abiola would not have made the Epe proclamation.

But, there was a problem, one that Abiola never considered and obviously one that you may not be considering as well. Nigeria is a major Oil producer, just as Venezuela is. Now, the west has not cured itself of its appetite for oil. The world understood, Abiola did not, that any curtailment in oil supply from Nigeria will lead to a rise in crude oil prices. Just in a similar manner, a curtailment in supply from Venezuela will affect world prices and hence reduce he disposable income of many in the western world. The economics is simply and it meant that the western nations became a dog that can bark loudly but cannot bite. If you disagree, I will like to remind you about the soft gloves with which the United States is handling the brutal murder of Khashoggi where all unrefuted evidence shows the complicity of the Saudi government in his death but the United States has refused to take action! And we know the reason behind this being the turmoil that Saudi’s disruption to world oil supply will cause the United States.

So, back to our story, Abiola was detained and killed in detention. Not a single shot was fired by the west nor any noticeable action taken against the government of Abacha by all the nations that had promised support for Abiola. In fact, rumours are rife that Abiola was murdered with the active connivance of the United States as his death was within hours of meeting with a delegation including Susan Rice, the American Ambassador to the UN!

The men battling for the soul of Venezuela – Maduro and Guaido

If Abiola’s experience is anything to go by, Guaido YOU CAN’T TRUST THE WEST. As your unofficial adviser, please take their words with a pinch of salt except you want to be like Abiola and become the best president Venezuela never had. Am I suggesting that you abandon enforcing the constitutional provisions of Venezuela making you the President of the National Assembly? No, not at all. I am just advising that in all your political calculations, please discount massively any anticipated support from the West, no help will come from these nations.

History is, it’s never was. As William Faulkner reminds us, “The past is not dead; it’s not even past.”

I am with the LGBTQs

The ancient city of Ibadan. The city of Ogunmola and Oluyole also happened to be the city that prophet Abodunrin chose that fateful day in 1991 to inscribe on my youthful mind an important lesson about God. It was the Christian Easter Lenten season and it was at the Zoological Gardens of the University of Ibadan that the hitherto unknown prophet appeared, dressed in red garment, clutching a bible in hands. Somehow our “wannabe” Daniel got himself into the Lions’ den, a move made to re-enact the famous biblical story. Quite as expected, his story did not end in the same way that the biblical Daniel’s ended. What we know for a fact is that despite Prophet Abodunrin’s recital of all the famous and not so famous biblical passages and promises of God, including that in Gen 1:26 where God made man as ruler over all animals, in the twinkling of an eye he was no more. Even his blood was licked by the Lions after they had devoured the meat that the good Lord had graciously provided to them.

Did this event make God a liar? No, not at all. Does it mean that God’s promise in Psalm 91:13 is of no effect? No I don’t think so. What I learnt that day was that the Bible is contextual and a need to be very wary of those who teaches and take the Bible as definitive for all situations, that biblical teachings are absolutes.

I am the Lord, I change not says Malachi 3:6 and, using this verse, many would have us believe that God’s approach to a particular event or issue will be the same. Well, to such people I have only one question to ask – How come David was not punished for eating the shew bread while both Kings Saul and Uzziah were punished for offering sacrifices and burning incense to the Lord? After all, the three of them did things that were reserved only for priests, the Levites, to do?  Some will argue that the difference is Grace. Let’s hold our thoughts on this, just for now, we will come to this later.

I hate to admit it, I disliked Barack Obama! When he won the election as the President of America, I had a sweet and sour taste in my mouth, I could neither swallow nor vomit. Why? Because I love Jesse Jackson and was convinced that he deserved the office much more than Barack. I grew up in the years of Jesse’s democratic push to become a candidate for the prestigious office. He had pushed for it, first in 1984 and again in 1988, unsuccessful in both attempts. He had everything I wanted the President to be. So when Barack won, I asked why this green horn and not Jesse?

Well, I was wrong, I admit it. Barack was no green horn. He didn’t just spring up from no-where to win the coveted seat. Unbeknown to me then, he had painstakingly planned it, investing in himself, in people and gaining the needed experience and trust to be whom he became. Not only that, he already had in the public domain, his philosophy of faith – an Obama’s version of Karl Marx’ the Communist Manifesto, his number one national bookseller the Audacity of Hope.

Years have passed and we have witnessed eight years of Obama’s presidency followed by two years of that of “our man Friday”. In the very first years of his presidency, my distaste turned into a fanatical liking for the man Obama. The following years of Trump have even transformed my fanatical liking into a cult worship. I reverence the man.

I had come to the conclusion that, except by chance, I may not have the good luck to meet the man. I had thought of taking a trip to Chicago and camping out at his popular restaurant, MacArthur’s, but sooner concluded that it would be a futile attempt. Even if he were to visit, the Presidential guard would form such a formidable wall around him that I would still not come close to him. Well, I settled on buying his books with the intent that by reading what he wrote, I may have a good insight into his composition as a man. There is no better way to get to understand the man than to read his thoughts, his word on marble, so to say. It was in Abuja, on 19th Oct 2011, that I picked two of his books – Dreams from My Father and the Audacity of Hope. While I had taken time to read “Dreams from My Father”, the cares of this world had not provided me with the ample chance to read the Audacity of Hope till now. Well, I am now into the closing chapters of the book and, so far, I have not been disappointed.

Not until now, I should have said. And the disappointment? Well who in his right frame of mind will look the multitude of Bible believing, Church going, Bible carrying Christians in their eyes and tell them that their famous evangelical hero’s letter to the church in Rome is obscure? No one else but Barack, and he did it with great gusto. A sort of look me in the eye gusto that says you can take a jump into the ocean if you don’t like my words.

Unfortunately, he has a convincing reason to hold this position. The same position that has caused me a great re-thinking of my faith and what that faith means? I am having a re-birth and I have gone through a deep conscious evaluation before deciding to make a U-turn, one that may cost me a host of friends and surely will make many doubt if I am a Christian after all. I am now with the lesbians, gays, bisexuals, transsexuals, trans-genders, intersexes and the queers (LGBTQs). Judge me not yet, keep calm and take time to read through my social awakening, one akin to that of Paul on his way to Damascus, persecuting the church.

Taking the cue from the Apostle Paul who argued Abraham to be a father of faith, Barack asked who amongst us will, in his right frame of mind, do exactly what Abraham did today.  Perhaps there is one amongst us, insane enough to attempt sacrificing his child in obedience to an instruction from God that only him has heard, would the majority of us not rush him down, hold him immobile and call the cops?  I can hear a few grunts but that is the truth. Let’s pause a minute and think about Boko Haram or ISIS. The report is that their fighters are promised “al Jannah” with a harem supposedly full of virgins for succeeding in converting many to Islam or killing them. Why have we not allowed them to be? Could it be because we are not bound by their faith and convictions? So if this is the popular position, why do we want to bind others by our faith and convictions? Why castigate LGBTQs?

I have heard my Pastor, Margaret Court, a very fine lady and one with enviable records both in the world and in Christendom, said times without number that she loves the sinner but hates the sin. She is not alone in taking this position, it is the position of many Christians and Pastors across the world. I was hitherto convinced of this position just as Barack must have been also, but not anymore. Simply because such a position is judgemental and hurts! As Barack puts it, it is a hurt that inflicts needless pains on people who are often truer to Christ’s message than those who condemn them. They, too, are people made in the image of God and in his true likeness.

I had often wondered why he took so much interests in legalising homosexual marriage in the United States. It suddenly dawned on me that we are all sinners and in the front of the God that we have to deal with, no sin is greater than another. Of course it is debatable if being an LGBTQ is even a sin. In saying that he was not willing to accept a reading of the Bible that considers an obscure line in Romans to be more defining of Christianity than the Sermon on the Mount preached by Christ himself, Barack opened my eyes to a different truth out there. One that I would have missed if I had not painstakingly taken a reading of Romans 1 and Mathew 5 once again.

To start with, it will be fallacious to argue that Paul did not condemn homosexuality, he did! His condemnation was brutal – he held them as being worthy of death, people to be murdered, I suppose. However, the whole discourse would have been fully settled by this portion of his Epistle had Christ not spoken to us about 30 years earlier than Paul in his sermon on the mountain. In that sermon, Christ enunciated what it means to be a Christian. In several verses he talked about those who are blessed for their actions and then he defined some sins. He didn’t mention being a LGBTQ as sin, he needed not to. However, the multitude of the sins that he mentioned and their magnitude in the church makes LGBTQ, if it is sin at all, of no greater evil than those. Remember sin is sin, no degrees of sin with God. So when Christ, God’s son, says anger without a cause (v22), speaking falsely (lying) (v11), breaking the ten commandment and teaching others to break them (v19), calling someone a fool (v22), lustful looking (v28) are sins, then we have more grievous things to resolve and spend our time on than trying to pick the speck in our brothers’ eyes while we have logs in our own. I dare those who have lusted after other women to abide with Christ’s request for them to pluck out their own eyes first and then and only then would they have gained the moral right to hound the LGBTQs, if they still want to.

When Pope Francis stood before the world in 2013 and said “if a person is gay and seeks God and has good will, who am I to judge?” he justly summarized the approach we all should take on this issue. We are all servants of God and are responsible and reportable to God and to him alone. Cast your mind to Peter on the roof top, praying and having a vision of a great sheet being let down to earth from heaven containing all manners of unclean animals. Consider yourself as the Peter that was instructed thrice to kill and eat and that “What God hath cleansed, that call thou common?” Now also consider being Cornelius and that Peter had shown up condemning you for being a gentile. How would that have felt? Yet despite being a gentile, Cornelius was just, feared God and had a good report. So also is that bloke, your neighbour. He is just, feared God and has a good report albeit he is a LGBTQ!

In Peter’s declaration, is a very important lesson for us all, that “Of a truth I perceive that God is no respecter of persons: But in every nation he that fears him, and works righteousness, is accepted with him.” It may not be a far fetched conclusion to suppose that the first baptism of a gentile might not have taken place if Peter had not forsaken his filthy labelling of the gentile? So, if we do not forsake our filthy labelling of LGBTQs, we are most likely distancing from the church many who could become heroes of the faith and then we become guilty of raising stumbling blocks before them. This is the whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men’s bones, and of all uncleanness that Jesus talked of in Mat 23:27.

Medea was wrong

It got us worried but Spring is finally here, wiping away the dullness that the cold winter brought with it.

I had taken a long walk within Kings Park and came to the Botanic Garden, perched high on the Mt. Eliza scarp. As I walked through the garden, I could see the flowers blossom, arrayed in their radiant colours and the bees, those hard workers, busy pollinating them. One flower at a time. The scent from the flowers are amazing and surprisingly therapeutic. Nature, majestic in its simplicity filled my eyes with all the primary colours and more.

I thought of the differences in the forms, shapes and colours of the different plants curated in the garden, the importance of each plant and the fact that each thrives and prospers within the same space inhabited by others. Oh boy, how nature abounds in diversity! As I walked, I came across people of different creed, nationalities, sizes and shapes. The garden was bustling with activities, all of us present people were engaged in things that excite of senses. Kings Park is always welcoming, it has been this way for generations and will likely be till eternity.

I exited the garden and within a matter of steps turned into the Kokodas Way, a tree lined short walk. Here, the radiance of the garden gave way to sobriety. I paused for a sober reflection as many before me might have done and many after me would do too. There, at the foot of each tree is a black plaque wrought of molten metal stating a name, the place of death and year. These are memorials to the thousands of Australians lost in combat through the ages.

What caught my attention was the plaque to a soldier said to have mistakenly been killed. I thought of his last seconds on earth, shocked probably but definitely angry. How could this have been? Being hit by an enemy’s bullet is one thing, being felled by the bullets of your “mates” is another! The grief and agony of the shooter and his mates would definitely have followed. It must have been brutal, one that might have taken years of therapy and counseling to heal, if it ever healed at all. For good reason, I suppose. The name of the shooter was kept secret by the military. No parent would like to know the person whose error resulted in the death of their own child.

I also thought of something else, wars. The previous night, I finished reading Medea, an ancient Greek tragedy written by Euripides. The words said by Medea readily came to my mind. Standing there in Athens, having been betrayed by the love of her life, to whom she had given all, even betrayed her father to steal the golden fleece, she said:

“I’d three times go to war
Than suffer childbirth once”

I wondered if she, being afforded the opportunity to stand here at the Kokodas Way, would have uttered these lines? All around me is silent but in this silence, the plaques are shouting. Loudly, to all to hear that there are heavy prices to pay in wars. The agony of mothers being delivered the bad news of the death of their kids? Of wives and kids being told of the death of their husbands, their fathers. Birth pangs are in no way comparable to these, no not at all. The pains of childbirth will come and go but that of wars linger on for a lifetime.

If Medea truly knew what war entails, she would be horrified by her statement. Shouldn’t we be as well? As the drums of war gets beaten around us, may we be solemn for a moment and visit a war memorial? I guess if we all do this, many will sooner come to the table to jaw-jaw rather than war-war.

Immortality for sale

Adam and Eve lost it when they ate the forbidden fruit. Now the tree of life, in the garden of Eden, is being guided by a Cherubim with a flaming sword. I guess, getting to eat of this tree is now an impossibility. So we can all forget about becoming immortal this way.

It was on the Island of Patmos that John saw God and was commanded to write the book of Revelation. It was here in Den Haag that I saw Andrew Carnegie and he taught me how to buy immortality, though he didn’t ask me to share the lesson.

I had arrived here not by planning but by destiny, my itinerary has nothing in it concerning the city of peace and justice. Growing up, I had always fancied Prince Bola Ajibola. Remember him? He made putting on a bow tie cool and a fashion statement. I admire him for a different reason, his brilliance. It was this that earned him a seat as a Judge of the International Court of Justice. So on noting that the city, where he dispensed justice, was a mere stone throw away from me, I altered my travel plans to visit it.

Early this morning, I set out for the Peace Palace. This is the most important building in the world perhaps, but definitely it is in this city. The amiable lady at the reception desk had handed me the audio guide and I made my way through the exhibits on display. I took a seat, directly opposite the replica of the $1.5m cheque issued by Andrew Carnegie for the building of the palace. Somehow I felt a need to wipe my face and it was on doing so that I saw Carnegie. Our conversation?

Andrew: Hey young fella, you made it here at last. I have been waiting for you ever since your Dad made mention of you to me?
Me: You know my Dad? How come?
Andrew: Long story but let me just say he is so proud of you. He told me of your ambitions and sought my help to guide you.
Me: Really? He never stayed long enough to know my ambitions and isn’t it now a bit late for you to guide me?
Andrew: Nothing in life is too late, you will understand with time but I guess you are on a quest here, yeah?
Me: True sir. I am mesmerized by your acts of generosity. Wao, what moved you to donate that huge…..
Andrew: [Cutting in] No, no, no young man. Don’t join them in making the same mistake. It was an investment. I am an investor. That was what I lived and died doing.
Me: Now you are confusing me the more, you gave them $1.5m as donation to build this place.
Andrew: I invested $1.5m in people. It was my way of buying the future cheaply.
Me: Cheaply? You call $1.5m in 1904 cheap? That is like giving away $400m today!
Andrew: O boy, by making that meagre payment, I have my name resounded to every soul that steps here. If not for that token, I would have long been forgotten but I bought immortality for $1 5m. Do you remember what Christ said about the woman with the Alabaster oil? Expensive right? She bought immortality with that action. She is long dead but because of that deed, Jesus said wherever the gospel is preached she will be remembered.
In my case, I also got more. Dividends. When the world talks peace they have to mention me forever. Why? Because I was also smart in my generosity. As a condition for the money, I asked them to maintain a library here. Think about it, why didn’t I ask for my statue to be mailed and placed at the entrance?
You see, because of this library millions of legal luminaries and brilliant statesmen, like your friend Bola Ajibola, have had to write or say my name in their works when referencing materials that are made available for their use here. It’s the cheapest amount anyone can spend on advertising mate. Tell me, isn’t that why you stepped in here today?

Me: But you are long dead, how are you then here?
Andrew: [Laughing uncontrollably] How can I be dead? I can’t even get to sleep! My spirit is constantly being aroused each time my name gets mentioned. I had intended to be somewhere else but right there in your room yesterday when you made an appointment to be here, you called me up by writing my name next to the Peace Palace. Before you leave, let me tell you something more. The man who dies rich, dies disgraced. Take some tine to think about this but now, wipe your eyes again.
Me: [I wiped my eyes only to find myself sitting alone on the bench in the information centre with the copy of the cheque still in front of me ]

It’s all been a trance, one in which I learnt that immortality is available for sale.

Are you interested in buying?

When they refused to say Yes, how can their Chi say Yes?

It’s the floating city, in water but not in it. They built it, with an enduring determination. Some might even say, they spiced their determination with perseverance. Failure, to them, was not an option. For them to fail would be to become subject to the barbarians, they would rather die than for this to happen. Don’t we the Yorubas say “Dying with dignity is better than living in mockery?”

So they started with one timber, drove it down into the marsh and it became a pile. To be a tree here was a death sentence akin to being a turkey during Christmas. In no time they ran out of trees and to the thick forests of Slovenia, Croatia and Montenegro they called.

It was gruesome work, laborious and tasking. Trees had to be felled with axes (brute strenght) and pulled over land to the nearest river. They bound them together as rafts and floated them across the Adriatic sea moving from East to West until finally reaching their own shores.

The labors of their heroes past didnt stop there, actually that was where it ramped up. Timber upon timber got driven down the marsh land, 4 metres and maybe more. They overlaid these piles horizontally until they became a platform. Only then was it good enough to build their houses with mortar. If you say their city is a buried forest, you are not wrong for that is what it is actually.

The buildings started going up, one after another. On 118 small islands they built and connected them with numerous canals and bridges. Nature, of course yielded to them, though now it threatens their offsprings as a warning not to be ignored. Okonkwo, you know him. Yes, the same one Chinua Achebe wrote about. He must have been of their stock because their founding fathers lived exactly according to his wisdom that “when a man says Yes, his Chi says Yes also.”

Hundreds of years have passed and the buildings continue to stand. This land, once a barren waste land, has become the cynosure of every eyes. A tiny city that punches globally above its weight. It has only 271,000 residents but hosts 20 million tourists annually. There was no way the founding fathers could have foreseen this. They were fishermen, merchants, moneylenders and bankers, they didn’t look to tourism for sustenance. But what they did, they did with zeal. Such was their zealousness that even William Shakespeare was not spared of the happenings in this city and had to write about it. It was here that Shylock, being over zealous (with a lot of wickedness as well) asked for Antonio’s pound of flesh.

As Libya collapsed, the boats started arriving too. Carrying hundreds of migrants on perilous journey across the sea to Lampedusa. From here they spread, up north finding their ways to mainland Europe. Some end here, in this city.

Unfortunately unlike Okonkwo their fellow kinsman, plate in hand they begged on the streets. The tragedy of their plight is that there are no dole outs here. This people, whose forefathers laboriously worked hard, believes in dignity of labour and not beggar thy neighbour!

If you take a minute to listen to their stories, they will tell you that they are political refugees being persecuted for their believe in having their own independent state of #BIAFRA. They have enough money to print stickers about Biafra and deface walls but not enough to start a trade and keep off the streets.

Meanwhile their siblings at home, in Nnewi, Onitsha, Abakaliki and across the nation are following Okonkwo’ s wisdom. Yesterday was a breath of fresh air because of what Yekini did, today was anguish and pains because of what our Biafrans are doing.

Finally, a breath of fresh air….thank you Rashidi Yekini

It was 2hrs and a little more by train through some breath taking scenery. Everywhere we looked, the ground was either planted or being prepared for planting.

At long last we arrived, finally a city with no cars, motorcycles or bicycles. From here onwards, our commute will be by foot through the alleys and some by water taxis. Already, my pedometer has been sounding “Gbangan” from the level of activities it recorded in the past few days, I now expect it to sound “Gbangan Gbangan Gbangan.”

For now, our major concern was to get to where we would lodge. With no roaming data on my phone, asking Uncle Google to help was out of the question. After walking for almost 20mins and getting lost, we were forced to seek help. Of course, ow, we were in a bind! Apart from my almost perfect Yoruba, the only other language i can converse in is English.The people here? They speak in tongues but not English. I rambled my way through, seeking directions from one shop to another. Finally, I approached this cigar puffing gentleman sitting on a bench, by the lane.

Me: [With a lot of gesticulation, showing the printed route guide] asked him for direction

Him: Taking the paper from me and then looking in my face said “Nigeria?”

Me: Yes, how did you know that?

Him: Not understanding a word that I said, his face brightened up and said “Rashidi Yekini.” He lifted his thumb up to signify good.

Me: With a broaden smile, I said “Yes, he was a great footballer.”

Him: Took up his phone, spoke in tongues to someone at the end of the line and then dropped the phone. Now, speaking to me in passable English said I should go down the street and about a 100m away would be met by my host.

As I thanked him and made to depart, he said “My friend.” He brought out his hand and we shook the African way (palm to palm, back hand to each other and then snapping the middle finger).

I followed his direction and we finally met our host who took us to our Apartment.

So, thank you #Rashidi Yekini for playing your part well, being a worthy ambassador and a breath of fresh air from the negativity that surrounds being a #Nigerian.

Our Playwriters are speaking to US

Why are we folding our arms  saying “There is little a man can do”? 

Praise-Singer: Elesin, we placed the reins of the world in your hands yet you watched it plunge over
the edge of the bitter precipice. You sat with folded arms while evil strangers tilted the world from its course and crashed it beyond the edge of emptiness – you muttered, there is little that one man can do, you left us floundering in a blind future. Your heir has taken the burden on himself. What the end will be, we are not gods to tell. But this young shoot has poured its sap into the parent stalk, and we know this is not the way of life. Our world is tumbling in the void of strangers, Elesin.

Iyaloja: Why do you strain yourself? Why do you labour at tasks for which no one, not even the man lying there would give you thanks? He is gone at last into the passage but oh, how late it all is. His son will feast on the meat and throw him bones. The passage is clogged with droppings from the King’s stallion; he will arrive all stained in dung.

Pilkings: (in a tired voice): Was this what you wanted?

Iyaloja: No child, it is what you brought to be, you who play with strangers’ lives, who even usurp the vestments of our dead, yet believe that the strain of death will not cling to you. The gods demanded only the old expired plantain but you cut down the sap-laden shoot to feed your pride. There is your board, filled to overflowing. Feast on it. (She screams at him suddenly, seeing Pilkings is about to close Elesin’s staring eyes.) Let him alone! However sunk he was in debt he is no pauper’s carrion abandoned on the road. Since when have strangers donned clothes of indigo before the bereaved cries out his loss?

 

Death and the King’s Horseman. Wole Soyinka. Spectrum Books, Lagos p 75 – 76

 

What it means to be a Nigerian

Mikel Obi, yes we all know him. That fine gentleman that captains the Super Eagles.

Well, what was news lately was that his father was kidnapped and this happened just before that all important 2018 World Cup match that the Eagles had with Agentina. Sad, we all agree. The side of the story represented by most media was all about how dangerous it is to live in Nigeria. Truly these are not the best times for the motherland especially with the news of killings by cattle rearers maurading across the land, unrestrained.

But there is another side to the story. A side that many media failed to acknowledge. A side that shows the resilience of the Nigerian, the doggedness of the Nigerian Spirit. Mikel symbolised the true character of the Nigerian, an unwavering  commitment to purpose and team. Or how else can one explain his calmness on the field that day? He played some of his very best football, marshalling his team and commanding the midfield. All these while going through extreme psychological pain and torture. Yet he chose not to bring to fore the calamitous news that he had received on the fear that it will do more harm than good to the 180 million strong nation. In doing this, he demonstrated his belief in the greater good of the nation over self.

When we speak of true heroes, let’s remember him as one, albeit while alive and not dead as we do of Stephen Keshi now. Let’s also be quick to point out to the world, from this unfortunate incident, what type of men Nigerians are. These are truly perilous times but the nation boasts of the finest of minds that could teach the world a thing or two about managing adversity.

Nigeria, good people, great nation.

Show me a God

It’s been raining cats and dogs here and I am having what I regard as a Banji’s problem. It was Banji, a friend of mine that propounded the theory that house roofs only leak when it rains! You may laugh but it is true and his theory has stood the test of time. Nobody has come to fault it since he propounded it. In my case, the leaks were traced to a failure by the solar panel installers to seal up the holes through which the cables were passed into the house. It was to this team that I made a call to come over and fix their error.

 

For now, let’s put this issue aside, we will come back to it later. Remember Apostle Paul? Just haven been driven away from Thesalonica and Berea, he arrived at Athens. It was while there in Athens, waiting for Timothy and Silas, that he observed the proliferation of idols in that great Greek city.  He could have kept his peace, just as many of us do. After all, he was neither Greek nor a resident of Athens. He was just passing through.

It was not in Paul’s nature to lose an opportunity to preach Christ, was he not him that said to live is Christ and to die gain [Phil 1:21]? For days, he had been dialoguing with atheists [Epicureans] trying to show them God. As he stood on Athen’s Mar’s Hill, he was committed to preaching Christ. How did he do it? Days earlier, he had found there in Athens an altar to the unknown god. It was to this he latched on to preach Christ and show his listeners that there is of course a God who is so close to each of us but yet needs to be sought out and found. His speech was a success, he converted not a few among whom were Dionysius (a member of the court), Damaris and others with them.

Reading the Bible is a challenging task, most often we gloss over the events and the circumstances that are briefly summarised in not so many words. More challenging however is how to fully appreciate these events since we are all using our modern experiences to understand events that happened centuries before our incarnation. So any modern reader could easily be forgiven for reading Acts 17: 22 – 34 and not fully appreciating the enormity of the challenge that Paul faced and commending this fine man for how gracefully he handled it.

The Epicureans are alive and still very much with us today. I had my Epicurean encounter a few days ago but unlike Paul, I failed. I could not summon the words or courage to address the question so vividly thrown at me.  Getting back to my solar installers, a team of technicians was sent. At the head of the team was Jordan, a lad in his late twenties.

As he introduced himself to me in his cool, calm and friendly voice, what I saw was the tattoo on his right arm which he thrusted at me as we shook hands. It was a statement of faith or more importantly a challenge of my faith. Boldly tattooed for anyone to read was the statement “Show me a God”? I knew I needed to address his question but I just couldn’t fathom out how to do so. I thought of all ways to connect with this lad so that I could have a go at showing him my God but found none. I pondered about what to show him and how to prove to him that my God is Alive but lost all my oratory prowess. I ended up not saying a word to show him God.

Jordan and his team spent the next hour or so fixing the leak and eventually we parted ways. I still couldn’t understand what my fears were that made me to lose the wonderful opportunity to just open my mouth and allow the Holy Spirit to teach me in that very hour what I ought to have said [Luke 12:12]. 

I failed and I right now all I am looking for is redemption.

The Russian-Croatian Conspiracy against Nigeria

That I am an Ibadan man is not news. It is also no longer news that Nigeria lost to Croatia. What remains news is that we lost because Russia denied us the opportunity to appease the powers that be.  We had built our plans not so much on training and tactically matching the Croatians man for man. Rather, unlike the Croatians, we knew that there is a god of soccer. We knew also that to appease this god to be favourable to us, we need to make some sacrifices. Chickens, that’s what the god delight in and we have identified where to get them in Kaliningrad. Of course the local god’s taste is local, bringing Nigerian chickens all the way to Russia would not suit its taste buds.

Everything was in order, at least that was the situation until late in the day the Russian authorities decided to spin a curved ball at us. They won’t allow us to bring the chickens into the stadium. How are we going to appease the god? Now you all know why we lost to Croatia, it was due to nothing else but the conniving Russians that made our sacrifices impossible.

But wait a minute, do you remember Baba Eleran? Oh yes, you remember him, he was that popular! You will be excused for not knowing him only if you had not reached the age of maturity in the eighties. His real name? Ganiyu Elekuru but many didn’t know him by that name and that doesn’t matter in this case.

You remember how much feared he was? His mere presence at any IICC Shooting Stars match was an assurance of victory. He was said to commune with the spirits, he wined and dined with them. He was no ordinary man. By 1984, “sooting” was yet to win the CAF Cup of Champions Clubs and all hopes were high on sooting to win the trophy. Their opponent, our enemy, was Zamalek of Egypt, the dreaded pharaoh boys. All hands were on deck, sootiing just had to win the match. To Baba Eleran, they all look.

Weeks before the arrival of Zamalek, we were taught a potent chant

Egipti ki ri ran t’osan o
Balubalu n’táfin
Afin ki ri ran t’osan o
Balubalu tafin

This became a national anthem all over Ibadan the week before Zamalek arrived and then Lagos took it over. As youths, we memorised it, we sang it. Even though we did not understand the full ramification of what was going on. This was 1984, December 8 to be precise. The whole nation rallied behind IICC. Their rivals in the local league, Stationary Stores of Lagos and Enugu Rangers had their supporters club in the national stadium, all routing for “sooting” to win the cup that had been elusive to Nigeria.

At the appointed date, right inside the National Stadium, sacrifices had to be made. To counter the strong juju of the Egyptians, the chanting of balubalu reached a crescendo. It was followed suit by another dreaded incantation:

Oju oro ni n’leke omi,
Oshipata ni n’leke odo,
Awa lama segun ota wa

It was rumoured that a cow was buried alive in the grounds of the National Stadium. Chickens were brought into the stadium too, their feathers plucked off one by one. Everything hat needed to be done was one and we got assurance hat the gods were pleased with sooting and the cup would go to Ibadan. It was one hell of a crowd in the National Stadium, the seats were fully sold out and the expectations were high.

By the time the final whistle was blown, the drawn faces told the whole story. Sooting lost to Zamalek. Neither the incantations nor the sacrifices stopped Zamalek from defeating IICC and taking the cup along with them to Egypt. Some said that the Egyptians’ juju were more potent. Whatever it was, Baba Eleran was not the same again following that defeat. Many started doubting whether there is any impact that the supernatural plays in football. It soon became clear that there is not really any replacement for preparation, team work and tactical planning.

I wonder if the lessons from this was shared with our fashion icons that are currently in Russia but we can safely assume it was not. Why? The news reported that the supporters’ team felt angered that they were not allowed to bring chickens into the stadium. In this instance, I  couldn’t help but to remember Ganiyu Elekuru.

We broke the World Record

1 out of 400. Not bad at all, however this is not the record. This was the number of us who gathered at the Perth Observatory.

Yesterday I joined other stargazers in creating a new Guinness World Record for the most people stargazing at multiple venues. We broke the world record, 30,000 (some say 40,000 as the record counting is still underway) of us. It is official and will soon be in the Guinness Book of World Records. The previous record created by 7,960 people in 2015 was shattered by us.

Doing this at the Perth Observatory was fun, educative and awesome. The Perth Observatory, currently located in Bickley, is Western Australia’s oldest observatory. It has been in operation for more than 120 years. To show its age, on display at its entrance, is the Transit Circle Meridian Telescope, manufactured in 1897 by Troughton & Simms of London. Its sole use was to accurately determine Perth’s longitudinal positon. To navigators of those days, this must have been a big problem. Not anymore nowadays.

One of the very important functions of the observatory, in its hay days, was to accurately determine the time and communicate this to locations around the city. Existing clocks in those days could vary by up to half an hour! The importance of this may be lost to many but this resounded well with me, having visited the Royal Observatory Greenwich in 2009 and watched a presentation about Ruth Belville, the Greenwich Time Lady. Believe it or not, between 1890 and 1930 Ruth went around the city of London selling time. Yes, time. She wasn’t the only one, in fact she was the third time seller in her family!

Looking through the old 12-inch reflector Calver Telescope procured in 1910, I was able to see the moon surface and its craters. This amazing telescope had seen many things in the night sky in its 108 years of existence but not the single thing for which it was procured to see – the Halley’s Comet, a short-period comet visible from Earth every 74–79 years. The volunteer that manned the telescope lamented that as at April 1910 when the comet approached, the Calver telescope had been procured but not yet put in use while at the last approach of the comet in 1986, the telescope was in storage and has not been restored. So on the two occasions that the comet had appeared, the telescope did not get to be used to see it. It was restored and put back to use in 1996.

Talking about Halley’s Comet, its 1835 and 1910 appearances were important because of their association with the life and death of the American satirist and writer Mark Twain. He predicted his death to coincide with the 1910 appearance of the comet. Having been born with the comet appearance in 1835, he has noted in his autobiography published in 1909 that he expected to leave this earth with the comet’s appearance in 1910. He did. I remembered the sayings of Calpurnia, Julius Caesar’s wife “When beggars die there are no comets seen; the heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.”

Earlier, I had examined the Astrographic Telescope and its dome. This telescope, like the Calver, has a lot of history behind it. It was built in Ireland by Howard Grubb and arrived Perth, along with its dome, in 1898. Installation was in 1901 at the old Perth Observatory then on Mount Eliza. Though still in working order, the last scientific observation with the telescope was in 1999. It contributed in no small measure to the Perth section of the Astrographic Catalogues containing the positions of 229,000 stars.

It was while at the Astrographic telescope dome that I came to understand another meaning of the word computers and the significant contributions made by several full time staff who were women. It happened that the complex mathematical calculations, to determine the position of each star, were assigned to only women because they were deemed to be extremely more patient than their male colleagues. They were the “Computers”.

Standing alone and towering above everything else around it, is the Lowell Dome. It houses the Lowell Telescope which was installed in the 1970s as a valued part of the International Planetary Patrol. The Perth/Lowell Telescope had sister telescopes in New South Wales, Chile, the USA, South Africa and Hawaii – all deliberately placed and spaced so that the Solar system could be monitored extensively throughout the 24 hours in a day. While the dome and the 9 meter tower that houses the telescope were built in Western Australia, the 61cm Lowell telescope belongs to the Lowell Observatory in the USA and was funded by a NASA grant

The icing on the cake, for me, was looking at the night sky and seeing Jupiter and four of its moons through the lens of a telescope set up by Clive, another stargazer that partook in the record breaking event. For the event, people were assigned to colour coded sectors, I was assigned to the Green sector. As I took my seat, I exchanged pleasantries with my neighbour (forgotten his name), a middle aged Australian bloke. We agreed at how amazing space was and probably could have continued the conversation more in-depth. He then said that one thing was certain, there was no God out there. It was a test of my faith. My mind wandered between keeping quiet and responding. I quickly remembered Mathew 10: 33 where the good Lord said that “But everyone who denies me here on earth, I will also deny before my Father in heaven”. I responded and told him I believe there is God out there as well as here in Bickerly, where we were. He remained unconvinced stating the only place God was, was in our minds. We agreed to differ.

At about 6:35pm Perth time, the world record attempt started at the Perth Observatory Stargazing party. We were one of the 285 stargazing parties across Australia. The 400 or so stargazers that we were pointed our telescopes directly at the moon and kept observing it for 10 uninterrupted minutes. It goes without saying that there were some discomforts – neck pains and the cold chilly night. Did someone say “No pain, no gain”?

At the end of it all, we cheered loudly and congratulated ourselves. Now all that needs to happen is for the Guinness World Records to update its records.

Transit Circle Meridian Telescope

Congratulations to all my fellow stargazers and more importantly to the marvellous Francesca Flynn, the amiable Operations Manager of the Perth Observatory. When I showed up earlier in the morning, she was swamped with preparing for the stargazers that would be arriving in the evening. Notwithstanding all the work she was managing, she still had her smiles on and was very friendly in attending to me. Same attribute was displayed by all the volunteers that work with her to keep the Perth observatory functioning, having lost state government funding since early 2015. I met them around the various telescopes and buildings in the observatory, their willingness to help and knowledge about the telescopes’ history and functions were amazing.

A day spent at the Perth Observatory is a day to be treasured and remembered for a lifetime. Please make it a place to visit when in Perth, your gateway to the universe!

You Are Not Alone

An African Beauty

The newspaper headlines screamed – Hanson lost. Did she?

You know her, Pauline Hanson. She is the founder and leader of the Pauline Hanson’s One Nation Party (PHON), an Australian Political Party with a strong base in Queensland and with four seats in the Australian Senate. The untamed and unashamed Hanson is known for many things, not all good. She stands at the forefront of the anti-immigration and anti-multiculturalism campaign in Australia, the two main areas where Australia (the largest multicultural nation in the world) punches high above its weight in the world. Pauline is not only spitting fires against them, she is following up with measured actions. In 2015, it was the Islamic Community in Australia that caught her fancy culminating in her wearing a Hijab to Senate in 2017 in a manner to question the decency of that mode of dressing.

Now that you’ve gotten the idea, there are Xenophobic people amongst us and we need to curb their enthusiasm to run amok before it is too late. People like Pauline Hanson are ecstatic about others who do not speak or look like them. Thank God they are in the minority and the laws had kept them at bay from publicly causing harm and bringing their racial prejudice to the open.

In my career, working in international locations, I have met a few people like Pauline and usually shrug them off. However, I have had two notable experiences here in Australia that were not only scary but instilled some fears in me as to what lies behind the skins of people that walk our streets. It was late in 2016 that I requested the services of an Air Conditioner (AC) technician in my house using the Hipages.com.au website. Leigh of Conway Services Pty Ltd showed up. He was a handful and I can’t forget him in a hurry. He took a look at the AC, delivered the bad news that the refrigerant had to be replaced and invoiced me One hundred dollars as his call out fee. I offered to pay by credit card but unfortunately he had no POS machine. He chose to go the old way, using carbon paper, he traced out all the details on my card and left.  Two days after, I got a call from him demanding for payment and I explained that he already has my credit card details and should charge this. That was when he went into a tirade, calling me all sorts of unprintable, racist names. Honestly, I was very disturbed that I could be the subject of racial slurs and verbal abuse.

Earlier that same year, a couple of wayward white kids drove through my usually quiet neighbourhood and pelted my house with raw eggs. Well, there were no words exchanged but the idea that my house was the only one pelted made me wonder why we were singled out. The only reason I could adduce was that we are not ethnically white. This made more sense since a colleague, living in another affluent neighbourhood, had had his car spray painted with racist slurs about a year or so earlier. For his and his family safety, he relocated from the neighbourhood.

Being Black and speaking with distinct African tones, I had thought that I was subjected to these racial slurs because of my skin colour. I was wrong and did not know this until I sat down with ML (full names withheld) this week for coffee. I had met ML at one of the social tennis clubs that I am a member of. He is lovely to talk to and of good manners. As we talked about different life issues that caught our fancy, the discussion drifted to racism. I had responded that racism is inherent in us all but at different points on a spectrum. Some unfortunately have a high concentration of it and are on the intolerable end of the spectrum while others are on the lower rungs. Our biases reflect these and are reflected in the way we see the world and act.

When ML said he was being discriminated against by Australians, he lost me. How can you be discriminated against – you are white and Australian! I am British and not Australian, he responded. Now I was completely disoriented. To understand him, he had to tell me a bit about himself. He has been living in Australia for more than 40 years, married here and established a business here. It’s most likely that I am racially blind – to me, he is Australian. His look, name and knowledge of this great south-land reveal nothing otherwise. Even when he speaks, there is nothing in his tone that makes me see him as different from any other white Australian. And yet he is on the receiving end of racial slurs.

He complained of being called a Pom, I never heard of that word until now. What it means and how derogatory it is, I had not the faintest idea but the mere fact that he felt offended by the use of the word was all that mattered. He cited instances of his experience and I could not but be sympathetic to him on these. He is a painter and had been called for a job in Mindarie. He had arrived timely early in the morning and knocked on the door to announce his presence. When the door opened, the guy on the other side was angry that he is a Pom and asked where all the Australian painters were. He said he countered the offensive by telling the guy that the Aussie painters were probably still all asleep, wearied from the binge drinking of the previous night. In another instance, his pronunciation of the word “Cup” had been ridiculed by some Aussie as being wrong and mimicked in a way that he felt offended as well. I could feel his pains.

So I asked who really is an Australian? Except my knowledge of history is deficient, there is only one group of people that can truly lay claim to being full bred Australians. These are the indigenous people, the Aborigine or the First Australians. Everyone else is an immigrant. Whether first or third generation immigrants, we are all immigrants and equally lay claim to being Australian. When next someone questions your “Australianness”, remember you are not alone. I encourage you to question theirs. No one has better rights to this piece of God given territory that any of us. Australia is a nation of immigrant and arriving first does not anyone superior to those that arrived last or will be arriving in future.

https://www.theaustralian.com.au/news/nation/protesters-take-their-pom-whinge-to-un/news-story/5c5ee5fd8c0ce9c58541e2b27cbfe7a0?sv=c1e87bf522110a51aeafe693d1d56496

 

Will we be remembered?

Today, as it does annually, Australia marks ANZAC Day – the anniversary of the landing of the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps at Gallipoli during World War I in 1915. It goes beyond this, though. It seems every public space in this country is set up to remember them- the millions of her war dead. Wherever you go, you will sooner come across an ANZAC memorial, not far from you. I see this as Australians commitment to the promise, “We will remember them”.

We will remember them, is a popular line from the Ode, traditionally recited as part of commemoration services in Australia since 1921. The Ode used is the fourth stanza of the poem For the Fallen by Laurence Binyon. It was written in the early days of World War One and its words are touching an thought provoking:

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

 

Australia remembers. She remembers that the freedoms of today and its liberties were won with the blood of so many who sacrificed their lives in different theatres of war. We will remember them and so did Victory Life Centre.

Victory Life Centre, a church pastored by the Australian tennis sensation of all time and a woman of God, Margaret court used Sunday 22nd April to honour the memory of these men and women. With pomp and pageantry, as the whole church stood up, the veterans of war were acknowledged as they marched to the pulpit area. Many have become frail with age but they still marched forward. There were two main speakers, Arthur Legged born in Sydney in 1918 and who took part in the Second World War and Peter Jackson 71yrs old and who was called to serve in 1968 in the Vietnam War.

Arthur, now 100 years old, took us through his call to the war and how he suffered as a prisoner of war fighting in Europe. As we listened to him recounting his experience of war, we were all full of adulation for the sacrifice that people like him made for Australia, for the free world. At his age, he still has a great sense of humour and was quick to point out that if not for the war, he wouldn’t have met his wife, one that he has remained married to for 63 years now. The high point of his presentation was his reciting of the poem “Mates“. This happened to be a beautiful poem written in 1974 after the war by Corporal Duncan Butler. The poem highlights the significance of mateship amongst prisoners-of-war. Just like Arthur, Butler was an ex-prisoner of war. He was captured by the Japanese at Tjamplong in Timor in February 1942, moved to Java in September 1942, then to Singapore in January 1943 and Changi, before being sent to Thailand to work on the railway. He was repatriated and returned to Australia in October 1945.

The poem, available in full here, is worth a reading and memorizing by many. It begins:

I’ve travelled down some lonely roads,
Both crooked tracks and straight.
An’ I’ve learned life’s noblest creed,
Summed up in one word … “Mate”.

What was touching was that Arthur recited the whole of this poem, without missing any of the lines, being a 100 years old. His clarity of though was exceptional. It was therefore not unexpected that Peter would have an uphill task of matching the performance of Arthur. Peter, in his speech, painted a vivid picture of himself receiving a letter drafting him to serve in the war at 20 years old. He was ferried out of Australia on the HMS Sydney, straight to the Vietnam’s Tropical jungle to chase after Vietcong. As expected, after years at the warfront, he fell into depression on his return to Australia and recovery was painful and slow but he did recover.

Siting in the auditorium, I watched  with admiration and was very moved, at points almost to tears. My brain soon started thinking of my fatherland, Nigeria and how

They’ve asked us to lay our lives for Nigeria.
They said, we should ask not what the nation can do for us
but what we can do for the nation.
We ask, when we do this, will the nation remember?
All we heard was a deafening silence

The national anthem says

The labours of our heroes past

Must not be in vain.

So we think of the labours of

Dele Giwa and Ken Saro-Wiwa

In sport, the world was marvelled

By the gangling Rahidi Yekini

Samuel Okwaraji died on the nation’s call

Dele Udoh was slaughtered

But does the nation remember them?

Oh yes, the heroes of our democracy.

Abiola and Simbiat laid down their lives

So did Alfred Rewane and Abraham Adesanya,

Gani Fawehinmi. Tai Solarin and the Ransome Kutis.

Tafawa Balewa, Okotie Eboh and Samuel Akintola

They are gone and how have they been remembered?

We remember the civil war and

The millions that died in that war

Brother fighting against brother

Victor Banjo, Emmanuel Ifeajuna and Isaac Boro

How has the nation remembered them?

On the streets of Port Harcourt, Abakaliki and Onitsha

Where the Ogbunigwe sounded loud and killed many.

The soldiers dying, fighing Boko Haram

How have they been remembered?

I thought of how we destroy even those pieces of monuments, that had given us some rays of hope that the nation remembers. There was the statue of the unknown soldier in Idumota and another at Dugbe in Ibadan. Where are they now?  Right at the government house in Ibadan was a statue erected to the memory of Chief Obafemi Awolowo. This is long gone and stands no more.

A nation that forgets its past has no future” Winston Churchill

A Scheme of Madness – Words do kill!

Words are powerful! They create and they destroy, a great reason why we need to pick them carefully. This week I had the opportunity of visiting Mundaring Weir. Here I got reminded of how important our tongues are. As I leaned on the rails that run across the weir, I couldn’t but think deeply about how one great Engineer was driven to commit suicide by words.

An hour and some few minutes’ drive, east of Perth is Mundaring Weir. To many Western Australian, Mundaring Weir is a significant landmark in the state. It was here that a remarkable feat of engineering was conceived and executed by C.Y. O’Connor. To date, this work that is nearly a century old still hold its record in the annals of Engineering.

The late 17th century gave Western Australia a unique present and at the same time a unique challenge as well. In 1892, gold was found in Coolgardie and a year later in Kalgoorlie in commercial quantities. With these discoveries, there was a gold rush leading to an influx of people into this arid interior of the state. All looked good, except there was a problem. Despite the abundance of gold, there was no water. We know that water gives life but the goldfields were dry and water was absent. Some ingenious men decided to solve the problem by importing Camels from Afghanistan. The Camels were put to work in taking water from Perth to Karlgoorlie. We all could guess how well this went, not enough volumes of water were being transported to sustain the human habitation and an alternative needed to be found.

It was to C.Y. O’Connor that the then Premier of Western Australia, John Forrest, turn. His instructions to the recently immigrated Irish man was for him to come up with a way to get water to the goldfields. C.Y, not being one to shy away from responsibility, no matter how arduous, took up the gauntlet and went to work. His proposed solution was to take five million gallons of water from the Perth Hills daily, pump this up for almost 1,200 feet and out over the plains for 350 miles till it gets to Kalgoorlie. Too good to be true many will say and for those bold enough, they called it the scheme of madness! Well, let us not forget that this was the late 1890 and technology was not what it is now. So, they were probably not crazy to think that way.

On paper, C.Y’s idea was simple. First, they would dam the lower Helena River at Mundaring and create a Weir. Then would lay the pipes and boost the rate of water flow using pumps placed at intermediate points on the pipeline route. Nothing complicated. The complications came from the state of development of Western Australia as at then. Firstly, Western Australia didn’t have the capability to manufacture the pipes. Secondly, the infrastructure to move the pipes across the vast isolated and hostile terrain was absent. Lastly, there was a dirge of Capital. Capital, given its alternate uses, was scarce. Investing this scarce resource to develop the Goldfield Water Pipelines meant forgoing some other critical government funding needs.

Undaunted, C.Y. O’Çonnor started in 1898. In their very eyes, the plan started being transformed to reality. The work to dam the Helena River began. Little by little, the retaining wall started to emerge from the river bed as a concrete mountain.  Then the pipes started arriving and then the coupling work started, preceded by the bush clearing to provide the pathway for the pipeline over its 530km length. It didn’t stop there. They had to build the pumping station. The first one got erected at Mundaring and was aptly named Pump No. 1. There would be seven more to come.

Loan had been taken from Britain but what was advanced was not enough to meet the budget. Unperturbed, C.Y diligently faced the work he had in front of him. He was convinced that it was better to start with the funds available and somehow, the funds to complete the project would be found. Soon funds dried out but the project was far from finishing. “Kill him, crucify him”, the cacophony of voices were loud. Since they did more to Jesus, C.Y. a mere mortal was not moved. He shrugged them off.

Instead of the criticism waning it got louder and soon developed a life of its own. The bombardment was daily and it came from all fronts, the parliament, the press and the public. They were unfounded, they were unjust but no one cared. Let’s kill this project and its messiah before it bankrupt our state was all they were interested in doing. The criticisms soon got through his Irish skin.  First they took his sleep away. What followed had him questioning his normalcy. At this stage some who knew him could see that he was no longer himself. Their “scheme of madness” had become a self-fulfilling prophecy, the architect of the scheme was running mad. No mental health help was available, he was left to himself. He did what came right to him, he needed to end it all and take himself out of his misery. A bullet to his head did the trick and he was gone to care less no more. This was 1902.

Then came January 1903, John Forrest stood at Kalgoorlie, turned a valve and water poured. Magic? No, Engineering. The work was completed and it put the camels to rest. They were abandoned and they went feral. Oh, as to the detractors, they started singing a new song. Hail, our Messiah, Hail C.Y. Alas, he was long gone and their praises couldn’t undo what had been done.

Today, billions of gallons of water had been pumped from Mundaring to Kalgoorlie. As I stood at the Weir, I pondered on how the words of mere mortals terminated a budding life at 59. He was denied the opportunity of carrying his grandchildren. He was denied the glory that should attend his long hours of painstakingly designing and building the pipeline. It could be said that he was driven to commit suicide by their words.

Persist, Persevere, Succeed

I gave up on wearing suits almost 2 years ago, but today I had to put on one. It is another important day in our lives as a family. My “sugarbobo” is getting conferred with the Bachelor’s Degree in Nursing. Given the efforts she had put into this, she deserves this and much more.

We made our ways to the Perth Convention Centre in the city, the venue of the ceremony. The programme of event had requested an early arrival if we want to take some pictures to commemorate the occasion. Of course, we do and did arrive early. As we made our ways into the auditorium and the official programme began, we were reminded of the Edith Cowan University values of Integrity, Respect, Rational Enquiry and Personal Excellence. These were all the values, and more, that my wife had exhibited in her quest to get this degree, I can attest to this. Whether I was here with her in Australia or thousands of miles away across the Indian Ocean, I am a witness of her struggles. She literally moved her nights to the study, forsaking the comforts of our bedroom. Oftentimes when I woke up at night to visit the restroom, her spot by my side was nearly always vacant. A peep downstairs, seeing the lights in the study on, always left me reassured that all was well. I became envious, she seemed to have fallen in love more with her study than with me. Her efforts have yielded the results she wanted, the ones she really deserve, and today we celebrate with her.

As it is with many formal ceremonies across Australia, respect had to be given to the first Australians. The indigenous elder that declared the ceremony open was impressive and did a splendid job. He acknowledged the owners of the land, past and present, and followed up by wading off any evil spirit that may be lurking around while he welcomed the good spirits. In doing this, he set the stage for the epoch occasion. Experiencing this, I noted the similarity between the African and Australian Aborigine culture. I need no other argument to convince me that there is a strong kinship between the two people.

This year’s valedictorian is Natalie Sutherland. In her speech, she laid before the audience what is possible when the human spirit says YES. She is married, lives in regional Australia and mid-aged, all sufficient reasons for anyone to give up from pursuing an academic laurel and chase after some other easily achievable goals. Not Natalie, she is a woman of steel. In addition to her challenges, she has to mother three teenagers aged seventeen, nineteen and twenty-one. And one more thing, she hasn’t been in any formal classes since finishing high school thirty years ago! What laid ahead of her was a weekly commute of 250kms to and from Perth to study. At forty-five years old, she resolved to face her demon and today she stands, with her head held high, with all grace as the valedictorian at this year’s graduation. What an extra-ordinary Australian story, a story of remarkable doggedness!

Edith Cowan University (ECU) was never a feature in our life when we moved here about half a decade ago. Today, we are proud to congregate with other families to honour the dedication of these bold souls that won’t say No in their quest for knowledge.

As we watch in quiet adulation as she joins others, who had expended similar energies, to be awarded a Bachelor’s Degree in Nursing, some will ask “why is this important and what is the big deal with achieving this late in life”? I make bold to say it is a big deal! A really big one when we all do pause to reflect that life is a continual journey at making oneself better than one was yesterday. When an ambition is accomplished is not as important as the fact that the ambition is accomplished. She could have given up, but just as Natalie didn’t so didn’t Saf.

As the graduands get called to collect their certificates, I was filled with gladness when her name got announced by the Dean of the School of Medicine. I think she called Saturafu but this didn’t matter to us nor to Saf, this mispronunciation is easily forgiven. She would still face this many times more in the workplace. As she took those fair steps towards the Deputy Vice Chancellor, I sat as a proud husband, surrounded by our two kids, watching her face beam with a radiant smile as she got bestowed with the degree.

I am a blessed man. The journey had not always been swift but having a companion that shares the same ideals and life goals makes it worth it. Today, as she graduates, my little Red Pumpkin will be starting her course of study at the same school to become a Medical Doctor. As I look into the future, I could see us congregating here again, in 3 years, in her honour. Life is good, only for those who are bold enough to hold the bull by the horns.

Humiliated again!

Japan signing treaty of surrender of Singapore

Back in 2013, I had complained about the targeted discriminatory practices of the Singaporean Authorities to Nigerians arriving Changi Airport. I had written a piece, titled – Blaming Singapore Immigration. I also wrote to the Nigerian Embassy in Canbera and Singapore to complain. The then Ambassador Olukoni, a gentleman per excellence was humble enough to give me a call and promised to take it up with the Singaporean authorities. Whether he did, I can’t tell but I received a response to my complaint from the Singaporean authority. It was a very bland response saying Singapore does randomly subject visitors to further inspection and my experience was exactly this, random! I knew it was a lie but how was I to prove it?

The opportunity came this year and as our plan to visit Singapore was being developed, I complained to high heavens, to all who were patient enough to listen to me. It wasn’t my choice and I abhor the idea of being humiliated again but I really can’t deny others the opportunity they had anxiously been waiting for, all year long. I conceded and so started my adventure at being demeaned as a human being. To be candid, I think my humiliation started much earlier, earlier at the Ikeja Passport Office where I had gone to apply for a new passport. You asked why? Well on home soil in Ikeja, the Nigerian government did not consider me worthy enough of a decent treatment. My experience is well documented in the open letter that I had to write to the minister of interior. The Singaporean authorities only built on the foundation that my government has laid.

Cbinatown

First to get a Singapore Visa, unlike in 2013, I had to show up at VFS office for an interview, fingerprinting and the works. You can guess how that went. Why? In the few years that had passed, Nigeria is now been categorized by Singapore as an Assessment Level 2 country along with Somalia, Sudan, Yemen, Iraq and a few others. I just couldn’t fathom it that we still call ourselves Giants of Africa? There are 54 countries in the African continent, 9 of which are subjected to extra rigors in issuance of Singapore Visa and Nigeria is one of the 9! If we are a giant, what should the other 45 countries call themselves? I won’t be surprised to know that the Nigerian External Affairs ministry might not have protested this. Since Singapore excludes holders of diplomatic, official and service passports from the added scrutiny, why would they care? You know what I mean, why should they be perturbed if the citizens that they represent get treated shabbily? More so, they don’t treat us better at home so on what basis will they protest our shabby treatment by others?

Clarke Quay by the River

I wasn’t much annoyed as per the interview but for the daylight robbery that was associated with it. VFS charged me a ridiculous amount for doing nothing! Nothing that I couldn’t have done otherwise by myself. Even the return envelope, for the passport to be mailed back to me, I had to pay for it. The passport, with the visa label on it, got mailed to me a few days later.

Well, fast-track to my arrival at Changi, I was in a party of four Nigerians – three traveling on non-Nigerian passports and my patriotic self, clinging to the green booklet. In order to demonstrate that the humiliation in 2013 wasn’t random, I decided to carry out a social science experiment. I requested 2 of the 3 Nigerians traveling with non-Nigerian passports to go ahead and get to Immigration first. I came a distant third and then to be followed, with some gap by the last Nigerian, also holding a non-Nigerian passport. My hypothesis, yes I know you would want to know, was that the other 3 people will be allowed entry without any fuss while I would be pulled aside.

It didn’t take long when Nigerian 1 and 2 got through the counter and I, Nigerian 3, followed suit. I knew something was fishy, when the Immigration & Checkpoints Authority (ICA) Officer had to reach for a paper on his left side. He gave it a quick look, made some entries on the computer and then gently told me that  my entry would need to be approved at another point. I was taken to a different counter, a door was opened and was asked to take a seat inside. The glass door got closed and there I was, waiting. Minutes later, a man showed up and asked me all sorts of questions, some that I considered mundane. I coolly and calmly answered them all. For him to leave the room where I was, he had to knock twice on the door before it got opened for him from the outside. It was only then that I realized that I was in a locked room, a bird in a cage! Minutes later, another ICA official called me to the outside counter and I had to go through another barrage of questioning, finally my passport was stamped and I was asked to proceed on my journey into Singapore through an open door.

Trust me, I wasn’t going to leave without a fight, even if a very feeble one it would be. I was like Ijapa, the tortoise, that had to scatter his dwelling place on being arrested. When asked why, he responded so that people will at least see evidence that he did not give in to being arrested easily. I asked to see the ICA officer’s supervisor and was shown another gentlemen who had been standing there all along, by the counter. His demeanor doesn’t show he cares and I knew he wasn’t going to own up to this institutionalized targeting of Nigerians. I explained my grievance at being targeted just because of my green passport and he responded that it was a random check, remember it was also random in 2013.  I told him of my social science experiment and that the A330-300 SQ224 that brought me to Changi is a 285 seater plane and no other person was randomly selected apart from me. I narrated my prior experience and the fact that the 3 other Nigerians who were subjected to the same embarrassing random evaluation in 2013 were let go this time because they traveled on non-Nigerian passports. He still insisted that all they did was random. I noticed that a Malaysian woman was also at the counter earlier but was given a seat at the VIP section in the open. I brought his attention to the inhuman and discriminatory treatment of getting me locked behind a closed door while the other lady was given a seat in an open space. At this time, I could see his face turning red and he said they have their procedures and he was just following them. I was annoyed, but again, at no time did they beg me to come to their country. I asked him to consider how he would feel if the table were to be turned and he is at the receiving end as I just did, I left thereafter.

As we were driven to the hotel, we noticed the beautiful tree lined roads which were spotlessly clean. The great aesthetic appearance of the city and the apparent order in everything the eyes could see. I gave this a bit of thought and concluded that I have gotten Singapore’s message. Singapore has never hidden its message, it has been there all along, I just failed to comprehend it. It was loud, it was clear – We don’t need Nigerians here. I jokingly mentioned that there were no pure water sachets on the road and that it was a crime for you to chew gums openly in Singapore. I needed no one else to tell me that Singapore has a right to determine whom they allow into their country and defend their culture, traditions and love for an open green environment, things that many of my brothers would willingly destroy.

Singaporeans are 5.61million people in number. Nigerians? we are 190 million and counting. It wasn’t until 1963, 3 years after Nigeria, that Singapore declared its independence from Great Britain and joined Malaya to form the Federation of Malaysia. It took it another 2 years to be thrown out of Malaya and a truly independent republic on August 9, 1965 . In these years, these 5.61million people have achieved enviable heights that the 190million of us in Nigeria are still dreaming of. No wonder they can tell us to go to hell. What this means is that if you are a Nigerian, no matter what you have accomplished in life, to the Singaporean, you are nothing. Given the hundreds of Nigerians being sold as slaves in Libya, I know it that the Singaporean looks at all Nigerians as that worthless. What makes any of us different from those being sold to slavery in the 21st century and our government was dragging its foot to act?

This really got me thinking and I renewed my commitment at entrepreneurship to develop Nigeria into such a state that it will be self-sufficient and the cynosure of eyes like that of Singapore. And to Singapore? Not a dime of my money will be spent in this economy ever more, I guarantee it.

 

 

It’s the Outback

Day 5 [21st September]

I did not wake up early the next morning, 21st September, the sun was already high in the sky. It was International Day of Peace. As I came out of my swag, Batman was dressed in the most colourful jacket that I had ever seen. It was reminiscent of Joseph’s Coat of many colours. Give it to Greg, he was fully prepared for this trip, he looked great. Kristina followed suit with her faultless dressing to mimic Elvis Presley. She was stunning with her red glasses, long trouser and colourful dress. We had planned on driving 650kms to the Woomera campground. A chance meeting with a couple of folks, recently come all the way down from Coober Pedy made us to jilt that plan. There is a short cut that we could take between Smoky Bay and Coober Pedy and avoid the long route to Port Augusta. We reviewed the road using the Hema maps. Heading north from Smoky Bay, we would take a diversion eastwards to Wirrulla and then head through the remote Australian outback cutting close to the Lake Everard Homestead, a cattle station of some sort. We would continue on gravel through Kokatha and come out at Kingoonya from where we planned to join the Stuart Highway heading North Westwards to Coober Pedy.

 

We followed the plan and arrived at Wirrulla where we stopped to refuel. Fuel was becoming expensive as we move inwards. At Wirrulla, it was $1.41per litre of gasoline. Knowing that there is no fuel stop again until we reach Coober Pedy, I ensured that the Explorer had enough to drink, giving it 120ltrs. The town, Wirrulla, is the starting point of any adventure into the rugged Gawler ranges which is home to rare animals and amazing landforms. The town is dominated by the Tricia & Stokey’s General Store which stands massively on the left of the Hay Terrace, the main road in the sleepy town. The Gawler Range is posted as being 126 kms, Kingooya 249kms away and Coober Pedy 535kms. We would later find out that the 249kms to Kingooya will be gruelling, dusty and corrugated going through some of the remotest areas of South Australia. I looked through some adverts posted on the community board at the General Store and noticed the adverts for houses. Nothing special with Wirulla, it is a backwater town that happens to be a gateway.

 

A little further to the right of Hay Street, not far from Trici & Stokey’s general store are a couple of silos. Nothing else seems to be happening in the town. The town has positioned itself as a low cost settlement area for nomads – the group of Australians that are constantly on the road but need a low cost permanent structure to call their home. A 1 room, 1 bath wooden house with a 3 car park space was advertised for $69,000 with a rider that you can lock it up ad safely travel wherever you want to. No wonder the town seems devoid of human presence. Just ahead of the general store was the Wirrulla Hotel which provides hot meals and has accommodation available for travellers. One notable weird attraction of this town is the presence of an Inland Jetty, yea, you read that right. It is probably the only Jetty of its kind in the world, a Jetty where the tide is always out and has never been in water. Why the Jetty was built or what purpose it serves may well be the secret the town has been keeping since it style itself as the “town with a secret”. Having used the restroom and filled up our various beasts of burden, we headed towards the Gawler Ranges, northwards from Wirrulla.

 

On this trip, distances became mere numbers. It is given that we are covering vast space of land and we still have more to cover. We didn’t blink twice before we roared the vehicle engines and took off. The road was dusty and corrugated. We let down the pressures in our tyres so as to reduce the bounciness of the vehicles. The thick vegetation around Wirrulla son gave way to little shrubs and in most places the soil was bare of any vegetation. A couple of salt lakes lined the road as we move north, heading towards the Gawler Ranges. To the observant traveller, it becomes easily noticeable that South Australia is blessed with huge salt deposit. We soon came close to the Lake Everard Homestead and saw some wombat holes. We took a break from driving and went to take a look at the holes. We saw no wombat but met the skeleton of a few birds around the hole.  As we walked back to our vehicles, a discussion ensued regarding the importance of the homestead to Australia’s Agriculture. It was from this discussion that I learnt that the homestead are actually cattle stations. What they do is to buy calves and release them into the wild, to fend for themselves. Of course there are no carnivorous animals in the wild that poses significant threats to cattle, apart from the Dingos possibly. Having secured the territory through which the cattle may freely roam, the homestead waits until the time that the cattle are sufficiently grown enough and round them up for the market. I was also made to know that despite the arid nature of the environment, there are pockets of water available and that the cattle could smell water from afar with their noses. Hence, it becomes easy for cattle station owners to know where to find their cattle, hey simply target the body of waters near their stations.

 

The heat was terrible and everywhere we looked, we were accosted with amazing view of the Gawler range. As we approach the range, we came across a large flock of Emu, those flightless ugly birds. They are the second largest living birds on earth. As it is with their other fellow country animal, the Kangaroos, the Emus can survive for days without water.

 

The South Australian Government warning that we were heading to one of the most remote and isolated places in Australia was not a joke We were soon on the worst road that I have ever driven on in Australia. Each vehicle was kicking up clouds of dust and we needed to provide good space amongst ourselves in order to have some level of visibility. The Explorer was rattling, from the corrugation on the road. It was the voice of Greg on the road that drew my attention that we would soon be coming across a pack of camel, on the left.  A little north of the Hiltaba Homestead (HS) we stopped to examine the holes that were created by Wombats, that Australian native full of muscles. On our left was Death Valley, the name stirred up a discussion as to why a queer name for the valley. The wombats, were unsurprisingly not at the holes but we could sew the carcass of what looked like a goat and knowing that Wombats were no carnivores this was looked at as a mere coincidence. We took a few pictures at the area as it has a beautiful lookout of the surrounding hills and gently undulating landscape with virtually no tree cover. The homestead itself is neatly tucked into a cleft of the hill.

 

The surface was hard and of course with no water only the most stubborn of plants survive here. The few trees that are, are perched as if a fire has just swept through them. They are devoid of leaves or fruits with blackened soothe colour appearing all over them. It all look sombre, like a scene from a horror movie.  Yet, despite this eerie looks, the vegetation, sombre, has a sort of beauty to it. It presents a clear contrast to the beautiful, well-nourished green vegetation that most Australians are familiar with in the city. Thinking deeply, one will really appreciate the creator as one who marvels in diversity. Unseen to the naked eyes, would be the snakes whose skins blend perfectly with the environment.  We saw a clearing on our left, on a small hilltop and drove into it in a file, this was our lunch break. We all reached into our stock of food and were soon feeding our tommies. It was also an opportunity to urinate. I was scared of snakes and felt certain that this environment provides a very great opportunity for those slimy crawly things that are masters of disguise to cause harm. I picked a dry stick and used it to clear the path ahead of me until I go to a little distance from the team to do “my thing”.

 

With lunch done, we continued our journey through this remote wilderness. Every now and then, the road is broken here and there by Cattle Grids. These are well spaced rows of iron rods built into the road to prevent cattle from crossing from one station to another. The idea is that cattle likes feeling the grounds under their hoofs and with the iron grill, they will either get their hoofs stuck within the grid or feel unstable and would not cross. They work effectively as containment barriers for the free roaming cattle. A little before Kingooya, we got a distress call on the radio from Greg, the other Greg. He had lost his rear windscreen. Shattered, a piece of rock from the road had hit it and broken it up.  At this time, Greg and a few vehicles were looking at the damage out of my visibility. I pulled the Explorer to the side of the dusty road, allowed he dust on the roads to settle and alighted from the vehicle.   Everywhere I looked, there was no sign of life at all. I actually felt like I had been transported away from Earth to mars. All that surrounded me were just red plains and rolling hills for as far as the eyes could see. I am no geologist but looking at how ancient these lands were, I was convinced that it holds abundant mineral resources. I took a few pictures of the landscape and also took he time to walk around the Explorer, just to check if there were any visible problems. It was the voice of Greg on the radio that brought me back to Earth. They have settled on a fix-up plan for the damage on his vehicle. His would be done as soon as we get to Kingooya. I relayed the message to the team ahead of me and we all continued the trip.

 

It was a little to 6pm local time when we made it to Kingooya. Kingooya town is not a remarkable place, it is a small almost totally abandoned farming settlement in the central outback of South Australia. One can count the number of houses in the town, not up to ten. From their looks, one can assume that they are not fully occupied all year round. We were told that they are sometimes occupied by people involved in mining exploration and kangaroo shooting. One could easily miss the town if not for the hotel, well visited I suppose by many other travellers who chose to take this outback short cut to reach Smoky Bay or Tarcoola. By the time we arrived, there were about six 4WDs packed in front of the hotel. Of course, the ancient looking red truck with Kingooya Hotel inscribed on what would have been a windscreen could not be missed. A couple of tourists were having their beers in the front porch of the hotel and a few more taking pictures as we eventually did too. The Indian Pacific Train passes through the town on its 4,352km trip from Perth (on the Indian Ocean) to Sydney (on the Pacific Ocean) and so also does the Ghan on is way from Adelaide to Darwin.

 

We got to take a look at the damage that had been sustained by Greg’s Nissan Navara. The windscreen of the canopy on its back was completely shattered. There was red dust everywhere and on everything.  We thought of any known bush engineering practise that can be used but our knowledge failed us. We finally settled on having a bathroom towel taped to cover the gapping space that was previously covered by the windscreen. It worked. The plan was to get to the ARB store in Coober Pedy for a replacement windscreen, when we arrive there. At this point, I also discovered that the rear license plate on the Explorer was about to fall. I got a plastic cable tie, two of them and get the plate hooked on again.

 

We thought of camping here, at the open space in front of the Kingooya Hotel, for the night but there was a revolt, from not a few members. They were concerned that the noise of the passing trains will not make for a restful night after such a long exerting trip.  We drove another 30kms, northwards before we found a camp at an altitude of 146m. We were now 331kms away from Smoky Bay, at least that’s the reading from the electronic gauge of the Explorer. The camp was left of the Gosses Road, the intersection with the Stuart Highway was still a little bit ahead of us. We set down to camp for the night around 6:30pm. The sun was still in the horizon causing Diane to spend some time to decide where to set her tent. If there is any talk of the lonely solitary road, this was it.

To answer nature’s call, I crossed the dusty road in front of the camp and headed some few metres into the open land. Having a little bush covering, I dug into the grounds and deposited my waste therein, ensuring that same was well covered away from foraging animals to dig out. Other team members did the same.

 

There is no service or utility anywhere near where we were. Kingooya is so remote to any infrastructure or utility provision. There is no water, no phone coverage and no filling station of any sort. Each traveller has to be reasonably sure that he is self-sufficient otherwise danger looms. Tales have been told of missing travellers whose vehicles were found but they had wandered away in search of help…and died. It goes without saying that before you head into the outback, please be reasonably sure of your equipment, your provision and emergency plan. Any failure could cause the traveller his life. We were at the camp site for more than 19hrs and only 2 vehicles, solitary souls, passed our way. This lends credence to the advice by the South Australian government that we were headed into a remote area.

 

If this were another country one would, and should, reasonably be afraid of attacks and robberies. This is Australia and is not the case. There have been few occasions where campers have been attacked and murdered but it is generally rare. The film, Wolf Creek, attempted to document such an incident whose true event happened between Alice Springs and Darwin on the Stuart Highway on 14th July 2001. Being lone travellers on the highway, British tourists Peter Falconio (then 28) and Joanne Lees were roughly half way between Alice Springs and Tennant Creek, when a mechanic called Bradley John Murdoch managed to make them pull over, telling them that sparks were coming out of the exhaust of their van.

Peter went to the back of the van with Murdoch to have a look and that was when Murdoch shot him an attempted to take Joanne, who managed to escape, as hostage. The tale is reminiscent of similar events that had happened in other countries and I am pretty sure that were Peter a Nigerian, he wouldn’t have fallen for this trick which is an old one in the books of Armed Robberies.

 

I took a look at the Explorer and was again convinced that I made the right decision. I had bought it as a go anywhere car with all the necessary gears and equipment for solitary life in the outback installed. You don’t buy such a car and keep in your garage. They are meant to explore places like this, the outback.

 

Mark brought out his fire pit and a fire was kindled. The entire team chose Mark’s troopy spot as the place to gather and share the warmth radiated by the fire from Mark’s fire pit. Discussion moved from one topic to another and then to religion. The concept of modern ay Aussies approach to religion came clearly to me. A few team members professed hat they were Christians but do not go to church.  The issue of adoption was openly discussed, especially as it relates to the family that had to adopt a Chinese baby. They remain convinced that their decision worked in the child’s favour and theirs. They are a happy bunch and once can notice he happiness in the child as well.

 

The night itself was devoid of any notable incident. I had taken my leave from the group earlier than others and settled into the comfort of my swag. I slept off, deeply and soundly.

Nothing smoky in Smoky Bay

Day 3 & 4 [19th & 20th Sept]

The night had been freezing cold. Probably due to the southern ocean being just a few kilometres to our south and the cold currents from Antarctica must have been blown over land at night causing the cold temperature that we experienced.

We started out early this morning. 6:23am and all the vehicles were back on the road, heading towards Eucla on the Eyre Highway. We had spent the previous night just 5km west of Mumrabilla. It is Pirates Day and again, Greg was all for it. We were to dress like a Pirate and speak like a Pirate all day through. I am not well versed in this and simply did much more of listening to the conversations on the Pirate Channel than talking. The bat’s mobile is flying a black pirate flag on its roof and Collum’s car was also having a skull in front of its grills. The two Greg’s, I thought, must have earlier come to the world as Pirates because they just were having fun. As we proceeded Eastwards, the southern sun was ferocious. It was high on the horizon on our right hand side. I was driving as Car # 3 in the convoy of 8 cars and absorbing the sights of the mountain ranges that dot the 70km stretch of road between Mumrabilla and Eucla. The peculiar characteristic was that the mountain ranges seem to be only on the left hand side with low lands on the right hand side.  Looking ahead, we get accosted with the sight of an upcoming pass, a little gap in the mountain range through which the road is laid. The pass seems to becoming more distant away from us, the more we drive towards it and once through a pass, another starts looming far in the distance in front of us. The harsh environment, sparse water and very hot climate, ensures that the gum trees were without competition in this area. The gum trees, having adapted to the environment have become kings. They provide the needed shades to the Kangaroos and seems that the trees and the roos have a symbiotic relationship. A this time of the morning, the road seems fairly deserted, we have driven 26kms and met less than 20 vehicles so far.

The Explorer has been gulping fuel, at 15.6ltrs/100kms. One can attribute this to the strong head winds that we have been battling with all through the morning. Not the kind of news I wanted to hear but it was still much better than the average of 20ltrs/100kms that we experienced in January.

Approaching Eucla, is one of the best views of the mountain range and one gets to the town driving through the Eucla pass. Here a group of Emus crossed the road ahead of us. They are big birds but devoid of anything that can be described as beautiful. Wandering and roaming freely across the wide land, their only predators are men and as such their numbers, if not being culled, would have been uncontrollable.

Fuel was selling for $1.69 in Eucla. My last fuelling at $1.39 in Norseman. While I understand the economics behind the increased costs, it still is difficult to accept. One would have expected that a commercial driven entity would lay an oil pipeline between WA and SA following the Eyre highway to capture the arbitrage opportunity in petroleum pricing and reduce it as well. At Eucla, we were just 12kms from crossing the WA/SA border and from Ceduna 492kms.

Nothing depicts Australia as the brown cement sculpture of a Kangaroo in Eucla. It has a Vegemite in its right hand which it raised proudly up. Kangaroo and Vegemite are native to Australia.  Visitors to Eucla could actually hide in the pouch of the Kangaroo to take pictures. Nothing special is here at the Eucla Road House apart from the Quarantine post for those crossing from SA to WA. None for those from WA to SA yet, that will come up in Ceduna later on.  My radio that developed a mind of its own earlier this morning got eventually fixed by Collum. It required just pressing the SQL button to remove the weird noise that it was making.

A little after Eucla is the Australian Bight lookout, the very first place that we will catch a glimpse of the Southern Ocean on this trip. We took a diversion to the lookout and congregated on the wooden platform where we took a group picture. Everywhere we looked, eastward or westward, we were accosted with the sight of very sharp cliff edges. The rocks are described as unstable and visitors are warned of the risk of falling off the cliff edges. The strong waves of the southern ocean lashing against the rocks. The erosive forces of the water is constantly at work, shaping the Australian continent but the cliffs stood unperturbed. As we drove out of the look out, we came across a road sign warning us to be careful of the three (3) road risks in this area – the camel, the wombat and the Kangaroo.

We arrived Smoky Bay late in the evening. It was a short turn away from the Flinders Highway. A couple of kilometres away from Ceduna, one can’t miss the brown brick sign off the flinders highway on the right welcoming you to Smoky Bay. On our earlier trip in January, we had actually driven past the bay to spend the night at its sister bay, Streaky Bay. The bay was devoid of the usual hustle and bustle of vacationers and it appeared a s a sleepy little town by the bay. We headed straight for the Smoky Bay Caravan Park, passing through a couple of sheds and boat storage lots.

We formed a queue at the entrance and had to step out of the vehicle one by one in order to confirm our booking and make the payment of $30 per night for each site. Each family was provided a site number and the PIN for accessing the park and its amenities.

Smoky Bay was devoid of many vacationers when we arrived here. It was quiet and we were able to get all the sites that we booked for. Not long after we settled at the sites, with a spirit of adventure a couple of team members were insistent on going on an adventure. Batman, Batgirl & Diane were hooked on oysters and went to an Oyster farm. The rest of the team settled to have a walk to the Smoky Bay Jetty to observe sunset on the bay. I had the opportunity to converse with Mark, as we walked to the Jetty. We somehow picked up on the same-sex marriage issue that has polarised Australia. Mark, being the artful dodger that he is was not in any definable camp. He felt, at the same time, that the two (2) camps deserve a listening ear but was more troubled that the NO camp had approached the issue more from the religious ground and since a party’s religion is not necessarily binding on others, this was a false premise. I had mentioned that the issues goes much further than that. The experience in Ireland was brought up by me that accepting same sex marriage would, at this time, be curtailing on the religious freedom of many employees who would not be able to recluse themselves from offering their services to gay couples, which will be against their religious dictates.

The Smoky Bay Jetty was beautiful at this time of year and with the sun disappearing in the horizon, its rays turned the water colours and made them splendid to look at. We took a couple of nice pictures on the Jetty, having been joined by the other Greg.

I had planned to do some fishing and had carried my fishing rod and accessories all the way from home, expecting to have the opportunity to fish. No one was fishing at the Jetty and even the Ocean pool, highly barricaded with strong Iron grill was empty. I noticed the warning posted about Shark and I was told that this part of the ocean is notorious for shark attacks. We walked back to the beach only to meet our other team members all by the beach enjoying the cool breeze of the evening. Greg, the other Greg, decided to teach Leo how to throw a pebble to skim the water surface and bounce through it. I got to notice Leo seriously for the first time. He looked Asian and my brain was challenged at deciphering the true biological relationship that he has with Tim and Megan, his parents. It was a riddle that resolved itself later.

I took a look at the beach houses, obviously vacation rentals from the looks and noticed that they were majorly unoccupied We were too early with our trip as the majority of parents taking their kids on holidays have not arrived here. The pristine clear, crisp nature of the water is notably Australian. It is not different from what you will find in most other Australian beaches.  The sand was white and the one can see clearly to the bottom of the water. After some while, we returned back to the caravan park. I was tired and wanted to get into the Jerusalem book that I had bought. A couple of folks had heard about the fish and chip store and went to dine there. I settled for a light meal and slipped into my tent for the remaining part of the evening. The hot weather soon gave way to the calm sea breeze and at night the temperature must have dropped significantly as I was feeling chilled in my tent. My wife had persuaded me to travel with a duvet and some warm clothing. I couldn’t understand her logic but I did agree to her suggestions. I said a little prayer for her as I slipped under the duvet and put my socks and hand gloves on.

The fish and chips adventure was a failure, I learnt this the next morning. It so happened that by the time the party go to the shop, it was closed for the night. Dejected they came back to camp. There wasn’t much to do in Smoky Bay and we spend most of the day lazing around. I spent the greater part of the time reading through the biography of Jerusalem. Evening came and we all trooped to the fish and chips sop, being mindful to get there in good time before it closed. Close to the entrance we noticed a dog that was tied to a pole to keep it from walking away. This dog won’t stop backing and it was a nuisance to our quiet enjoyment of the fish and chips. I do note that the fish and chips were tasty and well prepared. Across the road, were a couple of houses and my attention was transfixed at these, trying to immerse myself in their architectural history. A section of the general store, where the fish and chips were bought, was set aside to cater to the needs of the fishing community. Anglers, baits, fishing rods and all similar tools are available at a price to lure the fishing enthusiast to the bay for some fishing.

The Great Eastern Highway. Day 1

Day 1 [17th Sept]

[singlepic id=153 w=320 h=240 float=left]It had taken several months in planning and D-day is today. We have had three (3) trip meetings, looking at the plans and evaluating different options to make the trip successful. Planning itself has taken a little over three months. Australia is huge and our plans needed to ensure the safety of all the trip members and the equipment we are travelling with while providing us with a great adventure. We needed to ensure that the major attractions were open to visitors, hence the choice of the spring time for the trip.

The last minutes of the previous nights were used to check-off items on my list. I was confident that I had all that I needed. The night was unusually long, probably suffering from excitement and a sense of adventure, I was unable to sleep. By 5am, I was up on my feet. I had to pick up a few more things from around the house and checked my precious jerry cans of petrol to be comfortable that I had enough fuel to take me through the long desolate areas where there would be no filling stations. I woke up my wife and we said our byes with hugs and kisses. It was 6:30am by the time I stepped inside the “Explorer”, the journey has started. The journey of a thousand miles, begins with a step. So says the popular adage.

It took me another 25mins to make it to the Midland Station where we all had agreed to meet by 7:30am. Departure time was fixed at 8am.  Well, I arrived as planned and got to meet David. Mark showed up thereafter in his troopy and we started a familiarization chat. The time was a little past 7:30am and there was no sight of the other team members. I put a call out to Greg, the Club organizer and couldn’t reach him. A little later, I got a call on my phone, it was Greg summoning us to come to the other side.  Fuel Stop at Lakeside Road HouseThe sight that beheld us, as we arrived was some sort of carnival fun. Of course, it was Batman’s day. Greg was fully costumed up as Batman and the daughter, Brittany was a bat girl. Their vehicle became known as the bat mobile. The kids were expectant and we took a couple of videos and we were soon on our way. A little ahead, we stopped to allow Collin and Dani to join the convoy. We filled up the tanks and the trip had started in earnest. All had their radios checked and we chose to communicate on Channel 10. For issues with pronouncing my name, Greg renamed me Mr. B, the moniker that would represent me for the duration of the trip.

A quick round-up of the plans for the trip and the driving plan for day 1 was done with. We took a couple of pictures and a few members wandered off to get some early morning coffee. The three (3) kids in the team were full of excitement and I was too. It was going to be a trip of a life time. Tim is the trip leader and will drive ahead of us. Colum would be the deputy and drive at the rear of everyone. The rest of us took our numbers and fell into a line between Tim and Colum. We got into our vehicles, tested our radios and headed out of Perth on the Great Eastern Highway. Mundaring will be our next stop where we planned to fuel up and be joined by two other members of the team. As we drove out of Midland, the whole city of Perth was just coming to life. I wasn’t sure if and in what condition we would be back to the city but was expectant that all will go well. We had taken all necessary measures to be safe on the trip. We even have a home team, to monitor our progress and act as an emergency team to coordinate rescue for us in case of any unfortunate incident.

In less than an hour we got to Mundaring. At the Lake Roadhouse, we chose to refuel and were joined there by Diane and Collins in their Mitsubishi BT-50. By now, the team was complete. We were 15 souls in 8 vehicles. It wasn’t a surprise that all the vehicles were Japanese made – 3 Mitsubishi’s, 1 Isuzu, 2 Nissans and 2 Toyota’s.  After the exchange of pleasantries, we reviewed the plan for the day and decided to form a convoy. Tim being the trip leader drove out first in his Nissan Patrol. His job was not the easiest. He was to map out the route and drive towards the destination at reasonable and safe speed. He would keep us away from the road radar, announce the presence of on-coming vehicles and sightings of animals, especially the Kangaroos, the Emu and other road dangers so that other members of the convoy take necessary precautions to avoid them.  The Explorer, would be the third vehicle in the convoy. I was sand witched between the two Gregs. We chose a channel upon which we would exchange radio communication and headed out. At the end of the convoy was Colum, driving an Isuzu D-max. His work was similar to that of Tim, maintaining the rear flanks and acting as our eyes regarding vehicles overtaking the convoy and any approaching dangers from the back.

The trip started and we headed towards Coolgardie on the Great Eastern Highway. The road, a well-travelled road and an artery of some sort, links the remote western City of Perth with the Goldfields as well as the eastern parts of Australia. On our side, for the most part of the trip, were the railway lines as well as the Goldfields Water Pipeline. We drove past a few of the pumping stations for the precious water being carried to Kalgoorlie by the pipeline.

It didn’t take us much time to arrive and drive through the sleepy city of Northam on the Great Eastern Highway. We went ahead and passed through Meckering, noted as the Western Australia’s earthquake town because of the significant earthquake that happened in the town in 1968. It is just 1.5 hours’ drive from Perth and a tiny wheat farming town. Meckering is also home to the Big Camera. The Big Camera is actually a museum of photography and to enter it, you walk through the ‘lens’.

Australia has unique problems and overtime has developed unique solutions to addressing such problems. It is at Cunderin, a little town much recognised by its odd shaped Ettahmogah Pub building and the No.3 pump station of the Goldfields Water Supply pipeline, that one comes across the Rabbit Proof Fence. It is said to be the longest fence in the world covering a little over 3,200kms. Well the Rabbits were said to have become a pest, crossing over from the Eastern States and destroying farm crops. The Australian solution? To construct a fence from North to South of Western Australia to keep the Rabbits at bay on the eastern side of the fence. Completed around 1905, it cost 330,000 British pounds! I thought a little bit about the problem and what the ingenious African solution would have been. Of course, Rabbits cannot become a colonizing pest in Africa. We just have too many people to feed and Rabbit is a delicacy that can be roasted, boiled and otherwise sun-dried. If this problem were to exist in Africa, I am sure some enterprising genius would have a field day making money from selling Rabbit bush meat. The £330,000 pounds could be diverted to some better use.

Lunch, anyone?We drove through Cunderdin, Tammin and then Kellerberrin. Kellerberrin has a heritage post office building which opened and has been in operation since 1912. That was 2 years before the amalgamation of Northern and Southern Nigeria! We also drove through Merredin. It was here, in 1999 that a team of farmers and local transport companies broke the record for the “Longest Road Train”. Road trains are significant contributors to the logistics that support the Australian economy. From here onwards, we were in road trains country.

The journey was smooth and uneventful and we made it to the town of Southern Cross, 350kms away from Perth. At Southern Cross, we stopped for fuel and lunch. Of course, the price per litre of fuel, diesel or petrol, is now significantly higher than it was in Perth. The town itself is notably named after the Southern Cross constellation and the town’s streets are named after constellations and stars. If you are into star gazing, this will be a town worthy for you to live in as being that far into the hinterland, its amazing skies are so clear in the night that distant constellations and stars could easily be observed using the right telescopes.

As one drives along the Great Eastern Highway, the observant traveller will commend the splendid cleanliness of the environment. Litters were nowhere to be found by the side of the highway or at the many rest areas that dot the road. Of course, the government has done its part by providing litter bins but the culture of the Aussies regarding the environment is worth commending. Well, I won’t mention but in many other areas of the world litters and garbage strewn the streets and major highways. None could be found on the Great Eastern Highway. Every litter you create becomes an additional passenger in your car that you have to take along and dispose properly when you are opportune to do so.

Lunch done, we proceeded towards Coolgardie. Our plan was to make it to Norseman and camp there overnight. As we approached the turnoff from Coolgardie to join the Coolgardie-Norseman road, we got bogged by our first mechanical issue. The Electronic Brakes on Colum and Kristina’s vehicle will not work. Colum, is a man good with his hands, as we parked along the highway, he got under the car’s hood, fetched out the culprit which was a burnt fuse. This was speedily replaced and we continued the journey. It was getting late and it dawned on us that we weren’t going to make it to our planned camp site in day time. As a result, we sought an alternate camp site and we set up for the night at Frayed camp. As you move southwards towards Esperance on the Coolgardie-Esperance Highway in Widgiemooltha, Frayed camp is on the left, just a little bit off the road. Though we had no pets, but pets are allowed in this park and so also are all sorts of camping allowed. The camp was virtually empty of other beings. The remarkable thing was the length of gas pipeline running through the camp, we all picked our individual spots and set up for the night. The camp was nestled within a group of trees that provide great cover and shade.

The evening was spent in getting to know each other better and discussing about the events of the day. I brought out my swag and nestled in for the night.

Things to do

    1. Visit Northam, to explore the beautiful Avon Valley;
    2. The Perth Hills and Mundaring. Mundaring is home to the historic Mundaring Weir, John Forrest National Park;
    3. Meckering – The Earthquake Monuments and The Big Camera;
    4. Cunderdin – Pump No.3 (now Cunderdin Museum), the unique building housing Ettamogah Pub and Rabbit Proof Fence (The longest fence in the world)
    5. Merredin – Site of the world record for road trains;
    6. Coolgardie –  Old Court House, Warden Finnerty’s Residence

Sharpen your tools

Lawn Tennis. The turf of the greats like Rafael, Roger & Novak and of course Nduka Odizor of yesteryears. I love this game but unfortunately it hasn’t been one that I have excelled in. I have been getting on the Tennis Court since 2007 with mixed results. From VGC Club House, Ikoyi Club and a couple of Club courts here, I was hopeful, and rightly so,  that I would become a force to reckon with in the game. It hasn’t been so.

Here, I have been a regular with the sport for upwards of two years. The irony had been that the more I played, the worse I became. Doubts, about my abilities started setting in. The body didn't make it easier as well. Plantar fascia, tennis elbow and cramps all wear the body down. I know I am not getting younger but seeing a 78 year old hitting the ball on the court, I became certain that my body is just being rebellious.

My racquet was a suspect but I quickly dismissed the idea. Isn’t it said that a bad workman quarrels with his tools? I could have jilted that antiquity that saw me through the hard courts of Ikoyi Club but took to work on my skills. My serving became worse, almost of no threat to even a beginner in the game. My returns did not fare better. Then fate seemed to get tired of laughing at me, it became bored with my performance and by happenstance allowed the grip on my racket to get damaged.

Instead of throwing this piece of shame away, I embraced it and was seeking out someone who could help with fixing a new grip. The cost? 30 quid! That marked the turning point as I reasoned that I could get a better deal. With a new racquet selling for a 100, it’s ludicrous to spend 30 just to get a new grip fixed. In my search for a replacement, I was able to get a Federer branded Wilson Racquet.  It looked good and I stepped on the Tennis Court with a renewed vigour. It was mid-week and I was unbelievable on the courts. Everyone was amazed, dumbfounded at the sudden and steep transformation. I had gotten my mojo back.

As I left the courts that week, I drove back home with much joy. I gave some thought to what happened and was so angry with myself that I allowed a deplorable situation to continue for that long. I concluded that the saying that a bad workman quarrels with his tools maybe true but doesn’t imply that everyone that quarrels with his tools is a bad workman. It also dawned on me that no matter how skilled you are, if you are working with antiquated tools, you really can’t be productive. Consider someone, in this computer age, still insistent on typing letters using a manual typewriter, what an headache that’s got to be?

Lesson learnt, we need to constantly sharpen our tools. The shining tools of today become dull with use and passage of time.

The Texas Massacre

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?

If Nigeria Fails?

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.

————————————————

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.

 

It’s okay to vote NO….It’s natural, not inequality

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?

The Man Died….Would have been 77yrs old today

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.

Toodyay, what a place, what a name?

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.

An open letter to the Minister of Interior – a plea for better service at the passport offices.

The Ikeja Passport Office

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 dying

She 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.

Corruption Inc

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.

Little London that Epe has become
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.

Which way Nigeria?

Mirrabooka Harmony Day

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.

Sculpture by the Sea, Cottlesloe

Ben David's BIG BOY at Cottlesloe Beach

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.

Is this not a Sahara?

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.

Power is nothing, knowledge is everything.

Indian to Pacific Ocean by Road – Part III: Boondi Rocks to Cocklebiddy

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.

 —-Continued in Part IV—-

Indian to Pacific Ocean by Road – Part II :Perth to Boondi Rocks

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.

—-Continued in Part III—-

Indian to Pacific Ocean by Road – Part I: Starting Out

#theBIGtrip

Please click here for the Trailer

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.

Exodus…Embracing the future with wide open hands.

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.

Spreading….A Cankerworm in the nation’s fabric

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!

May 2016 Democracy Day – Full Text of Speech by President Muhammadu Buhari

President Buhari

“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.”

Time Heals ALL Wounds – An Easter Sunday visit to Daura, Katsina State

 

Kusugu Well, Daura

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.

 

Am I now on drugs?

 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”.

Wanting to patronise Wakanow.com? Think Again.

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.

Mayflower! Finally!

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.

Prositution and Marijuana in Lekki Phase 1

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?

Nigeria, how did we get here…How do we move away from here?

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.

Idanre!

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 but  the 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 Idanre  people 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.

 

 

 

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One Easter Sunday, a Visit to the Nike Arts Gallery

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:

  1. 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.
  2. 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.
  3. 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.
  4. Ibie and his work with chain belts creating a horse head and a human head with glasses
  5. 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.

Despite the Odds, I earned my bragging right – I voted!

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 Roundabout
violence 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.

To follow the elections, please click here

10 days aboard Carnival Legend

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 11Dec14
There 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.

To be continued……

Boat Letter by “Little Red Pumpkin”

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.

Yes, I got the Driver’s License…Nothing else is as daunting!

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.