Category: Hall of Shame

This page documents the shameful acts of a few of the 150 million strong Nigerians, who by their deeds are bringinfpg shame to the Nigerian Project. Despite their absurdities, we are still good people of a great nation.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Little Acts that destroy our nation.

Insensitive and Unperturbed....Oshinowo Omobolaji

I was on the return leg of a trip to Port Harcourt and unlike at other times, the plane arrived on time to take us all back to Lagos. It was the Aero Contractor’s first flight of the day to Lagos. The flight was the Aero Contractors (ACN) flight 314 to Lagos.

Boarding went as planned and I was just settling to my seat when a mini drama started to unfold before me. I became curious, what seemed to be the issue? A middle aged, courteous and well-dressed gentleman had approached a row where his assigned seat was and wanted to take his seat. He found out that a young woman had taken same. Politely he asked the lady to give up the seat as she probably was mistaken in terms of where she ought to seat. The response from the lady was amusing – she asked the man to take the next available seat as she was the first person that got to the row of seats.

Her response was not found amusing by the gentleman and he tried persuading the lady that it was not free seating but that he needed to take his assigned set. The lady refused and the lad had to take another seat on the same row. Unfortunately, this seat belonged to another passenger who had now shown up and would like the man to get up from her seat. The man tried to but couldn’t as the other lady was still occupying his seat and remains unperturbed. She kept on holding on to the fact that she got to the row first and it doesn’t matter which seat anyone sat on and as such she wasn’t going to yield her seat.

A little crowd was building up in the plane as the aisle was blocked as a result of this seat issue. The attendance of the flight attendant was called, she also tried persuading the woman to yield the seat but to no avail. Noticing that this may escalate into a big problem, the man chose the path of peace. He abandoned the entire row of seat and chose a seat away from the lady.

Our unperturbed lady, I was later to find out, was a Mrs. Oshinowo Omobolayi. She was totally an insensitive lady and had no concerns for trampling on other’s rights.

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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?

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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.

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Wickedness in High Places…Impunity of Australian Visa Officers

Department of ImmigrationIt was early September 2014 that Mr A., a close family friend and I, were discussing and we talked about plans for the Vacation period. We talked about a planned Cruise trip and concluded that it would be a nice experience for his daughter to join the cruise.

Soon after, we looked at the requirements for a Visitor’s Visa to Australia and put together the needed application package. Since the cruise will take her out of Australian waters and then back, we concluded that she will be needing a multiple entry visa and as such need to pay for her cruise trip so as to demonstrate to the Australian Visa Officers the genuineness of our intentions. The needed payment was made to the Cruise Line and the relevant tickets were issued. The cruise would depart Australia on 6th Dec 14.

Our dear lady made the needed appearance at the VFS centre and on 24th Sep 14, the Visa Application was sent to the Australian Department of Immigration and Border Protection Pretoria for processing. This was a clear Ten (10) weeks and a few days before the planned Cruise departure on 6th Dec 14. The posted timeline for the processing of visitors visa is six weeks as per the department’s website. It then seems everything went dead. We never heard from the Department. Visits were made to the VFS office in Lagos and emails were sent to the Pretoria office as well. All was silent.

Well, there was virtually nothing else that we could do – no one to talk to or lodge a complaint to. The day of departure of the cruise ship crept in and still there was no Visa nor any correspondence from the Department. As a result, we did not purchase a flight ticket. Suddenly, out of the blues on 3rd Dec, an email came from the Department informing that processing has started on the Visa and there was a need for us to forward the young lady’s immunization records to the Department. We quickly attended to this, and on 5th Dec 2014 a Visa was issued to her.

Now, the challenge was how to get to Sydney Australia within 18hrs and join the cruise. This was an impossible feat and we kept wondering what could the Visa officer be thinking in delaying the processing of the Visa till it was too late for the lady to make good use of it. Could this have been just sheer wickedness? Any other explanation does not suffice given that the application was submitted to the department ten (10) weeks earlier and the purpose and date of the trip was clearly stated in the application.

Being on the receiving end of such a treatment does not help promote Australia. While this might have been an isolated act of a particular Visa Officer, the message it conveys transcend just a single individual It leaves a sour taste in the mouth of many and I would suggest the Australian Government reviews this process to understand what went wrong. When genuine visa applicants get treated in this manner, the reputation of Australia as a visitor friendly country suffers irreparable dents.

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Barclays Bank, What a Shame?

Following the fraudulent diversion of funds meant for me to a Barclays Bank Account in London, I got in touch with Barclays Bank Fraud Unit. I had a lengthy phone conversation and was then requested to send in my written complaint.

I did as requested and did not get a response from Barclays. I called to follow up and was told that I will only get a response in not less than three (3) weeks. Finally, this week I got Barclays response and it was shameful. The response in summary states that prior to being notified of the fraud, the funds have been paid out by Barclays. As a result, Barclays does not see anything it could do further.

Excuse me? Is Barclays unaware of its Know Your Customer responsibilities? Should Barclays not have the details of the person that opened this account – his identity and where he resides? Ought Barclays not be concerned with the unbelievable fact that a fictitious account was opened in its branch, received reportable funds within 3 days and the funds withdrawn instantaneously?

It is shameful that Barclays will wite the sort of letter it wrote and not assume responsibilities for the lapses in its process of account opening and operations.

Barclays Bank, welcome to the hall of shame.

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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.

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Oga Jega, No Permanent Voters’ Cards in Lekki

I arrived at the table late for lunch on Friday. The “group” had already taken their seats and were almost through with their meal when I arrived. I managed to secure an empty seat and settled in, trying to catch up on the conversation that I had missed.

It was then I remembered that Lagos State had declared the day a work free day for civil servants to be able to collect their voters’ cards. I interjected the discussion that was going on and I asked the “group” what their plans were to collect their voters’ cards. The response I got ranged from sheer apathy to one bothering around a loss of faith in the electoral system. As it is with me, I raised the need for us, as the educated and privileged to participate in the electoral process by going out the next day to pick up our permanent cards. With some reservation but a deference to the wisdom in my advice, everyone agreed to pick up the cards and one person added “even if I so decide not to vote later on”.

Fast forward to Saturday, I woke up from a very nice night rest. One of the not so many that I have had in a long while. I freshened up and remembered that I had a conflict – a need to get to Oyingbo and also to pick up my voters card in Lekki. I got in the car and with my fellow sojourner, we were off to Oyingbo in no time. I made mention to the other fellow with me that on returning from this foray to Oyingo, I needed to pick up the card. Well, Oyingbo will always be Oyingbo. The experience during this sojourn is a cause for another write up. It took some time but I eventually left Oyingo disappointed. My brain ran through the choices I had and the decision that I had to make. I concluded that it was better off that I pursue a different course of action, I got in the car and we headed back to Lekki. I must have been asleep for the whole journey and got a jolt from the voice reminding me of the plan to pick up the card.

I alighted form the car, with a couple of steps taken in my flight up the staircase, I was in my room. I shuffled through my very few possessions and within minutes was able to fish out my temporary voters’ card that I was issued in 2011. I got back into the car and off we drove into the inner side of Jakande looking for the INEC centre where I originally registered. We overcame the gullies in the middle of the road, manoeuvred around the broken down refuse truck and managed not to knock off the wares displayed on the side of the road. We eventually got to the building. I came down, expecting to meet a crowd of fellow Lagosians queueing to pick their cards. Alas, this was not to be. I was pleasantly surprised and for once thought that maybe there was great planning behind the process and this had ensured that no one needed to be on the queue at all. I looked for INEC officials but saw none. I looked for displayed lists of registered voters and again I saw nothing. I got confused and thought maybe I missed the centre. A few guys were hanging out in front of the building and not far from them was a ladies hair salon. I approached the guys and asked them for directions to where I can pick up the cards. “Oh, you are in the right place” was the response I got. The lady braiding hair in the salon added that picking up the voters card has been delayed by another week and that I should plan on coming back then. I said my thanks. Dejected, I went back to the car and headed back to my abode.

As I lay on my bed, I thought of my dear Professor Jega. I thought of my dear eko o ni baje governor – Babatunde Raji Fashola. I asked why my dear professor caused this great display of crap incompetence to happen. I thought of how BRF would have been disappointed for giving public servants in Lagos state a work free day in order to be able to exercise their civic responsibility and this was marred by the organizational incompetence of the team that my dear professor is responsible for. Then I thought of the always vocal Lai Mohammed and how he would craft this inaction into tales of sabotage and collusion between INEC and PDP against ACN.

Oga Jega, the polity is already heated up and you need to stand tall and make a difference. Please let’s have our Permanent Voters’ Cards and do not directly or indirectly disenfranchise us. As I write this piece, I look forward to the “I told you so” conversation that I will have with “the group” on Monday during Lunch.

All thanks to my dear Professor and his team.

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Of Which I nearly fell victim to 419ers!

This is an alert. An alert to friends that the 419 epidemic is wide spread and largely uncurtailed. I almost fell victim of a well orchestrated 419 attack recently and am willing to share my experience with those who want a detailed download of what happened.

Suffice it to say that we all need to be conscious of the following details and if any surfaces around you, please call the law enforcement agents. These are the details of the fraudster that attempted to defraud me:

  1. His IP address is 41.138.172.146. and service provider is Visafone Communications Ltd.
     I have contacted Visafone who is yet to take action on this individual
  2. He maintains Account No: 3080158616 with First Bank of Nig Plc
     My contacts have written to First Bank and reported the fraudster’s account.
  3. That his phone number is +234 704 628 7978.
  4. That his name or alias with which he operates his bank account is Olaosebikan Abiodun

If you need the full details of my experience, please send me a mail at bimbo@bimbobakare.com and I will gladly share the detailed experience with you. It is disheartening to realise the extent to which our young men have gone. No one is safe and eternal vigilance is required in our day to day dealings.

Please put away the notion that your email exchanges are secured – they are not. An hacker, unaware to you, may be intercepting your mails. and may be generating mails in your name to other people giving them different instructions without your knowledge. I will advice that you contact the people and businesses you frequently deal with and reiterate that they should not act on any emails purportedly originating from you, without a confirmatory phone call.

Kindly take heed, no one is safe anymore from these yahooyahoo boys. Unfortunately, there is a Part Two to this encounter. It was deadlier and I was actually defrauded. I am still working through the various institutions to claim some of the losses.

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Lest we forget… Farouk Lawan has a date with Justice….

The Nigerian Police on 13th of July 2012 arrested house of representatives member Farouk Lawan, chairman of the ad hoc committee of the House of Representatives for receiving bribe from shady oil business magnate Femi Otedola.

As at date, the case is yet to be decided BUT the Nigerian people are patiently watching.  The probable scheme within the corridors of power is to sweep the case under the carpet but we should not allow that. Farouk should have his day in court and let justice be dispensed.

We also need to remember that justice delayed is justice denied. Time is of essence and it does no one any good for our courts to drag this case for long.

Lest we forget a little leaven, leavens the whole lump. If we do not dispense justice on this issue, we will continue to be a pariah in the community of nation states.

 

 

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7 Nations of Louisiana – by Popeyes @ Orchard Exchange….

The plan for the day was to get to the Ion Mall and buy a few clothes for the kids. We took the very first step by calling a cab and requested to be taken to Orchard Street. The trip from Marina Bay Sands to Orchard Street was a fifteen minute drive and one gets caught up with the sights and sounds of Singapore. Before we knew it, we were there.

On alighting at the mall, the plans changed. I wasn’t the least surprised by this, it’s in the character of my family to do this as often as they can . At least, until I say enough. This time, they will like to have their breakfast before anything else. We wandered around a bit and then at a corner I saw the Popeyes logo. I was enthralled and parted ways with the rest of the gang, who by now have chosen to have their meal at a high end restaurant. I have always relished cajun food and all the gombos that come from Louisiana.

The lady that attended to me was cautious and the aroma from the kitchen was mouth watering. Soon, my meal arrived and I settled down to savor it. I was enjoying the meal when I started looking at the layout of the shop, the art decors and the various designs on the wall. Then I saw it. The 7 Nations of Louisiana.

It couldn’t be! Was it me? I wasn’t sure. After all my kids have been telling me recently of how bad my English had become. Even if they were right, something was wrong with the poster. Seven nations, Louisiana? Oh yes, its the nation word that is amiss. The modern invention called smart phones has made all needed information to be available at one’s fingertips. Soon I brought out my Samsung Galaxy from where it was hiding and with a few strokes here and there, I was on dictionary.com to get a definition of the word – nation. Of the four definitions that I got, the most apt states that a nation is an aggregation of persons of the same ethnic family, often speaking the same language or cognate languages.

I knew it, the piece by Popeyes was wrong. Popeyes had stated that Louisiana was settled by people from seven different nations and went on to list these nations as Native American, England, Germany, Spain, Italy, France and Africa. The truth is Africa is not a nation in the way that any of England, Germany, Spain, Italy or France can be regarded as one. At the simplest, as any elementary geography student would know, Africa is a continent of nations. To compare like terms, it might have been permissible for Popeyes to state that Louisiana was populated by people from three continents – America, Europe and Africa.

So on what basis will anyone regard Africa as a nation? I pondered a little on what the thoughts were that went through the minds of the Popeyes advertising team. I couldn’t fathom it. With 54 fully recognized sovereign states and at least 1billion people, I still cannot understand how this large land mass has come to be regarded as one nation. Yet the smaller land mass called Europe was broken down by Popeyes to show the respective constituents of England, Germany, Spain, Italy and France amongst others. I think a similar comparison would have been to mention the Zulus, the KhoiKhoi, the Maasai, the Touaregs, the Yorubas, Hausas among other countless nations within Africa.

For the records and, perhaps, to correct the fallacies that Popeyes had made, Africa is a continent, in fact the second largest continent. It is not a nation, no matter the way that word is stretched. I hope the good people of Popeyes will correct this, being more enlightened and believing that this error was a result of an honest mistake and not intentional mischief.

By the way the word nation has been in use since around 1250 to 1300, hence not much excuse exist for Popeyes for the wrong usage of the word.

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30 planes for Nigeria…History is mocking us.

Vanguard – Of Nigeria’s 30 Planes

They that don’t learn from history are bound to repeat its mistakes.

Stella Odua is embarking on a journey, she is taking a familiar route and how I wish someone will draw her attention to the fact that we have taken this same route before. Someone once said that doing the same thing, the same way, over and over again and expecting a different result is the height of foolishness. Will someone tell her that the solution to the problems with the nigerian Airline Industry is not in the Federal Government setting up a new carrier or even buying planes.

Sometimes ago, she was sending out the right signals and it seems she has recently been bewitched by the high and mighty. We need strong airlines and not a multiplicity of weak ones. Mergers in the aviation industry will achieve this.

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Corruption is not the cause of our problems….Jonathan really?

Attitude, not corruption, is Nigeria’s problem –Jonathan

The recent pronouncement of our dear President, at the burial of the late General Andrew Owoyi Azazi, makes my stomach stir violently. According to Jonathan, “Corruption is not the cause of our problem, Nigeria has more institutions that fight corruption.Most of the issues we talk about are not corruption.If we do things properly, if we change our attitudes of doing things most of the thing we thinks are caused by corruption are not.”
When I read this, I thought maybe the newspaper erred and that a refutal will soon follow. However, since neither the President nor his very vibrant mouth piece, Reuben Abati, has come out to refute the newspaper article then I believe the President actually made the statement.

Given Jonathan’s unhindered access to the daily security reports, we do expect that the President should be atop of the going ons in the country that he governs. Also, we do know where Nigeria stands on the Transparency International’s Corruption Perceptions Index. Just in case we have forgotten, we are 139th out of 176 countries surveyed in 2012. According to this report, Nigeria is said to have remained entrenched in corruption without making much progress to fight the menace!

Now we have two reports – Our dear Jonathan’s and that of TI. At home, the experiences of our common citizens tend to support the fact that corruption is endemic in our society. Have you tried to apply for a Nigerian Passport? What of filing an application for installation of meter in your home, admission to universities for your kids and getting a police report, amongst many other things that Nigerians do on a day to day basis? If God were a man, Nigerians will device all manner of ways to cause him to be corrupt but thank God, he is God and not man.

Given the pronouncement of GEJ, I tried to fathom why someone expected to have so much information will know so little about what is happening in the nation. So I arrived at the conclusion that it is either he is getting a whole lot of doctored and false information about the country or he is just a little less gifted in the area of understanding. Even where any of these two options were to be true, I am still ridiculed that he is not lacking as to the gift of sight – he sees. When he saw the corpse of Azazi, should he not demand to know why a military helicopter came crashing despite the massive budgetary provisions for defence?

My dear Mr. Jonathan, the beginning of recovery is to know what really is our problem. It is only when we have fully identified what our problems are that we can actually start a true journey at solving them. Since you do not even know what problems besiege our nation, I doubt if you will ever be able to set this nation on the path of recovery.

My fellow Nigerians, we are in a deep trench and unfortunately we will be there until this administration packs up. Don’t look up to GEJ for a solution, apparently there is much more confusion in Aso Rock than anywhere else in the nation.

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NIPOST …..now in the Theatre of the ridiculous

NIPOST Stamp

It’s another first for NIPOST – that colossus that rules the Nigeria’s antiquated postal system.

Sitting in the quietness of my office on the 19th July, I received a mail which was from the Institute of Chartered Accountants of Nigeria. I opened the mail to find in it the ballot papers for the Institute’s election to council. This attracted my attention, as it always had. I spent the next ten minutes going through the papers, reviewing the profiles of the contestants.

Just as I turned to complete the ballot paper, the title on the paper brought me to a stand still. It says Ballot Papers for 2010 Elections. Now, this was not funny. Was ICAN reusing old ballot papers, Was ICAN unable to fund its activities again or was this the printer’s devil. No it wasn’t any of these. It was our almighty NIPOST at work. I soon found out that these mails have been despatched since 6th April 2010!

For more than two (2) years, a mail was sent out and I did not get it till today. Three Big Claps for NIPOST, they have managed to move into the theatre of the ridiculous.

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Are the King’s Hands soiled?

This Malabu Oil issue will not disappear and should simply not be forgotten. With the unfortunate crash of the Dana Airlines flight, not a few of this in our King’s palace will be praying that we should forget, but we will not.

The more I read the Attorney General’s response as to the role of the Federal Government of Nigeria in this issue, the more many questions are raised in my mind. May be someone could help to answer the following:

Why did the government become a broker between Shell, Eni and Malabu? Couldn’t government allow these entities to negotiate and settle the issues surrounding the OPL by themselves?
Into which account was the payment by Shell and Eni received? By law, all payments to the Federal Government should be received into the Federation Account.
If the payment was received into the Federation Account, by what Appropriation Bill provision was the subsequent payment to Malabu Oil done? If not received into the federation account, under what authority and legal provision was the money received and to which account?
Who is Abubakar Aliyu and why did Malibu make a payout to him following the receipt of transfer from FGN?

http://www.punchng.com/editorial/the-malabu-oil-scandal/

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KFC, It’s more than Tomato!

After church service today, I was a hungered (though not after 40 days and night of fasting as Jesus did). The church where I worshipped was close to Shoprite and I chose to eat at the KFC eatery therein.

All was fine at this KFC starting from the warm reception by the security man at the door to the courteous attendant that took my order. The simple order a Zinger Burger Meal was delivered within six (6) minutes. I chose a quiet part of the outlet to enjoy the meal but when I got to eating the fries, I was amazed with the sight that met my eyes – The tomato ketchup were imported. The “Delicio” Premium Tomato Ketchup boldly display that they were made in Oman by AATCO LLC. To add salt to the injury, these ketchup satchels bore no inscriptions that they were NAFDAC certified for consumption in Nigeria.

Just before you start crucifying me of being anti-trade and overtly nationalistic, I did not choose to question the presence of the Indian nationals that were predominantly supervisors of the various KFC franchises in the country. No, after all they risked their capital when all the Nigerian big men with scads of Naira tucked in their wardrobes or Swiss account refused to do do. However, which country will allow its economy to become so porous that it permits others to import Tomato into it when the truth is that there are thousands of Tomato growers in the country. A visit to the Mile 12 market will confirm to any doubting Thomas out there that Nigeria grows and have abundance of a tomato in its farms.

Others may want to argue that the issue here is not the availability of tomatoes but the processing and refining plants to make it available in such forms as are needed by food outlets like KFC. I will agree to the extent that we may just not have such firms noting that throughout my youth and growing up period in this country we have always imported Tomato Ketchup. However, should this not prompt KFC to support such businesses to setup and bridge a gap? Nigerian Content makes good business sense and I believe it is time for KFC to look inwards and take advantage of this unique opportunity of conserving foreign exchange. It will also help it’s image as it creates job opportunities for other folks to make a living out of processing agricultural products.

I have not looked at the source of the oil KFC uses but most likely it may be another story of importation. This is simply sad. We have companies that produce different type of oils – cotton seed, groundnut, soybean etc and patronizing them is key to making KFC. A good corporate brand that will be warmly embraced by all Nigerians.

On the part of government, I think someone needs to sit up and do his/her job well. Whoever is responsible for maintaining the import prohibition list needs to revisit the list and ensure that such widely available farm produce like tomato should be either banned from being imported or attract a very high, punitive, import duty rate. No matter what, as Nigerians, we have a responsibility to protect and grow our industries. Faced with a teeming population in search of employment, what better options do we have than ensure that foreign investors and domestic companies look inwards and make use of our locally available resources?

Ever wondered why we have a high crime rate? Easy, we have a population that crave foreign products which leads to creation of jobs outside our shores while denying our populace opportunities to earn a living. High unemployment fuels crimes since the devil will always find I’ll advised engagements for idle hands.

The issue at hand is more than Tomato. If drastic measures are not taken, we will soon be importing bottled water, and then, what next?

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Tompolo is government….Government is Tompolo.

What is in a name? The eccentric economists Levitt and Dubner asked in their book Freakonomics and the answer will be startling to the average African – nothing.

However, I had often wondered why someone or his parents will pick up a name and call a guy “Government”. The word in itself connotes authority and the ability to shape the direction and affairs of a group of people. When the young man Tompolo hits the Nigerian news headlines as being a government in himself, controlling the enormous ill gotten wealth in crude bunkering and kidnapping in the creeks of the Niger Delta, I sighed a-ha.

Now, kidnapping is no longer in vogue, it is now the ability to shape the focus of Abuja and who gets what in the allocation of the resources coming from the creeks of the Delta. The news now is that our man, Government Tompolo himself, is now so influential in Aso Rock that he determines who gets what. If the news reported by Associated Press (and a few other Nigerian news agencies) is true, and there is no reason to believe otherwise, Government Ekpumopolo, a former militant leader in Nigeria’s oil-rich southern delta is linked to a private security company that signed a $103 million deal with the government to patrol the nation’s waterways against pirates.

Now the question that begs for answer is why Tompolo? Are the handlers of our national affairs serious minded at all? Doesn’t it dawn on them what the message being sent out to the wider public by this singular action is? Okay, I will help to put it in black and white, it simply states ” Hey you guys out there, if you take up arms against the state and are very forceful with it, we just might throw some millions of dollars towards you and make you welcome in the corridors of power”. So why do we bother about Boko Haram at all knowing that eventually these sponsors of state terrorism will be welcome to red carpet treatment in Abuja and some Juicy contracts, probably to police the entire north eastern corridor of Nigeria, will be thrown at them.

Don’t you just love this paradox and the tragedy we call government, oh in this case I mean Abuja and not the beloved Tompolo.

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Tell Governor Suswam that we need more than the Governor’s Lodge

Thisday Newspaper of Thursday March 8th 2012 was exciting. Exciting in the sense that the Benue State Government chose this medium to advertise its achievements under Governor Gabriel Suswam watch. Such being necessary as to publicize the official visit of President Goodluck Jonathan to the state.

Now, in the words of a good friend of mine, you just can’t polish a toad, a toad will always be a toad. Eight (8) pages of the newspaper was taken by the government of Benue State to publicize its accomplishments, the most notable being New Governor’s Lodge. I must confess upfront that I do not have all the facts as to the cost of this beautiful edifice to the taxpayers and the citizenry of Benue State but I believe it would be a colossal sum. The point is, how Does building a new government house helps to alleviate the problems of the Benue Citizen? Arguments can be made that the new edifice is beneficial more to Suswam and his retinue of aids and hangers on but not to the ordinary citizens of Benue state.

We expect accountability from those who we have elected to manage our collective affairs. Suswam should take more joy in building schools, roads, hospitals and crating avenues for employment for the average citizenry. These are the things that are of importance to the people and will be regarded as good investment in human capital. When government choose to up the scale of their luxurious live style just as the new government house will do to Suswam as the acquisition of planes by our other friend from the South-South, then we need to ask questions whether these people are serving us or serving themselves.

Dear Governor Suswam, posterity will judge you not on the lavishness of the government house but on the lives you touch by providing social infrastructure and safety nets.

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Yap! Arik Air has reached a new level of Incompetence.

Ever been in a situation where you think that it can never get worse than this and then, boom, out of nowhere a new low is achieved? Yes, you know what I mean.

In February, I complained about Arik Air’s unapologetic habit of running flights that are delayed beyond their planned departure time. In February, my experience was a delay of four (4) hours at the Lagos Airport. In May, I had my worst experience ever – a delay of more than ten (10) hours at the Port Harcourt Airport.

Now, it is a different thing if one were to know that his flight will be delayed by 10 hours – probably one would have gone back to the hotel and rest to come back much later to catch the flight. My experience did not follow that pattern. I arrived at the Airport at around 12:30pm to catch my scheduled 1:30pm flight from Port Harcourt to Lagos. At 1:30pm, the voice of the flight announcer came alive to inform that our flight had been delayed for an hour due to operational reasons. Now, if that was it, there would have been no need for this post.

Well, things were to really get worse as time after time, we got the message at odd intervals that the flight was delayed for different periods of time (45, 30, 60 mins)and then it was complete silence. Eventually, the plane showed up at 10pm. Boarding the plane became an issue. With three (3) flights already delayed, all passengers rushed to the tarmac and created a scene at the point of boarding. Another twist in this tale was the plane itself. There must have been some problems as the Pilot requested the space around the plane to be cleared while he fired the engine and do some tests. By the time we finally boarded the plane, the air condition system would not be put on until, according to the hostess, the plane begin to taxi on the tarmac.

The simple message to ARIK is to pack its plane and leave the airline business alone. Disaster is lurking in the air and this can be prevented by getting ARIK straight.

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Driver of JA604EKY – VW Passat

On Sunday February 5, 2012 at around 8:02am, a lady driving a black Volkswagen Passat with Lagos registration number JA604EKY approached the Chevron Lekki Roundabout. Instead of going the full circle round the roundabout, she took an immediate left turn and drove on the wrong side of the road.

A loud booo to this lady.

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James Onanafe Ibori

1. Massive corruption and personal conversion of money held in trust for the development of Delta State;
2. For being a convict, having been convicted of handling a stolen credit card in 1991 and thereafter running for governorship of Delta State, an office he was not qualified to run for.

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ARIK AIR – a redefinition of failure

On 31st Jan 2011, I purchased a ticket for Arik Air flight 517 from Lagos to Port Harcourt. As per the boarding pass details, the flight was scheduled to leave Ikeja by 14:00hrs. This flight did not leave Ikeja until about 16:30hrs and the only explanation received for the delay was operational reasons.

Now, I would think that the flight ticket is a contract between the airline and the passenger. It is a simply contract that evidence that for the payment of the fare, the airline will convey the passenger to the agreed destination at the agreed time.

This experience was bitter to me and being the first time I was at the receiving end of delayed flights. I listened to the tales of woes of other passengers which informs that the delays are a normal occurence and the airlines have become so irresponsive that they neither offerr apologies or releive to passengers for such delays.

Arik Air, ethical business practice requires that you ensure that all scheduled flights leave as planned and where delays happen, you need to relieve the passengers of burdens that may have been caused them by your delays.

DO NOT COUNT THE PASSENGERS AS WITHOUT OPTIONS.

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Hall of Shame – Driving

On Sunday February 5, 2012 at around 8:02am, a lady driving a black Volkswagen Passat with Lagos registration number JA604EKY approached the Chevron Lekki Roundabout. Instead of going the full circle round the roundabout, she took an immediate left turn and drove on the wrong side of the road.

A loud booo to this lady.