Category: Korede Yishau

Forty-eight years after his second novel, ‘Season of Anomie’, Wole Soyinka released another novel, ‘Chronicles from the Land of the Happiest People on Earth’. The land in the novel is you, dear Nigeria. A Gallup poll some years ago had claimed that the happiest people in the world reside in you, the land amalgamated by Lord Lugard and christened by his woman, Flora. This claim is debatable and is still being debated years after the result of the happiness index was published.

Soyinka’s book is a continuation of that debate about you, dear Nigeria. And what he reports is that you are a land where charlatans masquerade as Christians, where skilled professionals are lured home and blackmailed into nefarious acts, and where citizens have to undergo a rebirth to fit into the shenanigans called politics.

I choose to write to you today because of the fact that we are in that season again when we have to determine how happy your people will be between 2023 and 2027, the next political dispensation.

As I write, in mansions, palaces and elsewhere posh, men and women are discussing who should get what part of you come 2023. The meetings are not taking place just inside you. Your fate is also being tabled abroad by men and women who want to be president, governors, senators, House of Representatives members, and so on. Those who simply want political appointments are also not left out of the permutations; this set is not interested in the rigour of campaigning to hold offices, they simply want those who will go through this hassle to make them commissioners, ministers or special advisers, even director-general or managing director of government-owned agencies are enough for them. They want to enjoy the soft life without experiencing the fire.

In all of these permutations, the people do not take the centre stage. If any, the permutations include how to buy them and then dump them after the polls.

The need to make you one of the best nations of the world is also not seriously being considered in most of these permutations. The insecurity that plagues you, your economy that is in shambles, and your general bad state feature less in these 2023 permutations. In next year’s budget, the government plans to spend N2.51 trillion to secure you when infrastructure has only N1.21 trillion and social development and poverty reduction programme has N896.8 billion. Education, that all-important sector, has a paltry N888.8 billion and health trails behind with N821.4 billion. When these germane issues come up at these meetings, it is about how to use them against the political foes, it is about how to promise change and not fulfill them, and it is all about strategies to deceitful use them against those to be dislodged. It is never for your benefit and it will not be in a long while.

Already the former ruling party, the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP), is putting its house in order to send away the All Progressives Congress (APC), the party that promised us change that we are still waiting to see. The PDP, like a cruel Lagos landlord, has served quit notice on the APC, which it sees as a tenant in government houses in some states and the Presidential Villa. The game for your soul, spirit and body is on and it will get hotter in the New Year.

These men and women discussing how to share your booty are less concerned by the fact that you ranked very high in the world index of the most fragile countries. Your constitutional crisis; regional autonomy agitation, ethnic conflicts, religious tensions, insurgency in many parts of the Northeast, the reign of kidnappers and bandits across the country, and the dilapidated public infrastructure mean next to nothing to them. Do they care about the ridiculous value of your currency? Are they worried about soaring inflation? Do they care that several Nigerians are dying of diseases that should not ordinarily kill them? Have they any concrete plan for the millions without a means of livelihood? How to address the issues that threw up the Movement for the Emancipation of Niger Delta (MEND), Niger Delta Avengers (NDA), the Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB), and Oodua People’s Congress (OPC), and hordes of pro-secessionist movements aren’t considered important to be examined at these meetings. It is all about grabbing and sharing the booty of office.

How many citizens do you have, dear Nigeria? This is a question that is central to your development, but these men and women holding secret meetings are not interested in answering this question. And without an answer to this, dear Nigeria, you cannot get to where you should be. Development is data-driven. They say you have more than 220 million, but we all know it is just guesswork. No census has been done recently and we have no plan to do it any time soon and, even when we do, ethnic sentiments have always been a cog and from my prism, it will still be a cog.

Dear Nigeria, your population, your beautiful sceneries and your people’s resilience should be advantageous. But are they? Businessmen should be reaping the benefits of the huge population, but the stress of doing business is crazy. The ease of doing business is but a mirage. For years, the ports have been getting worse. Congestion is a problem we have no answer to. It costs more to ship in goods into you than elsewhere. The banks operating in you are not helping entrepreneurs; they charge a 15 per cent interest rate when their counterparts in India charge 4 per cent and the ones in the United States charge 3.9 per cent. Don’t let us talk about China where banks charge 0.25 per cent and Japan where they charge 0.1 per cent. These are the issues that men and women seeking political offices should discuss, but it is the least of their worries. What occupies their time is how to keep amazing wealth and how to have properties in Lagos, Abuja, Dubai, Miami, New York, London, Singapore, Paris and Chicago. They learn no lesson from the many mansions that used to host the best of parties but are now homes to rodents and reptiles. They never learn and will never learn. Unfortunately, you are the worst for it as you keep lagging behind in the comity of nations.

In the 60s when you just started out as a nation, the rest of the world looked up to you as the one that will show the rest of Africa the way. You held a lot of promise, your currency was strong and it was expected you were going to be the next big thing. $1 was 71 kobo and even in 1979, N1,000 was exchanged for $1,200. Then your citizens could just pack their baggage, buy tickets and fly to England and other western countries visa-free as though they were flying to Abuja or Port Harcourt. Only citizens of countries such as the United States, United Kingdom and Canada enjoy such privilege now. They can travel to over 100 countries with just their passports. You were ahead of Singapore, Malaysia and several European countries in terms of development. You had the largest airline in Africa and over thirty ships in your fleet. Nigeria Airways was king of the air, and working there was a dream job comparable to eking out a livelihood in the oil industry. And time was when a return ticket to America was N1,200. But as the years went by, things got worse instead of getting better.

My final take: Dear Nigeria needs a generation of leaders who are not irresponsible, who are not driven by the lure of easy money, who will end a situation where materialism continues to appeal to the majority, and who will ensure that the people come first in every decision they make. Without this kind of leadership, we are heading nowhere.

My Participations is not a work of fiction. However, its characters, like those in fictional works, are flawed, and interesting to follow. It is the autobiography of Chief Bisi Akande, ex-governor and ex-party chairman, a man who has always come across as blunt. The book has more than confirmed that. It is a book you will read and find yourself intermittently screaming ‘aah’. Akande pulls punches, throws jabs and bites; he even draws blood after dealing cuts on the characters in his book.

Among many revelations in this book written in an easy-to-access style, Akande said nonagenarian Afenifere leader Chief Ayo Adebanjo’s Lekki home was built for him by Asiwaju Bola Ahmed Tinubu— a claim the old man has denied. He said he sold his properties and took bank loans to build the house.

Akande also claimed President Muhammadu Buhari reneged on his promise to make Tinubu his running mate in 2015. He has harsh words for former President Olusegun Obasanjo and ex-Deputy Governor Iyiola Omisore. Ex-President Goodluck Jonathan also received some knocks, especially on the National Conference.

Obasanjo, more than anyone else, received more blows. The author recorded how he told the ex-president that he was out of his mind when he blamed him for the security lapse that led to Chief Bola Ige’s murder.

Akande quoted Obasanjo as saying: ‘Now, you see the lapses in your security! Look at what happened to Bola Ige!’

The author said he was enraged and screamed at Obasanjo on the phone of a then commissioner of police: ‘You must be out of your mind Mr President! How can you say lapses in my security when Bola Ige was killed in Ibadan? I rule in Osun State! I am not the Governor of Oyo State! When his cap was removed at the Ife palace during your wife’s chieftaincy ceremony, what did you do about it?’

He added that Obasanjo cut the line and few minutes later called back on his own line.

“He started sermonising. You know that Bola Ige too was my friend! What happened was very unfortunate!”

Akande is not done with Obasanjo, who he said he had never seen anything genuine in. He described the ex-president’s nationalism and patriotism as fake, adding that his ambition to be the centre of Nigeria’s universe made him express constant hatred for the late Obafemi Awolowo.

While Obasanjo holds the record of the one that received the most blows from Akande, Tinubu enjoys the slot of the most praised. Akande explained the reasons behind his smooth relationship with the ex-Lagos State governor. Akande said he and Tinubu used to argue over political discretions. He added that Tinubu trivially assumed that the political culture of Lagos could work in the rest of the Southwest. The ex-Osun governor said Tinubu always “absorbed my angry political tantrums as old-fashioned and with jocular snubs”.

He explained that Tinubu’s wits, the largeness of his heart for smart arguments, his refusal to give up on him, and his penchant to pamper him made them allies.

The book also has details of how Tinubu ‘thwarted’ his effort to have Aregbesola replace Omisore as Osun deputy governor.  The ex- APC National Chairman said the feats achieved by the party in the 2015 polls would have been difficult or impossible without Tinubu.

He added that Buhari and Tinubu became so close towards the 2015 election that anytime the president was in Lagos he would have his breakfast, lunch or dinner in Tinubu’s Bourdillon Street, Ikoyi home.

Akande said Buhari felt comfortable in Tinubu’s home even when the ex-Lagos governor was away.

“This became more so after he escaped assassination attempt in Kaduna. ‘I prefer to eat where I will not be poisoned,’ he said. It appeared they trusted each other,” Akande wrote.

He added that Buhari offered Tinubu the running mate slot in 2014 even when he had not secured the party’s ticket. He explained that this was done in the presence of Governor Aminu Bello Masari. Akande said after the primaries Buhari insisted on Tinubu but other interests started coming up, adding that Admas Oshiomhole’s position was that Buhari should be allowed to choose his running mate. He said at a point Buhari asked for three names from which he would choose from— a request which, he said, angered him.

Akande said Oshiomhole and Aregbesola came into the venue of the meeting and Oshiomhole said it would be unfair to renege on the agreement.

“Buhari now said he never meant it that way. What he meant originally was that Tinubu should partner with him,” he wrote.

He said Tinubu became angry with Buhari and refused to join a discussion on the running mate initiated by Senator Ibikunle Amosun.

“I don’t trust Buhari anymore. Even if we give him names, he may decide to go outside the list. So, let him choose on his own,” Akande quoted Tinubu to have said.

Akande later discussed with Tinubu on phone and he mentioned Prof. Yemi Osinbajo’s name as the one suggested to Buhari during the 2011 race. The name was written on a sheet of paper for Amosun and Aregbesola to present to Buhari.

The author also recalled his encounter with the late Chief Obafemi Awolowo.

The book also contains details of his problems with the immediate past Ooni of Ife, Oba Okuade Sijuwade, and the Owa-Obokun of Ijeshaland, Oba Adekunle Aromolaran.

Akande said the late Sijuwade wanted him to plunge the state into debt by taking a loan for a water project the Oba had interest in. He also said Oba Aromolaran was always saying bad things about him because of his belief that he was stingy.

The book is not all about blows and praises; it also contains details about the author’s palm wine taper father, his grandfathers, his grandmothers, how he got educated accidentally, Ila-Orangun, his beloved hometown and his wife Mowumi whose death, he said, has left him emotionally deserted.

My final take: With My Participations, Akande has given his accounts of events he was part of; whoever is aggrieved has the right to state their side. That way, history is complete. To say he should not have written the book is a sin against our right to know.

Some days back, Molara Wood, writer, journalist, editor, culture activist, and author of the phenomenal collection of short stories named ‘Indigo’, described Kunle Afolayan, ace movie director, as a “not-spoken-enough-of visionary”. The culture activist made the comment under a picture taken inside Afolayan’s latest venture, the Afefeyeye restaurant. Of course, his exploits such as the cinema, the KAP Hub and others must have played a role in earning him this description. This Christmas, Afolayan’s Netflix Original movie, ‘Naija Christmas’ is debuting. Some months back, he made a Netflix Original out of Sefi Atta’s book, ‘Swallow’. Before then, he had done the movie, ‘Citation’, for Netflix.

Before Netflix became the in-thing, Afolayan impressed me with his period film, October 1. I remember seeing it at the Film House Cinema on Adeniran Ogunsanya Street, Surulere, Lagos mainland. I remember the audience screaming at a point when the unexpected happened. A prince—and the hero of the movie—had just turned out to be the beast causing a commotion in the land. No, not him, a few screamed.

“Western education is evil,” a punch line from Koya, the supporting actor, a boy molested at 14 by a revered Reverend, also got me thinking of Boko Haram. The climax of October 1 gives the impression that, like wine, he matures with time. His second movie, ‘Figurine’, in the eyes of critics, was better than his first, ‘Irapada’. ‘Figurine’ has actually led to a critical book of essays edited by his academic brother, Dr Adeshina Afolayan. Not a few consider his third, ‘Phone Swap’, a thriller of no mean value. And October 1, his first period film, made him loom large in the consciousness of fans home and abroad. At least three top companies, including Oando Plc, requested private screenings.

But who is this Kunle Afolayan that is tantalising the public with his fantastic creative skills? He is one of four theatre-inclined siblings of a late movie icon who ruled the Nigerian film-making world of the 60s, 70s, and 80s. His fans know him as Ade Love, but his given name is Adeyemi Josiah Afolayan. Aside from Kunle, the other Afolayan children making waves in Nollywood are Moji, who is Ibadan-based and married to popular Yoruba actor, Razaq Olayiwola; Aremu, a Lagos actor; and the last is Gabriel, who Kunle has had cause to confess that he respects his acting prowess. Gabriel’s credit goes beyond movies. He is also a singer and his song, ‘Kokoro Ife’, was like a national anthem on the lips of young music lovers in the country.

It can be safe to say that acting and all that run in Kunle’s blood since his father was a movie maker.  All through his father’s career, he only did a waka pass role in television series, where he was asked to call someone in one of the scenes. Not a few will trace his bursting on the scene back to ace cinematographer, Tunde Kelani, when he was shooting a movie titled ‘Saworoide’. A young man was needed to play the role of Aresejabata, a prince who was not supposed to reveal his identity for fear of being killed. Kunle got the role and gave his best. He literally vanished into the thin air after playing the role. With a Higher National Diploma (HND), he got himself a job in a bank and ‘slaved’ away for years. The movie bug caught him one day in 2004. He resigned from his job and found his way to a film academy in the United States. He came back a new person ready to make a difference in the movie industry. He produced ‘Irapada’, a movie on Redemption, which experiments with languages such as Yoruba, English, and Hausa. But it was not until ‘Figurine’ that his presence became something that must be talked about. This movie built around a myth seemingly created a bigger myth around the producer.

Because of his involvement in the travelling theatre, the Agbamu, Irepodun Local government Area of Kwara State-born late Afolayan was always on the move. Mojirola, Kunle, Gabriel, and Aremu saw less of him. They and their other siblings were more the headaches of their mothers. As customary for theatre artistes in the late Ade Love’s era, such as the late Hubert Ogunde, marrying several women came with the trade. His was a large polygamous family.

They didn’t have that nuclear family setting where everybody sat together for dinner. It was either they were filming or travelling on tour across with those films, such as ‘Taxi Driver’ and ’Ija Ominira’, which was shot in 1978. The late Ade Love also attended film festivals around the world. So, it was a luxury for his children to have many intimate moments with him.

With no less than 25 children and 10 wives, his family was like a community of its own, and having time for them all with his busy schedule of making films, distributing films and others would have taken more than a miracle. I read an interview, which shows that at some point, Kunle’s mother had to sell puff-puff and pepper soup to fend for her kids. They were even thrown out of the house they were living in and had to scot with a friend. It was in a house infested with bed bugs. She later got a place of her own but was soon sacked by flood. All her belongings went with the angry waters.

The late Ade Love was a disciplinarian. Each time any of the children had to go see him, he or she had to do the sign of the cross. He was a tough man, who, however, did not use much corporal punishment except when he could not help it like when Kunle tried selling the clipper with which he used in cutting his hair.

Towards the end of the late Afolayan’s life, he moved some members of the family to Kwara State. He became closer to the children. Then, he used to call them together and tell them stories. His reason for taking some of his children, including Kunle to Kwara State, his birthplace, was that he wanted them to school there so they could learn how life was.

Kunle was in Akure, the Ondo State capital, to send one of his father’s films to an agent who wanted to screen it during the Christmas period in 1996 when he learnt of his death. He had left him in Lagos on December 29 for Akure, and he died on December 30, 1996. He read it in The Tribune on January 1, 1997. An era ended and his children have started a new one.

My final take: Gabriel Afolayan sees his elder brother as a father figure. He is seen in this light by many in the industry and with the way he is going, Kunle Afolayan is a man to watch as he is certainly set to become the ultimate godfather of this industry that is thriving despite the government’s nonchalance to its growth.

Sylva Nze Ifedigbo— writer, essayist and many other things— has a collection of short stories and two novels to his credit. His latest is known as ‘Believers and Hustlers’.  It is a tale of trouble in paradise. It tells a story of men we are familiar with, men we treat as God’s representatives on earth, men who make us catch cold when they sneeze.

Ifedigbo’s engaging and deeply affecting novel undertakes a “forensic audit” of the church and many of his characters look similar to some of the men who control the Pentecostal movement in Nigeria. They preach against adultery on the pulpit, yet they are guilty of it; they preach against fraud and they are fraudsters themselves; they encourage their members to embrace truth, yet they are liars; they pretend to have perfect marriages, yet their marriages are charades, and they ooze holiness, yet they are as dirty as pigs.

Ifedigbo uses several real-life events and personalities in this book that it will not be out of place to describe the book as a blend of fact and fiction. We see a pastor in love with a dangling gold chain; we see a big Grammar-loving pastor whose hair is Jheri curled; we see a pastor whose female members are documenting his sexcapades with them; we see a pastor who quits a church to start his own because his senior pastor insists he cannot remarry while his first wife is still alive; we see a sick president reluctant to relinquish power; we see a vice-president considered timid, and we see so many familiar things about power, the inordinate thirst for it and the blurred lines between spirituality and hypocrisy.

The author vividly examines hypocrisy in the body of Christ while stylishly taking a swipe at the people of Ahiara who once rejected a priest posted to their community because he is not one of them even though he was Igbo like them. He also shines the light on rivalry among pastors who sometimes plot the downfall of one another.

In the book, Nick, a young man, loses his father at a tender age. His mother struggles through thick and thin to send him to school. He acquires a National Diploma in History and starts a career in a firm that is soon swallowed up by a bigger firm and his hope of growing in the firm vanishes when his new bosses make him feel less special than he thought he was.

Along the line, it occurs to him that he should seek power, not political power but the one that comes with owning and running a church. Instead of waiting for God’s call, he makes the call himself! He convinces his wife to buy into the idea and in no time, their church is born. With time, the church grows, it grows so much that they own the biggest church in the land.

The sign of trouble begins to show the day the biggest auditorium is inaugurated. A journalist, Ifenna, writes a report, which is backgrounded with the death of a pastor during the construction of the auditorium. Following publication of the story, the journalist loses his job and starts a blog, which becomes Pastor Nick’s nemesis. A quest by his wife, Nkechi, to find out if he is cheating on her unravels more than she bargains for. Secrets tumble out of her husband’s closet and everything soon assumes a frightening mien.

In a way, this is also a novel about Lagos. Ifedigbo takes us around Lagos: from the Mainland to the Island. We see the suburbs and we see where the rich and the mighty call home; we see street gangs giving the city a bad name; we smell and sight Lagos through his well-appointed diction. We also see the fault lines in this city of promise.

The influence of religious leaders in society is demonstrated in many ways, one of them being the ease with which Ifenna is sacked by his publisher for his critical story on Pastor Nick.

Ifedigbo employs a style Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie used in ‘Americana’ where blog posts (essays) are infused into the narratives; a style that allows him to deliver his blows on the men who sometimes act like God. And he does it, smoothly.

Religious fanaticism is one theme that jumps out of the pages of this book. For instance, Ifenna’s girlfriend leaves him the day he finds out he runs the blog behind the expose on his pastor. The love she has always professed to have for him is not strong enough to place him above her pastor. Without any evidence, she assumes Ifenna is being paid to write ‘rubbish’ about her pastor and when the pastor is taken in by the authorities, she refuses to quit the church, just like hundreds of others who simply believe their spiritual leader is a victim of persecution. As far as these followers are concerned, ‘touch not my anointed’ is a law they consider breaking as the height of blasphemy.

This book is a play on the rate at which churches spring up and the people troop there in search of answers to the many problems the Nigerian society afflicts them with as well as a commentary on how poverty can make men and women behave badly. It is also a commentary on how stereotypes influence the actions we take or do not take.

Ifedigbo humanises this serious tale about the games in the church by giving it a romantic feel with the love story between Nick, who grew up in poverty, and Nkechi, an Igbo woman whose mother was against the union. Though we see references to dilapidated infrastructure and other comatose parts of Nigerian life, they are only the backdrop to a personal story of love found and lost to greed and lack of self-control.

With a story that spans a few years with some flashes back to reinforce present realities, Ifedigbo is able to paint a huge and multi-coloured canvas of wide-ranging issues bedevilling the church. He is a brutal writer who writes lines dripping with blood but devoid of bile. The quest for truth seems to be his main goal.  He has captured a slice of life that many Africans are familiar with and also succeeds in giving us unforgettable characters in Pastor Nick and Pastor Nkechi. We will also remember Ifenna, Bolanle and Owo Blow long after concluding the book.

Outside of church matters, the book also touches on social challenges in Lagos, such as the menace of men of the VIO, incest, and so on. There is also a slight reference to an Imam behaving badly, perhaps to show that pastors are not the only men of God messing up the house of God.

In a nutshell, this novel is an exhilarating ride written in a simple but arresting style. The author’s facility in telling a unified story showcases his startling storytelling gift. ‘Believers and Hustlers’ is a sad but familiar story of distinctive characters on the run. It is a matter-of-fact tale without filters.

My final take: The book is likely to raise some posers: Do men of God launder money for rich, corrupt men? Are the huge auditoriums built with money other than tithes, offerings, and special donations? Are there some unknown men behind the overnight wealth of some pastors? Do some men of God plant the charms they claim to discover in compounds they are invited for special deliverance? Or is Ifedigbo’s imagination just on overdrive?

It is a cold, cold world for women. It is. But, is it an easy world for men? Do they always get what they want on a platter of gold? Do men cry? Or, better still, should men cry?

Those are some of the questions that popped into my head while reading Tolu A. Akinyemi’s collection of short stories ‘Inferno of Silence’.

Other questions that the book may raise include: Can a man be the victim of domestic violence? Can a man be raped? Are there consequences for our past deeds? Can love triumph over political upheavals? Are mental health challenges peculiar to only the white man?

What does feminism really mean? Is feminism all about opposing and fighting men? Have some people confused feminism with extremism?

The collection, which has seven stories, centres around mental health, redemption, wealth, polygamy, marriage and its challenges, racism, and the burdens men bear.

The stories are set in Lagos, Ibadan, Umudike, and Manchester. Through them, the sights, sounds and smells of these places come alive in vivid colours.

In the first story in the collection, ‘Black Lives Matter’, which is told in the first person, the fortune of a footballer plying his trade in a club in Ibadan goes south and he leaves for Europe to play in the league. He soon finds out that being black and playing in the European league comes at a huge price. He resolves to fight racism.

The second story, ‘In the Trap of Seers’, is about a mother and daughter. The mother believes in seers and patronises them as though they are the oxygen she needs to survive, and she always drags her daughter along anytime she goes to see these seers. This is a tale about redemption.

The third story, ‘Everybody Don Kolomental’, is about mental health and the levity with which it is treated in the developing world. The main characters in this story, Muftau, Adam and others, deal with mental health issues in a society where such issues are seen as white man’s problems.

The titular story, ‘Inferno of Silence’, is about Kunle, a man who is unlucky in marriage. His sweet angel suddenly turns sour angel not long after they tie the nuptials. He tries to find a way to get things rosy but he is bogged down by societal expectations that men must always be strong even in terrible times. The story sheds light on the challenges men face, their hidden truths and the heavy burdens they have to bear.

The story, ‘Return Journey’, is about a chronic womaniser whose parents’ rejection of his choice of a wife, on religious ground, drives him further down the abyss. Ade, who is a major tech businessman in Manchester, is persuaded to return home to Nigeria to start his business. On his return journey, the pilot of the plane turns out to be a surprise to him and things take a hazy colouration from then on.

‘Trouble in Umudike’ is an unsettling story of love, a story which raises posers: what happens when a girl you have snatched kisses with suddenly becomes your father’s young wife? What should you do if the same girl throws herself at you and asks you to take her virginity, which your father’s sudden business trip prevents him from taking after their wedding? Does hiding of secrets about past misdeed return to haunt us?

The last story in the collection, ‘Blinded by Silence’, is also a love story, a love story with a political bent. A husband’s ties with the president prevent him from speaking truth to power even when the inaction of the president threatens his livelihood. His wife’s attempt to get him to change his way results in an unexpected twist.

All in all, the stories address germane matters. For instance, in ‘Black Lives Matter’, the inability of security agencies to provide adequate security for the people is reflected in the lackadaisical approach of the federal SARS after a robbery incident where, instead of going after the real robbers, they arrest the driver of the bus the robbers attacked. ‘In the Trap of Seers’, he tackles the phony ones who pretend to be seers. The story shows booby-traps laid by these men who claim to have the ears of God.

‘Blinded By Silence’ raises the issue of polygamy and poverty. Why on earth will someone afflicted by woes see taking a new wife as the right thing? And for their fecundity and relevance, stories such as ‘Black Lives Matter’, ‘Trouble in Umudike’, and ‘Return Journey’ among others are bound to resonate long after reading them.

With this collection, Akinyemi succeeds in interlacing and formulating everyday events into readable stories. There is sure a story for everyone in this collection narrated from the first person and the third person points of view.

The author delivers these stories in easy-to-access language and the poet in him rears its head intermittently. He also handles the themes in such a way that he offers an all-encompassing collection. And with the right dosage of suspense and humour, he gets the reader to keep turning the pages until the last.

It is, indeed, a collection that raises questions and does not attempt easy answers. It also leaves us with several messages, one of which is: “Mental health shouldn’t be pushed aside. Everyone has a baggage of problems they tend to, sowing seeds of kindness and love can heal a troubled soul.”

My final take: Men are not robots. They are emotional beings and when they are down, shedding tears is not a bad idea. Crying, at times, is therapeutic. Grief and other sad situations— even happiness— can call for some tears to flow. Those tears that cascade down manly cheeks can help the soul, the spirit and the body, and bring some relief. So, let the tears flow. Please.

Remy Ngamije coined the phrase ‘parliament of the past’ in his novel ‘The Eternal Audience of One’. He used the phrase to refer to Rwandans exiled in Namibia who see, in their occasional gatherings, the opportunity to reminisce about their past before the war and the genocide that came with it dispersed them.

These men and women are victims of migration, a major topic of discussion at the Q-fest in Lagos in October. At a panel session, Olusegun Adeniyi, author, journalist and ThisDay Editorial Board chairman, argued that migration, an age-long development, was in order. Other authors on the panel, such as Nze Sylva Ifedigbo (‘My Mind is no longer here’) and Sam Monye (‘Give us each day’) concurred with me. What they all, however, agreed was not cool is irregular migration.

This is a subject brilliantly tackled by E. C. Osondu’s latest novel ‘When The Sky Is Ready The Stars Will Appear’. This work is peopled with men and women who are on the run.

War, poverty, fame, the need to help family members and such reasons are behind their decision to flee. The travellers in this book do not have the luxury of travelling by aeroplanes. They instead follow the tortuous route of sand and the sea, the dangers notwithstanding. The Golden Fleece and the hope that by the time the open boats drop them on the European side, refugee organisations will be waiting to welcome them and give them the chance to start new lives, keeps them going.

Though an immigrant tale, Osondu navigates his second novel away from the common tale of suffering immigrants leaving for Europe. He finds new angles and ends up with a compelling narrative.

In the beginning, the nameless narrator regales us with the first time he heard of Rome and thought it was a place in heaven. The narrator, an orphan, lived in Gulu Station, a peculiar town that has only one of everything: one cripple cum cobbler, one place of worship, one store, and one madman. When the madman, Jagga, discovered that another person was about to go mad, he warned him against it because the town was too small to have two madmen.

The kernel for the narrator’s quest for a life in Europe was planted the day an indigene of the town arrived from Rome and the image he painted of this Italian city ignited his yearnings. The Rome-returnee or Bros, as the narrator chose to address him out of deference, was close to the narrator’s father before his sojourn to Rome. So on returning he picked special interest in the narrator, who saw in Bros’ display of wealth the tonic for his quest to break out of Gulu Station and plant himself in Rome.

The narrator had a blind foster mother, Nene, who, before her death and ever after, remained a constant voice guiding and directing his affairs. Nene’s character is one that will linger in the reader’s mind: She knew everything, could tell currency units apart by just touching them, went alone to the forest to collect leaves for herbs, could cure stooling sheep, and many more. She never aged, barely had wrinkles and looked like she would live forever. Nene took in the narrator after his parents’ death. His father, a truck driver, who had helped many suddenly started drying up and eventually died with people who had benefitted from his large-heartedness shunning his son and saying what killed father and mother probably did not want the son alive.

When the narrator broke the news of his plan to travel to Rome, Nene told him that his eyes would see many things on the way and he would wonder if he should have gone on the journey. And he really saw hell trying to get into Europe through the desert. He also met interesting characters on the road to Rome.

One of them is Ayira, who was travelling to Europe to help her family. She was ready to do domestic chores to make enough money to repatriate home. Her life was beautiful until the intrusion that toppled all. Her co-travellers feared she might end up a victim of sex trafficking.

There is Anyi, who wanted to play football in Europe so that he would become popular like Jay Jay Okocha and Nwankwo Kanu. He looked forward to commentators screaming his name. There is also Zaaid, who was fleeing to Europe to escape the war ravaging his country, a war that had made young boys disown their fathers and adopted the warlord as their new father. Parents were being killed to force their children to join the army so Zaaid ran.

There is also Abdu, the one travelling for love. Halima, the girl of his dream, threw his love back at him and he thought acquiring money and returning to claim his love was the right thing to do.

Qaudir is a character very central to the theme of this book. He is a Crosser, an expert in getting people eager to be in Europe to achieve their aims. The job has hardened his heart and death means almost nothing to him, but he is also quick to remind his client that he would always strive to get them to cross into Europe alive because his rate of success was central to his professional future.

Do the stars appear for these men and women when the sky is ready? You will find out in the book.

The author fills the book with many alluring sentences that will make you keep turning the book of about 150-pages.

For instance, “the day Bros returned from Rome he came back with so many boxes. The boxes took such a long time to offload and they were all the same colour. That was the day I came to realise that boxes could have families just like humans. There were two large boxes—the Mama and Papa Box—and many little brother and sister Boxes.”

And another one: “Our voices sounded like the voices of women in labour. Hoping the pain won’t be too much to bear. Hoping that the baby breathes, cries and lives. Hoping that what they have been told is true—that when they ultimately hold the baby in their arms, all the pain is forgotten and a joy they have never known before floods their entire being.”

There are so many witty lines too. You will most likely laugh at this line: “Ah. Don’t you know sardines are from the sea? Do you want the fish in the sea to see their brethren in the tin and get angry with us?”

Osondu’s mixture of written and oral African storytelling peps up the beauty of this work. He succeeds in showing that written and unwritten forms can co-exist and produce an amazing reading experience. He also demonstrates that no one form is  superior to the other.

He gives faces and voices to immigrants who are mere statistics in media reports. He shows them as individuals with names, homes and stories. He also shows them as products of innocence and experience, as well as the young generation ravaged by the ills of leadership. The situations of things in many African countries are so dire that people are ready to jump whether or not the coast is clear. Osondu’s characters show these terrible situations.

In all, Osondu has succeeded in gifting us a humorous, heartrending, buoyant, thought-provoking and entertaining tale of ties and acquaintances; it also paints the picture of the lengths human beings will go to break loose from shackles and achieve their desires.

Time was when we were truly a giant, not only in Africa, but we were respected all over the world. During this time, a Nigerian could just pack his baggage, buy a ticket and fly to England and other western countries. It was visa-free. It was as though you were flying to Abuja or Port Harcourt. Only citizens of countries such as the United States, United Kingdom and Canada enjoy such privilege now. They can travel to over 100 countries with just their passports.

In those good old days, the flight ticket to London was N150. It was around this time that $1 was 71 kobo? By the time KWAM 1 went to Saudi Arabia for the hajj in 1979, he exchanged N1,000 for $1,200.

Time was when we were ahead of Singapore, Malaysia and several European countries in terms of development. Time was when Nigeria had the largest airline in Africa and over thirty ships in its fleet. Nigeria Airways was king of the air, and working there was a dream job comparable to eking out a livelihood in the oil industry. And time was when a return ticket to America was N1,200.

As a child, my father drove Peugeot cars and none did he buy for N4,000; they were cheaper. It was a time when several vehicle manufacturing firms, including Peugeot and Volkswagen, had assembly plants in Nigeria.

Time was when Nigeria was the United Kingdom Ghanaians knew. Many of them were living here and earning a decent living. Many of them were teachers at all levels of our academic life. Other sectors of our economy, such as banking and oil and gas, also had them playing major roles. Indians also flocked here and their remnants are still in Ilupeju, Lagos.

We were the defenders of the hopeless on the continent. We showed an example in South Africa and other parts of the continent. Apartheid got a black eye because of the assistance we gave to black South Africans to fight the crazy minority white folks dominating them. Unfortunately, many South Africans do not remember our sacrifice for them. No thanks to our brothers there who have chosen crimes to earn money. We contributed immensely to bringing peace to Congo, Liberia and Sierra Leone.

Time was when housing estates were springing up in different parts of the country and the people did not have to pay through their noses to buy the flats. Now, what is called low-cost housing estates is anything but low-cost.

Time was when students could travel to other states alone without fear of being kidnapped or molested. As a 13-year-old secondary school student in Ogun State, I was going to and coming back from Isaga-Orile near Abeokuta in Ogun State. This was a time when all I needed for bus fare from Isaga-Orile to Lagos was N750, and if I decided to pair with a colleague, I only needed half of that. Several times we would spend N750 on transport and N250 to eat rice and fish to our satisfaction at Ita-Oshin Motor Park in Abeokuta. There was absolutely no fear of any untoward events.

Now, parents have to worry about university graduates going for the National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) scheme in certain parts of the country. Students went unaccompanied to Zaria, Sokoto, Warri, Kafanchan and so on, and returned to their homes safely. Now, Boko Haram bandits, kidnappers and others have taken over and insecurity is the order of the day.

Time was when, during Christmas, no one knew who was a Muslim and who was a Christian, and when it was Eid-el-Kabir or Eid-el-Fitri, religious divide was not visible. Even on ordinary days, we all cohabited as one. There was no group to tell us that education is haram, there was no group to tell us Christians deserve death and there was no group to tell us that only their type of Islam is acceptable to the Almighty.

Time was when we had the groundnut pyramids, time was when we had the cocoa boom, time was when we had the Enugu coal mines and time was when funds from natural resources were enough for our needs and external borrowings were limited. Now, we survive on borrowed funds.

Can $1 ever become 71 kobo again? Can N1,000 yield $1,200 at the point of exchange? Can we move freely around the country without fear of kidnappers, Boko Haram, and other animals in human skin? Can religions unite rather than divide us? Can the groundnut pyramids return? Can cocoa boom again? Can natural resources give us more and limit our dependence on loans? Can we return to being great in the real sense of the word? Can our African brothers still see in us the big brother they can run to? Can we have many vehicle assembly plants like they used to be? Can we have truly low-cost homes?

Can we have Nigeria with the largest airline in Africa and over thirty ships in its fleet? Can we as citizens of Nigeria ever pack our baggage, buy tickets and fly to England and other western countries? Can we really have our nation back, a nation we can be proud of, a nation respected all over the world and not one whose passport is an invitation to extra scrutiny at international entry points? Can we be that nation whose citizens are not famous for online scams, advanced fee fraud and yahoo-yahoo? Can we have a nation where doctors, lecturers and other professionals do not regularly shut down hospitals and schools to ask for their rights?

My final take: From what we can see, it seems those golden times are gone and it would take a serious miracle for them or their semblance to be back. So we have to make do with a situation where Naira plummets at an alarming rate against Pounds and Dollars. We have to make do with a situation where all things bright and beautiful is a song we now have to sing with caution. We have to rather sing to the Lord of the host to turn around our afflictions and make us see the Promised Land. Our land has been a boulevard of broken dreams for too long.