Category: Korede Yishau

By Olukorede Yishau

The film, ‘Ayinla’, in its first week at the cinemas in Nigeria, overthrew ‘My Village People’ to occupy the number one slot. ‘My Village People’ is the handiwork of stand-up comedian Bovi. It is a good movie, no doubt. However, ‘Ayinla’, ace movie director Tunde Kelani’s cinematic representation of the late Apala musician Ayinla Omowura, is historical, and Kelani’s pedigree is enough to get many to the cinemas. Though not a biopic, ‘Ayinla’ is built around some events in the life of the musician who died after being stabbed by his estranged manager. The fact that the bulk of the film is in Yoruba language has not affected its performance at the box office. It is well-sub-titled and can easily be followed by non-Yoruba speakers.

In November, Kelani is scheduled to release another big project, ‘Cordelia’, a screen adaptation of a novella of the same title by Okinba Launko (Prof. Femi Osofisan).

In ‘Cordelia’, romance meets politics, politics of the men in military fatigue with all its attendant dangers. This novella starts with a lecturer in a disturbed state about his marriage. His once-sweet wife has become the devil’s envoy. In the opening pages of the story, we see clear evidence of the lecturer’s state of mind, including his inability to teach his students. One of them later confronts him in his office about his shoddy lecture. Like a typical man, he sees no reason to discuss such a matter, especially with his student. The student in question is accompanied to the lecturer’s office by another student named Cordelia.

Unknown to the lecturer, she is about to be at the centre of a major riot in the institution. Cordelia’s father is a minister in the military government. Minutes after the two students leave the lecturer’s office, he is alerted by a colleague to martial music on the radio. This sort of music in Nigeria is associated with a military coup. It turns out there has been a coup and the leader is none other than Cordelia’s father. Before the implications of what has just happened hit the lecturer, Cordelia’s friend rushes back to him, panting. Protesting students are about to lynch Cordelia for her father’s role in removing a government seen as benevolent. The description makes me feel the author is referring to the Murtala Mohammed administration. A drama ensues while Cordelia’s friend is still trying to convince the lecturer to help save her from the mob; his wife comes into the office and accuses him of having an affair with his student. No explanation is acceptable to her. He eventually locks her in the office to go and save the girl in danger. He returns to find out that his aggrieved wife has turned his office upside down. She even tore his research papers and sets him back many years.

Information gets to the military that Cordelia is with him. His house is invaded. It turns out the invader is Cordelia’s in-law to be. She is relieved seeing him and he takes her away. She thinks she is his father’s emissary. How wrong she is. Not long after, another set of military men invade his house and it dawns on him that the men who have Cordelia are keeping her for reasons far from noble. It is drama upon drama.

‘Cordelia’ is suspense-filled with each chapter ending with a cliff hanger and thus luring a reader to the next page and, in the process, getting hooked like a hard drug user. This is certainly not easy to pull off. The author achieves this with magisterial competence.

This is the second novella by Osofisan being adapted by Kelani, the first was ‘Ma’ami’. The two and another novella, ‘Kolera Kolej’, were some years ago collected as ‘The Best of Times’.

‘Kolera Kolej’ is satirical. It is set in a country where cholera breaks out in its university leading to deaths. The leader of this country, which has the same mannerisms with Nigerian leaders, abdicates his responsibility by granting guided autonomy to the university. Intrigues ensue in picking the pioneer leader for the new republic and all kinds of factors, except merit, come into play. Blackmail is not in short supply in the new republic. In the end, not much is achieved because favouritism, egotism, and many anti-development sentiments dictate the pace.

The ridiculousness of the decisions taken by the leaders of the college and the country displays the lack of foresight and patriotism that many a Nigerian leader is famous for.

The second novella, ‘Ma’ami’, which inspired a film of the same title by Kelani, is about the extent a mother can go to get her child his needs. It is also about poverty and how some see occultism as a way out. Reading the novella makes me feel like seeing Kelani’s cinematic representation all over again. The points of divergence also easily hit me, in the sense that I easily identify the addition to the film version.

This novella, narrated in the first person by the son, is not just about a mother’s love, it vividly paints the extent people can go to make money. Imagine a father sacrificing his son for a money-making ritual! It also tells the corruption of government officials who allow extraneous factors in deciding who has a space in the market and who does not. This novella also shows the importance of a father-figure in a child’s life. Despite all Ma’ami does for her ‘Termogene’ of a son, all it takes to test his loyalty is the sight of his father and the evidence of his filthy lucre.

It is filled with drama and the author resolves the conflicts brilliantly. Telling the tale in present tense gives it this immediate presence and I just love it. The end of this story will have you asking yourself questions. You may even reread to get a second opinion.

After ‘Cordelia’, will Kelani also adapt ‘Kolera Kolej’? Though written over four decades ago, it is surprisingly filled with afflictions which still trouble Nigeria and make one wonder if we will ever get things right by gaining independence from nepotism, favouritism, corruption, political elites’ impunity, and more.

My final take: The cinema version of ‘Cordelia’ promises to be entertaining and educative. With Kelani’s pedigree, we expect all the suspense that makes the novella an interesting read to be achieved so as to keep viewers asking for scene after scene.

By Olukorede Yishau

Haile Selassie, the Ethiopian emperor, goes on exile at a point in the battle with Italy. His army chief Kidane feels horrified about this development. He, however, devises a way to make the enemy and the Ethiopians believe the emperor has returned by creating a shadow emperor in a man whose name means nothing. Maaza Mengiste’s ‘Shadow King’ fictionally captures this beautifully in this historical work which shows the futility of war.

Chukwuemeka Ike’s ‘Sunset at Dawn’, which I read recently, also shows this succinctly. In wars, women suffer, children go through hell and men become lambs to be sacrificed. Women and girls are forced to be sex slaves, the masses bear more of the brunt and the top hierarchy still enjoy a lot of the spoils. Both books about wars that truly happened unveil the bowels of this futile creation of man.

Of recent, our nation has been bedevilled with incidents capable of precipitating a civil war: In the Southeast, police stations are attacked and razed, private properties are set on fire and human beings are felled like fowls. In the Southwest, herdsmen and kidnappers are on the prowl, ethnic champions are singing Oduduwa instead of Hallelujah, and some elders are chorusing to your tent oh Israel. Terrorists-cum-bandits-cum-kidnappers have turned the North into their haven, their territory where they do and undo. Everywhere is on fire and no one is calling 911 because the fire service lacks the water to quench the fire.

We are carrying on as though we want to finish what is left of ourselves. Yet, ours is a blessed nation with gold, oil and gas, tantalite and beauties such as Mambilla Plateau and Farin Ruwa Falls, friendly soils, and a people ready to give their best.

We have brilliant souls scattered all over the world and doing wonders in their adopted nations. We have a young population that understands the ins and outs of technology and can manipulate it to our advantage. When our average brains go abroad for education, they turn out in flying colours.

As blessed as we are with these brains, these beauties and these resources, we are also blessed with leaders who, at the sign of a headache, have taken the next available flight to London or New York for medical examination. We are also blessed with a political class that steal with their future generation in mind; we are fortunate enough to have men and women in positions of authorities all because they want to decorate their garages and wardrobes with the best in automobiles and jewelleries; and we are blessed with leaders who will tell us to pray over a problem or challenge we elect them to resolve.

We have in abundance people in positions of authority who still convert commonwealth to theirs and brazenly acquire estates. There are public office holders in Nigeria whose country homes are as big as some villages. Their garages brim with vehicles running into tens; and many are gathering dust. They own homes in Asokoro, Banana Island, Maitama, Ikoyi, GRA Port Harcourt, GRA Enugu and in cities across the world, especially London, New York and Paris — many of them empty and only occupied for a few days throughout the year.

In our nation, hard work is no longer the only way of making money. Graduates cannot even get employed. Thousands of graduates roam the streets every day looking for jobs, man-know-man dictates the pace and we are yet to rid our society of the bribery-to-receive-favour syndrome. Personal interests are sold as general interests. Politicians jump ship to retain their control of the public tills, yet sing at every given opportunity that they are in power to serve and are making sacrifices for the betterment of our nation.

If God had wanted prayers to be the solution to pervasive poverty, it is not beyond Him. If He had wanted prayers to fix roads, make Nigeria number one on the sustainable development goal index, and stop being the country with the second-highest number of deaths of children under the age of five, He will do it. But He wants us to use our brains and so no amount of prayers we say can do for us what He expects us to do with our brains!

The United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF) says no fewer than 250,000 children in Nigeria die on their first day of life. The figure is the second highest in the world, according to the 2017 multi-indicator cluster survey. A child born in Nigeria today, no thanks to this situation, is likely to live to the year 2074, while a child born in Denmark is likely to live until the 22nd century! The quality of life is a different kettle of fish. Most of these children regrettably die from preventable causes such as premature births, complications during delivery, infections like sepsis, malaria and pneumonia. You have shown us times without number that prayers cannot stop this, only policies and programmes can.

We badly need more investments to grow our economy at a higher rate to be able to lift 100 million people out of poverty.

The North/South dichotomy is still very real. We still look at the country from this prism. Till this day, the North still does not trust the South and the South does not trust the North. And in the North, the Middle Belt is dissociating itself from what is known as core North. In the South, the Yoruba, the Igbo and the Niger Delta are also doing their own battles. As it was in the beginning so it is now.

Our oil reserves have made us unable to think. Oil has been a curse and a blessing. This curse began with the enactment of the Mineral Ordinance by Nigeria’s first Governor-General Sir Frederick Luggard in 1914.  The early efforts yielded 450 barrels of crude oil in Akata I Well in 1951. Further successes were made in Oloibiri in 1956 and Bomu Oil Field in 1958 when oil was struck in commercial quantity.

My final take: War never resolves any challenge. Ask Libya, ask Syria, ask Biafra/Nigeria. In wars, no one stays alive fully unbroken. No matter our challenges as a nation, and no matter the challenges that will still come, war is a futile exercise. It always aggravates things, so why war-war when we can jaw-jaw?

By Olukorede Yishau

He has a middle name neither his educational nor birth certificates show. But, when you read his writings, the middle name screams at you: Wordsmith. The man many of us call Sam Omatseye should actually be fully addressed as Sam Wordsmith Omatseye. If you are in doubt, read his poems, his plays, his novels, his essays, and then his journalism, and you will agree this boss of mine knows his ways around words. He contextualises words with so much licence that their meanings mount pedestals and quit the ordinary realm. The best way to capture it is to say this man who just turned sixty is a Maradona with words. He dribbles words with exciting skills.

Omatseye, however, does not dribble his way far from controversies. In fact, controversies excite him and bring out his poetic best.

Since meeting him over 13 years ago, I have not missed his presence once he is near me because he easily joins discussions and voices his opinions. It is left to you to agree or disagree with his often caustic views.

Since meeting him over 13 years ago, I have seen and heard of his many small miracles in the lives of many, some his junior colleagues and others students whose fees he paid.

Since meeting him over 13 years ago, he has shown up for me a number of times, even though I do not consider myself that close to him.

Omatseye’s second novel, ‘My Name is Okoro’, is one of those books you read and they leave you with lessons you and the society can do a lot with. The descriptive first paragraph promises to soak you in. The paragraph has blood, dust, sweat and all the violent imageries they often conjure in the mind. And there is the promise of a saucy story, whose end can be complicated. There are also hints of pain and death.

The elegance of the language added to my determination to read it to the end. I smiled at expressions such as: “The warrior about his loins would have found rest in Nneka”; “He shot when she was not looking”; “It took about seven months into their sojourn in Umunze before Okoro unlocked his dam”; “He let himself loose in the curves and dips of Clara’s body”.

There are many civil war novels, including Chimamanda Adichie’s ‘Half of a Yellow Sun’, which has been made into a movie of the same title. But, there is something different about Omatseye’s civil war novel. Yes, like the others, it is violence-filled. What is different is what I see as a protest in the book. It is from a minority’s point of view. Instances abound in it of efforts to properly situate the feelings of the minorities of the South. And the clincher, for me, is the use of a name that cuts across the divides to tell this amazing story of love in a time of war.

This book hammers on the Niger Delta question, which the Nigerian state has been unable to answer. At best, we are patching it. Evidence of the minority concerns abounds in this book. At a point, Okoro is forced to ask: “Why do the newspapers keep writing about Igbo pogrom when they killed everyone who was a southerner except the Yorubas?”

And in chapter five, a woman from the South, who had come to the North in search of her son, says: “Ukwanis are not Igbos… The animals are killing everyone.”

She goes further: “Ukwanis can understand Igbo language but they can distinguish who is speaking Ukwani and who is speaking Igbo. The Igbos know who is speaking Ukwani as distinct from who is speaking Igbo.”

And this from Okoro himself: “But is it not worse when the language is not even close but seems to sound the same but is not Yoruba or Hausa? For instance, the Anang and Ibibio.”

Chief Subomi, who hid Okoro in his Kaduna house after he escaped Lieutenant Abdullahi’s bullets, adds: “They were not spared. They were lumped together with the Igbos in the slaughter.”

The book’s unforgettable shots should remain with us like precious pearls. One is that we cannot sweep away the minority question. Two, we should ditch idealism and face the realities of our time. There is also a vital lesson for those who believe with violence, they can get the Niger Delta its due. Okoro’s wife spoke about the futility of war. Here it is: “That (time-wasting) is the meaning of this war. People died, families destroyed and cities on their knees. We have returned to where we started without all the things we started with.”

Beneath the protest in the book lies the story of passion, love, and lust in a time of war. This fascinated me. I was thrilled by what it means to be human in wartime Igboland rived by man’s inhumanity to man. Okoro finds Clara and with time, the warriors in his loins exhibit his prowess. Again and again, even when they try to stop, failure defeats them. The brute called Lieutenant Abdullahi also falls in love with Nneka and for love, he surrenders almost all.

Omatseye’s latest drama, ‘Obito’, is filled with people behaving badly. They call white black and want us to see white as black.  And they blame it on tradition and culture. In this offering, Omatseye resurrects a number of ill-behaved people from his imaginative graveyard. They hide under the king’s son’s supposed graduation ceremony to cover their lies.

Ordinarily, the bone of contention looks simple: a king dies. But for these guys, it becomes complicated and confusing. Chiefs devise means to keep the truth in detention. We meet interesting characters, such as Chief Nikoro, Toritse and Alero, the reporter, whose quest for truth helps shine light on what many will love to remain dark.

One very interesting thing about this 96-page drama is laid out in the prologue where Nikoro is told by a native doctor never to lie to his son as a way of atoning for the death of a son he had outside wedlock. “If things get complicated, show him the way to the truth,” the native doctor instructs.

In ‘Obito’, Omatseye’s mastery of language is on display. My favourite line in the book is “the truth of culture and tradition”. I laughed out loud when I read this line. This is what Donald Trump will describe as alternative truth. There are many other fine expressions that will see an average reader turning the pages until the end where the reporter returns to Lagos after completing her task of establishing that the king is truly dead and not on any imaginary trip. I also like the blend of prose and poetry in the dialogues.

My final take: Now that he is sixty years young Sam Wordsmith Oritsetimeyin Omatseye will sure still tantalise us with more literary and journalism offerings. Happy 60th birthday, boss and my prayers for you are that the sixth floor will favour you more and pave way for the actualisation of your dreams. And thanks for that unforgettable moment you stood up for me when it mattered despite the fact that we had no prior discussion on the matter. I will always remember!

By Olukorede Yishau

There are people who believe that love overrides a multitude of sins. I am not one of them. And one sin which I believe love should never override is a man and woman choosing to get married when they know they will give birth to kids who will live all the days of their lives in pain, tears and eventually die, after time and resources have been wasted trying to manage the avoidable situation.

The pain of raising kids who cannot play in the rain with their mates and do other naughty things kids do is better imagined than experienced. The experience is hell!

Join me on this journey started by Jude Idada with his Nigeria Prize for Literature-winning book ‘Boom Boom’ and you will understand me better.

‘Boom Boom’ is narrated by Osaik, an eight-year-old who is one of two children born of the marital union of JJ and Erese. The other child is a daughter nicknamed ‘Boom Boom’, and is also not the sister Osaik had hoped for due to no fault of hers.

Osaik discovers that his mother and sister, whom he had pestered his parents to have because he was desperate for a playmate, are always sick and in severe pain. His inquisitive nature leads him to find out that his father and mother should never have got married. Reason: His father has the AC genotype and his mother is SS, meaning she has the sickle cell anaemia disease. The couple’s luck produces Osaik, with the AS genotype. Their second attempt yields a daughter with the SC genotype, a milder form of the sickle cell disease, but which also comes with sorrow and tears.

The marriage that should have been filled with joy is populated by sadness and its cousins. Love, which should be a beautiful thing, becomes torturing and the marriage institution the opposite of what it should be.

JJ takes Boom Boom to London to try out a new form of treatment, which is expected to free her from pain and liberates her from a life of inhibitions. There he receives a phone call, which shatters his world, his worst fear about his wife has come to pass: At 30, the Grim Reaper claims its own. He is now left with a healthy Osaik and a sick but hopeful Boom Boom. Will she live or will she leave?

Though presented as a children book, ‘Boom Boom’ is a cross over book that will easily attract adult readers. Its dramatic and fast-paced nature is enough to soak anyone in the world of loss, faith, hope, the limits of love, sacrifice, friendship, loyalty and ties. With agony, relief, anxiety, serenity, despair and hope dancing on the pages of this book, it will without effort evoke emotional response.

Hiding under the voice of a child, Idada provides all the medical information about the disease and its management and eradication. The child-narrator offers Idada the latitude to give vital information in an engaging and entertaining manner and ultimately succeeds in modifying behaviour and shaping opinion.

Idada’s use of Kompa, Osaik’s dog, is very creative. Osaik can read the dog’s inner thoughts and translate the thoughts to words. It is the dog who describes their mother’s passing as “…a star in the sky looking down at (them)… ready to answer (their call) …anytime …” The dog also gives the book the magical realism touch and will sure make it more appealing to kids. Imagine a dog that can talk! And when the dog talks, it also brings solutions to challenges being faced by the family. Who will not like such a dog?

Characterisation is top notch in this award-winning work. Descriptive narration is exotic and delivers vivid imageries— helping the reader to feel the pain of the characters and absorb the messages therein.

With a suspense-filled narration, Idada sheds light on this challenging health condition like no work of fiction has done.

The themes covered in the book include love, sickle cell, its symptoms, its challenges, the choice of spouses, stigmatisation and a possible cure for the sickle cell anaemia.

You need to see the trouble of the family in this book to appreciate the fact that no one should get married without knowing their genotype. Of course, there are some lucky couples and this luck also has a limit. For instance, I know of a couple who are both AS and they have two children who are also AS. A third try may produce a child with the SS genotype. Ordinarily, this marriage should not have been consummated. Someone with an AA genotype is free to marry any other genotype. Someone with an SS genotype marrying anyone other than someone with AA is an invitation to pain and sorrow.

There is another issue I must point out. I have heard the case of a guy who lied to his girlfriend that he was AA because he wanted to marry her badly. The woman was AS. So, when the guy claimed to be AA, she felt the coast was clear. It took them having a baby with the SS genotype for the husband to confess. This was after she had threatened the doctors for saying her baby was SS. So, do not just take your partner’s words for it. Aside this guy who deliberately lied, I know of another person who just assumed he was AA. When his partner asked, he told her he was AA. She was AA and was not really bothered. A few days to their wedding they had to conduct a series of tests because the church insisted on it. That was when he found out he was AS. Imagine if the wife-to-be was also AS! They would have been walking a tightrope.

My final take: No one should marry because of love alone. Love is good, sweet and beautiful but it is not enough. A marriage consummated without the dangers of sickle cell anaemia taken into cognisance does not make sense. Love will not be enough to dry the tears when they start cascading down over constant sickle cell crisis and possible loss of children to sickle cell anaemia.

By Olukorede Yishau

Many in my generation, especially if you grew up in Lagos, had a swell time with a magazine called Hints. It was first edited by Kayode Ajala, later by Chim Newton and eventually by a graduate of the University of Jos, Anthony Kanayo Onwordi. He was far from turning 30 when he edited the popular magazine. This son of Ibusa, who can confidently claim to be a Somolu-Bariga boy, is better known as Toni Kan. He is 50 today.

He wears many caps on his brilliant head: Poet, novelist, journalist, public relations expert, advertising executive, publisher, biographer and sometimes ghost writer. He was brand ambassador of Samsung Note5.

His short story collection, ‘Nights of the Creaking Bed’, is still in so much demand over 10 years after it was released. It now has a new edition released in the UK, U.S. and Nigeria.

Known as the “Mayor of Lagos” by friends and others, his understanding of the city of aquatic splendour came alive in his novel, ‘The Carnivorous City’. His acclaimed novella ‘Ballad of Rage’ was longlisted for the Nigeria Prize for Literature.

Toni Kan and his partner, Peju Akande, have written the biographies of prominent Nigerians. They are working on the biography of Chief Kessington Adebutu.

He has edited and co-edited several books, including my debut novel, ‘In the Name of Our Father’. He has contributed to so many anthologies.

Happy birthday, TK. May the fifth floor favour you more than all the floors you have left behind. Amen!

By Olukorede Yishau

One major addition to Nigeria’s lexicon is the word ‘japa’. The root is Yoruba, but it has been taken off this nationality and made a Nigerian thing. Its prominence under the administration of President Muhammadu Buhari is not unconnected with people’s disenchantment with the way things are in the country. The violence that attended the protest against the Special Anti-robbery Squad (SARS) gave the word a spectacular life. Disenchanted youth began to talk about the need to ‘japa’ from the country, to leave the country for good and allow the leaders to turn the nation to whatever they wish.

Every other day, the social media host one picture or the other of someone who has just left the country and celebrating his departure from the land of the happiest people on earth.  Many who have not left are perfecting their move. Of course, there are several who feel no need to run away from their fatherland.

The ‘japa’ debate reminds me of this line: “Every departure is a death, every return a rebirth.” It is one of the screaming lines in ‘Travelers’, a novel by Helon Habila. This line and several others bring to mind the concept of home. We see clear evidence that leaving one’s home has never been an easy thing.

Home, that four-letter word, means so much that the Yoruba have a proverb which translates to “home is the place of rest after a hard work at the farm”. So, what happens when you have a home that you cannot return to? Then you are forced to adopt a new home and find succour in “home away from home”. At the core of this novel is the concept of home in the context of people who have homes they cannot return to.

This novel set in Berlin, Germany, and a bit in the U.S., is largely about people forced to go on the run by circumstances beyond their control. It trails the experiences of six African refugees in Europe. Habila drops the reader into a maze of lives in distress away from their homes and unable to find rest abroad. Painfully, they have homes they cannot return to.

The story is told by a nameless narrator, a Nigerian living in the United States with his American wife, Gina, a portrait artist. Their marriage is strained, but when Gina wins a fellowship that requires her to move to Berlin, the narrator joins her. It is seen as a last-ditch effort to rescue the marriage. But Europe turns him into a stranger and his marriage provides no succour as Gina becomes “more oblivious of what was happening around her, her gaze focused only on her painting.”

The situation looks irredeemable.

“We used to be so happy,” Gina says. This is when the narrator declares that he has decided to stay back in Berlin after the end of Gina’s fellowship. The beginning of the end of their union, which starts with Gina’s mis-carriage, refuses the healing hand Gina assumes Berlin will provide.

Mark, a transgender Malawian film student, who escaped to Berlin to pursue his dream, becomes the narrator’s saving grace until the unexpected happens. The narrator’s loneliness assumes a new meaning when his new friend is detained for being in Germany on an expired visa. This ugly side of migration rattles the narrator, who thereafter moves around Berlin, where he comes into contact with African migrants experiencing the ugly sides of being away from home. Mark, who the narrator shockingly finds out was a girl named Mary before bidding his old life bye, later meets a tragic end. His favourite line is ‘even in Berlin I miss Berlin’.

Another traveller we encounter is Manu, a Libyan who fled to Berlin with his daughter while they await his wife’s arrival. Manu, a medical doctor in Libya before the fall of Gaddafi, becomes a bouncer in a night club in Berlin, and every Sunday visits a tourist centre in Berlin, where he and his wife had agreed to meet in case they ever got separated. But she never shows up. And ne never recovers!

The narrator also introduces us to Portia, the daughter of a Zambian writer, who is chasing the ghosts of her father and brother in Switzerland and England. Using these characters, Habila provides readers a guide to the African Diaspora.

The author captures global political moments and the downside of living in exile. The politics of asylum, freedom and Diaspora are laid bare in this important work that can only be the product of one with the heart of an artist.

Habila’s fourth novel is a reminder that the developing world needs to develop fast. Reading Patsy (while away from home) reminds me so much of Lagos and Nigeria. ‘Travelers’ also evokes similar memories. Conflict is the reason why Manu’s life is shattered. In the work, we see our failed states, our deepest fears, and lives torn apart by crises caused by men whose greed and ego are beyond description.

The author does not leave us in doubt of the horrors his characters have escaped. He shows that refugees’ lives are complex.

The novel brings back memories of the xenophobic attacks in South Africa, which still rear its ugly head from time to time. Nigerians, Zimbabweans and other Africans in South Africa are the victims. Issues like this treated by the author makes us learn and re-learn. He has captured a very significant moment in time with this haunting and unambiguous rendering of a set of broken people. This powerful commentary on displacement should ideally provoke those who can change things. But, do they read?

My final take: Home is where your heart is. It is not physical. If you are unmoved by racial profiling and other challenges of living abroad, then you can make abroad home. In making it home, do so legally and make no mistakes: the streets of London or New York are not paved with free cash. Many sweat it out to make ends meet. You have to earn every single kobo and if you engage in illegal activities or break the law, even if innocently, you will face the music. There are promises and some level of fulfilment abroad, but it is no paradise.

By Olukorede Yishau

Journalism is an interesting profession; it thrives on oddity, popularity and proximity. It is no news when a dog bites a man, except the man is some superstar or celebrity. When there is an accident, the victims are not identified by names in the headline except they are popular. And when one of them is the only popular one, the tyranny of popularity comes into play as only the famous is identified in the headline and the rest of them become known as ‘others’.

This golden journalism rule angered an ally of one of the men who died in the Kaduna air crash and he chose to rant in the social media. He was sad every report on the accident identified the late Chief of Army Staff, Lt.-Gen. Ibrahim Attahiru, in the headline.

“COAS and 9 or 10 others lost their lives in that ill-fated crash. Those others were someone’s husband, father, fiancé, brother, uncle, son etc as you can see. This is so heartbreaking, May God grant them all the fortitude to bear the loss,” he complained.

As though to buttress him, the fiancée of one of the crew members, Flight Lieutenant Taiwo Olufemi Asaniyi, took to the social media to celebrate the man who would have been her husband, the man who proposed to her August last year and the man she affectionately called “Adigun miiiiii, hot choco miiii”.

Aside Asaniyi, the others who were hidden under Attahiru’s shadows were Brig.-Gen. Abdurahman Kuliya (Chief of Military Intelligence); Brig.-Gen M.I Abdulkadir (Chief of Staff to the COAS); Brig Gen Olatunji Olayinka (Army Provost Marshal); Maj. L. A. Hayat (ADC to COAS); Maj. Hamza; the Orderly; Sgt. Umar; Flt. Lt. A. A. Olufade; Sgt. Adesina; and ACM Oyedepo.

They were going with Attahiru to Kaduna, where he was to serve as the Special Guest of Honour and Reviewing Officer at the Passing Out parade of the Regular Recruits Intakes from Depot Nigerian Army, Zaria.

When Kobe Bryant, the ex-American basketball player, died with his daughter in a helicopter crash, the tyranny of popularity reared its head like it always does when a star dies with lesser known people. When Mrs. Bryant held a memorial for her late husband and daughter Gigi, the way the event went made me ask: Did the Byrants die alone? Of course the answer is: No!

Basketball Coach Altobelli also died with his wife Keri and daughter. Of course, the pilot, Ara Zobayan, who was taking them to the girls’ basketball game in Thousand Oaks, California, is also gone. Three others – Christina Mauser; Sarah Chester and her daughter Payton – perished in the crash. But, in the sight of the world, it is as though only Bryant matters. His daughter got mentioned because of him. Thanks to having a famous father!

Back in Nigeria, when ex-Chief of Defence Staff Air Chief Marshal Alex Badeh was killed, it was initially thought that his driver was also killed, but it was as though he was not important. He would have died without a name. Men without brains but brawn pumped hot lead into Air Chief Marshal Badeh. They also shot his driver. Badeh’s death revealed the unfairness of humanity.

When a poor man dies in the company of a big man, he becomes nothing but a footnote. It is like his death means nothing. Almost everybody will talk about the big man while the poor or unpopular man or woman’s family will mourn in silence. It is also not good to die in a tragedy where one of the key culprits is a big man who those in authority cannot move against. When you die in these circumstances, you become a mere footnote.

The tyranny of the popular also played out when a church collapsed in Uyo, the Akwa Ibom State capital some years back. It all played out at Reigners Bible Church Int’l Inc. The founder of the church was to be ordained a bishop. He is not a small fry so the church was jam-packed. Akwa Ibom State Governor Udom Emmanuel came with some of his commissioners and aides. But thirty minutes into the governor’s arrival, hell literally came down. No thanks to human error, the church’s iron pillars gave way and the blue roofs came thumping down. Of course on people! An account even said someone was cut into two by the iron pillars. A policeman who reportedly saved the governor is now six feet below. And some others broke their necks, their limbs and their back. The founder of the church, Pastor Akan Weeks, had his leg broken.

The day after the incident, we saw figures as high as 160 in the media. It was attributed to Chief Medical Director of the University of Uyo Teaching Hospital, who later denied it. Police gave the figure as 29. Governor Emmanuel said only 23 died.

For students of the University of Uyo, and the Uyo City Polytechnic, believed to have been worst hit by the disaster, reality looked like a dream. Emmanuel’s men, who crawled out of death’s hole, had interesting testimonies to share. His Chief Press Secretary, Ekerette Udoh, said an iron rod nearly cut his neck, but eventually hit him on the back. The cap of his left knee was broken and pains travelled all over his body. Charles Udoh, who joined the State Executive Council only some one week before the disaster, thought he was watching a movie when the pillars started coming down. He was on his way out of the church to catch a flight when tragedy struck. He would have been out but protocol demanded that he told the governor before vanishing from the church hall. It was this protocol-induced task he was accomplishing when death almost took him away. He had to run here and there to prevent the iron pillars from turning him to a candidate for the mortuary. Nollywood actor Ekere Nkanga, who has acted almost all roles imaginable, was humbled when he had to wade through bodies to safety.

Of all those who died in the tragedy, we were lucky to identify Josephine Effiom because of her mates at the polytechnic, who described her as ‘one of the first three brilliant chaps in my class’.

My final take: When you pray every morning, ask God for the grace not to die in the company of a big man or a star; this will save you from a situation where only your family will mourn you in silence. There will be so much noise about the big man everywhere and it will be as though you never mattered. Also pray not to die when a big man is to blame for an avoidable tragedy. If you do, it will just look like you are without a name.

By Olukorede Yishau

Kogi State Governor Yahaya Bello is slightly older than me, but he is still of my generation, and most times he opens his mouth, I am tempted to feel he is disgracing my generation. I have, however, come to the conclusion that he is only giving one person a bad name, and that person was born on June 18, 1975, the youngest of six children, attended Local Government Education Authority Primary School, Agassa in Okene, had his high school at Agassa Community Secondary School, and tertiary education at both the Kaduna State Polytechnic, Zaria, and the Ahmadu Bello University in Zaria. His name is Professor Alhaji Chief Dr His Excellency Yahaya Bello.

Since he was foisted into political consciousness, Yahaya Bello seems to be struggling to justify the education he had; he is battling to display the wisdom such education connotes, and he is at a loss on how to prove that he is not carrying some burden too much for his mortal frame.

The manner Professor Alhaji Chief Dr His Excellency Yahaya Bello became governor was not ordinary. Abubakar Audu was cruising to victory and died before results could be declared, and in the wisdom of the All Progressives Congress (APC), Audu’s running mate, James Faleke, was not good enough to inherit the throne. Yahaya Bello was called to come and take the cap, even when he was not the running mate! The courts, including the apex court, agreed Faleke should not have the crown. So, Yahaya Bello happened and Kogi has been at a cruising level since then. He portrays himself as a gift that keeps giving, says he has done spectacular things in the last five years and deserves our accolades. In fact, some of his supporters say he deserves to be deified. As far as they are concerned, if he had lived in the same era as Sango, Ogun, Venus, Osun and other gods, he would have also been a god. His effigy, they say, would have been in shrines and palm oil, ogogoro, apeteshi, bitter kola, kola nut and so on, would be used to appease him. They argue we have this god in our midst free of charge and we are not taking advantage of his presence.

But, we need answers to these questions:  What is the condition of the roads in Kogi? Are the people battling poverty? Are there people down with illnesses and unable to take care of themselves? Are expectant mothers dying while trying to bring forth lives? Are government employees getting paid when due? From what I hear, the governor has not been able to lift the people in these areas.

A few days ago, Yahaya Bello granted Channels TV an interview. It was not his first or second or third to be beamed live from the government house, with him sitting like a royal and picking his words like one unsure of himself. Many of these interviews he has granted of late have been about his presidential ambition, but in his most recent, he spoke like someone who does not understand English language. Or how else can one interpret his statement that all Nigerians were begging him to run as President in 2023? Even in his cabinet, there are people who, when not being watched, will pillory his ambition, yet this man claims all Nigerians want him to be President, as if Senator Dino Melaye is no longer a Nigerian. The word ‘all’, if Yahaya Bello does not know, means there is no dissention to his ambition. That is absolute balderdash. We could have forgiven him if he had said many or several Nigerians. The man was not even modest to say the bulk or majority of Nigerians were supporting him. He said all of us were dying to have him replace President Muhammadu Buhari and save us from the much-predicted doom.

This statement is not the first ridiculous assertion from Yahaya Bello. Since the outset of the COVID-19 pandemic, he has carried on as though the Kogi atmosphere is a vaccine against the virus. The Presidential Taskforce on COVID-19 condemned him and he took several newspapers pages to attack the body, which is made up of experts and representatives of international humanitarian agencies. At the time Yahaya Bello was saying his nonsense about the virus, America, the United Kingdom, and many other superpowers had lost thousands of people to COVID-19. Our casualty figures back home were also not too small to make one take the virus seriously. Many are still down in isolation centres around the world, especially India, where a new strain of the virus has overwhelmed the health facility.

At 45 years of age, Yahaya Bello is free to fill the vacancy that will be at the Presidential Villa in Abuja in 2023, but he has not shown us that he has what it takes to save us from the punishment that leadership has been for our nation since time immemorial.

Given the multi-faceted challenges biting us like python, and gradually ebbing lives out of us, we do not need a man like Yahaya Bello to govern us. He lacks the magic wand like the one Moses used to divide the Red Sea and lead his people to safety. We are in dire need of such magic wand and going by what Yahaya Bello has shown us so far, we need to continue our search for our messiah!

The magic wand must be such that can defeat poverty (which President Muhammadu Buhari has unsuccessfully wrestled) and make a thing of the past; with the magic wand we need, corruption should bid bye-bye to our country; with his magic wand, sickness and diseases should flee from our land; with his magic wand, expectant mothers should be delivered of their babies like the Hebrew women; and with his magic wand, our infrastructure should become world-class. Yahaya Bello lacks this much-needed magic wand.

We need a leader who will ensure the International Monetary Fund (IMF), World Bank and members of the Paris and London clubs are not the only determinants of the directions we follow.

My final take: Professor Alhaji Chief Dr His Excellency Yahaya Bello should save us from his constant verbal harassments. No one, except sycophants, is begging him to come and be president. He knows this is the truth and he should stop deceiving himself about not disappointing the so-called all Nigerians who are earnestly yearning for him to run. He should instead run from the sycophants who are, no doubt, deceiving him in order to get filthy lucre from him.