By Olukorede Yishau

The founder of one of Nigeria’s most popular Pentecostal churches, Believers Love World, Pastor Chris Oyakhilome, is a man that should be avoided when COVID-19 is being discussed. Long before now, the founder of the church better known as Chris Embassy shot himself in the leg by doubting the existence of the Coronavirus. Since then, he has been labouring to justify his faulty position.

Some days back, a video of the pastor started making the rounds. In it, Pastor Oyakhilome faulted his colleagues who are promoting vaccination as a way of putting the virus at bay.

The man of God screamed: “What happened to you? Where is the word of God in your mouth? Do you realise if you believe in the word of God the way you believe in this vaccine, there will be power in your mouth?

“He made us healers. What’s wrong? What happened to you? When did we start making such recommendations to God’s people? For God’s sake, think again!

“How can they send to the churches, go tell them to take the vaccines. Listen if I say to someone, you shall live but not die, that’s it to him. Isn’t that the Bible that you read? Isn’t that the scripture that you read? Where is your God of Elijah, your God of Moses, your God of Peter, James and John? What’s the matter with you?”

In the thick of the pandemic last year, Pastor Oyakhilome told us there was a link between COVID-19 and 5G technology. This was at a time the United States recorded its biggest one-day cases with 45,242 infections. The country had had 2.5 million cases and, at that time globally, some 10 million cases had been recorded with no less than 500,000 deaths documented. Pastor Oyakhilome, in a live broadcast on his Love Word television, linked the 5G with COVID-19 and, of course, the Anti-Christ— that dreaded monster Christians like me have been prepared to look out for. With his smooth delivery, Oyakhilome laid bare the facts as his researches showed. In another video, he claimed the Federal Government ordered the closure of Abuja and Lagos so that 5G antennas could be mounted. He added clinchers: ‘Social distancing was introduced as a way of stopping people from protesting the 5G take-off, deaths are high where 5G has been installed and 5G is behind deaths in Wuhan’.

Read Also: Oyakhilome berates Christians taking COVID-19 vaccines

He found a way to drag in the Anti-Christ. He soon got converts who came up with all kinds of videos: One showed birds dead near an antenna and another showed trees with dead leaves. The birds were said to have died as a result of the radiation from the 5G mast or antenna. We were also told the leaves on the trees withered because of the fifth generation antennae installed near them. The blame was taken away from the fact that most trees were like that during winter and spring; they only regain their bloom in summer.

There was also an audio note promoting the pastor’s line of thought. The voice in the voice note claimed that the new technology was launched in Wuhan, where COVID-19 started. According to his warped logic, the Chinese knew the technology would lead to so much radiation that would kill people and so decided to introduce COVID-19 using the bat. This, the self-acclaimed expert, argued was to confuse people about what was killing them. He also put forward this false claim that many people in Wuhan were suddenly shaky and subsequently fall and die before help could come.

A ‘follower’ of Pastor Oyakhilome, Senator Dino Melaye, joined the fray posting videos after videos to prove a non-existent conspiracy. He later claimed he had received international calls threatening him to back down on his ill-advised propaganda against 5G. He claimed the callers said 5G was bigger than him and he should desist from trying to stop it. He added that he was not afraid and would keep up his foolishness.

Pastor Oyakhilome’s colleague, Pastor Mathew Ashimolowo of the Kingsway International Christian Centre (KICC), has asked the Love Word founder questions that he is yet to provide answers to. He did not mention names in his response, but the allusions showed us unambiguously where the fingers of guilt were pointed. America, he said, will not destroy its 20 trillion dollar economy to put a chip on your body, and neither will Britain destroy its own.

“How come it (Coronavirus) got to my village where there is no 5G?”Ashimolowo wondered. He added that the Church has always suspected the Anti-Christ anytime the world is faced with a pandemic. He gave the examples of Napoleon Bonaparte, Benito Mussolini and Adolf Hitler, and how their actions made the Church assume the Anti-Christ was finally here.

With due respect to Pastor Oyakhilome, it is unfair to the world to use one’s vantage position to campaign against vaccination for a major plague. We are not new to vaccination. I suspect Pastor Oyakhilome might at one point or the other have been inoculated against yellow fever or any other disease. Vaccination has saved many from the scourge of polio.

I beg Pastor Oyakhilome to stop this faulty campaign. I doubt if God is against vaccination. We have a major health crisis in our hand and acting as facts custodians when all you hold on to are conjectures will not augur well for humanity. Please stop, now!

By Olukorede Yishau

 

This time last year, birds no longer sounded like birds. Rats sounded like some other rodents. A thief called Coronavirus sneaked in on the world through China and found its way into our shores through an Italian. We first thought it was a joke when China, Italy, Singapore and others started recording fatalities. Even Almighty America did not think much of it. By the time our eyes became open, the Kabah was empty, the ever-busy Times Square was deserted, Miami beaches were roaring with no one to dash in and out of them, the Pope had started avoiding the crowd, and the Umrah regularly performed by Muslims had been cancelled. Even the Olympics were postponed. Hajj was closed to people from outside of Saudi Arabia. Mosques and Churches were closed, services were held online, and Jumat prayers said at home. The oil price crashed to an all-time low.

This time last year, the world knew it was in trouble. All countries were on lockdown. Airlines had to cancel thousands of flights. Our love for parties was killed. Our clubs were shut and the era of virtual wedding parties set in. The general confusion added to the extreme poverty, enhanced low literacy level and catapulted child mortality.

Some men of God also saw in the chaos the opportunity to confuse us the more. One of them, who described himself as Pastor TalkNaDo, lied to his congregants that Coronavirus could not survive in Nigeria. He said there was no way Coronavirus could survive in the face of what he described as corrosive anointing. He added that anytime Coronavirus genuinely entered Nigeria, it would die all over the world. His basis for doubting the presence of Coronavirus in Nigeria was that he was not shown the face of the Italian index case. The women in the church were screaming and concurring with him.

Later last year, our dear Apostle Johnson Suleman of the I-acquired-a-third-jet-during-COVID fame, and Pastor Chris Oyakhilome, adopted positions that trivialised the seriousness of the trouble we were in. Apostle Suleman said he could heal COVID-19 patients.

His words: “Please permit us to go and pray for COVID-19 patients. Allow us to go there; that is why there are men of God. If you are really anointed to pray for the sick, this is the time because what is holding the world is sickness. So, we’re begging the government to permit us into isolation centres; that is the only way we can reduce this nonsense because it will improve every day.

“There are people with the gift of healing. God has gifted them to pray for the sick. It is not fake, gimmick or arranged. It is there in them. Permit us so that we can prove there are prophets in Nigeria.

“Permit us so that the ridicule and all that can reduce. We’re not telling you we can heal all of them, but by the time we are through with them, you’ll see a significant difference. If they are 20 before, at least 18 will be cleared because that is what God can do.”

Pastor Oyakhilome told us there was a link between COVID-19 and 5G technology. This was at a time the United States recorded its biggest one-day cases with 45,242 infections. The country had had 2.5 million cases and, at that time globally, some 10 million cases had been recorded with no less than 500,000 deaths documented. Pastor Oyakhilome, in a live broadcast on his Love Word television, linked the 5G with COVID-19 and, of course, the Anti-Christ— that dreaded monster Christians like me have been prepared to look out for. With his smooth delivery, Oyakhilome laid bare the facts as his researches showed. In another video, he claimed the Federal Government ordered the closure of Abuja and Lagos so that 5G antennas could be mounted. He added clinchers: ‘Social distancing was introduced as a way of stopping people from protesting the 5G take-off, deaths are high where 5G has been installed and 5G is behind deaths in Wuhan’.

Other conspiracy theorists joined the fray. The Anti-Christ and such other arguments were dragged in. They came up with all kinds of videos, one showed birds dead near an antenna and another showed trees with dead leaves. The birds were said to have died as a result of the radiation from the 5G mast or antenna. We were also told the leaves on the trees withered because of the fifth generation antennae installed near them. The blame was taken away from the fact that most trees were like that during winter and spring; they only regain their bloom in summer.

Another theorist did an audio note in Yoruba in which he sounded so brilliant, but the only snag was that what he had to say reeked of senselessness. Like the theorists in the videos, he was out to make us believe there was a link between the 5G technology and COVID-19. He claimed that the new technology was launched in Wuhan, where COVID-19 started. According to his warped logic, the Chinese knew the technology would lead to so much radiation that would kill people and so decided to introduce COVID-19 using the bat. This, the self-acclaimed expert, argued was to confuse people about what was killing them. He also put forward this false claim that many people in Wuhan were suddenly shaky and subsequently fall and die before help could come.

Trust our dear Dino Melaye. He joined the theorist and was posting videos after videos to prove a non-existent conspiracy. Days after he began the ridiculous campaign, he claimed he had received international calls threatening him to back down on his ill-advised propaganda against 5G. He claimed the callers said 5G was bigger than him and he should desist from trying to stop it. He added that he was not afraid and would keep up his foolishness.

Amid the confusion, Pastor Mathew Ashimolowo of the Kingsway International Christian Centre (KICC) released a video on those he described as foolish theorists. He did not mention names, but the allusions showed us unambiguously where the fingers of guilt were pointed. America, he said, will not destroy its 20 trillion dollar economy to put a chip on your body, and neither will Britain destroy its own.

”How come it (Coronavirus) got to my village where there is no 5G?”Ashimolowo wondered. He added that the Church has always suspected the Anti-Christ anytime the world is faced with a pandemic. He gave the examples of Napoleon Bonaparte, Benito Mussolini and Adolf Hitler, and how their actions made the Church assume the Anti-Christ was finally here.

My final take: I was disappointed in pastors who became conspiracy theorists when they knew the situation had nothing to do with the Anti-Christ. The problem was a disease, but they chose to confuse their followers. It was saddening that ill-informed, badly-informed and fake videos were patched together to misinform the body of Christ and other unsuspecting members of the public.

We are not out of the COVID-19 woods, but it is cheering news that vaccines have been manufactured and being administered to people all over the world. The lesson in this is that we should always be vigilant in times of health crisis so that men masquerading as facts custodians will not worsen our challenges with outright fabrication.

By Olukorede Yishau

 

Hajia Maimunatu Dadasare Abdullahi killed herself at 66. This was in 1984, fourteen years after she was honoured with the Member of the Order of the Niger (MON). In 1929, a colonial administrative officer made her a sex slave, impregnated her, and ran away shortly after she has the baby.  The baby died at infancy and she never had another.

The end began when she jumped into a well, was rescued, rushed to the hospital, and stabilised. But enough damage was already done and the Grim Reaper still took its own. A day before she jumped into the well, she had told her adopted daughter, Aishatu Dikko, to come and see her if she could.

“If you come and do not meet me, look under my pillow. I’m going to leave a message for you there,” she told her adopted daughter.

Aishatu wondered what she meant and sought an explanation, but she gave none.

“From tomorrow you will see me no more,” she was also quoted to have told her house help. He was the one who discovered her in the well early the next morning. Her funeral was in progress when her adopted daughter arrived three days after she jumped into the well.

Aishatu Dikko retrieved two letters under Dadasare’s pillow. One of the letters contained details about how she wanted her wealth shared. When Dr. Aliyah Ahmad, who was researching on Dadasare, asked Aishatu Dikko about the content of the second letter, she got tears for an answer. Dr. Ahmad’s husband advised her to wait until their next meeting. Dikko herself died before the meeting. So, the content of the second letter remains unknown.

You may be wondering who was this Hajia Abdullahi and I will tell you she was a woman of many firsts: Had no formal primary and secondary education but went on to qualify as a midwife in the UK, went on to become the first female journalist in the North and an health officer of note in colonial Northern Nigeria.

Her autobiography, published posthumously, is titled ‘It Can Now Be Told’. It has an introduction and afterword by Dr. Aliyah Adamu Ahmad, which fills some gaps in the story of this remarkable woman.

Her story started in Gola, a Fulani enclave, that modernity has made history. She had a dream of marrying a man of importance in the North but before she was twelve, a shameless white man she refused to name had her abducted and forced to play wife. He was to run away shortly after she gave birth without the decency of telling her he was not returning to Nigeria. She returned to Gola but later went to Zaria to be the kept woman of another white man, this time of her own volition. She was fifteen. He was 35. This white man is said to be well known in the North as the father of contemporary Hausa literature. He died in the 70s but without formally marrying her, even though she played the role of his wife for years. The man, Dr. Rupert East, returned to the UK and married a Briton, and had two kids. He was ‘gracious’ enough to facilitate her training as a midwife as well as other opportunities, including writing.

East, who founded Hausa newspaper ‘Gaskiya’ in 1939, also left her some money in his final Will and testament. It was not clear why they never married and Hajia exercised her right to privacy by volunteering scanty details about the man who allowed her to answer Mrs East in the civil service. Hajia’s book identifies him as Jaumusare. Dr Ahmad feels this could be her way of protecting him from scrutiny. Dr Ahmad, however, unveiled him in the introduction to the book.

Dr. Ahmad wondered if in her life-long devotion to Dr East she warded off any suitors even after he married and started having kids.

While she was in the civil service, she worked to educate women in the North through an adult literacy programme. On her return to Nigeria in 1956, she was absorbed as Assistant Superintendent of Adult Education. She was in the Women’s Section at the Field Headquarters in Zaria. At a time the population of the North was between 17 and 18 million, the number of women on the roll call of literacy classes was about 4,000.

“Little had been done to reach the large number of women in purdah,” she wrote and she set out to correct this.

She observed that: “Wastage through marriage was heavy. In primary school very few girls got beyond standard 7 as their families took them away to marry them off. The handful that continued their education might get as far as training college and become teachers, for example, but they too would marry in due course. The problem lay in the structure of our society which expected a girl to get married at the age of about 14 and demanded that then she should not go about in public unless she was heavily veiled. These two factors made it extremely difficult for a woman to get herself the education and specialised training which would give her professional qualification and, even if she did quality, enable her to practise a profession.”

She began a War Against Ignorance, and educating the women in purdah was a key part of this war. It was not easy but she fought it her way, without being forceful. The Independence let to the dissolution of the agency with which she waged her war. After that, she functioned more in the hospitals and also was involved in one or two researches with researchers at the Ahmadu Bello University (ABU).

At a point, her people wanted her to return home and, after dilly-dallying, she did, but not before building a home in Gombi.

“She had settled fully in the village, performing what a female elder, one that was educated and had seen the world at the highest vantage point, was expected to do. Also, no one was able to tell us about the demons she had been grappling with at that period of her life. No one, probably, foresaw the tragic foreclosing of a life so remarkable,” wrote Dr. Ahmad.

My final take: Evil has no gender, race, creed or religion. It is not a preserve of the Black man. The man who made Hajia Dadasare Abdullahi a sex slave at less than twelve years of age was Caucasian and supposedly Christian. Being evil is all about individuals and not their gender, race, creed or religion.

By Olukorede Yishau

Ace movie director Kunle Afolayan is set to have his second Netflix Original. His first was ‘Citation’, a movie inspired by the sex-for-grade challenge in our higher institutions. His second Netflix Original will be ‘Swallow’, in which Afolayan, I suspect, plays a Pentecostal pastor. This movie is a first for Afolayan because this is the first time he has optioned an already existing text acclaimed for its style, form, and content.

The movie is an adaptation of Sefi Atta’s third novel of the same title. It is a novel that recreates the military era Lagos. Coincidentally, the book is becoming a movie at the third coming of Muhammadu Buhari, the man who was also Head of State at the time Atta set the didactic work and, sadly, the social malaise treated in the book are still driving Nigerians bonkers. We are yet to solve the power supply challenge; poverty is still pervasive; government hospitals are under-funded; almost every facet of our lives needs some form of catharsis or the other.

The novel is narrated by a daughter (Tolani) and her mother (Arike); each renders her account in the first person singular. The mother’s narration is largely about the sixties, seventies, and before. The daughter’s is, in the main, about the War Against Indiscipline era and all its shenanigans. The daughter talks about Lagos, the mother about Makoku, an Egba settlement not far-flung from the city of aquatic splendour.

Though narrated by mother and daughter, it is as much also the heartbreaking story of her flatmate and colleague, Rose. The two young women are struggling in Lagos and it shows how two very different people cohabit in the bustle, chaos, and fast rhythm of Lagos Island and Lagos mainland.

‘Swallow’ takes off the day Rose is sacked at a bank on the Island after dealing mercilessly with Mr. Salako, her boss. After Rose’s sack, Mr. Salako instigates Tolani’s transfer to his office. Before long, he starts trying to touch her inappropriately and she finds a smart way to resist him.

Rose, who vows never to pledge to a country like Nigeria, is introduced to a deal she tries to get Tolani involved in. This tempting deal puts Tolani in a dilemma.

The part of the novel in Arike’s voice is oral with all its rawness and originality. Her story is very instructive. A woman, a strong one at that, refuses to marry a king and decides to marry a drummer who, despite his versatility and closeness to a renowned juju maestro, prefers the village life to the madness of Lagos, a carnivorous city that eventually consumes him. Arike is a woman of class. Going against the grain, she makes history as the first woman in Makoku to ride a motorcycle and she is self-taught. Through her, we see the pressure married women are put under over when they will become mothers as though the decision is solely theirs to make. We also see how society envies independent-minded cum successful women. And there are very searing debates about religion and faith. The advent of Pentecostalism and prosperity preaching is availed enough room.

Atta ensures the pages of this book are redolent with social commentaries and we see Nigeria, its leaders, and citizens, receiving appropriate blows. Our craze for foreign fabrics and everything foreign, and the abandonment of the rustic for the urban, do not escape Atta’s scrutiny.

The novel shows Atta paints well, and with words, she brings out the colours, the smells, and the flavours of the city. She paints a Lagos where roads are filled with potholes, where people like to shout; mothers shout at their kids, where hawkers shout to attract customers, drivers shout at pedestrians, friends shout at each other, and where passengers rush to board buses. She paints madness, everywhere!

There is so much in this work: We see corruption and superstition, we see deceit and loyalty, and plots are unfolded stunningly with a style that benefits from layered and tempered storytelling that takes you on routes not anticipated. We also see gender, class, and intrigues.

Atta writes eloquently about ordinary life using the right dosage of suspense to keep the reader going. Her writing is concise. She takes charge, dictates, and endears her narration to us with the skills of an adept chronicler.

She creates unforgettable characters you will either love or hate: From Tolani, Arike, and Rose to Mr. Salako, Alhaji Umar, Franka, Ignatius, Sanwo, Mrs Durojaiye, OC and Johnny Walker, they pack enough energy to make a reader cry, laugh, and even curse.

I have read every novel Atta has published. The first I read is ‘Everything Good Will Come’. I have since read ‘A Bit of Difference’ and ‘The Bead Collector’, but ‘Swallow’ appears to dwarf others in form, style, and content. It is pure magic that even at the end, a reader is still left searching for an answer to a particular question Arike keeps dodging and Tolani is left with no choice to stop pestering.

The layered nature of this work makes me wonder if Afolayan will replicate its charm. Will he capture the sights, sounds, and smells of the 1980s Lagos and its Western ways and customs? Will he deliver a meandering tale with painful punches as seen on the pages of this riveting work of fiction? Will this work’s tenderness, fierceness, boldness, distinctiveness, and rhythm find a home in the cinematic representation? I am hopeful because of Afolayan’s reputation, and the fact that he worked with Atta on the screenplay to retain as much of the text as possible. We are waiting!

My final take: It is good that Netflix is bankrolling Nollywood to adapt texts by Nigerian authors for a global audience. Lola Shoneyin’s phenomenal ‘The Secret Lives of Baba Segi’s Wives’ is also set to be a Netflix Original series and a Wole Soyinka play, ‘Death and the King’s Horseman’, will be a Netflix movie courtesy of a deal brokered by Mo Abudu’s EbonyLife Studios. We certainly need more of this because there are so many great texts that can enliven the screen when handled by the right directors.

By Olukorede Yishau

In Elif Shafak’s ‘The Forty Rules of Love’, a character, Shamz of Tabriz, tells another character, Aladdin, that God is the best storyteller. It is a loaded statement. Looking at our world, it is not difficult to see the stories God is telling using you and me as the characters. God is not dictatorial in the stories He tells with us. He allows our leaders to play critical role in our unfolding stories and we can see the results of that.

Some people, some nations, some companies and some continents, have beautiful stories to share with the world. Other people, other nations, other companies and other continents have tales of shame to entertain the world with: tragedies and tragi-comedies are all they have got to offer.

Our dear Nigeria does not lack gold, it does not lack oil and gas, it has tantalite in abundance, and some of the best waterfalls in the world are within its confines. Scenic beauties, such as Mambilla Plateau and Farin Ruwa Falls, friendly soils and a people ready to give their best are other resources Nigeria is blessed with.

Do we need to talk about brilliant souls scattered all over the world and doing wonders in their adopted nations? Is there really any need to talk about a young population that understands the ins and outs of technology and can manipulate it to our advantage? Is there any need to point attention to the fact that 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 steals 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 jewelries; and we are blessed with leaders who will tell us to pray over a problem or challenge we elect them to resolve.

Imagine if prayers can end a situation where one of three Nigerians lives in poverty, which represents thirty-two per cent of the population. Imagine if prayers can stop thirty-seven per cent of children from suffering malnutrition.

Imagine if prayer can make a thing of the past, half of the Nigerian population who use unsafe or unimproved sanitation. What if prayers can take Nigeria away from being 43rd on the sustainable development goal index? What about praying away the fact that poverty is concentrating in fast-growing countries like Nigeria and, by 2050, more than 40 per cent of Nigerians will still be under poverty’s jackboot? If only we can use prayers to get over our slot as the country with the second-highest number of deaths of children under the age of five? Alas, prayers cannot do all these!

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. Prayers cannot stop this, only policies and programmes can.

Nigeria needs more investment to grow its economy at a higher rate to be able to lift 100 million people out of poverty. Prayer cannot do it. Nigeria is only growing at about two per cent and, if our country continues this way, there will be more people in poverty.

The investment we need is almost double what we have now. Nigeria must connect with people who want to invest in it. Agriculture, manufacturing and infrastructure are areas where we need investment. We should remain open for business until we have reduced poverty to the barest minimum.

We must have at the back of our mind that the global market for foreign direct investment is highly competitive and, to tap into it, we must position ourselves strategically. We must change the perceptions that we are all about oil. We must tell people that Nigeria is also about tech, agriculture, services and manufacturing.

Post-COVID-19, we must take advantage of the fact that we are critically important as Africa’s largest economy. We must use our longstanding relationships with countries, such as the UK, the U.S. and others, to pull in the needed help. We must correct the notion that our economy is difficult to operate in. To make investors have confidence in us, we must respect agreements. Contracts must be sacrosanct, a situation where change of governments lead to policy somersault must be ended.

If we fail to do the necessary things and continue to look up to God for miracles, we will wait in eternity. He has given us the brains to play a part in telling our story despite being the best storyteller. Prayers can only help to make our work better. Praying without doing the required work is a bloody waste of time. By doing the required work, we are playing our best in the shape our story will take.

My final take: It is true God is the best storyteller, but this is not a role He plays with arrogance. He gives us brains and expects us to use this brains to introduce nuances in the stories of our lives. But, most times, we just fold our hands, expecting Him to do what He has given us the capacity to do. So, when we fail, we are the failures and God has absolutely no blame.

 

By Olukorede Yishau

Of recent, videos of Gembu and other settlements on the Mambilla Plateau have surfaced on the net. The videos, to many people, show the beauty of the Plateau; to me, it shows a wasted opportunity, one of the opportunities to have our own Paris that we can ask tourists to see and die after.

Mambilla Plateau is another place you will visit and wonder if leaders in Nigeria are born wicked or made wicked by circumstances they have allowed to dictate their legacies.

The last and only time I was in Gembu, glooming buildings, unvarnished walls, broken fences and hectares upon hectares of wasting land confronted me. I have kept a tab over the years, and Gembu and the rest of the Mambilla Plateau still sit pretty in the committee of the unfortunate. This is a land that should be swimming in dollars from all over the world, it should be a place where the high and the mighty all over the world die to visit, and many should be willing to see Mambilla Plateau and die!

The people speak Kaka, Panso, Fulfude, Kambo and Mambilla. From what I saw, Gembu, which borders Cameroun, has the capacity to spring surprises— if only the right investment is made.

Its weather is akin to what you have in Europe. The ‘hottest’ it ever gets is 20-degree centigrade. Here people wear winter jackets all the time and their heads are covered with head warmers. Gloves are not uncommon to keep the cold away. Apples, tea, and any kind of fruits, including those believed to be exclusive to European soils, grow on its fertile soils. They hardly experience sunshine. Fridges are not necessities. Drinks chill anywhere you put them. All thanks to their land being 1,840 metres above sea level— the highest point in Nigeria.

It is no less than six hours by road from Jalingo, the Taraba State capital. It was no fun until I was reminded that it used to take three days. The terrain is difficult; and for the road to be constructed, engineering wizardry had to be applied.

If not for a 1963 referendum, it would have been in Cameroun. The people chose Nigeria after the then Premier of the Northern Region, Ahmadu Bello (the Sardauna of Sokoto), convinced them to stick with Nigeria. Their local government is known as Sardauna in honour of the man who made them see the goodness in Nigeria. But have they much to show for it?

Timothy Kataps was the council chairman when I visited. He lamented the neglect of the area. In 1991, when Ibrahim Babangida was military president, the people were enraged and one day chased away Nigerian policemen, and declared the area a United Nations territory. They hoisted a UN flag. This, said Phillip Duwe, a government official, made Babangida gift them the road which turned the journey from Jalingo to six hours instead of three days.

During my trip, I found out that the Mambilla Plateau had been partitioned by influential Nigerians, especially those who were in the military. I was told acres of land were acquired by these goons in anticipation of the Plateau taking its pride of place. Unhappy Kataps threatened to revoke their rights to the land if they were not developed. They remain undeveloped years after.

A hydro-electric project initiated by the military remains unrealised some two decades later. Mrs. Yorte Sorandi was 18 years in 1980 when the project was conceived.

“I was only 18 years then. With my small body, I was not married yet. I watched as my father assisted the white men who put the instrument. They said they were going to construct for us a hydropower dam.

“Today, I am 58, and no block has been laid, no iron has been cast. When will they start the project?” she asked The Nation’s Fanen Ihyongo last year.

Dahiru Abdulkadric, whose father was employed to be looking after an instrument on the site, sees it as a dream.

He said: “This Mambilla dam project has been to me like a dream. My father used to talk about it. Now he has gone and I am doing his job.

“They told us they are coming to compensate and move us to new places. We have waited and become tired. But we are ready if the government is sincere and serious about the project.”

When President Muhammadu Buhari was in the state capital for his campaign rally on January 28, 2015, he said the previous governments were only doing politics with the Mambilla hydropower project.

He said: “If I become president, I will revive and complete the Mambilla hydropower dam, which has been moribund,” he said.

On August 30, 2017, Buhari awarded the contract for the engineering work on the Mambilla dam, through a joint venture with a Chinese civil engineering company for $5.792 billion (N2 trillion), to be partly funded by China Export-Import (EXIM) Bank as a concessionary loan. However, EXIM, after its survey, reduced it to $3 billion.

Indigenes believe Buhari cannot finish the project before 2023. Will the next government finish it? Not surprisingly, the people I met felt more affinity with Cameroun, where many had relatives. They crossed the border easily. Cameroonian music, television stations, and radio stations are popular with them.

Photographers and cinematographers will jump for joy at the ending rolling green hills of the Plateau.

The road to the Plateau is not one where you speed; it is so curvy a speeding car can end up in the many deep gorges around it. Rocks, mountains and highlands had to be drilled or quarried before Babangida could gift them the road that shortened the distance from Jalingo to six hours instead of the three days.

My final take: Like Mambilla Plateau and its neglected gifts of nature, Nigeria seems to be a grave of potential money-spinners. We have forest reserves, waterfalls, dams and other scenic beauties all over the country, but we carry on as though we are bereft of how to make them cough out money like they do overseas. We run abroad for everything that we have but have failed to make the best of.

Always, I am left wondering: who do us something?

By Olukorede Yishau

When Jesus Christ lived as a man over 2021 years ago, the art of photography did not exist. The first camera was not invented until many centuries after our Lord’s ‘exit’. But, if you go to our churches, you will see pictures of Jesus adorning the walls. What some people do not know is that the common image used to depict Christ is that of Robert Powell, a British actor and comedian, who played the role of Jesus in the 1977 movie ‘Jesus of Nazareth’. Powell, now 76 and looking nothing like the pictures on the walls in our churches and homes, and even some offices, has cried out about this anomaly; however, daily, more prints of his image are made and sold as Jesus Christ to decorate the walls of churches and homes of Christians, and millions kneel before his image tearfully screaming “you are worthy to be praised”.

You may wonder why I am bringing this up; it is one of the many glaring and subtle remonstrations in Tope Adeboboye’s ‘Sunny Side of Midnight’, an illuminating debut and an important addition to literature by the man who gifted us ‘Songs of My Rebirth’. Adeboboye, who is the ‘brand new’ Saturday Sun Editor, displays impatience with a system that has kept Nigerians down from time immemorial. His tool to deliver punches on our leaders is Adaba James, a brilliant but jobless University graduate who earns small cash at a tutorial centre. His story shows a man who has done almost everything right in the sight of God: He does not womanise, he does not drink, and smoking of any kind, except “smoking gari”, has no place in his life. So, he expects that at 25 and a clean man, things should go well for him but, instead, he lives from hand to mouth and, when he is praised for coming out the best at an interview, he thinks his best days are beckoning, only for the job to be given to a lady who was abroad when the written and oral tests were done. He is pained seeing the bad people in the society having all the good things of life while those who follow the rules become the dregs of the society.

The protagonist’s travail is peppered with commentaries about a government peopled by selfish souls. His quest for a way out of poverty leads him to an old school mate who, only a few years after graduation, is living large with two cars to cruise about town and enough cash to paint the town red. Ideku helps out but hooliganism soon kills his hope, and he is naked once again at a time trouble decides to make life hell for his helper. What follows is expertly handled by the author and it helps take the story to another level. The suspense from this point gives the feeling the book is just beginning. The role of an Indian hemp smoker plays from this point on is interesting.

Adeboboye brings alive what it takes to live in a land where leaders are dealers ever willing to sell their people for filthy lucre, where the rich and powerful hijack an area in the name of reclamation, where thousands are made to scamper for job vacancies that have been filled even before the call for applications is made, and where the clarion call is: “to your tent, oh Israel.” The author takes Adaba to hell and back and he does this ‘evil’ so well that one begins to look at the bad things happening as cool.

He also examines how a man tries to resolve ethical questions when faced with making difficult decisions in the face of biting, searing poverty. This challenge of joining or not joining the bandwagon is one many have faced and many have failed at.

The setting of the novel, Anija, qualifies as a character because the author devotes ample time to depict this city where poverty and abundance cohabit, where slums and posh neighbourhoods sit facing each other, where government hospitals exist only in name with their doctors and nurses now in private practice, where kleptomaniac leaders compete about whose loot is bigger, where infrastructure is at its lowest ebb, where charlatans pretend to be men of God and fleece the needy, and where there seems to be no light at the end of the tunnel. It is indeed a place that works, in the main, only for the rich and powerful.

The book touches on child labour, spirituality, corruption, favouritism, hooliganism, greed, and the evil men do in the name of our Father in heaven. At its core are the issues of faith and destiny, raising posers: Can bad things repeatedly happen to one person just for the fun of it? Must there be an evil force behind such ordeals? Are there evil people out there whose happiness stems from making others sad through fetish means? Can a man’s life be programmed even before his birth? Is there destiny? Can destiny be changed by prayer and divination? What has faith got to do with our lives?

While the answers to the posers are bound to be subject to all kinds of considerations, Adeboboye’s prowess is, however, easily discernible. This book does not only hum, it sings, and sings well; it has harmony and ticks many boxes of a worthy work of fiction. The harmony syncs so well that it will not be your choice about when to turn the pages, because the chances that you have turned the next page before knowing are high.

The tale is enveloped in elegance and drips with poetry and beauty. Adeboboye recreates the landscapes of Nigeria beautifully and he excites with his so many beautiful expressions thus delivering a rousing novel that is truly remarkable. Even when he creates a non-existent place like Anija, we can see in it Abuja, Lagos, Port Harcourt, Ibadan and many of our cities and towns afflicted by the disease called Acute Leadership Failure.

Adeboboye has rendered in grisly details the story of Nigerians and how they live with decades of failed leadership, nepotism, corruption, favouritism, and much more. It also highlights the evil men of the cloth do all in the name of performing deliverance.

By the time we reach its nerve-wracking ending, the story has turned into something to ruminate over, raising posers about gods and their priests, and even pastors and their methodology. And it seems the author is saying: The ways of God are not known in specifics by anyone born of the sexual union between woman and man.

My final take: Take down that image of Robert Powell on the walls, either in the churches or homes or offices. He is a great actor and superb comedian and not our Lord Jesus Christ. He is neither worthy to be praised nor worshipped.

By Olukorede Yishau

Two days after policemen manhandled many a Nigerian at the Lekki Tollgate to prevent a planned protest, a novel titled ‘ The Madhouse’, was released to the market. I was reading this book while the madness in Lekki was going on. Most actions in the novel written by T. J Benson take place in a colonial structure.

One day a woman storms the house and meets a near-naked man in the house. She brandishes a receipt from an agent, but the man insists he has a right to the house. They start co-habiting and soon become lovers. And soon they start having kids, and the madness begins. Like Nigeria, their home becomes a place where anything is possible and bad things override the good ones.

Through the strange family, Benson subtly tells the story of Nigeria: We read about Fela dying of complications arising from HIV/ AIDS; we read of Abacha dying from rumoured Indian prostitutes bearing apples; we read of the 2012 New Year gift of fuel subsidy removal; we read of OccupyNigeria protest; we read of the Miss World crisis caused by a piece by Isioma Daniel, then of This Day; and we read of Dele Giwa who was parcel-bombed under the military administration of Gen. Ibrahim Babangida.

The story is told through the eyes of the father, the mother, Max (the first son), Andre (the second son) and Ladidi, the adopted daughter.

The 343-page long novel is about how a brother loves a brother and much more. Some pages into it, a brother narrates how his brother always comes into his dream to save him from danger. If you wonder what kind of a thing that is, well, welcome to the madhouse, where all things and anything is possible, where the lines between reality and fantasy are blurred, where it is not strange that the living cohabits with the dead and the dead with the living, where a pot of tomato stew made by no one can suddenly find its way into the kitchen, where a child begs his mother for permission to pretend God doesn’t exist for one year, and where if care is not taken, you find yourself howling at the author’s antics.

Max is always ‘entering’ Andre’s dream and saving him from death. Their parents search for answers to the troubles of life from two extremes: church and alcohol. The wife, known as Sweet Mother, jumps from one church to the other; once she cannot find what she is looking for, she moves on. The kids are bathed in River Kaduna but the dreams refuse to stop, and the advice that she should wait on the Lord is discarded. Her search thus continues for an end to the homicidal dreams. Nothing is too extreme for her once it is decreed by a man of the cloth, but still her woes remain, hale and hearty. She even anoints her nipples and gets her boys to suck for as long as possible on a miracle worker’s instruction. Still the dreams persist.

At a point, Sweet Mother decides that the best thing is for Max to go to a boarding school, a decision that draws him further away from his mother and his father who supports the idea. In school, his mind is always on Andre, who he has spent the bulk of his life protecting from one harm or the other. On her first visit to him in school, she declares after Max queries her for not bringing Andre: “I know he is your brother but you are too attached to him. Even I, and he grew in my stomach, I don’t attach myself to him like that ehn.”

At 29, working with NAFDAC as a pharmacist, he takes a break and travels to Amsterdam in search of his beloved younger brother. There, he runs into a White girl in a lingerie shop. They go their separate ways after some chit-chat but run into each other again at the venue of a concert his brother is supposed to be performing with his band. From then on, the girl takes his attention and his brother takes a break from his heart. He gets his first kiss and also his first shag on this trip. The enigmatic girl’s strange effect on him worries him, but he is captured enough to extend his stay and enjoy the world with this babe respected in the art circus for her photography, even when her name and identity are shrouded in secrecy.

Though set largely in Kaduna and Amsterdam, the cities are not characters in this work. The bizarre tales the author tells obviously requires them to be passive. Max and co supply enough vibes to keep the reader turning the pages.

You will find this work experimental, but in a cool, smooth way: At a point, the quotation marks disappear in conversations in parts of the book; this reminds me of Bernardine Evaristo’s Booker winning ‘Girl, Woman, Other’ and some parts of Helon Habila’s ‘Travellers’. You have to be attentive to connect with this part.

This book is very Nigerian so do not be surprised to see expressions like ‘they were waiting for Nepa to bring light’. Once you get into the plot, you are in for a marvelous time with this harmonic work that reminds me so much of the writings of Professor Adebayo Williams (‘The Remains of the Last Emperor’) and Maik Nwosu (‘Alpha Song’ and ‘Invisible Chapters’).

Benson delivers a tale of a strange family steeped in dreams, politics and history. He tells the story with accustomed dexterity, poetry and drama. His language is sophisticated, his sentences are a mixture of simple, compound and compound-complex structures, and the story structure is complex and non-linear. The non-linear nature of the story aids suspense. Benson understands characterisation and develops all the principal characters to a point where if seen on the road they can be identified.

As sad and disturbing experiences of the characters are, they are delivered with such elevated craft that makes the reader joyous. The novel is grounded in earth-shattering travails rendered in vivid and poignant light. Its open-ended ending adds to the beauty of this extraordinary novel that will sure stand the test of time and hum long after the author’s time is done on earth.

My last take: Unlike the leaders of Nigeria whose crisis resolution skills are suspect, Benson resolves the crisis in ‘the madhouse’. He uses the sections narrated from Max and Andre’s points of view to lay out the issues, and the points of view of the father, the mother and Ladidi resolve all the confusions beautifully. His ending of the novel with Ladidi will sure generate discussion when book clubs and festivals start dissecting this fantastic book from a fantastic writer whose work oozes wisdom from page to page.

By Olukorede Yishau

In times past, nation-states abound with gods. The ancient times are long gone and the tendency is to assume that there are no new gods on earth. Christians will even argue that with God, there is no need for gods again. Muslims are wont to argue that Allah is sufficient for us all. It is beneath me to fault this religious standpoint, but my layman’s eyes are leading me to see what seems to be eluding every other Nigerian.

I do not know if there are new gods in other parts of the world, but there is at least one in Nigeria. This god was born on June 18, 1975. He was the youngest of six children. To satisfy men, he 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. He really did not need this education but because he chose in his wisdom to be born of the intimacy of a man and woman, he had to bear some burden of mere mortals.

Before you worry your head too much, the god I refer to is none other than Kogi State Governor Alhaji Chief Dr His Excellency Yahaya Bello. He knows the Igbo Olodumare in and out. The manner he became governor was not ordinary, only a god could engineer that. A man was cruising to victory and died before results could be declared, and another was called to come and take the cap, even when he was not the running mate!

Alhaji Chief Dr Yahaya Bello is a gift that keeps giving. Looking at all the spectacular things he has done in the last five years, he deserves our accolades. He deserves to be deified. 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 would have been in shrines and palm oil, ogogoro, apeteshi, bitter kola, kola nut and so on, would be used to appease him. We have this god in our midst free of charge and we are not taking advantage of his presence.

The best thing he has done is to make the Kogi atmosphere a vaccine against COVID-19, a development I expect the Federal Government to monetise instead of fighting him. The air in Kogi is different from the one in other parts of Nigeria, and it is not by accident. The special anointing on Alhaji Chief Dr His Excellency Yahaya Bello is responsible.

America, the United Kingdom, and many other superpowers have lost thousands of people to COVID-19. Many are still down in isolation centres around the world. Researchers in South Africa have worked tirelessly to find the answers around vaccine efficacy for a variant of the virus. There are also instances around the world where some variants have defied some vaccines. The answer to this challenge is in Kogi, and it is high time the administration of President Muhammadu Buhari capitalised on this to diversify our economy. We can earn so much from medical tourism by getting the superpowers to pay us billions of dollars and pounds to have access to the vaccine that is the air in Kogi. For those who cannot visit the country, we can bottle this air the way natural gas is liquefied, and export the way the Nigerian Liquefied Natural Gas (NLNG) Limited exports shipment of liquefied gas through the Bonny channels. We can contract the NLNG to handle the bottling of the air for ease of exportation.

I know some people will be under-estimating the god in Kogi because he is just 45 years of age, but the great prophets and gods of yore were not Methuselah. There is power in youthfulness and the god in Lokoja has shown us that again and again.

By 2023, there will be a vacancy at the Presidential Villa in Abuja, and I am glad that discerning minds have taken over the traditional and social media to plead with the god in our midst to save us from the punishment that leadership has been since time immemorial. As I write, he has not agreed to help us, but that has not affected my conviction that he is who we need, and we must do everything within our capacity to convince him to join the race. If others want to contest, leave them. Given the experience of how he won his first term in Kogi, victory will not be a difficult thing for him to snatch. The vital thing is to get him to agree to help us. The rest will be sorted out.

Believe me, I have looked around and given the multi-faceted challenges biting us like python, and gradually ebbing lives out of us, we do not need a man to govern us. We need a god who can capture Death and carry it on his head like the palm-wine drinkard Amos Tutuola wrote about. Only one god lives in our midst at the moment, and he resides in Lokoja, where he has shown several times that he has a magic wand like the one Moses used to divide the Red Sea and lead his people to safety.

With Alhaji Chief Dr His Excellency Yahaya Bello’s magic wand, poverty, which President Muhammadu Buhari has unsuccessfully wrestled, will become a thing of the past; with his magic wand, corruption will bid bye-bye to our country; with his magic wand, sickness and diseases will flee from our land; with his magic wand, expectant mothers will be delivered of their babies like the Hebrew women; and with his magic wand, our infrastructure will become world-class.

With Alhaji Chief Dr His Excellency Yahaya Bello in charge, the International Monetary Fund (IMF), the World Bank and members of the Paris and London clubs will find it difficult to dictate to us. After all, a man cannot dictate to a god. The gods have it all. If you doubt me, go to Lokoja and other parts of Kogi and when you get there, try and answer these questions: Are there untarred roads? Are there poor people? Are there people down with illnesses? Are expectant mothers dying while trying to bring forth lives? Are government employees getting paid when due? Are the people living as though they are in the Garden of Eden with everything at their beck and call?

My final take: Rome was not built in a day because gods were not involved. Nigeria, which we have been unable to reach the first floor of its fifty-storey structure since Independence, can be fixed by the god in our midst in no time. I beseech you all, it is time we got Alhaji Chief Dr His Excellency Yahaya Bello to come and take us to the Promised Land with his magic wand. Poverty, sicknesses, poor infrastructure, epileptic power supply, wobbling economy, and all the iniquities in Nigeria can become history if only we can get Alhaji Chief Dr Yahaya Bello to be our next president.