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Category: Korede Yishau

  • Soyinka is sui generis

    Soyinka is sui generis

    By Olukorede Yishau

     

    Is blood really thicker than water? Should a father be afraid of his son? How far should a man go in search of success? Is it really essential to have a long spoon before dining with the devil? What drives men who marry kids? Should we accord religion the importance we currently give to it? Does suffering and smiling make a people the happiest on earth? And more and more are the questions that may cross your mind while reading the tome released last October by one of Nigeria’s gifts to the world, Professor Wole Soyinka.

    Soyinka called his new baby ‘Chronicles of the Happiest People on Earth’, an allusion to a controversial report which, some years ago, claimed Nigeria is the home of the happiest people on earth.

    This is a work with sometimes dense passages. If you allow yourself to be intimidated by this, you will lose its goodness and joy. But, if you are patient enough to see through this, you will marvel at the gem— Soyinka’s third novel about four friends, one of them a mystery till almost the end of this work. He wraps this narrative in beautiful elegance that drips with poetry and its attendant beauty. It is steeped in the sights, colours and smells of Nigeria and Austria (the novel’s settings), and with living expressions such as “bottles of multinational breweries breathed their last”, Soyinka forces a smile on the reader’s face with this social realist narration. You will see someone who is clearly former late Oyo State Governor Abiola Ajimobi decreeing Ibadan into several kingdoms , Senator Rochas Okorocha appointing an aide for happiness, and Kano State Governor Abdullahi Ganduje balkanising the ancient Kano kingdom into fragments. Okija shrine, Boko Haram, and Guru Maharaji’s Lagos-Ibadan Expressway also breathe effortlessly in this fascinating, rousing novel. The experts in the dispensation of frivolous awards also get their ‘honour’ in WS’s signature parody.

    The four friends in this work are Menka, Badetona, Duyole and Farodion. They are thrown into the murky waters of life, and embedded within their experiences, and the forces against them are codes or cryptic messages that anyone familiar with Nigeria can decode.

    Menka is a celebrated surgeon who, as a Corps member, was made to cut the wrist of a thief for violating Sharia. Duyole is a brilliant engineer whose work in public service is above board. He soon gets a big job at the UN, which the Prime Minister is not happy about. Faro is perhaps the biggest dreamer of the Gang of Four. Long before Nollywood, he dreamt of launching a film industry. The man, who is described as tending to speak in riddles, dropped out of sight and had the rest of the clan wondering what became of the smooth talker whose popularity with the ladies was legendary. Farodion is the mystery in this work.

    Badetona, the finance guru, is a moderate drinker. His gripping ordeal in the hands of the security agents is howl-inspiring. A series of events, including a bloody one on Ikorodu Road, forces him to visit the Ekumenika, the enclave where Papa Davida, who also answers to Teribogo, is the lord and saviour; he is a con man on the pulpit with links to the seat of power. He is close to Prime Minister Godfrey Danfere, another character who makes the plot great.

    Danfere is petty and cherishes his ego being massaged. He is a good example of men who should be far away from power because of the evil they use it for. His shenanigans over Duyole’s UN job are cringe-worthy.

    At a stage in the book, Menka leaves his audience at the Manor House spellbound as he recalls how he was approached by merchants of human parts with a partnership. He was distraught to find out his staff (nurses, cleaners and others) had been selling menstrual pads, pre-operation shaved pubic hair, clipped toe-nails, washed down blood from emergency room and other intimate stuff from patients to these merchants who assumed he was in on the business. He resigned after this encounter and decided to leave Jos.

    He is woken up the next morning by a member of the Gang of Four, Duyole, who tells him about the fire at the Hilltop Manor, which overlooked his apartment. As residents pass buckets of water from hand to hand to salvage their home, Menka returns to his apartment to pack his possessions. The novel cruises on an amazing ride from this point.

    The Manor House inferno leads Menka to relocate to Badagry on the invitation of Duyole, who, it would later appear, was led by some invisible forces to take that step. It is drama galore from here. Soyinka’s handling of the drama is bound to keep the heart racing, with skilful writing. The eagerness to find out if that is the end of Duyole or whether he will survive or die like Dele Giwa, one of the trio the book is dedicated to, will keep a reader turning the pages. These chapters are absorbing chapters, especially Menka’s quest to unravel the mystery behind the Pitan-Paynes’ acts after Duyole’s tragic experience. Menka wonders if his friend’s siblings and father hate him, he wonders if there something hidden from him, he wonders if there is an awful family secret he doesn’t know about, and he also wonders if his friend commits an abomination, some unspeakable act.

    All in all, ‘Chronicles of the Happiest People on Earth’ is a narrative of modern Nigeria — encompassing the hand-sanitiser-cum-nose-mask era as well as a bit of its early years — through the successes and failures of the Gang of Four.

    My final take: Unquestionably exuberant and teeming, Soyinka’s achievement with this harmonic presentation with several voices, is truly, truly remarkable, and confirms his place as a storyteller that is sui generis. He has rendered in harrowing details the story of Nigerians and how they have come to be known as the happiest people on earth despite decades of failed leadership, nepotism, corruption, favouritism, and whatnot. His treatment of religion and its link with men in power is caustic.

  • I want to talk about Dance Queen Kaffy

    I want to talk about Dance Queen Kaffy

    Olukorede Yishau

     

    I WANT to talk about Dance Queen Kafayat Shafau-Ameh or Kaffy. She was Kafayat Shafau when life began for her in 1980 in a home where life was good. Dotting parents. Energetic siblings. Attendance at Grade A private school. Trips to London. Fun. Mad fun, if you wish to describe it that way.

    But, a London trip Kafayat’s parents made was a turning point, a turning point for the worst. The first sign of trouble was that when Kaffy’s parents returned from London, her sister, Nike, who went with them, was nowhere to be found.

    Soon, school fees became an issue at Chrisland Primary School, Lagos, where Kaffy began her elementary education. At first, teachers rallied around her and paid her fees. When the situation persisted, they withdrew, and her years in the school ended. Abruptly. More troubles were to come.

    Their home in an enclave named after Madam Dideolu Awolowo, the matriarch of the great Awo family, became a war zone. Her father and mother became sworn enemies to the consternation of the children who had known nothing but love. So good was the situation that nothing forewarned the children of the home that tears would soon replace laughter; nothing gave the impression that blows, slaps, and kicking would soon be regularly exchanged by the matriarch and the patriarch of the home, and that the kids would be the ones to hide the knives and other sharp weapons in the kitchen so that their mother and father would not harm themselves with these weapons. Their Dideolu Court’s home became too hot for love and it flew away.

    Kaffy has told her story in a book aptly titled ‘Alajoota’. It tells the story of this home that was love-filled, where the kids attended one of the best schools available at the time, where the parents were regular faces on the pages of celebrities’ journals of the time because of their status as socialites who sprayed dollars on musicians, where everything seemed to work until love became hate, and the kids became the responsibility of a mother who, for a long time, struggled with getting a grasp of her life; where the kids knew something was wrong but no explanation was offered and the kids were just left to wonder and wonder what was going on.

    After the parents went their separate ways, Kaffy and her siblings could not return to their Grade A private school; at some point, they could not go to any school at all and when they eventually started going to school, there was no stability because their mother was always on constant motion. The turn of events was a rude shock for Kaffy and her siblings, and she wished she had been left with her father who she considered her role model, but he felt they were better with their mother. What was wrong with her mother’s shop on Allen Avenue where she was a big-time businesswoman? This was a major question that bogged Kaffy’s young mind as her mother found it difficult to pick the pieces of her life.

    In this smooth-reading work, we see religion playing a major role, we see a mother so much in love with dreams and their interpretations that her kids started manufacturing dreams, we see men of God feasting on her belief in the efficacy of what they were offering for sale, and we see a woman who kept moving from one church to the other in the hope that the next one would be able to offer her the much-expected miracle, we also see a home where nothing was too much to be done in as much as protection was assured.

    Charms were acceptable; incisions were permissible; and prayers in whatever forms were heartily welcomed. For Kaffy’s mother, what was important was the assurance that she would conquer the enemies who, she believed, could send cockroaches, birds, and others to wreak havoc. It was not out of place for her to burn cockroaches and any other flying insects which invaded her space.

    This book will raise the question of why African mothers find it difficult to properly talk to their daughters about sex. Kaffy’s mother spoke to her about sex and pregnancy in a very crude manner; she practically sold her the lie that once a boy touched her, pregnancy was guaranteed. There was no talk about ovulation and those other factors that contribute to pregnancy. But trust girls, water will always find its level when the hormones start raging like the bull. And it was not dissimilar for Kaffy.

    So thrilling is the book you are tempted to think you are reading a piece of fiction. There is a magic about the transition between one chapter and the next as almost every chapter ends with a cliff-hanger that will force you to turn the pages to find out what was happening in this home that can be described as Shafaus’ House of Commotion. ‘Alajoota’ is easy to read. The language is simple but not simplistic. Dashes of poetic prose on the pages and a concoction of the simple, compound, and compound-complex sentence structures give the writing and storytelling a sweltering effect.

    Several questions occupy my mind before I got to the end of the book: How did Kaffy rise above the violence of her early years? How did she overcome the side effects of changing schools and homes? Did she eventually hear from her beloved father? What has become of him? What happened to Nikki, her sister, who was left in London by their parents shortly before love took flight from their home? And what battles did she have to fight to dance in a society where dancers were and are still considered in unflattering lights? You need to read ‘Alajoota’ to find answers to these questions and many more.

    The way she opened up about her marriage is ‘rare’. And this helps to make this book one hell of a story told from the heart with little or no attempt made to colour the events recorded on its pages.

    My final take: Kaffy’s riveting ‘Alajoota’ is tear-jerking but inspiring. It is a portrait that will make us better appreciate this great dancer who broke the Guinness Book of Records. Reading her story sure makes me feel I have known her all her life and it also makes me respect her and her hustle more.

    It is a book anyone hypersensitive to hilarity should stay away from. ‘Alajoota’ is an exposé worth being aware of.

     

  • Madam Emenike goes to Biden’s America

    Madam Emenike goes to Biden’s America

    By Olukorede Yishau

     

    And so it came to an end; yes, it has, after many men of the cloth said there would be a way where there seemed to be no way. We thought their spiritual binoculars could see what we could not see, and we were on the edges of our seats waiting for the miracle of miracles.

    We were hoping their Father in heaven is different from ours and would shock us. Now, it is day two without Donald J. Trump as president. His administration dawned at dawn on January 20, his era has ended, and Joe Biden’s has begun.

    Biden’s era is beginning as Dr. Uzoma Elizabeth Emenike, academic, author, diplomat, mother of four and wife of a publisher, businessman and politician, Chief Ikechi Emenike, makes history as Nigeria’s first female ambassador to the United States. She is leaving her current post as our envoy in Ireland (with concurrent accreditation to Iceland) to be Nigeria’s number one citizen in a nation just coming out of Trump’s tumultuous years.

    The Trump years were of more troublemaking and less troubleshooting. He made troubles with almost everyone. His friends were mainly white supremacists and those who benefitted from his policies. Africa-Americans felt left at the back. Europe didn’t get along with him. He treated Africa as a shit hole and dealt with the Chinese like lepers. Immigrants were objects of misgiving and mimicry. Mexicans were treated with disdain and he began walling them off. He also separated children from their mothers in an inhuman immigration policy. Over 500 kids, according to a report in The New York Times, are yet to be reunited with their parents because officials who separated them have no records of where their parents were deported.

    The rule was: Cross Trump and get tongue-lashed. Reporters had their fill. News conferences were avenues for the immediate past president to thrash the media for a perceived wrong. CNN, to him, meant fake news. New York Times, Washington Post, and others were despicable. Even Fox News that started as an ally ended as a traitor. For Trump, there were no permanent friends. The only thing that was permanent was his interests and once you were against his interests, you automatically switched camp and were dressed down in the worst language possible.

    Mike Pence can testify as he was quickly re-christened a weakling for not working against the greater good. He eroded core alliances such as the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation, provoked traditional partners and pampered autocrats such as Russian President Vladimir Putin, and North Korean leader Kim Jong Un. Never had America seen such an era and it could take some time for such a mistake to be made again. Some say the mistake can never happen again. But with democracy, never say never. Even ‘fools’ at times appeal to the majority and get the coveted crown.

    White supremacists had a field day. So free were they that they threatened fire and brimstone if their man was not re-elected and taking over the Capitol was the height of their madness. They wanted the heads of Pence and Speaker Pelosi and others they considered traitors. They broke glasses and desecrated the hallowed chamber. Reports suggest that dozens of law enforcement officers, active-duty military members, and veterans participated in the global giant’s moment of shame. Now, the Capitol has a high wall and the National Guard is out to keep the dogs of war away.

    Trump was not all bad news. He is credited with overhauling the U.S. judiciary, especially with the appointment of three Supreme Court justices and the fast-tracking of the appointment of more than 200 federal judges. He is also respected in some quarters for pushing through massive tax cuts for corporations, expanding the economy faster than it was under Barack Obama, and crashing unemployment to a record low—before the economic gains were washed away by the Coronavirus.

    He also normalised relations between Israel and four once-antagonistic Arab neighbours, and he condensed U.S. forces in Afghanistan, Iraq and Syria, but like a commentator noted all these were “dwarfed by what Trump got wrong”.

    America deserves a break from the commotion of the last four years. And it is good that Biden has promised a new era, one devoid of unnecessary rancour, one devoid of harsh immigration policies, one devoid of denigrating the developing world, and one devoid of going against its traditional allies. We will keep tabs and watch him keep these promises.

    Dr Emenike comes ready for the job. Those in the know believe her records in Ireland more than any other factor recommended her for the U.S. assignment. She holds two first degrees, one in Sociology and Anthropology from the University of Maiduguri, and the other in Law from the University of Reading, United Kingdom; she also holds two Master’s degrees – one in International Law/Diplomacy from the University of Lagos (UNILAG) and the other in International Management from the University of Reading, where she also earned a PhD in International Relations. Her scholarly work ‘Africa: The Centre-Piece of Nigeria’s Foreign Policy’ is a vault of knowledge.

    For those who have the key to this knowledge vaulted in Dr. Emenike’s ‘Africa: The Centre-Piece of Nigeria’s Foreign Policy’, they can attest to its depth. International relations scholars have found in it a companion. We see through it Nigeria’s various diplomatic actions; we see how the country funded and trained freedom fighters in South Africa, Zimbabwe, Mozambique and Namibia at a time they were considered terrorists by the imperial overlords in power. We see how Nigerian staked its good relationship with some Western allies for the good of sister African countries. And we see its diplomatic manoeuvres to preserve the sovereignty of the African states through its campaigns for the decolonisation of Africa, independence for Namibia, elimination of Apartheid, resolving the Rhodesia Question and Africa’s right to the UN Secretary-General seat.

    Of course, we also see the debates on the need for the country to begin charity at home instead of playing the Big Brother to its sister African countries, especially giving the wrong vibes from countries that have benefitted from its generosity. South Africa, for instance, has not been fair to Nigerians who have made it home. They are regular victims of xenophobic attacks. Getting South African visa for Nigerians going for conferences and other reasons is more difficult than securing the visa for European countries and America. The mundane takes centre stage in denying them the right of passage.

    The book takes a critical look at the different environment of foreign policy decision making, such as domestic, external and international system. A thorough examination of the theories of international relations and globalisation is also undertaken. We also see a focus on national interest and foreign policy, as well as Nigeria’s relations with immediate neighbours, such as Ghana, Republic of Benin and Cameroun.

    With a struggling economy, and the attendant loss of revenue, is it sensible for Nigeria to continue to be the continent’s Santa Claus? This book gives due attention to this all-important question and the author does not play Madam Know-All, as she taps into experts’ brains for answers— signifying her acknowledgement of the fact that she is not an Island. She will need this as she takes up her new assignment in Biden’s America. I wish her God’s speed and a positively-unforgettable tenure. In the name of our Father, go and make us proud, Madam!

  • Feminism shines through ‘His Only Wife’

    Feminism shines through ‘His Only Wife’

    Olukorede Yishau

     

    THE first sentence “Elikem married me in absentia” teases; the last sentence “I still wish that he had been at our wedding, that he, instead of Richard, had given me the ring and the Bible, that he had married me, that he’d wanted me to be his wife, his only wife” tantalises; and the sentences in between excite.

    Welcome to the world created by Peace Adzo Medie in her debut novel ‘His Only Wife’.

    Afi, a smart, pretty seamstress, lives an ordinary life with her mother after her father’s death. One day, her mother persuades her to marry Elikem Ganyo, the rich son of their benefactor, Faustina Ganyo. The man her mother wants her to marry is known to her only in name and reputation. Elikem, at the time, is known to have a Liberian woman as his baby mama, but Afi is assured she will soon become history. Reluctantly, she agrees to the wedding.

    Her first shock is her husband’s absence at their wedding, which for her uncles and aunts, and other extended family members, is an opportunity to get some money and gifts. For her mother-in-law, her hope is that the marriage will help her get rid of the Liberian woman whose claws are tight on her son’s neck.

    The wedding ceremony over, Afi moves to Accra, the Ghanaian capital, but instead of moving into her husband’s home, she is settled into a flat in a building owned by her husband’s brother. Days pass and she only speaks to her husband on phone, at first for a few minutes but, with time, they begin to talk longer. On the day he first visits her, nervousness takes the better part of her, her armpits are moist and her feet are heavy. Her hands are so damp she has to wipe them on her dress to open the door for him. She is shocked to discover he is only visiting and not ready yet to stay with her there or move her into his mansion.

    In Accra, she has days of having nothing to do but cook for a husband she is not sure will show up. Her enrolment in a fashion designing school helps to save her from boredom. Her relationship with Richard’s girlfriend, who stays in the flat opposite hers, also opens her eyes to her new world. However, despite her misgiving, she stays so that the financial security her mother wants is intact.

    However, with time, her patience runs out and she begins to trouble him about when she will move into his house and he keeps telling her to wait. She reaches a stage that she returns to Ho, their small town, and insists she will only return to Accra if he comes to take her to his mansion. Her mother and mother-in-law’s pleas fall on deaf ears. After some time he shows up in the village and takes her to his mansion, but their relationship is strained.

    To make herself independent, she begins to train to become a fashion designer. Her situation is helped by her becoming pregnant with a baby boy and she has the baby, Elikem is overjoyed and this gives her some mileage. Elikem’s sister, however, does not like the ‘trouble’ Afi is giving her brother and seizes every opportunity to let her know that she should be grateful to have been picked from the gutter and polished up. Afi remains adamant, insisting on having her man to herself. Afi’s mother’s relationship with her mother-in-law becomes strained as a result of her insistence on being treated right. With the money Elikem gives her, she builds her mother a house and she leaves the one loaned her by Elikem’s mother.

    From time to time, Afi notices strange things about her husband, and her suspicions are confirmed when she discovers text messages in which he professes undying love for his baby mama. This causes altercations between them. But, the camel’s back soon breaks when she stumbles into the baby mama, and the lies Elikem’s family has fed her about the Liberian woman become glaring. They claim she is ugly, but Afi discovers she is a beauty in a special class of her own. Things fall apart at this stage and Medie seems to borrow from the way things turn out most times in life: Unexpected. The plot twist here is a shocker!

    Medie depicts a glowing and stunning Accra, and it is difficult not to root for Afi as she settles into the Ghanaian capital. Using masterful and seamless prose, she delivers a story with the capacity to keep the reader tied to the pages.

    The characterisations are spot-on, especially her handling of the extended families and her depictions of the power of money. The extended families help to make the novel really hilarious. The rhythm of the storytelling builds the reader’s anticipation, and with themes such as deception, ambition, love, and values strewn all over the pages, and internal and external conflicts here and there, the outcome is an emotional rollercoaster. Stirring, unabashed, this marriage story shines with the power and grace that feminism is known for— with Afi’s voice ringing clear, not confusing and demanding her rights the moment she closes the window on nonsense and becomes a strong woman in a world where men are reluctant to change and, with this growth, she chooses her own path not minding whose ox is gored.

    Told in the past tense and narrated by Afi in the first person, ‘His Only Wife’ will make a good movie and it is a good thing it has already been optioned. Afi is a heroine cinema-goers anywhere in the world can relate to and only promoters of patriarchy will fault the actions of a courageous modern woman who breaks her in-laws’ taboos which expect her to be nothing more than a beautiful cook, a dutiful mother, and a submissive wife who respects and does as her husband wishes.

  • Posers imposed by Soyinka’s ‘Chronicles’

    Posers imposed by Soyinka’s ‘Chronicles’

    By Olukorede Yishau

    Will you call me a liar if I say Wole Soyinka has published a novel called ‘Chronicles of the Happiest People on Earth’, his first since 1973? Will I offend you if I say the book is typical Soyinka with jabs here and there for the ruling and ruining us?

    What will your response be if I ask whether you believe in this nation described as the enclave of the Happiest People on Earth or are you on your way to check out into saner clime despite Donald J. Trump’s tantrums? Or, have you resigned to fate and willing to take whatever is available as leadership? Are you ready to shout ranka dede for the ones who ensure you suffer and smile; the ones are masters of vagaries and intrigues in public lives?

    What are our leaders up to as we are being kidnapped at home, on the highway and at the farm either for ransom or use by human parts merchants? From Lagos to Yenagoa to Maiduguri and elsewhere, where is safe from ransom seekers and merchants of flesh and blood?

    Did it ever occur to you that 60 years after Independence from the British and over 100 years after Lord Lugard cobbled us together and got his fiancée to christen us, we will still battle teething problems like inadequate power supply, bad road network, unemployment, poor health facilities, and unfeeling, callous, thieving and devilish leaders? When are we going to stop glorifying thieves and naming national edifices after them?

    Fellow, happiest people on earth, are you not aware that in our country public servants involved in scandalous acts hardly lose their jobs? That they never resign and are hardly shown the exit? That men and women who disgrace us go into image-laundering overdrive and scrape every reason to remain on their lucrative jobs? That e-rats are always waiting to do their hatchet jobs? That criminals with our commonwealth pay defence counsel heavily to use their technical wiles to get them acquitted?

    Fellow happiest people on earth, did we ever know that India would be greater than we are? That Ghana, which we used to see as junior will command more respect in the comity of nations? That South Africa will attract our people in hundreds even in the face of xenophobia? And that our people would be willing to cross the hot desert and endure the harshest conditions possible trying to cross to Europe?

    Do you, great people of Naija, remember our Naira used to be more than the dollar? Do you remember KWAM 1 once sang that when he went to Mecca in the late 70s, he exchanged N1,000 for 1,200 dollars?

    What is our take on leaders who use religion to justify child marriage? Their Excellencies who support copulation with the girl-child and thus contribute to vagina vistula? What of leaders who stock tribal, communal and ethnic violence? And what do you make of the ones who sponsor cultists, militias and bandits? Is there any truth in the claims that even the dreaded Boko Haram gets support from some unexpected quarters? The military? Some political elites?

    Fellow happiest people on earth, are we proud of those among us who engage in killing others for ritual purposes? Are we enamoured by leaders who do not think true policies before churning them out? Aren’t we blessed to have leaders who in the midst of the second wave of a deadly pandemic are insisting we must go and queue in our millions to link our SIM cards with our National Identified Number? When are we going to honour our leaders who in the midst of recession authorised the increment of electricity tariff by 100 per cent? And how ungrateful will we appear if we fail to salute those behind policies that have killed industries and make the space available to churches?

    Fellow happiest people on earth, when are we going to give honour to whom honour is due by acknowledging the brilliant minds behind perfidy and treachery in our land? Is it not baffling that we have, to the detriment of our scenic surroundings, destroyed green spaces to provide room for office and business complexes?

    I believe you are wondering why I am speaking in questions, but aren’t the riddles of our nation enough to probe this land of the earth’s so-called happiest people and what better way can an enquiry be done without questions being thrown and being addressed? The bombs being thrown in the Northeast, the con men on the pulpit with links to the seat of power, the petty leaders who cherish their egos being massaged, the nepotism, the corruption, the favouritism and whatnot, what else do they inspire other than speaking hauntingly in tongues and in riddles? Are men, women and kids who have lost their wrists and some other body parts to the violence in and around the country in an expansive mood? Can you fault me if I say sea pirates are now massively invested in our creeks?

    Before you call me a busy-body, can you show me a nation where at a time when palliatives are being made available to the poor utility bills are being jerked up? Also, do me a favour, can you please beat your chest and say even in this era of change, oil blocks are strictly allocated on nothing but merit?

    Tell me if I am wrong, has our nation stopped witnessing bogus awards ceremonies where men and women who should be having their time in jails are decorated in stolen garbs? I beg you in the name of our Father- the one many men of God use as an excuse to fleece their congregation- do you have an idea when we will be able to elect our leaders without any shred of inducement or stomach infrastructure?

    Will you regard me as an apostle of fake news if I say our nation’s loss of some of its best brains to the West, to South Africa and to our next-door neighbour, Ghana, will continue if our country remains rudderless? Will you tell me to go to hell if I assert that we are doomed if we continue to waste time debating inanities instead of focussing on ensuring the chunk of our national treasury is used only for our people and not for the few currently relishing it? And will you call my bluff if I say failure to diversify our mono-economy will leave us at the back of global trade?

    Did I just hear you call me an alarmist? Or, am I just second-guessing you?

  • COVID-19 vaccines

    COVID-19 vaccines

    By Olukorede Yishau

    Conspiracy theorists are at work again. This time, they are intensifying efforts to stop us from taking the Coronavirus vaccines. According to them, some forces want to reduce the world’s population, especially Africans. One of their usual victims is billionaire Bill Gates, who they have mentioned again. But, let us get some facts straight: Statistics from the World Health Organisation (WHO) showed that there were 80 million cases of COVID-19, including no less than 2 million deaths globally.

    In Nigeria, more people have either contracted or died of the virus in the last few weeks. In Ogun State alone, no less than 33 people have died of the virus. The state has had some 3,000 confirmed cases. In Lagos, the confirmed cases have surged to close to 30,000. It has killed over 231 people. For the country, there has been a significant increase of up to 47 percent in the number of confirmed COVID-19 cases.

    With the vaccines, this year should be our year of hope. As a Third World nation, we contributed nothing to the development of vaccines. Only our sons in the Diaspora did, and that cannot count as our contribution, so we will not have equal access to the vaccines. When we access the vaccines, we should take advantage of it and not allow frauds on the pulpits and some other clowns masquerading as authorities to deceive us into running away from vaccination.

  • Let’s talk about ‘Dreams and Assorted Nightmares’

    Let’s talk about ‘Dreams and Assorted Nightmares’

    Olukorede Yishau

     

    I SAW a post on Instagram some days ago. It read: “Do authors cry when they kill the best character, or do they smile, laugh, and have a cup of tea with satan?” This is a question you may ask Abubakar Adam Ibrahim, a past winner of the NLNG Nigeria Prize for Literature, when or after reading his latest work ‘Dreams and Assorted Nightmares’ in which he shows his dexterity in weaving tales that wrap around the readers and suck out all their emotional juices.

    In ‘Dreams and Assorted Nightmares’, endings are always sad and tear-inducing. With his pen, Ibrahim is as cruel as life is most times. Take this story titled ‘Maroro’s Masterpiece, for instance. It is about a painter named Abba Maroro, whose philandering is second to none, and has bastards scattered in many a home in Zango, the crazy settlement Ibrahim created to tell his otherworldly tales. This story is a sad song; the only happy part of it, that even his disappointed wife has no choice but to admit is that “the bastard sure knew how to paint”.

    The punchy first sentence of ‘Maroro’s Masterpiece’ arrests and detains you till its end: “It was inevitable that my father, Abba Maroro, would meet his end at the hands of one of the men whose wives he had been having amorous congresses with.” Maroro’s son is the narrator, and his disappointment in his father oozes almost throughout the tale. He recalls their mother saying: “He has broken my heart so many times there is nothing left to break anymore. I stayed all these years, hoping he would change, that he would see how much I used to love him.”

    The author’s knack for nicely building up tension shines through in each of the twelve stories in this collection. He grows the tension like a master of suspense and when he lands, it is usually with a thud that is heart-wrenching.

    Ibrahim, in this collection, explores how love dies, how a man becomes a slave of his phallus, how a son is unable to reciprocate a mother’s love because of mental illness, how religious brainwashing can turn a man into a monster his family struggles to understand, how a daughter has no choice but to toe her mother’s dirty path, how the quest to be a mother can run a woman mad, how a couple’s dream of having a son as crooked as them failed and, ultimately, how in a city, everybody battles one problem or the other.

    He resolves the crisis in each of the stories in such a way that a reader feels the joy of unraveling a puzzle. Take ‘Naznine’, for instance, where an otherwise happy couple is torn by the wife’s frequent miscarriages, which are so much that she decides not to try again. Then one day she tries her luck one more time, and she becomes pregnant and carries it to term, but the experiences of the past have made them less prepared for the baby. In the end, it turns out their non-preparedness is not ill-advised.

    One of this book’s strongest points is imagery. Sampler: “When he knelt by Naznine, he heard her humming ‘River Lullaby’. He peered into the bundle in her arms. The pale-faced infant lay swaddled, a stillborn marble angel in the powder-pink shoes Naznine had forced on its little feet. She cooed at the baby and tried to coax an engorged nipple into its mouth. At that moment, he knew he had not only lost a child but a wife too.”

    ‘A Book of Things Remembered’, a tale narrated by a sister and her brother, bears signs of Ibrahim’s ‘wickedness’. Anisa, the sister, takes the first shot in a diary she is keeping to explain the state of things to her bedridden mother. Their father has teamed up with extremists, first in Afghanistan, and later with local terrorists. He has become a stranger to them so much that when he appears at their doorstep one day, they struggle to understand him. He soon proves right their fears about him when he forces himself on Anisa, an act that turns fatal when Salisu (Anisa’s brother) decides enough is enough and plunges a knife into his neck.

    One of the briefest stories in this collection, ‘A Very Brief Marriage’, is bound to generate discussions. Is there a future in a marriage in which the husband leaves his wife to be killed or raped by armed robbers? What should a woman do in this situation? Will the family of the man be right to plead with her to forgive him? As a father of a daughter in this situation, what will your reaction be? These are thought-provoking questions that this story will, most likely, generate at book clubs and book readings.

    Another story that is at once amusing and sad is ‘Sajah’. It is about a man at well over 40 years is able to acquire his first car. When he eventually gets the car, he treats her like his beloved and looks at her like the love of his life. He adds the icing on the cake when he chooses to give the car a name and holds some form of the christening ceremony. But, trust the heartbreaker called Abubakar Adam Ibrahim, he soon puts their affair asunder. His wife falls sick, his shop goes up in flame and things become tight and his beloved car ‘Sajah’ has no choice but to become someone else’s.

    Ibrahim will also break your heart in ‘House of the Rising Sun’, a story about a woman whose Air Force pilot husband’s aircraft is shot down by Boko Haram and the authorities deny him so as not to “let those bastards have the moral victory”. Her husband’s death is not the only cross Ibrahim imposes on her; he also saddles her with a son who is not in control of his mental facility.

    In this absorbing, stirring collection, there is also a story that is told entirely in posers. Imagine a 13-page-long story told entirely in questions. In ‘The Weight of Silence’, a friend visits her once-upon-a-time best friend in a hospital, where she is unconscious, and recounts their past, including revealing facts hidden to her. You need to read it to find out how Ibrahim pulls it through.

    The setting of all the stories—Zango—is also a character on its own: dark, mysterious, deadly, and vivacious. In it, you struggle to look for saints, almost everyone is flawed. Even pastors and imams and marabouts are not powerful enough to exorcise the demons controlling this town, where the tradition is to say someone’s leaf has fallen when he or she dies. The concluding story examines the idea of a life tree and the possibility of people dying when their leaf falls from this tree, but by the time you get to the end, you just discover that you just have to wait, in eternity, to see if this is true.

    Some characters feature in two or three stories, especially Abba Maroro, Audu Kore and his wife Maimuna Dajjaj, the mad seer and Zaki, Audu and Maimuna’s son.

    With this collection, Ibrahim has delivered a work with a poet’s discipline, constructing merciless sentences, but couching them in beautiful prose that, in one breath, is haunting and, in another, profound. All thanks to Zango, Ibrahim has told tales that we all can relate to as well as those with fable-like touches.

    It is hard not to feel for the men, the women, the boys, and the girls in this collection because of the burdens they have to bear, at times because of themselves, and sometimes despite themselves.

    My final take: This book about broken people will be worth your time.

  • Bye 2020, welcome 2021

    Bye 2020, welcome 2021

    Olukorede Yishau

     

    We were three on the front row backing a backdrop that created the illusion of a stack of books on a shelf. Toni Kan, poet, novelist, and PR expert, and I were the guests. Segun Dada, the third person on the row, was the host. It was the first edition of the Kawe Book Festival on the Island. Dada wanted to know what I foresaw of 2021. I looked at the audience and delivered my verdict: COVID-19 will still be with us for the bulk of this year, even with the vaccine.

    Welcome to 2021, a year which, in many respects, will look like 2020.

    This morning, Coronavirus deaths have been recorded everywhere across the globe; it is no respecter of a new year. In 2020, doctors died or contracted COVID-19 caring for patients and doctors have continued to take care of patients. Nurses were at breaking point caring and they have continued to care. Lab scientists contracted the virus testing samples and testing has not been abandoned. They are the angels of mercy in a season that demands courage, and many are displaying it at a time some are denying the existence of the virus.

    This year, we are hopeful because there are vaccines that can help tame COVID-19, but how fast can they go round? As a Third World nation, we contributed nothing to the development of vaccines. Only our sons in the Diaspora did, and that cannot count as our contribution, so we will not have equal access to the vaccines and, even when we do, it will be at killing rates and it may further aggravate our economy that is already in recession.

    As of December 28, statistics from the World Health Organisation (WHO) showed that there were 79,673,754 cases of COVID-19, including 1,761,381 deaths globally.

    In Nigeria, more people have either contracted or died of the virus in the last few weeks. In Ogun State alone, 33 people have died of the virus as of the dusk of December 6. The state has had 2328 confirmed cases last week. In Lagos, the confirmed cases have surged to 24,952. It has killed 231 people. For the country, there has been a significant increase of up to 47 percent in the number of confirmed COVID-19 cases. As at the end of the 49th week of the pandemic, Nigeria had a total of 61,992, but it rose steeply to 66,090 at the end of week 50.

    The virus is no respecter of persons and as shown by a special report written by Gabriel Ogunjobi, children, teenagers and the old have been affected. The report, published on Monday in The Nation, has, however, killed more of the elderly; of course, because of their underlining health issues.

    As has been shown, the second wave is more deadly; more people are falling victim globally and more people are dying. But many of us seem tired of observing the protocols. Many of us act as though we have a ceasefire agreement with the virus.

    Coronavirus is a killer. In the outgone year, jobs, millions of them, were lost to this bastard, which has also killed millions all over the world. Colleagues — many of them professionally competent — are home thinking of where the next jobs will come from. They were excused from their jobs because their employers could not withstand the COVID-19 blows. It was a killer punch that sent employers scrambling for new grammar to justify a bad situation in a nation in dire need. Until this madness, I never heard the word ‘furlough’, but many now know what it means and it is not good news.

    COVID-19 is a globetrotter. Like the legendary Ajala, it has travelled all over the world but, unlike Ajala, it brings bad news anywhere it goes. Like a telecom giant, it is everywhere you go. The virus, I feel, wants us to live day to day, do what we have to do each day, and not think about tomorrow as though the future will take care of itself. It wants us to run to it and run with it!

    There is still the need to limit social interactions and reduce the risk of transmission of the virus. Hand washing, wearing of a mask, maintenance of physical distancing, and the avoidance of mass gatherings should still be gospels we preach and practise.

    We all need to be careful to escape Coronavirus and prevent it from further penetrating the world. It has done enough damage already and, in our little corner, we should join the race to clip its wings and leave it prostrate.

    My final take: Like it happened last year, we should not expect much in terms of relief from our leaders. Our dear Nigeria is handicapped to offer us real reliefs. What some of us have received is tokenism. Those described as the vulnerable have received this token. Yet, we are all vulnerable, one way or the other.

    Have the best of 2021.

  • DAP @ 50

    DAP @ 50

    By Korede Yishau

     

     

    For Dakuku Adol Peterside, the immediate past Director-General of the Nigerian Maritime Administration and Safety Agency (NIMASA), yesterday was not just the end of a tumultuous year; he clocked fifty. In two decades, Peterside has been local government chairman, he has been a commissioner, he has been a legislator and he has led a federal agency. He sure has packed so much into his youthful years.

    As NIMASA boss, his era was the first time the agency would remit huge sums in dollars into the Federation Account. It shared this record with the Joint Admissions and Matriculations Board (JAMB). Before then, the agency’s image was in tatters. Many saw it as where to go for free cash. In a matter of weeks, Peterside, who holds a doctorate degree from the University of Port Harcourt, Rivers State, will launch a book ‘Strategic Turnaround’ detailing the strategy used by his team (which included his successor, Dr. Bashir Jamoh) to breathe fresh air into the agency. I have had more than a peep into the book and believe it is worth watching out for.

    As he begins his 51st journey on earth, I pray God will grant him his heart’s desires.

  • For Christmas

    For Christmas

    By Olukorede Yishau

    I am sure you are wondering what is going on. This is certainly not how we celebrate you. Despite the fact that we live in a country with over 100 million people in abject poverty, of high maternal mortality, of one of the world’s worst out-of-school-children statistics, and of millions whose tomorrow are bleak just on account of their birthplace, we had never celebrated you this way.

    On your day, we used to be out in our best wears and shoes and pieces of jewellery. We also used to wear our best cologne and storm cinemas, clubs, bars, parks, and malls.

    In those days, many of us will be in Paris, London, New York, Durban, and Nairobi to celebrate the season. We usually planned ahead to have the best of your season. Who would ever have predicted that the Murtala Mohammed International Airport and other hubs around the world would at one point become scanty? Money sure does not answer all things.

    Those of us who are Ndigbo looked forward to returning home from different parts of Nigeria and elsewhere to savour fresh air, palm wine, and bush meat and enjoy companies only available at home.

    No thanks to COVID-19, your season is a far cry from what we used to know all over the world. Hearts have stopped beating and, as I write, many are stopping and, tomorrow, more will stop. COVID-19 is no respecter of person.  In your season, we are afraid to shake or hug friends; and breathing where there is a crowd now come with apprehension.

    With the state of the world in this season of yours, it is glaring that life has no beginning or end. Reza, a character in Abubakar Adam Ibrahim’s award-winning novel, ‘Season of Crimson Blossoms’, captured life beautifully when he observed: “We are like clothes… We get rumpled, and creased and torn, sometimes irreparably. Some of us are stitched up, patched up, others are discarded. Some clothes are fortunate. Others are not. They are born into misfortune and ink spills and whatnots…”

    We all just stroll by, some lucky to spend more time than the others on this unpredictable journey called life. Even for those who are lucky to have a longer stroll, the things they see do not gladden hearts: Some lose kids, some battle illness and some face calamities upon calamities.

    COVID-19 has torn apart some kids after the death of their mother or father or both. Some widows or widowers may never recover from the deadly kicks from COVID-19 induced deaths.

    Empires have crumbled because of pandemic-related deaths. Many with garages beaming with Rolls Royce, Cadillac, Limousine, Bentley Continental GT, Mercedes-Benz Maybach 62, and a lavish fleet of armoured Range Rovers are gone and can’t bask in your season because the pandemic has tied them down. The hundreds of pairs of shoes and designer wears in their wardrobes are wasting away.

    As we reflect on your season, it is glaring to the discerning that this life is not worth the attention we give to it.  What is the worth of rooms with cobwebs in many mansions in different cities of the world? Why do we squander on homes money enough to give us hospitals of world-class standard and universities that can rival Harvard? Why can’t we see sense in the saying ‘there is enough for everyone’s need but not for everyone’s greed’? Some people have left this world and their properties have become someone else’s, and not necessarily their children and spouses.

    Life is not worth taking too seriously to the extent of solely keeping the wealth that can turn around the lives of millions. If this lesson has not soaked in at the moment, nothing will ever sink it in.

    We used to take you for granted. A brilliant mind, Robert Breault, once said: “Enjoy the little things in life, for one day you may look back and realise they were the big things”. The significance of these words is one of the lessons of this unpleasant time. The things we considered small and somewhat inconsequential are now longed for. Where is our Christmas? This certainly is not as we know you.

    Before the virus reared its ugly head, I could sneeze anywhere and expect “bless you” from those around me. I could cough and expect sympathy or even empathy. It never occurred to me that a man would shout at his daughter and order her to avoid me all because I sneezed in a supermarket. “That guy just sneezed,” he screamed at the daughter to get her to refrain from entering the supermarket. As I passed by the daughter, I laughed. But the message in retrospect is: Never take anything for granted.

    In your season, my heart is with men and women who have lost their jobs, not for incompetence, but just because the pandemic has made it impossible for their employers to continue to pay them.

    As far as I am concerned, you are not taking place this year. Like Hajj and Umrah, COVID-19 has crippled you. If I have the power, I will banish Coronavirus to the evil forest, that dreaded place where our forebears reserved for those perceived as bad for society.

    On a final note: The pandemic has been a sobering factor; it has shown us that we are at the Creator’s mercy and He does as He wills with us and we have absolutely no power over His decisions. Even our dear Christmas has been taken away from us.

    And clearly, the casualties are not only those who are dead or in the hospital. All of us are; even you, our darling Christmas. We look forward to seeing you in a better state next year.