The Nation Newspaper

Category: Korede Yishau

  • I’ll not write about Nigeria

    I’ll not write about Nigeria

    By Olukorede Yishau

    I’ll not write about Nigeria
    Where soldiers shot live bullets at harmless protesters
    And fatalities they expect not
    I’ll not write about Nigeria
    A giant with the feet of a dwarf

    I am speechless about our country. The last two weeks have been traumatic for me. I have cried, I have sighed, and I have wondered how we are so blessed to the extent that we have no qualm wasting our future and pretending it does not matter. So, I am not going to write about Nigeria. Instead, I will write about my first trip to the land of the people who coerced  many a tongue together as a nation, and also colonised us for years, before handing us independence in an untidy manner well-captured in Kole Omotoso’s ‘Just Before Dawn’.

    The British Airways flight flew into Heathrow Terminal Five before 6 am from the Murtala Mohammed International Airport in Lagos. Passing Immigration did not take time and was without hassle. Bags picked, it looked like all was set. Until I stepped out of the doors just after the baggage area and experienced the tyranny of cold. I had never experienced that sort of cold in my life so I rushed back inside to catch my breath. It was my first time in London and anywhere in the United Kingdom.

    After some minutes, I braced the odds and returned to the taxi area. I saw a black cab and approached the driver. I showed him my destination and he told me it would cost at least 100 Pounds. I ended up paying 110 Pounds. This was at a time one Pound was a little over N300. By my later trips to London, I had mastered the underground train system and was saved from burning my hard-earned money on a black cab.

    I jumped to the back of the cab with my luggage and about an hour later I got to the hotel, which had been reserved and paid for before I left Lagos.

    Fatigue had taken the better part of me so I struggled to make a few calls, including the one to my friend who would be my guide in Liverpool, where I was billed the following morning. After that, I went to sleep. The following morning I had a breakfast of bread and tea and some oat in a restaurant where I was the only black man. That was the first time I would feel like a minority. The sea of white men and women made me feel far from home.

    After breakfast, I checked out and headed for the London Euston Train Station where I was to join a Virgin Train to Liverpool Lime Street Train Station. The train station was crazily busy with people from different parts of the world. I saw Africans, I saw Asians, I saw Europeans and I saw Americans. Many of us gathered at the large screen mounted in the massive hall to check the next available train. I had bought a two-way ticket that allowed me to return anytime I wanted.

    Through with deciding which train to join and rushing to the platform, I was slightly delayed by an official who wanted to crosscheck that I had the requisite ticket to join the train. My first impression of the interior of the train was that it looked so much like that of an aeroplane. I sat comfortably and soon the train began the over two hours journey to the port city of Liverpool, which was the entry point for the earliest travellers from Nigeria, and home of the popular Liverpool Football Club. The train had a shop where passengers bought coffee, soda and snacks.

    The train stopped in towns along the route for passengers to alight and for new ones to join.

    Liverpool Lime Street Train Station, though not as massive as London Euston from which different parts of the UK can be connected, welcomed me with grace. My guide received me and led me to a cab that took us to her home before I later retired to a bread and breakfast facility from where I explored the city for two days before returning to Lagos through London.

    The streets of Liverpool are so clean you will feel like a devil for dropping any form of waste on the ground. The roads are wider than London’s. The houses are unlike the crammed spaces people call homes in most parts of London. You have to pay through your noses for the poky stuff they call flats in London.

    Like London, Liverpool boasts of an efficient bus service. Unlike London, it has no tubes. Its trains are only for moving goods. Unlike in the bulk of Nigeria, you have to work with the bus schedules, which are at regular intervals though.

    St Johns is in the city centre. It was bubbling when I got there. This shopping mall, which is Liverpool’s largest covered shopping centre and has sat in the heart of the city since 1969, boasts of more than 100 retailers, including some of the best in the world.

    If you assume that as a Nigerian you will not have language problems in the UK, you need to think twice, especially when you find yourself in ‘not-so-cosmopolitan’ places like Liverpool, where there are regional accents that make the English you and I understand sound ‘inferior’. If you listen to some speakers in Liverpool speaking their regional accent called Scouse, you will not believe it is English language. This dialect, which is said to have originated from Merseyside, is highly distinctive and has little in common with those of the neighbouring towns and cities in the United Kingdom. London’s cosmopolitan nature frees it from this challenge of wondering what language is being spoken.

    On the days their football club has a match, the traffic situation in Liverpool goes gaga. I was there on one of such days, but I was insulated from it because of my disposition to the game. I was safe in my room, far away from the madness football is known for inducing in its lovers. Many football lovers back home failed to convince me to go see the match live. They felt I wasted a lifetime opportunity. For me, I felt I saved myself the unnecessary hassle.

    My final take: Orderliness was one unique trait I observed on this first trip to the Queen’s enclave, which saw me experiencing a bit of London and Liverpool. There is no excuse for lateness. The people are the centre of government’s attention and here is a nation where lives matter in all ramifications.

  • Hidden treasure at NIMASA e-library

    Hidden treasure at NIMASA e-library

    Olukorede Yishau

     

     

    HAVE you ever heard the name Aisha Askira before? What about Bashir Jamoh?  Well, let me explain:

    Jamoh is the Director-General of the Nigerian Maritime Administration and Safety Agency (NIMASA). For most people, the agency is all about maritime safety. But, no! It has a Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR) project called NIMASA e-library. That is where Askira comes in. She is the super librarian in charge of this project, which, for me, is a hidden treasure.

    If you need materials on cabotage, business and economy, management and oil and gas, then head to this library. All you need to access it is just registration and this vast pool of knowledge is thrown open to you. One more thing: The library has e-books duly licensed by the authors and academic journals.

  • The casualties

    The casualties

    Olukorede Yishau

     

    It is one of those ironies of life. John Pepper Clark-Bekederemo, the brain behind the most popular poem on Ibadan, who also gifted us the beautiful war-inspired poem titled ‘The Casualties’, walked out of this world at a time many are casualties for speaking against a sick policing system. The great one known better as JP Clark, took a bow at 86, on a day it was reported that his friend, Prof. Wole Soyinka, is releasing another novel, 48 years after “Season of Anomie”.

    The late JP Clark was a casualty of ethnic suspicion in Nigeria. When he met his wife Ebun, her father, Jimoh Odutola, refused to support the relationship because he wanted her daughter to marry a Yoruba man. JP Clark was Ijaw. The two love birds called the late Odutola’s bluff, found their way to Benin Republic, got married and returned home later. They remained married until his death on Tuesday. This fact was brought to the fore again on Wednesday by respected journalist and media trainer, Taiwo Obe.

    His family, in a statement, said: “The Clark-Fuludu Bekederemo family of Kiagbodo Town, Delta State, wishes to announce that emeritus professor of literature and renowned writer, Prof. John Pepper Clark, has finally dropped his pen in the early hours of today, Tuesday, 13 October 2020.

    “Prof. J. P. Clark has paddled on to the great beyond in comfort of his wife, children and siblings, around him.”

    Since his death, tributes have been raining left, right and centre for this giant iroko who gifted us great poems and inspiring plays, including ‘Song of a Goat’.

    But, even while mourning JP Clark, we are not unmindful of the fact that some sons of goats have made peaceful protesters casualties. Perhaps the most popular of these casualties is Isiak from Ogbomosho. He was killed by security operatives. Just for protesting. The sad part of Isiak’s death is the value attached to it. Oyo State Governor Seyi Makinde went to see the bereaved parents, bearing a gift of N1 million. That same day, Makinde was in the palace of the Soun of Ogbomosho, which was destroyed by misguided elements after Isiak was killed. The governor also bore a gift for the Soun. It was a whopping N100 million. Two casualties, two different treatments.

    Of course, money would not bring Isiak and others killed in Oyo back. I think something like giving scholarship to their siblings and other things would have gone a long way to bring succour to the parents. But what do I know about governance? I am just a bloody columnist messing around with words.

    Another casualty was fallen in Surulere. One account said he was killed by policemen who were firing into the air; another said he was hit by a stray bullet from hoodlums who were engaging the police in exchange of gunfire. Whatever the truth is: the man died. And his boss, who was detained before, was freed after interventions. His family has identified him as Ikechukwu Iloamauzor, 55. They said he was a driver and was said to be conveying his boss to an event when the incident happened. He was the bread winner of his family.

    The casualties are not only those the police have killed, many have also been injured. The police in Abuja have particularly shown disrespect to peaceful engagements. They have been brutal with protesters and I wonder who is instructing them to behave as though the actions taken by IGP Mohammed Adamu mean nothing.

    There are other casualties who were failed by the system and took flight. Booker prize finalist Obioma Chigozie, in his latest novel, ‘An Orchestra of Minorities’, has the reasons many of them ‘escaped’. The reasons read like a portrait of our dear Nigeria, which he described as: “The land of lack, of man-pass-man, the land in which a man’s greatest enemies are members of his household; a land of kidnappers, of ritual killers; of policemen who bully those they encounter on the road and shoot those who don’t bribe them; of leaders who treat those they lead with contempt and rob them of their commonwealth; of frequent riots and crisis; of long strikes; of petrol shortages; of joblessness; of clogged gutters; of potholed roads…and of constant power outages.”

    The United Kingdom, Canada, United States and South Africa take the prime slots of locations where these casualties now call home. Canada, with its freezing weather, is still receiving casualties from Nigeria regularly because things work. As cold as Saskatchewan is, not a few Nigerians are on the waiting list for its invitation to come and be residents.

    Our situation is so precarious that citizens are ready to die trying to get to Europe through the Sahara deserts. One in three Nigerians lives in poverty, which represents thirty-two per cent of the population. Thirty-seven per cent of children suffer from malnutrition. Half of the Nigerian population use unsafe or unimproved sanitation. Nigeria is 43rd on the sustainable development goal index.

    Poverty is concentrating on fast-growing countries like Nigeria and, by 2050, more than 40 per cent of Nigeria will still be under poverty’s jackboot. Our slot as the country with the second-highest number of deaths of children under the age of five is guaranteed. According to the United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF), no fewer than 250,000 children in Nigeria die on their first day of life, the second highest in the world. Sadly, 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!

    For casualties like me who have chosen to remain home, life is a daily struggle. Of course, police have contributed greatly to making it a struggle. Leaders, who had nothing before coming into offices, suddenly become overnight billionaires, owning businesses everywhere and stashing money in numbered accounts overseas. Our leaders do not see the people as the ultimate. They forget that power is transient.

    My final take: The youths now forced to take to the streets are all casualties, casualties of a leadership that has failed to provide them with jobs, casualties of a leadership that sees them as lazy, casualties of brutalisation by a police paid with tax payers’ money, casualties of a system that criminalises peaceful protests, casualties of opportunities that are few and far in-between, and casualties of leaders that must be made to do more.

  • The more things change

    The more things change

    Olukorede Yishau

     

    IT was sometime in 1970, eight clear years before I became a bonafide member of this world we like describing as sinful when it decides to go against us. Gen. Yakubu Jack Gowon, who was then our military ruler, did an x-ray of the role of the elite and concluded: “We use our positions to embezzle. We parade ourselves as saints and prophets although we are unfit for their abode. In all honesty, our country has never had it so bad.”

    I came across this quote in Kole Omotoso’s ‘Just Before Dawn’, a blend of facts and fiction about major events in our nation’s annals. I came across so many more things in the book that have made me feel the more things change in Nigeria the more they remain the same. Gowon’s quote, though not made for today, still sadly rings true for today. Are our elite still not using their position to embezzle, yet parading themselves as saints, when they are unfit for their abode? He said we had never had it so bad, if only he knew what was coming years after.

    A pamphlet referred to in the book, which was issued by forces opposed to the Murtala Mohammed government, complained about the Lagos traffic mess, the port congestion, inflation and fuel crisis. Forty-five years after, have we stopped the Lagos traffic mess, the port congestion, inflation, and fuel crisis? The pamphleteers wrote: “Nigeria is bleeding and will soon bleed to death.” Have we stopped bleeding forty-five years later?

    In another scenario, Omotoso wrote: “The glaring difference between an armed seventeen-year-old who is executed for threatening a lady and stealing five naira from her, and a state governor who had used his position freely to acquire millions of naira worth of property was obvious to the people, yet ignored by those in power.”

    Has the situation changed? Not really, because people in positions of authority still convert commonwealth to theirs and brazenly acquire estates. There are public office holders in Nigeria whose country homes are as big as some villages. Their garages brim with vehicles running into tens; and many are gathering dust. They own homes in Asokoro, Banana Island, Maitama, Ikoyi, GRA Port Harcourt, GRA Enugu and in cities across the world, especially London, New York and Paris — many of them empty and only occupied for few days throughout the year.

    Between the 70s and now, we have had military and civilian administrations, yet many of the challenges of then are still with us, with some variations, of course.

    An unnamed military administrator quoted in the book spoke about the fact that education was no longer the only way of making money. He advised the people to look for “who can help you for a fee”. He also spoke about the fact that graduates could not even get employed as teachers. Has the situation really changed? Thousands of graduates roam the streets every day looking for jobs, man-know-man still dictates the pace and we are yet to rid our society of the bribery-to-receive-favour syndrome.

    The hunger for power by the political class was given generous space in ‘Just Before Dawn’. Personal interests were sold as general interests; sadly, the situation has remained the same. Politicians jump ship to retain their control of the public tills, yet sing at every given opportunity that they are in power to serve and are making sacrifices for the betterment of our nation. Sacrifice my foot!

    The North/South dichotomy was real in the years captured by Omotoso. The situation has not changed, we still look at the country from this prism. The book recalled the efforts of the Sardauna of Sokoto, the late Ahmadu Bello, to scout for young Northerners who would be sent to England to acquire western education to curb the aggressive competition from the South, which he felt was dominating jobs, positions and businesses being handed over to locals. Evidence of this mistrust abounds in the book. Till this day, the North still does not trust the South and the South does not trust the North. And in the North, the Middle Belt is dissociating itself from what is known as core North. In the South, the Yoruba, the Igbo and the Niger Delta are also doing their own battles. As it was in the beginning so it is now.

    Abuse of power was another major challenge captured in the book. One such instance was a premier who caused one million pounds of the region’s money to be deposited in his private bank to save it from dying. The money was handed over to the region by the colonial masters who were then a few years away from granting us independence. Our leaders still use their positions for personal benefits and they are not going to stop anytime soon. The years may have gone by, but the issues that dogged the past are still very much dictating our fortunes and misfortunes.

    There was also complaint about grave economic predicament and uncertainty, inept and corrupt leadership, among others. That was in 1984. But my question is: Do these still sound true of our reality? Our economy is on its way to recession and people in positions of authority have been found to be inept and corrupt.

    My final take: One other aspect of our lives that has not changed is our policing system. For over one week now, our major cities have been occupied by youths seeking the real end of the Special Anti-Robbery Squad (SARS) and genuine reform of the police. We are tired of audio reform that lends credence to the fact that the more things change the more they remain the same. President Muhammadu Buhari and the police leadership have promised to go beyond rhetoric. We need to see this and not just hear it. We have been fooled for too long.

    Until our today takes a radical change from our yesterday, change cannot be said to have happened. The challenges of years past, such as epileptic power supply, sick economy, division and others should have no place in our today.

     

  • X-raying Abiodun’s gifts to Laycon, teachers

    X-raying Abiodun’s gifts to Laycon, teachers

    By Olukorede Yishau

    On Monday and Tuesday, Ogun State Governor Dapo Abiodun announced two major decisions: One was about teachers in his state and the other was about Laycon, winner of the Big Brother Naija Lockdown Edition. These decisions made me both sad and happy. It also made me wonder about what we consider important in life. Our scale of judgment comes into focus for me after weighing these two decisions.

    First, let us look at what Abiodun did on Monday during the World Teachers’ Day. The governor announced the donation of a two-bedroom bungalow to Mr. Odegbola Ayodele, a Junior Secondary School (JSS) teacher in Abeokuta Grammar School. The house is located at the state-owned Princes Court, Abeokuta. Ayodele got the house for emerging the overall best teacher in the state.

    Abiodun also gave N2.5 million to Mr. Adewale Abayomi of the Odua Comprehensive High School, Imoru, Ijebu-Ode, for emerging the best teacher in the senior secondary school category. Mrs. Mary Adeyemi of the St. Paul’s School II, Sagamu, who emerged the best primary school teacher, got N2 million from the governor.

    “We will continue to celebrate innovation. We will encourage consistency. Our administration will continue to make the welfare of our teachers our priority. Our teachers’ reward will not be in heaven, but here on earth,” he said.

    The following day, the governor celebrated another kind of innovation, this time he honoured the BBN winner. He appointed Laycon, whose real name is Olamilekan Moshood Agbelesebioba, the state’s Youth Ambassador. Abiodun also gave Laycon a three-bedroom bungalow and five million naira, when all the best teacher got was a two-bedroom apartment. What Laycon alone got is more than what the overall best teacher, the best teacher in secondary school and the best teacher in primary school got. He sure has more than one head!

    The governor, who described Laycon’s conduct in the House as demonstrating the Omoluabi ethos, said: “It is hoped that you will help inspire our teeming youths to channel their energies towards positive engagements and shun vices such as robbery, drug abuse, cultism, advanced fee fraud, cybercrimes and kidnapping among other negative tendencies.”

    While I do not doubt Laycon’s talent and intelligence, I find it hard to understand why he deserves more than the overall best teacher, the best teacher in secondary school and the best teacher in primary school. Without teachers, Laycon would not have been able to display the intelligence appreciated by the governor. Even the governor would not have become what he is today without teachers. I am waiting to be convinced that Laycon has contributed more to our society than teachers. Teachers are influential forces for equity, access and quality in education.

    The governor is certainly not alone in placing more value on the like of Laycon than teachers or other professionals. It is a Nigerian malaise. While the BBN show lasted, millions were not only glued to the show, with companies falling over one another to sponsor it, they also spent their hard-earned money supporting their favourite housemates. Ask these companies to sponsor a research by Hallowed Olaoluwa, who is seen as Africa’s Albert Einstein, and all you will get are excuses. Olaoluwa earned First Class in Mathematics and Physics at 18 and had two Master’s degrees in Physics and Mathematics at 19. He earned his doctorate degree at 24. His governor is yet to invite him for any form of recognition.

    When Nigerians do well outside our shores, their host nations worship them. Recently, the British government honoured Victor Osagie, a Nigerian Information Technology Consultant, for his ingenuity in the mass production of ventilators to boost the National Health System (NHS) fight against the Coronavirus pandemic. The Cabinet office believes Osagie is one of the best Britain has to offer.

    Osagie’s team delivered the quality control system that rapidly converted disused warehouses into assembly lines. His team converted Ford Motors vehicle production lines and Airbus Aircraft production lines into ventilator production lines. Osagie and his team produced over 14,000 ventilators in 90 days. This boosted the NHS ventilator capacity from less than 9,000 pre-COVID-19 era to the over 25,000 capacity in July 2020.

    And in the United States, our own Lt. Victor Agunbiade was honoured with the Navy and Marine Corps Development Medal for effectively managing its largest overseas cash disbursement of $45 million (N17.5 billion). Agunbiade, who joined the US Navy in 2008, managed the money and was able to account for every penny.

    I am still waiting for Nigeria to honour Ikenna Nweke, a Nigerian, who returned a missing wallet with foreign currency in Japan even when no one was watching him. Nweke, a doctorate student in a Japanese university, turned down the offer of compensation. He projected honesty, integrity and contentment, which the bulk of Nigerians represent. By now, he should have become a brand ambassador to serious firms but he has no entertainment value and will not appeal to the mass market that firms target around here.

    Big businesses, including Nigerian Breweries, Nigerian Bottling Company, Coca-Cola and United Bank for Africa, readily support musical shows and even shower multi-millions on musicians as ambassadors. Ask them to institute a prize for teachers and they will throw pittance at it. Ask them to choose between supporting Wizkid and Booker Prize-winning novelist Bernardine Evaristo, or ‘An Orchestra of Minorities’ author Chigozie Obioma, and your guess is as good as mine.

    My final take: I thank Abiodun for honouring teachers in Ogun State but I am at a loss about the factors that valued them less than Laycon whose only passport to fame is winning the BBN. Whatever the factors are, they need to be reconsidered. Teachers’ contributions cannot, by any stretch of imagination, be compared with Laycon’s. They are poles and miles apart.

  • Of secrets, Nigeria and Olukayode Yishau

    Of secrets, Nigeria and Olukayode Yishau

    By Olukorede Yishau

    Nigeria, our dear nation, was 60 yesterday. The day also marked the eighth anniversary of the death of my father. Also, my sophomore literary output, ‘Vaults of Secrets’, was released to the public on this special Independence Day, which the government says we will celebrate for one year. Cynics say there is nothing to celebrate. I disagree. We have so much to celebrate: uninterrupted power supply, refineries working at full capacity, a fantastic healthcare sector, one-in-the-world education sector, the world’s best road network, an exceptional civil service, the best currency in the universe and brain gain.

    Our fantastic healthcare sector could not save my father, Alhaji Olukayode Yishau, who died October 1, 2012. Besides the day being the nation’s 52nd independence anniversary, it was also exactly 42 years since my father and mother had lived together as husband and wife.

    He was 68. Before his death, he was up and down for about three weeks. The last thing that ever came to our mind was that he was going to die with what we thought was one of his small illnesses.

    According to our mother, the last time he was terribly sick was 41 years before his death. Then they had only my elder sister, Funke, who works as an Education Officer with the Onigbongbo Local Council Development Area. Then, he took a photograph, which occupied a prime position in his sitting room in his Orile-Agege home, and gave to my mother to use for his obituary. He did not die then, but also lived to sire seven more children. One, Olusola, died painfully in 2001 after years of sickness that medical science could really not explain to us.

    His death made me wonder what could have gone wrong. Could he have lived longer if he had checked his health status very well and took necessary precautions? What made me feel this way was the doctor’s discovery that his heart was not functioning well. Could that have happened suddenly? Or had it been there all along undiscovered? Anything is possible with misdiagnosis popular in our healthcare sector.

    The late Chief Gani Fawehinmi had a bitter experience before he died. A popular radio presenter, ChazB, narrated how a supposed expert in a Magodo hospital told him a man was a match for his kidney transplant, only for doctors in India to discover he was wrong. He almost lost his life in the process before his wife readily gave her kidney to keep him alive. Sadly, he died later.

    Maybe the story of how we discovered what was wrong can help understand my inquisitiveness. Early morning on October 1, 2012, I had called him to explain something. When he picked the call, his voice scared me. He at a point urged me to come and see him if I had time. Even without him asking, I would have gone hearing him speak that way.

    On getting to the house, he told me a doctor asked him to do ECG. He also showed me the left side of his neck, which appeared abnormal. Two of my uncles were with him. We arranged and got him to go for the ECG. I left for work after making this arrangement.

    In the afternoon, my elder brother, Muyiwa, called me and said the doctor said he had heart-related problem and that it was critical. The doctor, a cardiologist (who has also since died), suggested we either allow him care for our father or take him to LUTH. We ruled out LUTH, which always had issues with bed space and all that. I understand our father even told the doctor that if it was about money, his children would pay. Of course, we paid some money, including for a test he never did. The only thing he waited for was the reading of his heart with a machine my brother, Jide, told me was always writing: “time out”.

    The doctor could just not get his pulse. Exactly 7.43pm that day he mistakenly called asking me to buy him ointment. He was feeling pains on his neck. He got the ointment through my younger brother, but some minutes to 9pm, his time was up. It was God that saw me drive safely from Fatai Atere to Agege that night.

    Sympathisers said we should thank God that he died a grandfather and all that. But all that did not answer my question: Could he have lived longer if there was proper system through which citizens from time to time check on their health at no killing cost?

    I have been told that in advanced economies, such as the UK and the United States, there are medical insurance in place that ensures citizens check their health status regularly. Even when you don’t know it is time, you are duly informed.

    Here we have the National Health Insurance, which has been crawling for decades and working as though bugs are in its system. Hospitals, especially government-owned ones, are glorified dispensaries. There are no members of staff to go round the patients. A friend once told me that his then one-year-old daughter needed a simple corrective heart surgery and one of the General Hospitals in Lagos gave him appointment for March of the following year. Yet, the poor girl was sleeping with difficulty every day, with the parents unable to sleep soundly too. Another friend lost his first child to such lackadaisical approach to healthcare. When are we going to ever get it right?

    I believe that if the secrets about why Nigeria has not fulfilled its destiny are revealed, many of the people who have had the opportunity to be in positions of authorities will die of shame and, perhaps, the people’s wrath.

    Interestingly, secrets are the concerns of my sophomore literary output. Secrets are vital information we keep for one reason or the other; it can be because we want our privacy or because we are ashamed of what we have done.

    My collection deals with the two variables: secrets kept for privacy and secrets kept to avoid shame and public ridicule, but the bulk of the stories are about the latter. There is a story about a boy who found out that his grandfather was also his father. There is also a sad and hilarious story about a man who has the special gift of walking in on people’s secrets and has perfected the art of keeping these secrets, but he kept one that he regretted keeping because it led to the end of the marriage of his best friend. There is also the story about a married woman whose conscience decided to tell the story of how all her children were for his lover, whose wife also brought in her lover’s kids as his. And there is also a story about a different kind of secret: A woman sees a man who looks exactly like her dead husband and before she can find out the reason for the semblance, he has an accident and dies. She believes there is a secret behind the resemblance but death robs her of the right to find out whether or not there is really a secret.

    My final take: Nigeria needs to get to the root of where the rain began to beat us because without digging out the secrets behind our backwardness, moving forward will be Herculean. We need to do far better than we have done.

  • Nigeria… A nation languishing in terrorism, corruption, political jingoism

    Nigeria… A nation languishing in terrorism, corruption, political jingoism

    By Bukola Olajide

    Have you ever imagined a flourishing land of plenty, laced with richness and wealth inherent in natural resources? This is further epitomised by the cultural diversities and beauty of tradition of various states; a land flowing with milk and honey, manned by giants, languishing in lack, terrorism, corruption, political jingoism, and social vices.

    In time past, the land suffered the humiliation of colonisation of the British government which informed the search for individual and general liberation. Thanks to civilisation, men and women rose to spearhead self-governance through the establishment of national political parties. But, many years after Independence, we are bogged down by unnecessary policies, laws, and some archaic traditions.

    Despite the enormity of the economic challenges still facing many Nigerians today, optimism is keeping many alive to believe that the nation will still achieve greatness. This can only be when the youths are empowered through discipline and committed leadership, innovations, education, entrepreneurship, gender equity, and equal allocation of resources culminating in financial freedom and general peace of the country.

    If Nigeria will become great again, we must resolve to fight corruption and ensure good governance for the benefit of all. Also, the good old values of the fear of God, love, and respect for our neighbours and towards public facilities must be instilled in the younger generation. The new media and technological advancement must be used for positive ends.

    This brings me to pray:

    Oh God of creation, direct our noble cause

    Guide our leader’s right

    Help our youth the truth to know

    In love and honesty to grow

    And living just and true

    Great lofty heights attain

    To build a nation where peace and justice shall reign.

  • Ominiabohs’ ‘Odufa’ and ‘Aviara’

    Ominiabohs’ ‘Odufa’ and ‘Aviara’

    Olukorede Yishau

     

    By now you should know I like telling stories. Stories help to ease the tension of living in our dear Nigeria where leaders steal brazenly, where people in authority seem to have given their souls to the devil, where to hope is akin to wallowing in hopelessness, where things have perpetually fallen apart, and getting the centre to hold is an exercise in futility.

    Today let me talk to you about a young man who a doctor conducts a series of tests on. One of his test results is a source of worry for the doctor so he orders further tests.

    “On a hunch, I ordered a fertility test to be carried out. I can’t say it is normal; neither can I really pinpoint its origin. But it’s possible your untreated hypertension is the primary culprit. We would have to run more tests to ascertain exactly what went wrong. From the result in that test slip, you do not have the required sperm motility rate to impregnate a woman,” the doctor says to Anthony Mukoro.

    But that is not all: “Sixty percent of your sperms cells are dead, another twenty percent is non-motile. At this rate, you may never be able to father a child.”

    And thus begins Anthony Mukoro’s quest for healing. He is just twenty-one; he has his life ahead of him. He moves from Port Harcourt, where he has just completed his degree, to Lagos, to stay with his elder sister, and not long after this life-changing diagnosis, he meets a girl named Odufa, who is twenty-three and the elder sister of his female friend.

    Odufa takes to Anthony from the get-go, but she refuses his advances on the ground that her sister loves him too. With time, they begin dating. Theirs turns out to be a relationship built on lies. Odufa is in the dark about Anthony’s health status. It takes a visit to Kano, where Odufa is a student at the Bayero University, Kano (BUK), for Anthony to find out she hid her true status in BUK from him. He forgives her but keeps his truth away from her. He eventually lets it out and Odufa promises to be his miracle; she succeeds in proving the doctor wrong by getting pregnant for him.

    But Odufa is friends with rage. When she is angry, the heavens can fall. She cares not. She can grab your collar, grip your neck and tear your shirt to pieces. She can even shut the door on a host she is meeting for the first time. She is sweet like that! And when she becomes sober, her knees find it very easy to hit the floor pleading for forgiveness, and her eyes can suddenly become an ocean with a simple message: I am so sorry. It doesn’t mean she will not do it again.

    Anthony, eaten up by ailment, finds it convenient to decorate her face with slaps and kicks and blows. But when her rage rears its ugly face, he sobers like a boy denied his favourite cone ice cream. Even when she becomes pregnant, their fight continues. Somehow they stick together even when Anthony’s family forsakes him. Until things fall apart.

    Odufa and Anthony Mukoro are the creations of Othuke Ominiabohs. Their stories are contained in a two-part book ‘Odufa’ and ‘Aviara’, in which Ominiabohs’ mastery of suspense, descriptive prose and so on come into play. ‘Odufa’, which was shortlisted for the Wole Soyinka Prize for Literature in Africa, was published in 2015, and ‘Aviara’ in 2020.

    The last bits of ‘Odufa’ are the best for me: They got my heart racing as though on a marathon. Very emotional. It shows how evil we can sometimes be, how we can beat the devil at being bad, and how the line between love and hate can suddenly blur.

    When I finished reading ‘Odufa’, I wondered what ‘Aviara’ would be about. Ominiabohs shows skills in this sequel/prequel and succeeds in making my heart race almost from the beginning to the end.

    Introducing Zara, a nurse and a childhood friend of Anthony, sure helps move the story forward and gives it a telling touch.

    Unlike ‘Odufa’, which is rendered through Anthony’s voice, ‘Aviara’ has Zara as a joint narrator, and there is also a bit of the Almighty technique or the third-person narration. The author’s choice of narrating the story in present tense gives it a different feel from ‘Odufa’, which is written in the past tense.

    The two books can make a reader howl or misty-eyed, they are unforgettable. They at times read like sad songs, at times like comedy-inducing poetry and at times like heart-wrenching tragedies. Dialogues and imageries in these books are realistic. They help to develop the plot.

    Using interesting and flawed characters, he shines a light on dark recesses. Kano, Warri, Lagos, Aviara and Port Harcourt come alive in these books and, if you have not been to them before, you will learn a lot.

    He anchors the novels in such a way that a reader gets a real feeling of what life must have been like in the cities and towns they are set in. I love the intertwining of political and religious events, especially two of our recent presidential elections (the one President Muhammadu Buhari lost to Dr Goodluck Jonathan and the one he defeated Jonathan) and the menace called Boko Haram.

    The prose is sharp and the narration is fast-paced, making them very engaging reads. Despite the darkness prevalent in the books, Ominiabohs triumphs in gifting us real page-turners.

    Ominiabohs, through ‘Odufa’, explores relationships, ill-health, marrying across tribes, anger problem, the almajiri challenge, and so on.

    Influence peddling rears its ugly head in ‘Odufa’. It allows Hakeem to break all the rules in the NYSC Camp in Wukari, Taraba State, without any consequence. He is the governor’s son and only needs to ask and the rules are suspended for as long as he wants it. This is moral corruption, one of the banes of our beloved Nigeria which turns 60 in a few days but is still taking baby leaps.

    There is also the reference to misdiagnosis, a common phenomenon in Nigeria. Many Nigerians, including the late Gani Fawehinmi, was for years treating a wrong ailment because laboratories in Nigeria wrongly diagnosed his condition. It took doctors in London to discover he had cancer. It was too late and the man died. The diagnosis, which made Anthony hunger for early fatherhood, turns out wrong. There is no link between hypertension and dead sperm cells, he later finds out when the damages to his kidneys are discovered.

    ‘Aviara’ deals with redemption, love, ancestry, faith, philosophy, death and self-discovery. ‘Aviara’ is a sad commentary about our dear Nigeria, a nation unable to cater for the health and other needs of the majority of its people. It paints vivid pictures of the scary turns in our nationhood, using Anthony’s medical tourism to India to show what Nigerians go through when their health fails and their nation cannot help them.

    With the way ‘Aviara’ ends, I suspect Ominiabohs is after a trilogy. It will certainly be a welcome addition to his highly-recommended body of literary fiction. Take it from me, ‘Odufa’ and ‘Aviara’ are outstanding. Good is not good enough to describe these great pieces. I love them so much I am happily angry to have finished reading them quickly!

  • Life will always go on

    Life will always go on

    By Olukorede Yishau

    I am on a search for that person who the world cannot do without. If you find him for me, my joy will know no bounds, but truth be told: I doubt if there is anything to my quest.

    This year of pandemic has, more than any other year, shown us all that with or without us life will go on. Until Coronavirus took ex-Chief of Staff Abba Kyari, some must have assumed the Villa would be in a state of utter catharsis without his prim and proper ways of organising President Muhammadu Buhari’s activities. But, even before his death, while he was battling for his life at the First Cardiologist Hospital in Lagos, the Villa never stopped working for one day.

    When ex-Oyo State Governor Abiola Ajimobi died, many a supporter stormed his Oluyole home crying as though a part of them had died. It was like tomorrow will never come. Similar scenes were recorded in the homes of the late Senators Bayo Osinowo, Buruji Kashamu, and other political heavyweights that Coronavirus has ended their sojourn on earth. There was even a video of fans screaming that how would they survive with their leader’s death. But time has since healed their wound and they are moving on.

    One major mistake we make in life is to work, work, work, and leave no time to relax. Those in this category forget that the lifespan of work is more than their lifespan. Many have been known to develop high blood pressure because of a lack of sound sleep and rest. Hypertension causes quantum morbidity and mortality in Africa, and Nigeria hugely contributes to this burden. A study estimated an overall hypertension prevalence of 28.8 per cent, with a prevalence of 29.5 per cent among men and 25 per cent among women. It estimated a prevalence of 30.6 per cent among urban dwellers and 26.4 per cent among rural dwellers.

    Political leaders in Africa carry on as though they are irreplaceable, but no one is truly matchless. The replacement may not do the work the same way but the work will still get done. The average age of the 15 oldest African leaders, at some point, was 77, compared to 52 for leaders of the world’s ten most-developed economies. And many of them bent the law to stay put in power and create the impression that they are irreplaceable.

    At the time he was unceremoniously kicked out of office, the late Robert Mugabe was 94. He led Zimbabwe for 37 years. He was said to have vowed to ensure he was referred to as late president and not a former president. Good enough, he never had his way. The man who took over from him, Emmerson Mnangagwa, still qualifies as one of Africa’s oldest leader. Mnangagwa, also known as ‘Crocodile’, is about 78 years old and is already unleashing terror on his country, including the arrest of Booker Prize nominee Tsitsi Dangarembga.

    Yoweri Museveni, who has led Uganda since 1986, is over 76. He carries on as though Uganda will not go on without him. Or how do you explain a situation where the country’s constitution, which limited the presidential age at 75, was amended to allow Museveni to continue in office beyond that age. The amendment engendered bitterness in the country but Museveni was not moved. He got what he wanted and that was all that mattered. Whether he likes it or not, he will not be president forever. He will die and be buried in a grave far removed from the presidential palace.

    These leaders who take themselves too seriously forget that there are so many things we all cannot be. We will not all be rich, we will not all have degrees, we will not all be successful in our chosen career, we will not all get married, and we will not all have children, but there is one thing we will all have, irrespective of class, religion or education. That thing is death. It is an inevitable end for us all.

    For us to be remembered well long after this inevitable end, there is something we must do: Give. And this reminds me of a story I came across some days back.

    The story goes: In 1892, an 18-year-old student at Stanford University in the United States was struggling to pay his fees. The boy, who was an orphan, came up with a bright idea to raise money. He and a friend decided to organise a musical concert on campus. They chose a great pianist, Ignacy J. Paderewski, as the musician for the event. Paderewski’s manager demanded $2000 for his principal to participate in the concert. The boys were, however, unable to sell enough tickets to raise the $2,000, all they got was $1600. They sought out Paderewski and explained their plight. They offered the great pianist the $1600, and a post-dated cheque for the balance $400.

    Paderewski stunned them: “No. This is not acceptable.” He was said to have torn the cheque and told the two boys: “Here’s the $1600. Please deduct whatever expenses you have incurred. Keep the money you need for your fees. And just give me whatever is left.”

    The boys thanked him profusely. It marked out Paderewski as a great human being. Later in life, Paderewski became Polish Prime Minister. When the World War began, Poland was ravaged and more than 1.5 million people were starving, and he had no money to feed them. Paderewski reached out to the United States Food and Relief Administration for help. Herbert Hoover, an alumnus of Stanford, was the director of the agency at the time. He shipped tons of food grains to feed the starving Polish people.

    A relieved Paderewski decided to meet and thank Hoover personally. Hoover was quoted to have interjected and said: “You shouldn’t be thanking me Mr. Prime Minister. You may not remember this, but several years ago, you helped two young students go through college. I was one of them.”

    Hoover— who later became the U.S. President— was the orphan who initiated the concert before his friend bought into it. Hoover died on October 20, 1964.

    It is good deeds such as Paderewski’s that we will eventually be remembered for long after we are gone. Paderewski, who was born November 18, 1860, died June 29, 1941, and to this day, is still being recalled.

    My final take: Believing there is no one like you is a delusion. Carrying on as though only you can make things happen is an illusion. And saying if not for me, he or she would not have amounted to anything is akin to playing God. You are only a vehicle God used to bring it to fruition.

    I will also say overworking yourself is being unfair to yourself. Take leave annually, rest well, and enjoy yourself. Life never misses anyone, only your people do. And eventually, they will move on.

  • Oba of Benin

    Oba of Benin

    Olukorede Yishau

     

    He sits, speaks and treads with a candour I am still searching for the right word or phrase to situate. Men cower in his presence and women differ to his being and children look at him in awe. And when it is time for him to ascend the higher realm, all we hear is that “the leopard is ill in the Savannah Bush” and we dare not ask what that means.

    The Oba of Benin stool is not about who is on it, it is not about the person’s age or education or any other thing, but the stool itself. The stool is the most important and once you sit on it, you command the sort of authority the people have made sure we are yet to see in any other monarch in Nigeria. It is one stool in which the occupant is groomed from birth and availed the best of traditional and modern education.

    If I had any doubt about the place of the Oba of Benin, it vanished last week when the Oba summoned politicians and political godfathers in Edo State to his Palace and, like obedient servants, they all went with their hands tucked at their back. I am still wondering who else can pull that off easily. I will tell you when I come up with one.

    Some of the men before Ewuare II have armed thugs, who the monarch was afraid would later hide the guns and use them to rob and assassinate people; and several of them have been involved in acts making Edo State a laughing stock. The monarch had their ears and he minced no words with them on their ignoble roles in the run-up to the September 19 governorship election. His plea: Do not turn Benin into a city of thugs.

    To those seeking shelter under the umbrella, he made aware how tattered they have become, and to those who find comfort sweeping with their brooms, he bravely told how disappointing they have turned out.

    Ewuare II gave it to them raw. He let it be known that all of them have disappointed him by directly or indirectly supporting violence. He told them to show respect to the traditional institution without lip service. He said he expected ex-Governor John Odigie-Oyegun to call both sides to a ceasefire, adding that he would hold him responsible if he failed to use his elder-statesmanship status to stop the violence in Edo State.

    And to the one he used to call son but betrayed his confidence, he looked him straight in the face and declared: “I am not sure I will call (Phillip) Shaibu my son again, because of the way he (Shaibu) is going. Shaibu refused to honour his assurances to me. You do not say something to me and you go against it. Shaibu, behave yourself. Calm down. I learnt you control thugs. Tell your boys to a ceasefire and drop their arms. Let your boys calm down. Must it be a do-or-die affair? Do not turn Benin into a city of thugs. Do not kill yourselves because of public office. Stop the shootings. I am very sad about what is happening in Edo State. This is the worst scenario. Let us eschew violence and give peace a chance.”

    Shaibu said: “I will do as you have directed, by telling my boys to calm down.”

    At a point, Ize-Iyamu walked up to Obaseki, embraced him and described him as his elder brother.

    The monarch shared interesting insights about how Godwin Obaseki became governor. One, some royal members of Obaseki’s family close to the palace were against the decision; two, he had pleaded with Adams Oshiomhole to propose but not impose a successor; three, he refused to give an opinion after Oshiomhole informed him of his choice; four, three weeks after telling the monarch Obaseki was his choice, Oshiomhole came back to the palace and wanted to know the monarch’s opinion but the Oba did not give any because Oshiomhole’s decision on Obaseki was not a proposal, but an imposition; five, Oshiomhole invited Africa’s richest man Alhaji Aliko Dangote to speak with the monarch on his choice of Obaseki. Dangote came and spoke with the Oba on Obaseki for over one hour, but the Oba kept quiet. Oshiomhole and Obaseki also visited him in Uselu, but he still kept quiet; and six, Dangote stood as a guarantor for Obaseki to be of good behaviour and that if Obaseki misbehaved, the monarch should contact him and still the Oba kept quiet.

    Obaseki, of course, became governor. What started as a smooth ride, turned to an unprecedented conflict. The Oba tried to intervene several times. He even went to President Muhammadu Buhari over the matter. He said both of them started avoiding him. Oshiomhole succeeded in frustrating Obaseki out of the All Progressives Congress (APC). He threw his weight behind Pastor Osagie Ize-Iyamu, who he vilified in 2016 because of Obaseki. Now Ize-Iyamu is the APC governorship candidate and Obaseki is the PDP candidate: a reversal of role for both men.

    Ambition can be very toxic. Though they respected the monarch by obeying his summons, these men have returned to the trenches after leaving the palace. It is the season of lies. This season really started months back; it is getting worse now. The airwaves, online, offline, and so on, are seeing men and women—old and young—telling barefaced lies and keeping a straight face. And even when they are caught, they explain away everything as part of the game of politics. Everything is fair in war, they say.

    Men are shedding crocodile tears on national television claiming it is because of the love for the people. Ghosts are being exhumed. Green is being called black. White is turning brown. And conscience is no longer an open wound, which only truth, according to Uthman Dan Fodio, can heal. No time but now is Femi Anikulapo-Kuti’s song ‘Truth don die o’ more relevant.

    The monarch’s message is succinct: Until we are ready to follow the best democratic practices, we will just be deceiving ourselves. We will continue to lag behind in the comity of nations; we will continue to play second fiddle; and we will remain static while deceiving ourselves that we are on the march. Nothing more proves this than the circus going on all in the name of the electioneering campaign in Edo.

    My final take: Will we ever get our politics right? Will there ever be ideological bend to our politics? Will there ever be distinguishable conservatives or progressives in our political space? Will our elected officials ever obey the law as it concerns defection?