The Nation Newspaper

Category: Oyinkan Medubi

  • In pursuit of true happiness

    Today, reader, we are going to wax philosophical because the year is now at an end and as they say, we are not going to pass this way again. This means that we must take stock of what has gone before in order to make what is going to come richer. You will agree that this year has presented very interesting events to the pleasure of some and the consternation of most. After looking through these events, I have been saddened to note that the significant thread that runs through them is this problem of money. Just name any scandal in the year and you will find that at the heart of it is money, running into billions of Naira at year’s beginning and dollars at the year’s close. Clearly, as Hamlet needlessly observed to no one in particular, ‘something is rotten in the state of Nigeria’. More worrisome still, the malodorous content always seemed to stink around or even over the central government.

          Now, one of the hallmarks of this material age we live in is the fact that we tend to fill our lives with dross. You know what those are, don’t you? They are perishable items like vegetables, electronics, people, ambitions or even values. Someone once complained that in the mad rush for success now, people have completely lost sight of the real thing. This means that real people like you and me now regularly sacrifice other people literally to obtain our goals. The story is told of how groups of mountain climbers on their ways to mountain summits regularly climbed over the bodies of other climbers too weak or fatigued to continue their climbs. Heaven forbid that they should think of the alternative: stopping to help, which was often considered too costly as it would mean delaying or cancelling their own ambitions. In your typical Nigerian ambition, therefore, human life has been devalued, ritualised or even wasted to reach the goal: get money.

    Now, things are so bad it makes you wonder if anyone knows the real meaning of life anymore. Most have imbibed and internalised the dictum, ‘get abundance that you may have more abundance’. Whenever your average Nigerian can, he/she aims for abundance and more abundance. This is why it is possible for an individual to construct compartmentalised, ceiling-high shelves where different currencies and denominations sit day in, day out, worshipped by the stealer. That’s right; that individual (and others like him) is your fellow Nigerian. Pity your poor workman who finds he has to work in houses where such altars have been constructed for money. Just ask one around you. He will tell you stories of how the obsessed money gatherers daily run their eyes and hands and feet over and through them in ecstasies of worship.

         Yet, when it has come right down to it, money illicitly and indecently gathered has never been of help to the gatherer. Think about it. Most of such monies are useful for purchasing a lifestyle that is not particularly useful – partying, procuring under-aged minors of both sexes for sexual gratification, purchasing Items of Self Destruction (ISD) such as private jets or Items to be Wasted (ITBW) such as houses and islands because those may not even be remembered again after purchase. It is incredible the number of people who have silently gone down into the grave just after piling up under them such monumental heaps of money meant for the general populace. Even as you read this, dear reader, I believe you can think of one or two examples.

          Whenever I have wanted to teach myself a lesson, I have always remembered the story told of M.K.O. Abiola who was said to have pleaded with the doctors to do everything in their power to save his ailing first wife, ‘no matter what it would cost’. When the doctors tried and could not, he was said to have hissed and exclaimed, ‘SHAME ON MONEY!’ You see, he had the money and the power, but that money had no purchasing power.

          Listen, if you want to know the purchasing power of your money, get stranded on the road in the night with no fuel in your car and with you miles away from anywhere. All you will be holding is an empty gallon and a lot of money in your purse. Then instruct that money to get you some fuel. Alternatively, you might find yourself running around the town at night, going from one pharmacy to another, in search of a rare drug for a relative who is sick in the hospital. Someone who had that experience related that he kept pleading with each pharmacy in turn, ‘I have plenty of money here and I’m ready to pay any amount; please just sell me the drug’, but they did not have it.

         It is therefore very perplexing that Nigerians appear to make owning money an end. Some people explain this off as a cultural problem but I disagree. There is no Nigerian culture that licences the owning of money or properties which cannot be accounted for. Indeed, every known Nigerian culture not only frowns at, but even punishes, any illegitimate acquisition of properties. Rather, I think that the faulty physical strapping together of three disparate groups and the absence of a tested, well-formulated foundation (economic, political, moral, etc.) by the founding fathers of Nigeria are responsible for the dissociative life style we are witnessing. Add to that the fact that people have no credible reference points in terms of, say, leadership: for example, China has Mao Tse Tung; Britain has Churchill, France has de Gaulle, etc. In this way, you could say Nigeria constitutes a rudderless ship.

    All hope is not lost. Rather than pursue money, Nigeria must join the rest of the world in pursuing things that have more eternal values. As the old year ends and another begins, each one of us must travel right back inside him or her and find those things which make for greater personal and altruistic happiness and pursue them. There are three things we can thus work on emphasising.

    First, we can work on emphasising the miracles that happen each day. Miracles still happen and for you and me, they often come at no cost; for no amount of money can be put on the air that you and I draw every moment; our ability to leave home every morning and return at the end of the day; or a helping hand from a neighbour at a right time. More importantly, let us emphasise being miracle workers for someone: rescue a stranded one, bring hope to a depressed and hopeless person, share what little you have with someone else – you will be surprised what you get in return.

     The second is to work on emphasising moderation in everything. Eat in moderation; live in moderation; do bathroom singing in moderation; run after the world in moderation. I always say that no one can own the whole world – God already does, so why compete with him?

    Thirdly, work for the interconnectedness of people. Believe it or not, the world is woven around people. We all exist to meet each other’s needs. Hoarding all the resources of everyone else therefore is futile. Sooner or later, nature will balance itself out, with or without you, by forcefully taking what you will not release and giving it out to others.

          The story is told of an old man who called his children together and showed them the multiple houses and plots of land he owned. Horrified, the children berated him for his selfishness. ‘Don’t you have poor relatives you can give them to?’ they asked. Remember, it is not what you don’t have that kills you; it’s what you have. True happiness is sharing what you have with others.

  • Desperately seeking Christmas

    Was there not a time in this country when something called ‘Christmas bonus’, given to workers in the form of physical gifts or an extra ‘thirteenth month’ salary, ensured that people had a jolly time of Christmas? Now the only gifts workers are getting are months of unpaid salaries

    When I think I have heard all the jokes about Christmas, more keep coming. It began with the year former Head of State, now Pa Olusegun Obasanjo, was said to have attempted to cancel Christmas. That was when money was beginning to be scarce and the insurance was not paying up, mainly because I think no one had taken out an insurance against unforeseen happenings like unpaid salaries. Mostly, insurance firms insure against traumatic events like robbery, accidents, sickness, loss, etc., but I don’t think they have a column for traumas caused by ‘unpaid salary’.

    Then it went on to the year when an attempt was said to have been made to change the date of Christmas. I think that had to do with the times salaries began to come late; so there was this attempt to shift the date of Christmas to tally with the times salaries would be paid.

    After that came the period when they said Christmas was endangered and needed to be saved. I think that happened when everyone experienced the sort of low spirit that comes through things like job losses, loved ones losses, economic wars, insurgencies, etc. That was when people lost hope, threw up their hands and cried in desolation, ‘what is this life worth even?’ Ask me; I really wish I knew the answer to that one. Now, I have it on good authority that Christmas is lost and we need to seek her, desperately.

    I once watched a show on TV titled ‘Desperately seeking someone or the other’ but I could never really understand it because I thought the character everyone was seeking was right there in their midst, laughing and talking and joking with them. Why then I thought, in my naivety, should anyone seek the fellow? After all, you seek only that which is lost.

    That was exactly what I thought too, when I heard that people were now looking for Christmas. I thought it rather queer that the season of goodwill to all men, when people charge at you bearing gifts and beaming smiles, could hardly be said to be lost. It has been bearing down upon us all for a while now. Indeed, you know you are right in the midst of the Christmas season when you look outside and see nothing but the dusty haze, sheep crying from hunger, homes not much better than stables and people sleeping on straws – no money for mattresses any more. So yes, we are in the season of gifts.

    What gifts?, someone asked me. When last did you receive a gift? Was there not a time in this country when something called ‘Christmas bonus’ given to workers in the form of physical gifts or an extra ‘thirteenth month’ salary ensured that people had a jolly time of Christmas? Now the only gifts workers getting are months of unpaid salaries. That, they said, is why Christmas seems to be lost. Oh dear, dear me, that is sad, cause many people will be forced to live on borrowed money.

    Well, someone else said, living on borrowed money in Nigeria right now is not as easy as it used to be. To start with, you are owing your creditor real big because whoever loans you money is literally lord of your life. When he coughs, you think it means something. More importantly, taking your borrowed money to the market is proving really hazardous these days, what with the way prices are moving – worse than space-rocket speed; and that’s when you can even get anything to buy. Someone I know tried in vain for one week to buy fuel into his car, even on borrowed money.

    Everyone is of course blaming the rise in dollar and fall in Naira; and everyone is blaming that one on the fall in crude oil prices; and everyone is blaming that one on oil glut in the world market; and everyone is blaming… I tell you, there’s a big blame game going on. It just convinces me more that there is a real conspiracy against Christmas orchestrated by the economic market.

    Not wanting to join the blame game, I resolved to find my own Christmas and the joy that goes with it, even if everyone else seems to be in the doldrums about it. I decided that the Naira may rise and fall like the old Malian Empire as it likes, and the crude oil may fall and not rise like the Songhai Empire as it likes, I would go in search of Christmas and find it.

    First step, I headed for the shops. They weren’t too hard to find. Most of them had carols softly beaming out of loud speakers and tinsel colours romancing the atmosphere to infuse cups of Christmas cheers into the economically weary shopper. Taken, I had a look at the lights on sale. After all, there was nothing wrong with trying to get some colourful lights to brighten up the ol’ stable that is now my house and give the ‘horses’ a bit of relief.

    I looked more closely at the lights: there was something wrong with their prices: they were in thousands of naira. How can decorative items cost thousands of naira? I called the attention of the salesperson and pointed out that the real price had not been fixed on the string of lights that caught my attention. She looked, saw, and checked with her supervisor and reported that the price on the item was correct. I gulped; she gave me a pitying look. Fresh straw on the stable floor will have to do this year for colours.

    Next, I examined my old Christmas tree; it was in tatters, with pieces literally falling out. No Christmas is complete without that tree – it symbolises life; it symbolises hope. It also symbolises an economic investment – I thought I could always sell it when all else failed. Instead, it fell into pieces. I was thrown into a panic; my investment had gone down the drain and I had no tree. To replace the tattered one was not going to be easy but I went shopping for a new one.

    The price of the tree that appealed to me, however, made me laugh; it was way beyond that borrowed living status we have been talking about. I decided quickly: a fresh tree from the back of the house will have to do this year for that symbol of hope. Besides, I hear good trees are now worth a lot on the China market.

    To really bring home my Christmas, I decided a chicken or two or three might be helpful. Perhaps their clucking sounds might cajole and convince the season to come out of hiding. When I approached the chicken stall in the market, however, I was not too sure anymore. There they were, clucking heartily away, really encouragingly. That gave me hope that Christmas would come out of those birds. However, the clucks in the form of prices coming out of their sellers were not so pleasing. Their excuse?; the dollar had risen and the naira fallen! What the…! What on earth has the dollar got to do with the price of chicken?

    Ah, the sellers chorused, don’t I know that chicken feed is imported? Don’t I know that chicken wire is imported? Don’t I know that chicken this or chicken that is imported? Heck, I thought, shouldn’t chicken names be imported while we were at it?, as I stormed away. Obviously, for Christmas to be found this year, the head of the house must go hunting for a bush fowl!

    Have a very cheery Christmas, reader; I’m sure you’ll find it.

  • The kindness of a thousand ages

    I can point you to many cities in Nigeria where we have edifices of ego such monies have bought sitting in the sun in waste. The owners are long since dead, the monies for the houses were stolen, the children have been too ashamed to own them and the people have been too afraid to use them.

    I don’t know about you, but I am beginning to believe that this ‘Fake Arms Deal’ probe will never end. It is becoming clear to me that the inquiry is gathering something like a snowball effect where one participant in the Dasuki game of err, ‘sharing’ is leading us to another one. My only hope now is that this long trail does not one day fetch up at my house, what with the way names are just popping up on account of the millions and billions they are said to have shared.

    Unfortunately, the hand handcuffs, (they are called ‘bracelets’) the police are ‘inviting’ people with seem to fit all sizes. They shouldn’t. There should be special ones for the people who are said to have got millions, billions or trillions. The bracelets for those in the millions category should be sapphire encrusted; the cuffs for those who are said to have got billions should have diamonds and for those alleged to have got trillions; they should get gold-encrusted bracelets. The police should look into this possibility.

    I read the other day that they are now making some fine, coloured and attractive handcuffs. I think those ones are for female suspects who get only thousands as their ‘share’. The women can get to choose the bracelets that match the colour of the dress, shoes and bags they are spotting when they are arrested. Now, that’s what I call respect.

    Anyway, as I said, I hope the probists don’t fetch up at my house next when they have run out of houses to suspect. You never can tell; that five naira gift may not be as innocent as you think. As it is now, just hearing that 333bn or so was shared by participants in the Jonathan administration for spurious purposes is making me mumble everywhere I go now: why, oh why, the deuce was I not part of that ‘Government of Sharing’?

    In all honesty, I was invited, I think, to take part. There I was sitting down quietly in my house one day in that era when a message came into my phone that I had been pencilled down for one government appointment or the other. I didn’t laugh; no, I didn’t. I simply forwarded the text to the knowing one around me and asked him to use his magical powers to detect its four-one-nine quotient. Being more cautious that the rest of the human race, he simply threw the name I had been asked to contact in the presidency into the net and came up with… nothing. Naturally, I withdrew my enthusiasm as I have since learnt to take life’s many lessons to heart.

    Oh, life is always teaching one lessons. For instance, I have learnt that picking the pocket of the pick pocket is no small pocket picking job. What that means has not quite been revealed to me yet but please be my guest at cracking it. Also, when I am boiling eggs on the stove, it now pays for me to write a small memo to myself on the matter and include the hour I light the stove, and also the date. It is so easy to forget things these days without even trying. More importantly, I have learnt that Nigerians are placing higher and higher price tags on kindness. Nobody does anything out of kindness for anyone anymore in this country.

    Have you noticed that when Nigerians do a favour for you they expect you to pay for it? You just try it out anywhere you go in the country. When you are given a special privilege, trust me, it is only because your benefactor thinks you can pay for it. It used to be that people would fly to help you change your tyre for nothing. These days, thank you will not do. First, you are assured that it is only because it is you that the deed is being done. Next, people expectantly look at your bag or purse as you say thank you. Failure to do the needful earns you the sobriquet of ‘an ingrate’. Many times, I have failed to correctly interpret the word ‘favour’ to mean ‘chargeable privilege’; I have instead interpreted it to mean ‘favour’. Who knew such a simple word could carry so many meanings?

    But, I am not alone; Nigeria is with me in this misinterpretation game. Over the decades, this country has invited many of her citizens to partake in governance. I think the country has usually imposed only one interpretation on the word ‘governance’ to mean ‘service’, believing that somehow, hand joined in hand would produce the best system of public transport, the most efficient access to power, the best utility system, and so on. The idea behind it is really not too hard to guess. Generations yet unborn would benefit from the largesse of the brains that God in his infinite wisdom has given the citizens. That way, the country would be passing untold kindness down a thousand years.

    It is not as if the country were asking a hard thing. It has been done in Europe, Asian countries and the Americas. It is heartening indeed to note that what is being enjoyed today in those places were put in place by people similarly invited to build their country. They went into governance, saw, and willingly donated their kindness for posterity to enjoy. For them, it was enough that they had been recognised for their potential.

    Unfortunately though, many of those invited into governance since the 1960s in Nigeria have interpreted the word ‘governance’ to mean ‘ravage’. Resources meant to be employed for building public acts of kindness that should last through the ages have been plundered by its very protectors. When the house guard turns round to plunder the house, what is to be done?

    No one has as yet explained to Nigerians exactly what these monies have been used for. Some have said they have been used to build houses of vanity. I don’t know but I find even that hard to believe. I mean, I can point you to many cities in Nigeria where we have such edifices of ego such monies are used for sitting in the sun in waste. The owners are long since dead, the monies for the houses were stolen, the children have been too ashamed to own them and the people have been too afraid to use them.

    Some have said these monies are used to purchase houses abroad. Again, I don’t know but I can point you to many properties abroad owned by Nigerians which have become millstones round the owners’ necks. The cities where they are situated have eaten themselves fat on the taxes they attract; the children have no use for them even if they live in the same city, and sooner or later, have gone to be sold for a song.

    Again, I have heard that monies ‘shared’ thus have often been stowed away in Swiss banks or Cayman Island banks for rainy days. Seriously? Who among us knows exactly where rainy days will meet him or her? I can also tell you that many such monies have gone unclaimed because the stowers have died, the children have been ignorant of the stowaway monies and the country has been the poorer. That’s why that little island is richer than many countries in the world.

    Let us decide now to begin to give the gift that goes on giving. Building the country will be giving the kindness that can last through the ages. The country must prepare for tomorrow today.

  • Let the people have their say

    Let the people have their say

    So, at my own social media, i.e., when we go to queue for fuel for three or four days to buy five hundred Naira fuel, we complain about the Nigerian system that allows its senate to complain about the social media.

    Really, many things are conspiring to make me sad in this country. The Kogi State problem is still there and appears to be daily gathering much dross about it, what with the contestants crying foul and refusing to back down. I have since been questioning the viability of these states, but that’s a topic for another day. Then there are the bombings still going on by the boko haram as if that body wants to tell us they are still around. To them, I have gone grrr!, while shaking my fist. Then there are the revelations concerning the ‘fake’ arms deals which masqueraded for the ‘mind boggling’ Billion-Naira-sharing scheme that went on during the Jonathan years as one report put it. That really put me off, but again, that’s for another day. Then, take the fact that I am no longer qualified to wear the tight-fitting jeans the young ones wear now that looks like their second skin. No, it’s not because I am too old; it’s because I cannot afford both the jeans and the lungs. Now, the senate is adding its own drama to my saga of sadness by stating its intention to, wait for it, go after the social media! Seriously?! Seriously?!

    Honestly, if I wasn’t so sad, I would be tempted to cry. I know, I know, sadness and crying live right next door to each other; so, one way or the other, my face must either remain long or wear trails of tears like some desert road bearing the footprints of cowboys long since gone. When I read that piece of news about the senate deciding to take on the social media, I thought, come, what the deuce is going on?

    First, I listened to the senate’s peeve. The senate says it now has zero tolerance for ‘frivolous petitions’ without affidavits. If you ask me, I do not know what that means. Can it refer to news items? Can it even refer to news commentaries? Wait, wait, might it refer to commentaries like this one that you are reading right now, dear, esteemed reader? Can it even refer to the little bits of reactions and comments that accompany news pieces on the net? I don’t know the senate’s peeve. Do you?

    The more I ruminated on it, goat style, the more I thought that this might be diversionary. I think that the senate might have sat down to work out how best to divert the attention of the good citizens of this country away from the litany of bad news threatening daily to drown us in their slosh. So, they came up with this beautiful plan to take on what they think is an insignificant component of the Nigerian population.

    But wait. Who is this social media and what do they want? From my research, it appears that the social media has no register of persons. It is made up of anyone deft enough on the computer but altruistically minded enough to comment on social happenings. Where do they live? Search me, but I think that they might be in any corner of the universe, considering that the moon is now being cleared, vacuumed and carpeted for human existence. And God forbid that our standards should go down. Anyway, it is this mighty army that is scattered over the face of the earth, made up of varying degrees of wisdom, knowledge and understanding, and is armed with nothing but their ‘pens’, that the senate has decided to take on.

    As to what they want, let me go back to my research notes. Yes, mostly, most of them take to the forum to make their minds known on specific issues of interest to them. For many of them lacking access to the government or their representatives or jurisdiction, the social media is their last bastion of hope to air their grievances. So, the medium performs the double duty of being a wall to write on and a psychiatrist’s chair to purge out unholy emotions occasioned by unpopular governmental policies. For them, it’s an avenue to struggle against injustice, power drunkenness and wickedness in high places.

    To rid the people who use the social media of this avenue is to strip them down to the bones. It’s a little like the story of a beggar who kept his goods in a corner of the corridor of an abandoned public building; only to come back from begging one day and find that he had been robbed. Just imagine, our leaders have not governed us well but have rather pilfered all the money put in their trust for the people. Unfortunately, the reports of these pilfering are still being brought in even as we speak. And now, even what is left to the people is about to be pilfered.

    How then can we talk of unsubstantiated petition writing on the social media? I honestly don’t know since I really don’t know much about it. I guess there is a site labelled ‘Petition Writing’ but I am not subscribed to it. I am subscribed to another forum.

    I am subscribed to that forum which perpetually feels the effects of bad governance. For many months now, my house has enjoyed only about three hours of electricity from the public distribution company in every twenty-four hours. In the remaining hours, I am at the mercy of the generator sellers and the petrol stations. So, at my own social media, i.e., where we go to queue for fuel for three or four days to buy five hundred Naira fuel, we complain about the Nigerian system that allows its senate to complain about the social media.

    As many people have pointed out, there are many legal means of seeking redress open to all aggrieved persons. The laws of libel and defamation of character can be invoked. To go on with this inquisition is tantamount to the senate declaring war on the people after it has been elected by the people. It’s like a story I read sometime about an apprentice doctor who tried to deliver a woman made of papier marche of her papier marche baby and clumsily threw both mother and child over his shoulder after pushing too hard. Well, said his supervisor, kill the father with the forceps and you have killed the family. The people do not have their way; the senate has that, and now their say is being thrown out over the senate’s shoulder.

    In the matter of the ‘Senate versus the Social Media’, I think that our esteemed senators should listen less to their wards. Those ones are so adept at manipulating the computer they can get anyone lost inside the internet and the World Wide Web. The senate should not go with them or it will find itself in some very murky waters. The senate should listen more to the people they have consented to represent crying of hunger and deprivation.

    When a silence is forced on the people for any reason, it amounts to asking them to bottle up their feelings. We all know what happens to bottled up feelings: they gather steam. It also gathers moss; both of which can make for one catastrophic conflagration. All you need is one little spark.

    If I were the senate, I would definitely leave the social media alone. I would rather focus on those things that can dilute the concentration of anger in those petitions we are so afraid of, such as reducing hunger on the streets, and providing electricity, water and housing. Trying to control the people’s mind, when the stomach is still roaming free on an empty tank, amounts to waking up a sleeping dog. Better to let sleeping dogs lie.

  • The best laid plans of mice and men…

    Clearly, no one ever had any inkling that the best laid constitution of a country could be stumped by a simple fact as a man taking the most natural step of dying, albeit at an ill-chosen moment

    I am sure that you have been as enthralled by the Kogi State election problem as I have been. Here is that, at best sleepy and at worst little known, state suddenly finding itself being flung into a constitutional crisis it did not ask for. Does it not just remind you of those stories about unknown, laid back citizens content to be buried in their drinking cups suddenly finding all eyes in the country trained on them because, God Almighty, they are holding the winning vote? Grrr! Right now, I bet the people of the state are looking much like a rat surprised suddenly by light from a torch.

    What brought all this about is well known to us, i.e. the sudden death of APC’s candidate who was well nigh biting into a victorious second coming in the state as governor. Well, many of us regard this as one of those things that happen in life. How do we say it, life happens, right? Yeah, life happens, in spite of your best laid or worst laid plans. Let me illustrate.

    The story is told of a man who went all out to obtain a government contract. Naturally, he was in competition with others for it. This man pulled all the stops to get the contract: notes from all and sundry that mattered. Indeed, with such well-marshalled armoury, our man was well on the way to victory. He was told by the fellow in charge to return at eight in the morning and sign the papers; and he was warned that eight had to mean eight a.m., not nine as it would go to the next man in line. Well, guess what: our man started his celebration that evening and did not wake up until half past ten the next morning. According to a commentator on the story, it was an illustration of how to snatch a loss from the jaws of victory.

    Actually, you can also snatch a victory from certain defeat; just watch a football match where the best and winning goals are scored in the dying minutes of the game. The incredulity of such unplanned wins and losses have led to the making of careers and, of course, the shooting of wives who change TV channels without permission. There is however no greater illustration of how to snatch a loss from certain victory than the story of the country called Nigeria.

    Nigeria is very good at it, snatching losses from victories, that is. I have since found out that no matter how Lady Victory clenches her jaws and determines to favour us, we determinedly insist on turning the victory to watery defeat. So many states are blessed with large numbers of talented and well educated people who can lead their states to unparallel victories, but somehow it’s the uneducated ones among them who are called to rule and take their states to the despair-inducing depths of defeat. Reason? Most times, we flash the cards of tribalism and/or religion. Uncanny, no?

    On the other hand, take the little matter of natural resources for instance, or even the earnings from those resources. Very few countries on earth have oil in this abundance or even anything else for that matter and they are getting by. Here we are in Nigeria not only collectively burning off this oil; worse, we are individually squandering our earnings from it in petty thieving and brigandage. From the clenched jaws of victorious abundance, Nigeria is wrenching out deep, abundant poverty.

    So, the little problem in Kogi is great material indeed for an election drama. At the height of the election victory of his APC party, Audu, the gubernatorial candidate keels over and dies. It can’t get more dramatic than that. So, rather than talk of victory now, the party and Nigerians are instead plaintively crying, what do we do, just what do we do? And there is none to answer them, not the constitution, not the law. Clearly, no one ever had any inkling that the best laid constitution of a country could be stumped by a simple fact as a man taking the most natural step of dying, albeit at an ill-chosen moment.

    Believe me, there have been suggestions, many of which should just pass in through one ear and be cocked by the other, never exiting through the mouth but I will tell only you. I have heard some say the running mate should transmute to the governorship. A good solution if only INEC had declared the election good and won by APC, or if the state were made of one homogeneous group instead of three very divided peoples. But this declaration was not made by INEC, in its wisdom and the winning tribe is flashing its card. Some have suggested that there be some kind of candidate substitution. Some, on the other hand and perhaps out of grief, have suggested replacing the deceased with his son. Now, now, now, I say, let’s pause a bit.

    First, I ask myself, does the constitution permit the substitution of a deceased candidate with his son? Obviously the constitution is very silent on many things. It only says for instance that my child is entitled to food but it is silent on the kind of food I am supposed to give him as his parent. So he cannot brandish the said constitution in my face when he demands that I feed him salad instead of eba. So, I ask again, which silent part of this constitution says that once we vote in a man we have voted in the entire blessed family, sane or mad, cattish, doggish, etc.?

    I therefore think that the so called elders of the deceased’s party who came up with that hare-brained idea should put on their thinking caps once again. I would have taken the suggestion as coming from grieving mouths which can say anything but for the fact that one or two supposedly educated governors have reiterated it. Now, I do not know the young man who is being put forward; but I object very strongly to the attempt to make the entire country feel obliged to take such a suggestion.

    When words such as ‘to compensate the Audu family’ are used to persuade us to accept the son in place of the father, I ask, what kind of democratic practice allows that? What are we compensating exactly? Who is responsible for that death: the country? More importantly, is any of Nigeria’s elective position hereditary now? Are these governors and others thinking like them trying to tell us that the wisdom to govern states resides only in their families? I only ask.

    Many people have said rightly that the problem with Nigeria today is her elite class. They are the ones who twist the right things around to suit their selfish egos. They are the ones who reinterpret democracy for the rest of us and give us home-grown concoctions for governance in the hope of keeping their families in perpetual governance. They forget two important and immutable laws of life: whatever goes around comes around; and as we lay our beds, we must also lie on them. On these two laws hang all human deeds.

    I think it is important that we all strive to build a future for this country that will not give us palpitations. This means that we all must be objective about what we put down today in the name of governance because we and our children for generations to come are surely going to have to eat our fills from it. It is a truism that the best laid plans of mice and men are filed away somewhere, because, I tell you, life happens.

  • In Search of… good health

    When heads come together in a well-meaning, genuine, round-table knocking, I believe that doctors, jingles and pounded yam can indeed mix to translate to more health.

    As I am writing this, there are many people in this country who are right now traversing Nigerian roads to attend the burial ceremony of one close relative or another, most of who have died prematurely. Whenever I have heard that someone has died and have asked what killed the fellow, I have often been told ‘Death’. How is it, I ask, that death can kill so… so… so… irrevocably when it has no hands? Turn left or right and you see your fellow Nigerians of all ages dropping off like… like… flies from all kinds of diseases! Just the other day, someone mentioned how she had been to an office one day in search of a contract and had chatted with everyone at each desk only to have gone back the week after and been told that one of them had died. Talk of a surprise.

    No, I am not talking about life expectancy today; I am talking about how Nigerians are allowed to eat and die in ignorance with very little intervention from the body that should be needling them into long life. It’s often been said that ignorance is bliss, but no one has ever tried to sit down to calculate whether the level of bliss is commensurate with the ignorance that spurns it or even calculate the very high cost of blissful ignorance. When someone eats him/herself to death in ignorance, the costs are borne by the survivors who have to carry on in his/her absence. Sadly, some of them never recover.

    Ultimately, everyone holds his health in his hands, with complete responsibility devolving on him or his family. However, when an individual takes decisions from a vantage point of blissful ignorance, then we are dealing with weighty matters indeed. Worse, he may even find himself not taking any decision because he cannot. So, leaving all issues concerning health in our hands is downright dangerous I say.

    Look, there are two matters compounding this problem. The first is that what we know as the Nigerian diet is seriously in need of divine intervention. It is a given that the larger part of the nation’s population is rural based with little or no education; therefore, the likelihood is high that they would mostly be the victims of the diet situation. Now, you and I agree that what constitutes our diet on this hemmed-in island is mostly what you would call the sugars with little relief. What I mean by relief is this. In this here parts, when a child is given his dish, his face breaks out in grins larger than that of the Cheshire cat at the sight of what he believes will fill his stomach. That is the main concern; what will fill his stomach. So he, least of all, notices that the contents of his dish are designed to satisfy only one aspect of his ravenous hunger. He hardly notices that there are other parts of his body also badly in need of satiation; those parts in need of protein, vitamins and minerals. Too often, these are absent. On a steady stream of that starchy diet therefore, your young Nigerian child grows into an adult who is more developed in physical terms than in mental ones. Either way, officer, we are being cheated by our consummations. Now, I wonder indeed if I know what I’m talking about.

    Anyway, one notable result from this skewed consumption pattern is the rise in diseases. Now, doctors tell us that diabetes and hypertension are almost in epidemic proportions. Nearly every one of two people you meet in the city is swallowing something to fight something else. On the other hand, nearly every rustic you meet in the hinterlands does not even know he/she has anything to fight until that something comes to punch them in the face, belly, arm, leg, blood, head or any other susceptible part. That is when the doctor’s questions or admonitions concerning the badness of the culinary habits handed down from ancestors without end really sound like Greek. Then you don’t know who to pity more: the poor man who is obviously sick and does not understand why it is not his neighbour ‘doing him’, or the doctor who is vainly trying to marry two incompatible people – modern medicine and traditional man. Me, I stay in their middle: firmly on the fence.

    The second matter is that there are just too many folk beliefs firmly ranged as arsenals against the doctor’s doctrines. Our rural folks do not believe that taking things like milk and eggs, etc., is morally good. One, they spoil the teeth and they encourage children to steal. Two, those things spoil children rotten. I have visited a number of villages having large, lush lands for growing things to take to the market while their children have skins that look like crocodile’s scales. The villagers just do not believe in feeding milk and eggs and chicken meat to their children. Come to think of it, neither do many chicken farmers. After raising their chickens, do they not cart the whole lot off to the economic market to sell, leaving the neighbours with only the scented whiffs of chicken droppings?

    Interestingly, even many parents living in the city are not much different. Their credos revolve around preserving the children’s honour rather than their lives. Then people find that in the face of ill-health, honour is not as valuable a premium as good eating sense. Oh wait, there is this health insurance scheme that is as incomprehensible to me as I think it appears to many. The reason is that there are still many questions not yet answered. Many civil servants do not know the limit that can be spent on their health; many of us do not know what happens when big illnesses strike; who takes care of the rural folks who succumb to these big illnesses; etc. Right now, health insurance or not, most people are bearing their health expenses out of their pockets and the health care providers are smiling to the bank.

    Doctors have sounded some warning bells on the rising phenomena called cancer, diabetes and hypertension, which, together are killing people off silently. Sadly, most people put such deaths down to ‘spiritual attacks’ or ‘wicked home people’. I am not here to argue with them though because everyone is entitled to a second opinion, so I am consulting my own crystal glass again. Yep, it tells me such people are suffering from severe cases of ‘deep, debilitating ignorance’.

    Honestly, this country can help itself preserve the lives of its citizens. Even in advanced countries, the government still sponsors advertisements which advise citizens on the proper diet to follow, the consequences of wrong diets, as well as admonitions on taking the right stuff such as milk, eggs and greens. This country can borrow a leaf from that. There must be a way of letting us the uninformed people know why we should keep a wary eye on the calorie contents of our steaming, mouth-watering plates of well-rounded eba, amala, pounded yam and rice, and why we should also keep the other eye on the meat to be sure it does not walk off the plate in indignation about its tiny size.

    How about we try radio jingles? They are catchy, cheap to produce and are definitely more far-reaching. Yeah, I know, in many cases it’s not the knowledge that is lacking, it’s the financial will. Even with that, there must be a way. All that this country – government, corporate world, people, etc. – needs is for heads to come together in a well-meaning, genuine round-table knocking. That is where we will find that doctors, jingles and pounded yam can indeed mix to translate to more health.

    • This article was first published in 2013.

  • On any given day …

    Your typical newspaper gives a picture of Nigerians scrambling madly in search of millions, billions or trillions to steal from the government FOR NO GOOD REASON. We will soon move to quadrillions, just you wait.

    Wait a minute; let me cut you a slice of the typical Nigerian day. I bet you thought I was going to say ‘cake’. Thief, you! Just read through the news in any country and you will put your hand on the pulse of the country. So, when you read stuff like ‘Prime Minister arrested for $2m bribe’; ‘Former President jailed for diverting the equivalent of $5m of state fund to his party’; ‘Minister arraigned for diverting state tractor to his farm’; and so on, you just shake your head, click your tongue and wonder, ‘what is this world coming to that people insist on being so sane?!’ Come to my country; you’ll do a different tongue clicking.

    The Nigerian newspaper screams something else. Today, for instance, I read the following in one newspaper only: ‘N292m found in a retired permanent secretary’s account’. While trying to digest that improbable sum, I saw a greater one: ‘N18.7bn of teachers’ salaries paid into unknown account’. By this time, my head was shaking most vigorously from left to right in incredulity, until I read further: ‘Woman pays tithe of over N60m on stolen money’. Laughable, but I moved on: ‘Stolen baby sold for N1m.’ To use a well-worn cliché: the mind boggles and somersaults. On any given day, the Nigerian newspaper comes with a very dense mix of the improbable, the incredible and the laughable. Your typical newspaper gives a picture of Nigerians scrambling madly in search of millions, billions or trillions to steal from the government FOR NO GOOD REASON. We will soon move to quadrillions, just you wait.

    I have come to the unsavoury conclusion though that it is becoming dangerous to read newspapers in Nigeria. Soon, they will have to carry warnings, like cigarette packs, on their front page: READERS ARE LIABLE TO DIE YOUNG BECAUSE OF HUGE, UNSAVOURY AMOUNTS OF MONEY DROPPING ON THEIR HEADS FROM THE PAGES! So, get your safety helmets ready.

    I once listened to a preacher who intoned: listen, don’t let anything stop you from doing whatever you want to do because the greatest song has not been written; the greatest invention has not been made; the greatest person has not been born; the greatest story has not been told; …’ If you permit my analogous comparison, we can translate this to mean that the greatest tale of embezzlement in Nigeria has not been told. Indeed, I am guessing we will be needing those helmets real soon.

    I have often asked myself why it is that on any given day, the news is not good in Nigeria. Don’t get me wrong – there is bad news, and then there is bad news. Bad news is when trailers plying flyovers drop heavy containers on unsuspecting cars plying routes below them. Bad news is when a family is killed by the fumes of generators left on overnight because of power failure, or in fires from candles left to burn through the night, and so on. The real bad news is when monies meant to fix all these problems are reported to be ‘Missing in Action’. That signals the loss of hope that other unfortunate cars and families will not follow soon.

    So, I say, I have asked myself this ‘why’ question. Why has your typical Nigerian lost his/her sense of fear and shock? Well, I have listened to a few answers and I am not altogether too satisfied. Some people have said that Nigerians as a people have no fear of God. True, but surely someone who takes a tithe of tens of millions of Naira to the church must have some fear. S/he fears God so much that s/he feels if s/he does not give God His own share, s/he might not get to use that stolen fund for anything good. I also told you the story of someone who stole money, bought a generator set and gave it to his church. Surely that is fear of God. You don’t think so? All right; what will you make of someone who embezzled a lot of money and took the whole lot to his pastor to hide for him and the pastor promptly poisoned him? No fear there? Mmnn! What is this fear then? Never mind.

    Some have put our fearlessness in embezzlement tricks to the lack of a good police force in the country that should apprehend and jail thieves to discourage others. Perhaps; but you will surely agree that the number of crooks in the country, going by newspaper reports of these mysterious disappearances, is far outstripping the coppers in our midst, both in number and agility. In other words, were we to put one policeman to a crook, the coppers would be heavily outnumbered and outpaced. Why? We don’t have too many coppers, I understand; and they also refuse to grow, both in number and agility. Unfortunately, I also believe that nearly every working Nigerian has now come to feel it is his bounden duty and inheritance to rob the state or his/her employer blind and there would be no consequences because s/he can outrun the police. All s/he needs to do is invoke his/her ethnic or religious card.

    But I have another theory. I want to think there is one more bastion of hope that can help keep us on the straight and narrow, like: the community newspaper. You know what that is, don’t you? It’s that newspaper that is published for the consumption of a local community to herald everybody’s demeanour. A community newspaper keeps a tab on everyone to let the citizens know how many times Mama Rere sneezed in the market; where exactly Baba Lolo’s bicycle broke down on the way to the farm; why Mama Joko’s tirade split the community apart… More importantly, community newspapers help us to know the exact sentiments of the rural and presently excluded majority of Nigerians towards their political representatives, political leaders and other oppressors.

    There is no doubt that one of the most important factors responsible for this sad state we find ourselves is the fact that the city imbues us with this cloak of anonymity. In the urban world where most of us now work, the real people who can take our stories from our ancestors ten times removed are not there. So, most of our misdemeanours are left to the anonymous larger society to judge; well, and the police too. But, like most of us have cried in frustration, where are the blessed police?

    Seriously though, a community newspaper does a lot more than that. It keeps people informed at the lowest level of national existence. As Jefferson or some other wise one once said, wisdom can only come from many mouths; and it is only when people are given information that they can come up with their own opinions. With first hand information instead of fifth hand, they can then put their real power to some real use: put their representatives on guard, make their leaders sit up and talk from a position of knowledge. They would then use their power to build the nation.

    Truth is, Nigerian governments have over the decades been afraid to put information in the hands of the people because those ones would see through them straight off; the government, that is, not the truth. Unfortunately, we are today witnesses to that deliberate failure in the rise of militancy. I don’t think Nigeria should wait till the entire country is engulfed in flames before it retraces its steps. The only security any country has is to put information in the hands of everyone in the community and teach people to use it wisely. Then we can all make news better, and read better news, on any given day.

  • Too little, too much – this unemployment benefit…

    The competition between the three regions is still too strong and bristly fought to enable us embark on that kind of venture. It will simply become another space for the dishonest execution of that war

    I hear that the upper house of the national assembly has done it again, put itself in the news. This time, I hear it has, as a body, disagreed to agree to put on hold the decision to pay unemployment benefits to unemployed youths. You know them don’t you? Oh I don’t mean benefits – anyone can recognise those. They are those things that when you put them in your pocket, you feel so light you’re practically floating on top of the planet. So no, I’m not asking if you know what benefits are. I’m asking if you know what unemployed youths are. They are those poor tykes who scour the streets in worn shoes hoping that if they kick up enough stones and pebbles, those things would whisper something to them about where jobs are hiding. I wish I could tell you whether it works or not.

    Well, bless this new government for having its heart in the right place. It actually upped and decided that it wanted to pay out a certain sum of money called ‘unemployment benefits’ to those young things. Perhaps, the money is to tide them over, or give them some strength while they muster up more resolve to kick up more pebbles, I don’t know. What I do know is that that effort is a little too little, too much because it is fraught with a great deal of unclear particles. Let’s see why now.

    To start with, the sum of five thousand can buy what now in the market? Hardly a thing. You try setting it aside as your transportation fare for the month in any city in Nigeria, and you’ll soon find that while it may take you out, it may not take you back home. Try setting it aside for food and you’ll soon find that while it may fill your plate with some grains of carbohydrates (if you look hard enough with your magnifying glass that is), it will not lay in your plate a tiny slice off the flanks of a willing cow for protein. Worse, it won’t scoop an ice cream cone in your dessert spoon. So, I guess the slightly esteemed senators were not saying no to the sum of Five Thousand Naira. I think they were saying no to the sum of Five Thousand Naira multiplied into the endless places occupied by Nigeria’s youths. I think someone said that will go into trillions of Naira or so a month.

    There are other considerations. Just how many unemployed youths do we have in Nigeria? 10 million? 20 million? Someone said he was conservatively putting the figure at 30 million. Now, that is worrisome. If you have that number of youths without employment sitting at home or kicking up pebbles on the streets, I think the country should be shaking in its shoes. The situation is clearly a tinderbox sitting on a dynamite box sitting on a gunpowder box. Now, you have the situation.

    Obviously though, we are all not quite agreed on just what makes for an unemployed youth. If we measure by the demographic factor of age, are we saying all young ‘uns who are employable should be from the age of ten or eleven to thirty or thereabouts? You better believe that many youths who are employed right now are no older than the least in this bracket. I have reported here that a youth of no more than twelve to sixteen is the breadwinner of his family even as he works in the dignified field of begging. Many other young ‘uns of no more than six, seven or eight years are also breadwinners for their families in the equally dignified field of hawking. So, yes, we do have unemployed youths of many questionable designs.

    Are we to pick our qualification from the factor of education? Are we saying that our unemployed are only those who have graduated but have not been able to get jobs? Then we must decide on what we intend to mean by the word ‘graduate’. Many have ‘graduated’ from either primary or secondary or trade school and have no intention of going to any school but to get a job to help their families. Now, will they qualify? Who is to decide who gets left out?

    Now, what about those people who are not very happy with their lowly jobs because they are of the decidedly unshakeable faith that nature has joined hands with their country to rob them of life changing opportunities? Who is to prevent them from registering their noble behinds on the benches of the welfare office? Supposing they believe that that five thousand naira would make a difference in their lives, shall we prevent them?

    Nigeria has no data base for anything – not for the number of beggars in the country or the number it needs; not for the number of houses in the country or the number it needs; not even for the number of farms it has in the country or the number it needs; not for the types of food eaten in the country or the number it needs; not for the air it breaths … Need I go on? Heck, we can hardly get the correct statistics for the country’s population because it varies so wildly from lips to lips depending on who you are and what you need the statistics for. The figure has moved steadily in the past ten years from 120 million to 140 million to 160 million, translating to a growth rate of 20 million per two or three years. Serious, no? I have never known a country grow so fast.

    I am sure I have told you this joke before but, like I always say, I love repeating my jokes since no one laughs at them anyway but me and myself; so, I will tell you again. There was this visiting dignitary who had to endure a long speech from a representative of the colony he was visiting. The locals read out a long list of what they needed – roads to take their agricultural produce to the market, rail transportation for the locals, etc. The visitor was astounded. ‘Did you not just tell me last year that nothing grows on your land, so we could not raise your taxes?’ he asked. ‘Yes, we did, your honour’, they replied, ‘but you see, last year’s statistics was raised for a purpose, and today’s for a different purpose.’

    More importantly, Sir/Ma, it has become nigh impossible to trust any Nigerian with any statistics. Ask a south westerner to compile the names of all unemployed young ‘uns in the land and what do you get? A list full of south westerners dead, half-dead and barely living. Ask a northerner to compile those names, and what do you get? A list full of northerners dead, half-dead and barely living. And if you ask a south easterner to compile the names, what do you think you’ll get? All the names of the fish in the sea, that’s what. The competition between the three regions is still too strong and bristly fought to enable us embark on that kind of venture. It will simply become another space for the dishonest execution of that war.

    This time, I think I agree with the senators that the time is not yet ripe for this well-meaning gesture. Too many things still need to be put in place for it to happen. For one thing, Nigerians must first be schooled to be honest, and secondly, they need to learn to put the country first. In the mean time, the business climate of the country must be sanitised to enable the market absorb more of our darling young ‘uns.

  • Between Ohaneze, Afenifere and Arewa, I ask again, where is Nigeria?

    Between Ohaneze, Afenifere and Arewa, I ask again, where is Nigeria?

    In this circumstance, Nigeria as a country is stillborn while Ohaneze lives, Arewa lives, Afenifere lives … You must agree that this is a crying shame

    A while back, I put forward the proposition that we have somehow contrived to get Nigeria lost somewhere in the thick folds of starched agbadas donned by our politicians. Many of you read the report and responded; I thank you indeed. To many of you who read it and merely grunted as if saying, tell us something we don’t know, I also grunt my thanks. To those of you who did not read the article, I shake my fist at you. Just be sure it does not happen again.

         In particular, I am giving a reply to someone who raised a question arising from one of my statements that getting Nigeria lost is neither a crying nor a laughing matter for the country. The reader had asked, what then should we do? Well, let me first explain what I mean. We cannot laugh off the fact of the loss because it is heavy. It is a little like a company running a deficit of billions of Naira and the chief executive blithely tells the shareholders at the AGM that the deficit is not something that cannot be laughed off. Well, yeah, if the company has credits of trillions and trillions. Even then, I can imagine some intrepid shareholders bursting their veins at the thought of such heavy drains on their profits.

          We also cannot sit and howl our heads off. As they say, life must go on. Just because we are howling does not mean that other people’s or nations’ lives will stop. They may stop momentarily to watch us howl but they will move on to continue their inventions. Believe me, it is because they are not stopping to watch nations howl that the industrialised world has now invented arm chairs for people to sit on (imagine this!) and even foldable arm chairs you can take with you to your village (imagine that!).

         So yes, we should neither laugh nor cry, but we can reassess our approach to national development. Right now, one of the strongest approaches we are adopting in Nigeria is regional affiliation. This affiliation is so strong that people do not identify themselves as Nigerians but according to their regional body. Unfortunately, the existence of these bodies is directly antithetical to the existence of the corporate body. This is why Igbo, Hausa and Yoruba people (as well as the other hundreds of minority groups) exist as concrete entities while ‘Nigerians’ only exist as an abstract entity. So, when we find ourselves outside the country, we present ourselves in this abstract sense as ‘Nigerians’; within the country however, we are content to live this big, fat lie.

        The lie began with the old Nigerian anthem that went ‘Though tribe and tongue may differ/ In brotherhood we stand’ and continues in this present anthem with words like ‘compatriots’, ‘fatherland’, ‘one nation’, etc. In practical terms, however, we are neither ‘compatriots’ nor do we ‘stand’ in ‘brotherhood’. How do I know this?

         To start with, do you know how many cries of marginalisation we have had to endure over the years? Let’s see now. During the years of Obasanjo and Jonathan, the Arewa north, the Afenifere west and the Ohaneze east never tired of singing tunes of being marginalised by the government in the distribution of public posts and amenities. Barely into this present era of Buhari, we have now been having earfuls of Ohaneze’s loud tunes on how the eastern areas have been marginalised in the distribution of national or public perks (i.e., public office and social amenities). And the beat goes on; but it is mostly off tune, off key and staccato.

          From my observation, and I am willing to be corrected, Nigeria is only a pretend country; in reality, it is the three regional countries within it running things. Fifty-five years after independence, the citizens have not evolved to see themselves first and foremost as Nigerians who happen to have come from a locality. Rather, what we have are citizens who have evolved first and foremost into regionalists who happen to reside within the place called Nigeria. Within this circumstance, Nigeria as a country is stillborn while Ohaneze lives, Arewa lives, Afenifere lives, and all jostling for domination, along with their religions and traditions.

            You must agree that this is a crying shame. Just imagine the parts of the body and where they are all coming from. The body can surely not survive where the arm fights for what it can get for its own components (arm, hand, fingers, nails, etc.); the limb does the same for its own group (leg, knee joint, toes, nails, etc.); and the torso does the same for its own group (body, shoulders, head, etc.). Each one will only succeed in drawing the life out of what it is designed to protect and reduce it to a skeleton if it looks out only for its own interests.

            In the present constitutive Nigeria, each region appears homogeneous, which it uses to advantage when seeking the things of itself. Need more representation in government? Cry as a region about marginalisation. Need to protect a son or daughter hounded for embezzlement or misappropriation? Cry wolf as a region. Need more money pumped in your direction? Sing as a region about how no one is paying attention to you. Need more food pumped your way? Why, cry crocodile tears as a region…

           Call me naive, but I do not think any country can survive where the intent of its so-called citizens is to garner as much as they can for their own little corner of the earth. To start with, it jeopardises the most essential ingredient to national development: PATRIOTISM, PATRIOTISM, PATRIOTISM. Oh yes, it also makes everyone sound like a broken record. We have jokingly said many times that a national cake that is only eaten and not baked or replenished will soon run out. When people insist on just taking, sooner or later, they will reach the skeleton.

            Ladies and gentlemen, we have now reached the skeleton of Nigeria I am afraid; people are not ‘doing for’ Nigeria what they should, they are ‘taking from’ Nigeria what they should not. I just look at our lightless situation (e.g. my house enjoys two hours of electricity in twenty-four hours on good days) and shake my head. I am told a story of how someone stopped a national agricultural project from being carried out because it would not benefit his part of the country. Projects are now executed at ten times their cost because someone insists it must be located in his corner of the earth or it must benefit someone else from his locality… I’m sure you know one or two of such stories.

    I ask, how long do you think even a skeleton can keep standing while it is being scavenged? Nigerians are busy now ravaging this skeleton to benefit their various regions and, magically, they also expect it to continue standing and live in good health. How can that be? I think the logic is simple. The continued good health of these regions will spell doom for Nigeria; the continued good health of Nigeria must also spell the doom of these regional interests. We cannot eat our cake and still hope to have it.

          By normal thinking, each region should have been made into or left to evolve as a country at the beginning by Britain. But in Britain’s wisdom (or lack of it as we all appear to have agreed), the units were yoked together. These homogeneous units must then decide which they would rather prefer to survive: their regions or the country. We all need to have been born somewhere; but those places need not be placed above the interests of the nation.

  • How not to break an egg, and other (un) social etiquettes

    We’re living in a failed country and all you want to know is how an egg is broken? Your husband must feed you so well you can afford to buy eggs! You should have my problems.

    In the face of the Nigerian government’s failed policies, the ability to laugh would turn out to be the only thing that we have left. For one thing, it comes cheap; and for another, it is accessible to all; and so when Nigerians laugh, they do so extremely heartily, (like they do other things such as embezzling).  But sadly, even this last remaining ability which the government has not succeeded in taking from us, the book of social etiquettes is about to take forcibly. The reason is that such a thing as laughing wrongly not only exists, indeed, if the state were to be giving tickets for it, most of us would earn multiple fines.

         When a Nigerian perceives something funny, the mouth opens wide to show kola nut-stained teeth, the legs are thrown up in the air in abandon and a raucous bellow, coming from the pit of the nether regions, shakes the body like it were going through some tremors not unlike an earthquake. However, according to the rules, such an abandonment of posture not only breaks the rules of laughter, it actually displays the fact that such a one is not a lady or a gentleman. For, right social etiquette demands that when one laughs, one should do so carefully, opening the mouth no wider than an envelope slit and allowing the sound to ripple forth in just the minimum number of decibels that would not jar the ears of the listeners. It should be hardly audible.

      Social etiquettes appear to exist simply to plague us and cramp our style. For instance, take the subject of eating. With the little time I have between sleep, work, work and more work, all I want to do is look for the shortest possible route to cramp a few things into my stomach, if possible by-passing the mouth. But a lady, I am told, is not expected to pounce on her food like a famished tiger but should eat, instead, as if it were a painful duty. The movement should be slow and not rushed; the spoon should lightly touch the plate, daintily deposit its contents on the tongue without anyone seeing the mouth open. To show that she enjoys or loves the food is bad manners. She should appreciate the dish only to the extent that she can compliment the cook on the excellence of the dish, just to encourage him to cook the next meal. With these prescriptions, some wonderful results are bound to ensue: cooks will continue to survive their bosses; and ladies will continue to starve.

      It wasn’t always like this; in other words, such etiquettes did not always guide our reason. When I was little, the one social misdemeanour that people frowned at most was not to greet one’s elders. Believe me, a merciless, no-appeals court sat over you because it was assumed you came into the world knowing how to greet your elders; and failure to use this God-given talent was taken for a rebellion of sorts. ‘You are so small and you don’t know how to greet your elders! What is this world coming to?’ You were thence watched as a type: anyone who could pass by without greeting his elders was capable of anything, such as a revolution.

       But things, they are a-changing. The coming of western culture has brought changes in perceptions, and different etiquettes have emerged. Strangely though, what constitutes proper behaviour appears to be, by general agreement, directed mostly against women. To start with, a lady must not use a toothpick as if she’s holding a pickaxe, strenuously tasking herself to reach the unreachable parts by contorting her face like a body twister. No, it simply will not do. She must cup the toothpick in both hands and gently coax the offending particle to the surface. Should it prove stubborn, why, leave it to providence, for she may not use a pair of scissors, as I once saw a lady do. It wasn’t that she had big teeth; she just had a small pair of scissors. A man on the other hand, is allowed to suck in air between his teeth as loudly as possible until the desired results are achieved, no matter the company.

       Social etiquettes can be better observed in the unlikely event that a woman falls down. I read that should a lady feel any pressure to fall down for any reason, she must not allow her legs to dictate to her that they want to go up in the air, waving to and fro like a flag of peace. Neither must she also allow her behind to give off any sound, otherwise the ‘plop’ of the landing may be easier to manage than the grunt of the rising up. She must rather ensure that her skirt remains straight, and her wig does not fly off to reveal the unkempt and knotted tufts desperately trying to grace the balding pate. And the contents of her bag; oh my God! The contents of her bag must not be allowed to scatter on to the floor to reveal the many stories that surround her life. I think we better leave this topic for another day.

        There is no end to the rules of social etiquette; but when there are nukes pointed at our throats, the last thing we want to worry about is a group of rules that cannot save us. While we wait for those nukes though, many people have replaced some of the rules with theirs. When I was in school, one friend of mine was always so irritated whenever anyone around her told a man ‘thank you very much’. This was a faux pas of such proportions that earned the speaker a putdown. ‘Look’, she would lecture, ‘anyone should consider himself honoured to have had the opportunity to serve a lady, especially me.’ A simple ‘thank you’ should do, or he can take his favours somewhere else.

        Another friend commented that she was appalled by the way I broke my breakfast egg. I was greatly baffled, wondering if I had missed the instructions that spelt out how exactly it should be broken. I mean I had no idea that I broke an egg in a certain way, or for that matter, that one breaks an egg in a certain way and said as much. Furthermore, I thought that since the chicken that laid the egg was probably dead, she was not likely to mind just how anyone broke her egg. And to cap it all, I felt that since human rights are still in their infancy in this country, worrying about chicken rights was taking the act a little too far. My friend’s comment showed that I couldn’t be more wrong! A chicken had the right to know how her egg would be broken.

       Nevertheless, when I tried to find out just how many of us Nigerians were aware that an egg should be broken in a certain way, I got results. Some people looked at me in great sadness, as if I was one of the great unwell: what is wrong with you? We’re living in a failed country and all you want to know is how an egg is broken? Your husband must feed you so well you can afford to buy eggs! You should have my problems. Others simply asked: what egg? At the price they sell eggs, there is only one way to break it and that is on the head of the egg merchants. I think we should do the same thing to those rules: break them all on the head of the writer. Happy Egg week.