Category: Olatunji Ololade

  • Nigeria’s family canker

    Nigeria’s family canker

    Modern Nigeria is a product of societal dysfunction. Ultimately, she is a failure of the family as a social unit. From 12-year-old Sylvester Oromoni’s untimely death in the hands of his bullies at Dowen College, the school authorities’ insensitive swerve from its duty of care, to his bereaved family’s posthumous celebration of his birthday, the social space pulses with grisly manifestations of the Nigerian wild, all the pageantry and glamour inclusive.

    Amid the uproar, it becomes increasingly difficult to separate heartfelt indignation from politicised outrage.

    Attention junkies: lawyers, journalists, social influencers, CSOs – all career narcissists are on the prowl.

    Sylvester’s death, whatever the true narrative, was heartbreaking and undeserving of a minor so full of promise. Perhaps Nigeria lost a genius who might have cured cancer, herpes, HIV/AIDS; perhaps he would have grown to steer the country from the precipice to a more promising clime.

    How many such promising genii and social revolutionaries have we lost in the massacre of minors at Buni Yadi, Gamboru Ngala, Zarbamari to mention a few?

    How many more shall we lose before we set our knife’s surgical point astride the prick of pain? The loss of the Sylvesters of our world, be it in isolated cases or larger insurgencies, like terrorism, armed banditry or the EndSARS conflict, would continue to haunt us, until we summon the courage to look inwards and perform an invasive surgery on our individual and collective psyches.

    Two years ago, Aisha Buhari, Nigeria’s First Lady, made a rousing recourse to moral nature. By urging parents to see to the moral upbringing of their wards, she addressed Nigeria’s supreme pestilence: our lack of morality.

    Nobody paid attention to this, save a paltry few in the country’s performance theatre, whose chief intent is usually to grandstand or pay lip service as a rite of artifice. Whether Aisha’s recourse was bland performance or not, her acknowledgement of the nation’s moral canker was noteworthy.

    Mrs. Buhari, while hosting a special prayer session for Nigeria at the Banquet Hall of the Presidential Villa, Abuja, challenged parents to take charge of their families and ensure good moral upbringing of children to minimise crime in the society.

    She said the lack of moral upbringing of children and the collapse of family values was largely responsible for the social crises facing Nigeria. I agree with Aisha Buhari.

    Nigeria cannot escape impending doom until we modify our attitude towards nationhood. But first, we have to build character. Character is the spool by which we would spin the colourful yarns of citizenship and leadership.

    It is an artificial construction, no doubt. Our defense against bestiality. Without character, we would get ship-wrecked in the barbarous deep that it is nature, or animal instinct, if you like.

    It was a lack of character that afflicted us with the incumbent ruling class. It’s poetic irony, therefore, that Aisha would recommend to us a remedy to rid Nigeria of afflictions constituted by her class.

    Modern Nigeria careens in flight and fear, as you read. Millions yearn to flee from bad leadership, economic failure, power outage, corruption, insecurity, infrastructure collapse, substandard health and education among others.

    Fear is the next pandemic; many commit crimes and die in fear of poverty and financial insecurity thus our afflictions by Boko Haram, career kidnappers, murderous herdsmen, trigger happy policemen, soldiers and vigilante groups.

    Amid the blooming dystopia, Aisha rose from her chambers to mastermind a rite of redemption. Perhaps she meant to cast spells to lull the punishing elements. But then, she understood perhaps, that presidential chants and paternosters won’t rid Nigeria of her current afflictions.

    The battle must begin at the home-front. A cursory look at our families excites the creepiest form of marvel. The Nigerian family unit today parades the worst form of savagery. Parents contract marabouts, Christian prophets and native doctors to invoke God’s mercies and protection on their wards engaged in cyber-scams (Yahoo-Yahoo) and prostitution at home and abroad.

    The indoctrination starts quite early, from childhood. Mothers are mightily pleased to see a child hurt an annoying neighbour’s dog or cat; and fathers consider it a mark of martial spirit to see their son tyrannise his weaker peer. Lest we forget those whose parents raise righteously, breeding them in cages of holiness, to perpetuate the worst forms of bigotry and inhumanity, according to sacred texts.

    Many parents consider it a sign of great courage and astuteness to see their wards cheat and oppress their peer. It gladdens their hearts to see their little spawns evolve into ‘lovable’ brutes at a tender age. They appreciate it as a worthy demeanour for the very tough world out there.

    Thus from adolescence through adulthood, they greet every cruelty and dishonesty their children perpetrate with cheer, as long as it translates to stupendous wealth, higher status and the comfort of knowing that such children are “smart” and inured to the ways of the cutthroat world.

    These are the true seeds and roots of cruelty, tyranny and treason. Parents nurture vile in their wards, who perpetuate through lineages, grosser forms of grotesqueness.

    It starts from the very little things, like teaching children to cheat through school. Hence the multitude of “peaceful, hardworking and God-fearing” families engaged in desperate pursuits to enroll their wards and university hopefuls in “special coaching schools” while they purchase for them, seats at “special centres,” as they write the S.S.C.E and JAMB exams.

    Such wards, who had been trained to circumvent the straight, moral path to success eventually mature into troubled adults. All through their lives, they navigate challenges and shoals of reality with the courage of a weevil and the wit of a hyena.

    The seeds of indolence and bestiality sown in them, grow to prodigious bulk, cultivated by society, codified as custom. Eventually, we have brutes and savages running our lives and determining our future.

    Many may dispute this, claiming that such characters constitute a minor fraction of the country’s over 190 million population. I disagree, but if they insist, I hereby iterate that such wonderful families we have now that blessed us with the current ruling class, thieving bank chiefs and corrupt law enforcers.

    Such wonderful families we have that blessed us with lazy and corrupt civil servants, light-fingered bank clerks, desperate, treacherous journalists and lawyers. Such wonderful families we have that blessed us with prostitutes, armed robbers, Yahoo boys, and currency-activated clerics to mention a few.

    While it may be easy to dismiss Mrs. Buhari’s supplication conference as yet another religious show-boating, her recourse to moral instruction is worthy of note.

    Aisha urged parents to instil good morals in their children but the same parents constitute the rich lobbyists conniving with her ruling class to impoverish Nigeria further. They are the folks cursing her ruling class even as they vie daily to serve the whims of the same political class as hack writers, political thugs, social influencers, and so on.

    They are the parents purchasing seats and liberties to cheat for their wards at JAMB and SSCE “special centres.” They are the bankers pilfering our accounts at 50 kobo, N50 to N5000 by the second.

    They are the motorists hastening off their appropriate lanes to face oncoming vehicles and endanger lives. They are the public administrators stealing pension fund meant for elderly retirees and using same money to fund presidential candidates at national elections.

    They are the lawyers twisting the law to serve the whims of Nigeria’s worst criminals ever.

    They are the crooks reading this thinking the writer is just another ‘grifter’ calling the con-artist, ‘fraud.’

  • Because we said a prayer to hate

    Because we said a prayer to hate

    In ‘Grief,’ published on October 29, 2020, this writer dallied in the wormhole of doubt, tiptoeing through the vale of public rage. I was wary of committing spunk to the fiction of the Lekki Tollgate massacre or nullifying it, in uncertainty.

    Evidently, there was no massacre. At least, not at the Lekki Tollgate – until proven otherwise.

    On that day, however, grief, prancing on our digital phones recited epitaphs across passion-planes and boundaries.

    “Retweet aggressively!” hastened rebellious youths, in the language of captives and emotion bandits; seeking to break free from the jailhouse of corrupt leadership, they became prisoners to malice and rage.

    Heroes or villains: they were expendable pawns in a sinister agenda advanced by a coalition of dark minds.

    But for all the flak they incite, they were not without love or beauty. Their passion pulsed with spokes of valour. Their clamour greased the wheels of hope even as they rallied and railed against the excesses of insolent leadership, bandit-SARS, and deadly thugs.

    While we condemn the duplicity of claimants to the LTG massacre, we must acknowledge how we got to this sorry pass in the first place.

    Partisan psychology asserts the ultimate benevolence of human emotion.

    In such a system, the truth logically has no place; truth becomes habitually relative. Today, Nigeria careens about the shove of fickle truths.

    By all intent, the protest was hijacked and politicised. All politics is combat, wrestling with manifest hostilities, compromise, and ghosts of dissent.

    We are only for something by being against something else. People profiting from the status quo, that is politicians, the ruling class, courtier journalists, desperate lawyers, and their cronies, often block from consciousness the tangle of clashing of realities threatening their preferred status quo.

    Frantic gerrymandering and propaganda wars manifest in real-time. The fiction of the Lekki Tollgate massacre is one of the refinements of toxic partisanship, it is the consequence of dubious ambivalence fostered by the demons within.

    A country can be fatal to its citizenry. Particularly when leaders turn to predators in public office. It was in reaction to predatory leadership that Nigerians resorted to virulent politics and emotional cultism.

    The ruling class’ serpentine amorality is also the writhing flora of toxic nature. After all, government reflects the people. The ruling class’ lack of ethics is borne of fear and disdain for the electorate. The latter eventually adopts the right to thwart their oppressors’  insolent compulsions via patronage or antagonism a la #Lekkimassacrefiction.

    More people are questioning the claims of the pro-massacre herd. The claims hardly add up. For instance, most of the bullets displayed by one of the arrowheads of the fiction in her video were unspent shells, argued pundits. The bullets weren’t fired. How did she come by them? How was she able to ascertain that a certain bullet, that allegedly struck a fellow protester – who has never come out to verify her story – was intended for her?

    Then she brandished an unspent bullet like the one that she allegedly “extracted” from a fellow protester? An AK-47 bullet to be precise. Even the pro-massacre herd’s Janus-faced local and overseas sponsors, could not validate their claims of a massacre. They recognised it as a poorly scripted and executed drama. Lest we forget the alarming claim by one of the protest’s drama queens, that she doesn’t need facts or evidence to prove that there was a massacre at Lekki Tollgate. Her pitiful arrogance will eventually do her in.

    We have a duty to respond to their insolent compulsions, by ignoring or thwarting them. By keeping quiet in the face of their mental savagery, we inadvertently honour and validate their forgery of patriotism and poetry of anarchy.

    Savage nature elevates their thoughts to the mainstream, the same way it makes disease the price of promiscuous sex. The permanence of the herd as a political persona is part of the weary weight of insolent sullied liberalism, beneath which ethics, nationalism, and truth founder.

    The pro-massacre herd currently looms as Nigeria’s most boorish national threat; basking in the luminance of mob bestiality, their ‘woke’ sentimentalism wildly beckons, fascinates, and destroys.

    Some may seem articulate, collected, but too many manifest as sociopaths in the social space. This is because they propagate a rancid culture of inhumaneness, and a tranquil apathy to the tragedy of verifiable victims of the EndSARS protest: the 57 civilians, 37 policemen, and six soldiers, who got killed in the carnage triggered by their dishonest claims of a massacre on October 20, 2020.

    From their deviant swerve against reason, to their irreconcilability to logic, the mystique of their herd mentality cannot be translated in mortal terms.

    The danger of their politics, however, is that it leaves them infinitely vulnerable to the plots of shady characters.

    Captive to artifice, they become easy tools and pawns in the designs of criminal masterminds seeking to disrupt the political space. It was a no-brainer that the latter would incite easily, a citizenry segment more disposed to voting for porn actors on a smut reality show than participating in an election that would determine their individual and collective fate.

    They are irredeemably prejudiced and stirred by duplicitous bromides, contrived sincerity, and emotionality, often with ethnic and religious resonance. They see, listen and speak in the language of bigots and the psychologically insecure. They are moved by sentiment and slogans, not logic and realism; this is the bane of their herd politics.

    Politicians and entertainers have learned to steer them into a manipulable herd simply by replicating the faux intimacy established between celebrities and their enamoured groupies.

    There is no gainsaying the Lagos State government hustled itself into a tight corner by inviting the military, after allowing the protest to go on for about two weeks. And it was amusing, really, to see Governor Babajide Sanwoolu invite certain purveyors of the massacre fable for his peace-walk. It was given that they would refuse him and thus score cheap political points.

    It’s about time Sanwoolu conducted himself with the resolve, confidence, and humane airs befitting of a Lagos governor. He could have invited, instead, the widows and children of the slain police officers, soldiers, and bereaved families of civilians, whose lives were fed to the blades of treacherous machinations of the characters that he invited – if anything, the latter should be prosecuted.

    Going forward, Sanwooolu must also resist the urge to throw vanity parties for clout-chasing celebrities or “social influencers,” or a Lagos end-of-year carnival that may resonate as a frantic lunge for approval of questionable youths and the pro-massacre herd.

    We are at the point in our lives, when we must actualise the theory of integrity, that we have so eloquently versified, outside the strictures of sponsored idealism and inherited venom.

    While many of us profess integrity in a superficial sense, we must understand that true integrity is impermeable to the shift from universal truth to emotion-cult and psychological terrorism.

    What we have exercised thus far, is a swerve from the truth and humane patriotism to the chthonian. The eye is magisterial in its judgments; it decides what to see and why. Thus each of our glances excludes as much as it includes. We select, editorialize, amplify and enhance.

    Our truths would continually reverberate as sullied wiles if hindered by cataclysmal sentiments, infernal violence, and bigotries.

    If we choose only to see and substantiate the politically-correct realities in our physical and emotional promenades, every time we speak our ‘truths,’ we would be poetising deceit and saying a prayer to hate.

     

     

  • The serpents within

    The serpents within

    Frantic media become vessels to itinerant grim reapers as you read. Editors of traditional and online news platforms, reporters, and citizen journalists, in particular, have become death’s minstrels.

    Like Ogege, the spirit with embroidered woe, they have turned serpents, rifling through Nigeria’s undergrowth to merge with the hue of the prevailing wild.

    They forget that when Nigeria eventually submerges in the mire of bestial elements, even the press will be cannibalised. Nonetheless, the local media, like global news agencies, serve as emissaries and enablers of the dark, vicious lusts of criminal masterminds. They are the itinerant pallbearers working to increase our funeral pyres.

    This minute, they ennoble our monstrosities and couch our ugliness in activist English.

    It is hardly surprising that the #EndSARS protest remains the subject of the Nigerian media’s perennial fascination. Despite the Lagos government’s issuance of the White Paper on the duplicitous judicial panel report on the Lekki Tollgate shooting, the coarse and duplicitous, wanton and bloodcurdling, are gleefully celebrated and coated in ornamental language by shady segments of the press and pro-massacre hordes.

    In the end, the lies they tell shall ruin us; and our follies shall attain clarity of sort. I speak of that moment when lies we tell evolve into half-truths and the grotesqueness we swore to escape begin to thrive on our watch.

    I speak of that moment when #SorosokeWerey and other wild banalities no longer serve the dubious youth mob. If we do not curb the excesses of this frantic divide, Nigeria may careen into its darkest epoch.

    Dystopia beckons; through the bleakness, we shall grope through the lattices of personal disaster into the ruins of national disaster, wondering how genocide found its perch past Lekki Tollgate’s fictionalised massacre into our lives.

    We shall burn and blaze in the name of sullied activism, self-determination, ethnicity, and sexuality politics craftily fed to our psyches from abroad; the language of our bloodlust shall not be understood by all even as our carnage is enabled and patronized by all.

    While we bleed, our vanishing neighbours in the ‘first world’ shall nourish and thrive; Nigeria shall become that perfect prey for the predatory ‘first world’ to rip off.

    We who should be aid-givers shall tirelessly scream and plead for aid. In the name of aid, more weaponry shall arrive on our shores than the deplorable glucose and rice rations. Every Nigerian shall become a revolutionary soldier; every child, a gun-totter.

    Through the chaos, the much-dreaded class wars shall erupt as the working class and breadlines eventually turn on each other, after hacking to death their common foes among the bourgeois and ruling class; they shall brandishing steel upon steel, shooting, maiming and decapitating their lavish spirits, until they become too bloodied to go on.

    Every national treasure and cash cow shall become principal targets of assault. Every personal asset shall become a spoil of war. Cars, houses, certificates, jewelry, enviable marriages, careers, and everything that everybody had ever laboured to achieve shall vanish in pillage and devastating mob wars.

    We shall watch the deployment of arms to our lost but ‘woke’ youth. Having seen too much bloodshed, we shall learn to think with the machete and speak with bullets.

    We shall hound and hack to death, people with whom we used to be friends, next-door neighbours, and in-laws simply because they are pro-massacre and anti-massacre perhaps; then because they are Yoruba, Igbo, Hausa, Itsekiri, Ibibio and so on.

    We shall watch our mothers and wives get raped to death. Our daughters and sisters shall become “comfort women” and hyper-active courtesans to at least four or five soldiers, ‘revolutionaries’ or militia at a go.

    Within such stew and stink, the ruling class shall be nowhere near the scenes of ravage nor would the technocrats on whose watch Nigeria depletes by pilferage and sabotage.

    They shall be comfortably tucked away in their safe houses abroad even as they monitor and direct the carnage back at home, with the connivance of shady foreign governments and humanitarian organisations.

    After the bloodbath is over, they shall re-emerge from their safe havens abroad to continue where they left off, knowing there would be greater chances for consequence-free pillage, in connivance with predators from abroad.

    This minute, Nigeria pulses with EndSARS pro-massacre antics. In the melee, dubious NGOs – at home and abroad – and politicians call the shots, and the youths serve as their disposable pawns, guzzling on spite and juvenile sound bites. The average youth becomes an easy mark in the frantic enterprise. It doesn’t make a darn bit of difference what his causes are. He fully immerses into the backward civilization into which he has been lured, evolving bald-barefacedly like a barbarian, badgering onto the stage for acclaim through the trap-door.

    This citizenship business still confounds the pro-massacre hordes. Education has failed to improve them. They have learned too little and they have too little to pass on, save hooliganism, sophistry, insolence, incompetence, and greed.

    As you read, dubious lawyers, politicians, activists, all goons-for-hire, are in bed with each other, in service of often shady characters in a cycle Arundhati Roy would call, a revolving bed in a cheap motel. Journalists, youth leaders, traditional rulers, women leaders, and civil societies are snuggled up under the sheets too.

    It’s hard to keep track of the partners; they change so fast. Each new baby they make becomes the latest progeny of the means to mislead financially and ethically impoverished segments of the Nigerian public.

    By their antics, Nigeria could become that mass grave we dread. Nationhood dies by our knack for turning logic on its head, to fulfill our innate wiles and perversions, leading many to conclude that Nigeria was a mistake. Nigeria was never a mistake. Nigerians are the mistake.

    As you read, the myth of the Lekki Tollgate massacre holds fast. Despite its repudiation by the Lagos government’s official ‘White Paper’ on the bungled judicial panel report, characters that ought to know better acidly pronounce the necessity of chaos as the next best thing that could ever happen to Lagos and Nigeria.

    This myth holds particularly among disillusioned youths because it is all they could manage today. The fiction of the massacre appeals to them not just because politicians, activists, and journalists of vulpine intent and intellect shove it to their psyches, many subscribe to the lie because it reinforces their disenchantment and prejudices.

    There is no gainsaying the EndSARS pro-massacre mob share kindred spirits with Boko Haram and armed bandits; they are the emblems of hope serving as crops of wrath, where prejudice and deceit whet inhuman appetites.

    Even those who know their fiction to be a farce are loath to jettison its dangerous sentimentality.

    It is time to heal. It is time for the Nigerian youth to take their rightful place in the scheme of things. I will never tire of saying that it’s about time we aspired to be untiringly just and humane.

    It’s about time we identified the demons that drive dubious segments of the political class and our friends from abroad, and dispossess our minds of the vanities that make us habitable to similar fiends.

    The tragedy of our generation subsists in our seemingly uncontainable prospects and our desperation to be used, lorded over and contained, at a price.

    Let us not continue to serve as disposable pawns in local and international politics of bitterness and plunder.

  • EndSARS: Facts and feelings

    EndSARS: Facts and feelings

    We must accept the leak of the unapproved judicial panel report on the Lekki Tollgate incident for what it was: a premeditated act of sabotage. A criminal plot to bully the government by inciting mass outrage over the fictive lore of a massacre.

    The leak is at once a metaphor of Nigerianness and the leakers’ lack of character. The culprits had murder in their hearts and menace in their eyes; they sought to stoke widespread dissent into bloodcurdling rage. Thus they sang simmering dissent into far-flung choler. If they had their way, Nigeria would burn.

    A lot has been written for and against the leaked report. While more people are questioning its veracity and justness of its verdict, its fabricators are fanatically devoted to its pronouncement of a massacre in strange context; the latter proclaim in dubious spirit, that the Lekki Tollgate shooting resulted in mass murder.

    By their machination, public discourse increasingly takes the form of organised mayhem as local politics and news transform into toxic adjuncts of the malevolence of pro-massacre aficionados.

    The leaked report is a monument to our nation’s cult of bigotry, inherited and sponsored hatred.

    It is a homage to eternal duplicity. The unapproved report was leaked through the mystique of mischief, base sentiment and juvenile angst. It was primed to incite international sentiment against the incumbent government, while stoking the embers of discord to birth an infernal spring.

    The masterminds of the leak believed that if they kept tinkering with public perception and our emotional state long enough, their lies would manifest as gospel truth.

    Conventional rationalism, despite its inequities, should keep the chaos of sophistry and base sentimentality in check. But when the prestige of patriotism dwindles to a low, all the nasty daemonism of selfish instinct pops out.

    Toxicity soars, pervading our private and public spaces. Individualism, the self, unrestrained by humaneness, yields to the coarser servitude of constraint by nature. And every road leads to violence and bloodshed.

    The judicial panel’s recontextualisation of the word, “massacre” and its dubious misinterpretation is an interpretive cloud we cannot dispel by a feeble declaration of truth. The pro-massacre mob can swerve from truth, but they cannot obliterate it.

    Sophistry is their urgent rampart, the fortress to which they scurry every time humane rationalism and the truth get thrust to their perception.

    Fractious before reason, they retreat into chilling crannies of chaos; they are like the ethically comatose patients, who automatically drift toward the fetal position of the doomed, from which they have to be nursed and nourished back to probity.

    Governor Babajide Sanwoolu now understands perhaps that the time for bending and wavering to court insolent youths and their enablers is over. Political capital, social capital, brand capital, are kindred froths in a bubble. None is real; they are all transient spumes atop governmental jetsam and flotsam. Its about time Sanwoolu ignored the gallery of the raucous hordes and respond with unwavering candour.

    It was wrong to allow inordinately biased, pro-massacre enthusiasts an easy ride on to a judicial panel that was meant to be peopled by neutral, dispassionate parties.

    That was the first undoing of the restitution effort. The government unwittingly gave anarchists the chance to play judge and jury of their own case. The consequences manifest even as you read.

    That a judicial panel could use the words ‘massacre in context’ and equate such to a massacre; that the panel could squander precious times, on taxpayers’ fund, rehashing rumours and unsubstantiated allegations spuriously bandied on social media as the soul and foundation of its report leaves a sour mood in the psyche.

    Read Also: Lagos #EndSARS panel report controversy rages 

    That the panel could dismiss crucial testimony of ballistic experts who testified before it that: “no military grade live ammunition (high-velocity) was fired at the protesters at Lekki Tollgate on 20th October 2020, within the time frame of reference (18.30- 20.34hrs). That the GSW (Gun Shot Wounds) injuries (4 in number between 19:05 and 19:45 hrs), which were examined by the Team, can be safely identified as being discharged by either low velocity caliber and/or artisanal/12-gauge firearms (artisanal firearms are locally-fabricated weapons). What is however certain is that had the military personnel deliberately fired military grade live ammunition directly at the protesters; there would have been significantly more fatalities and catastrophic injuries recorded. This was clearly not the case.’’

    That the same panel which deemed credible, the evidence of the Forensic Pathologist, Prof. John Obafunwa, that only three of the bodies on which post mortem were conducted were from Lekki and only one had gunshot injury went on to contradict itself by saying nine persons died of gunshot wounds at Lekki, raised valid questions on the leaked report, according to the Minister of Information, Lai Mohammed.

    Although Mohammed’s argument has incited the ire of the pro-massacre herd, nothing about their outrage is driven by actual concern for casualties of the #EndSARS conflict. If justice and compassion were truly their intent, they would extend their glamourised ire and compassion to the 57 civilians, 37 policemen and six soldiers who were killed across the country during the protest.

    But these lives brutally cut short outside the perimeters of the Lekki Tollgate protest or carnival ground, if you like, do not matter in their estimation.

    Their disposition is better contextualised by the horrid reality it triggered; fake news of a massacre at Lekki Tollgate sparked chaos across Lagos, leading to widespread looting, murder of innocent citizenry and security operatives.

    The leaked report and the frantic campaign to browbeat government and questioning citizenry into accepting it, smacks of mischief and duplicity stemming from mental and ethical indolence. It reveals, among other things, the rancid hatred flourishing among Nigerians of vastly different stripes in plain sight.

    The sponsors and purveyors of massacre-stoked angst understand that hatred is a Nigerian currency. They also understand that more people are bound to misunderstand the objects of their hatred hence the scathing attacks on government rebuttals of a massacre.

    It gets more worrisome when self-confessed journalist-crusaders perpetuate the morbid myth of the recontextualised massacre – either as pawns or propaganda masterminds.

    We are at that point when new expediences and indignation are fed to our infernal factory thus turning large segments of the public into insentient robots.

    This is the hell Plato warned us about. He feared the power of the senses to overthrow the mind, the power of emotion to obliterate reason. Nonetheless, it is the media’s duty to enlighten and educate those imprisoned and bewitched by the shadows on Plato’s mythical cave wall, a position that led Socrates to quip: “As for the man who tried to free them and lead them upward, if they could somehow lay their hands on him and kill him, they would do so.”

    To restore confidence in his government, Governor Sanwoolu must preside, without compromise, over the issuance of the official ‘White Paper’ on the Lekki Tollgate incident – especially now that the Federal Government has come out guns blazing.

    A single death at Lekki Tollgate would always be too many. The bereaved must be compensated. And Lagos must expose and prosecute the leaker of the unapproved report. The arrowheads of the Lekki Tollgate crisis, who led hundreds of youths to flout a legal curfew thus igniting a chain of events that birthed widespread riots, looting and arson, and the untimely death of 57 civilians, 37 policemen and six soldiers, must also be arrested and prosecuted according to the rule of the law. Justice must be served.

  • The hero as pathogen

    The hero as pathogen

    We do not know how to create a heaven or sustain the like of it but we love to create gods by the dozen. I do not speak of divinity that manifests only in far-fetched miracles and dreams; I speak of individuals we deify as our vanities dictate.

    For instance, a male cross-dresser has become a hero and god to generations of Nigerian youths simply because he perverts nature, prostitutes for a living, and cruises around in an SUV. What’s not to ‘love’ about him? While he repulses this writer and this page by his debauchery and maleficent charm, he is idolised by curious segments of high and low society.

    He is feted and championed as a cult hero, a bearer of charisma swathed in quarantine. He personifies an eerie sexual iridescence, like a pathogen. Masculine and feminine dilate about him like a solar aureole. He is celebrated not because he is dignified or virile but because he is taboo. Errant youths cuddle his divergent tang because it is verboten.

    Then we have the recently released inmates of the 2021 Big Pervert Reality show; it is noteworthy that male and female participants on the show attained fame, ‘wealth’ and ‘laudable’ notoriety by indecent exposure and having random sex on impulse – like wannabe pornstars. The worse their infamy, the greater their acclaim.

    Defiance, aberrant virtue, taboo, or whatever we may call that mysterious trait emitted by the tabooed person is conceived by the modern youth as the essence or substance by which degeneracy is charged – just as Frazer’s Leyden jar gets charged with electricity.

    Our lust for heroes ends in double jeopardy: as reprobates soar in acclaim and society salts the ground they walk upon. Degeneracy abounds as a Nigerian plague by the primitiveness of minds. For instance, viewers comprising large segments of the electorate gifted the producers of the big pervert reality/porn show with hundreds of millions of votes, in pitiful contrast to the paltry votes recorded at the 2019 general elections.

    While the argument persists in sophist circuits that the circumstances and rules are different in both events, one can’t help but marvel at the studious discipline and vulgar alertness devoted by the citizenry to a porn show at the expense of their future.

    Money is at the root of everything. The pursuit of it incites the worst monstrosities in reprobate groupies of porn idols and political celebrities.

    Being rich is certainly is the closest you get to being a god in Nigeria. Add an impressive root and very intimidating academic record to the mix and you have yourself a 21st-century hero or god.

    But of what calibre are man-made gods? Who really are the Nigerian idols? Do their deeds make them worthy of hero worship or blind deification? To what do they owe our reverence of them? Some would say it is their brilliance and achievements. Anyone could be brilliant or achieve feats from time to time but humaneness is what we have to affect all of the time.

    How humane is our ruling class? How human are Nigeria’s industry titans; government-anointed and corruption-activated billionaires to be precise?

    By their citizenship, do they provide pathways to empowering the Nigerian youth: the disillusioned jobless graduates and school dropouts of Umukegwu, Akokwa, Urualla, Apongbon, Idumota, Agege, Agbor, Doron Baga, and Sankwala, to mention a few?

    Do they teach the youth to evolve beyond the greed, selfishness, and idiosyncrasies of their generation? Do they teach us to make peace with our guilt and conquer our demons?

    The answer lies as much in their utterances as their deeds. Transcendent moments and heroic acts are in truth, deeds of an exalted intelligence and unsullied mind – traits that modern society pitifully scoffs at.

    Our lust for heroes and gods illustrates a fable; it is not of latent strength but disintegration. It reveals the weakness and shallowness of the foetal adult’s awfully preadolescent mind. Thus his predisposition to creating gods of impoverishment and war.

    Some would say the random hero may pass as a god. But the Nigerian hero is a human sound bite. He is essentially a half-formed mammal, animal to be precise. He is hardly humane. He has been flipped upside-down and inside-out; he has been scrambled, corrupted, and fertilised by ghastly manifestations of self-love, tribalism, wantonness, sexual perversion, and sense of worth.

    “All gods are homemade, and it is we who pull their strings, and so, give them the power to pull ours,” says Aldous Huxley, English writer. The manner in which the Nigerian public worships celebrities and the ruling class, however, enables their descent to the steep slopes of bestiality.

    Having made superhumans of public officers, for instance, they begin to see themselves as gods and the electorate by whose strength they attained their exalted positions as lesser creatures.

    Suddenly they feel the urge to ‘protect’ themselves behind fortresses. It becomes abominable for their wives, daughters, and cooks to visit the same grocer or shop in the same market as the masses.

    They loot public coffers without inhibition and in response, we grovel at their feet for crumbs of our collective wealth. Whenever they intrude on our world, they leave behind pungent memories and pains.

    Whenever they come to town, we must be kept in traffic for them to move freely. Whenever they are ‘guests of honour’ at our functions, we are treated with little or no honour, argues Kayode Oteniya.

    The quality of a true leader is the apparent sincerity in his manners. The speeches he makes are never mere platitudinous chants and his developmental programmes are never extraordinary elephant projects. His politics and humaneness are not only heard but felt.

    There is prime merit in everything about him, and his life generally, radiates truth. His life is what we may call a great sober sincerity. A sort of temperate authenticity that is not only blunt but uncompromising.

    His fervour is undomesticated, bordering on the wild and forever wrestling naked with the elements that be, for the love of the good and the truth of things. In that sense, there is something of the savage yet humane in him, like all great men.

    He is one in whom one still finds human substance. He relishes no opportunity to tell any colourful story of himself anywhere; usually, he stands bare and grapples like a giant, face to face, heart to heart, with the naked truth of things. ‘That, after all,” says Carlyle “is the sort of man for one.”

    And such is the type of man we should value above all others. He is the man who, as American writer, Norman Mailer, opines, would argue with gods and awaken devils to contest his vision. When he dies, his death would be felt nationwide as something more than a historic calamity; women would weep and men would fight back tears as if they had heard of the death of a very dear friend or Saint.

    The manifestation of such a man would be Nigeria’s noblest attainment yet. Unhappy the land that has no heroes, says Andrea; No, unhappy the land that needs heroes, responds Galileo in Bertolt Brecht, late German playwright and poet’s “The Life of Galileo.”

    Regrettably, the meaning is lost on all.

  • Spectacle of the  tortoise and the fox

    Spectacle of the tortoise and the fox

    If there is a cautionary tale in Nigerian politics, it is in the tension between the politician and voter. Both schemers, their hostility echoes the proverbial race between the fox and tortoise. The fox, for all its brawn and trickery, meets his match in the tortoise, whose cunning eventually wins the race. Thus goes the ethically-correct narrative.

    The fable, however, dissembles in the Nigerian wild. Ultimately, it manifests in reverse: picture the politician as the fox, the electorate as the tortoise, and the political arena as the wild. The fox beats the tortoise silly thus winning the race time and over again.

    At the forthcoming general elections, the foxes will carry the day. It’s a given. The race had always been rigged in the interest of the foxes.

    Thus this year as all others, Nigeria reels at the borderline between republic and empire.

    The voters’ bent, however, will determine if the country would re-emerge as a republic of free people, from the 2023 elections. At the moment, the indices are clear, and all the aspects manifest to reinforce the actuality of the country as an oligarchic empire.

    The oligarchy that corrupted Nigeria’s politics, has been on song and its manipulative best en route to the 2023 elections. The most affluent of the coven assign public offices by whim and lottery thus affirming the grim unreality of the electoral process.

    These formidable oligarchs, in a bid to perpetuate themselves in power, assign national tracts and public offices to their children and political godsons, quoting phantom egalitarianism.

    To their stooges, they assign power, lucrative contracts and public offices with cautious benevolence and a disdainful smile.

    They expect their child and protégé to enter the power elite, infinitely beholden to them, often through a rigged process. Of course, the recipients of such tarnished benevolence accept to play ball.

    On assumption of office, they attempt a perfect interpretation of the script handed out to them, in a political high drama, in which they play deity and minion for applause as the circumstances dictate.

    They will scorn the poesies of democracy, likewise the humaneness and progress they hitherto promised the electorate en route to the polls.

    They will embrace moral nihilism and so doing, perpetuate a radical evil, sustainable by the collaboration of a timid, confused electorate, a system of propaganda and mass media that offers strictly spectacle and amusement in lieu of news, and an educational system incapable of transmitting transcendent values and nurturing the capacity for individual conscience.

    Having ignored the societal play of forces operating beneath current political platforms, Nigeria and her people will once again, bear the curse of pitiless forms of governance through all tiers of government.

    Dissent would be outlawed and deemed inconsequential; and the shrill, occasional cries of the few who dare to protest, will resonate, like the spatter of spilt milk on sand dunes.

    Silence would be appreciated while duplicity gets celebrated across social strata, fragmented families, public and private institutions.

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    It doesn’t matter who wins the election, the political complex, established and presided over by the oligarchy, will subsist but the electorate would remain compliant and endure the bestial system foisted on them, often turning impatiently, to seek a cosy place within its crannies.

    The prospective ruling class, like its predecessors, will set out to diminish the individual and crush his or her capacity for moral choice thus ushering him into a seemingly harmonious collective.

    This warped realism has previously manifested through spells of bad governance and tokenism inflicted on long-suffering communities and states across the country.

    Each human fragment of the electorate knows what issues and inadequacies require urgent resolution but most would rather keep mute no matter their afflictions.

    The persistent lack of electricity supply, bad roads, substandard health care, insecurity, unfavourable business clime and an economy rigged in the interest of thievish bank chiefs, giant corporate thieves and political class, remain the bane of Nigeria’s micro and macro development since independence.

    Nonetheless, the victors at the 2023 polls will maintain the status quo. Like previous governments, they will muster lifeboat solutions as responses to the country’s towering adversities.

    Politicians take but statesmen give. The latter relinquishes perks and privileges to earn honour. Politicians, however, fight and grab their way to identity and power, amassing fortune to leave to their heirs, and their repute. Whatever becomes of both.

    The heir inherits by default hence he has no value to transact for worth, except the name, exploits and privileges of his father, which are sooner squandered and declined.

    Reality, however, reveals many an heir of a famous father as an alcoholic, drug addict, sexuality mutant and dilettante, among others.

    It is not by accident but just desserts that several heirs to Nigeria’s greatest political dynasties incandescence, albeit briefly in their fathers’ infamy or repute before they burn out.

    But Nigeria’s ruling class forever takes care of its own thus the preponderance of political heirs foisted across the country’s civil service and corridors of power.

    Of the 36 state governors that would emerge from the forthcoming elections, for instance, barely six would preside fairly and manage the resources of their states judiciously. The remaining 30 would loot their states’ coffers to purchase outrageously priced tracts in Banana Island, and exclusive neighbourhoods abroad. They will connive with bank chiefs to pilfer their states’ treasuries and divert money meant to build schools, hospitals, and rehabilitate crucial infrastructure into their concubines’ and private accounts at home and abroad.

    Resistance to such maladies will be impossible because the electorate lacks the knowledge and introspection required to articulate and weaponise dissent at ballot time.

    Schools and religious houses won’t impart such enlightenment because the pedagogical and ascetic structures that should facilitate such awareness have collapsed around specialisations and prophesies designed to maintain the status quo.

    However, frantic idealists and erratic pundits will ornament politics and the media space, as they do en route the elections, with unrealistic fantasies of progress via monetised columns, television and internet soapboxes.

    Call them journalists, if you like. In truth, they are out to further confuse an already confounded electorate, and so doing, persuade all to reason and speak as a harmonious herd.

    The actual controllers of the herd, however, are the political, business class in the shades: those who own and control the press. The press is relegated to the lower rung, where it plays herdsman, driving the citizenry, like cattle, through thickets of sentiments and outrageous bigotries, on to their principals’ chosen paths.

    Thus Nigeria will emerge from the polls, to trudge and suckle in familiar hardship and chaos, because the press has lost its ethical, rhetorical rhythm. This can be rectified, however.

    At the backdrop of these, we face a far more difficult problem: our affliction by youths weaned on savage materialism. The youths, emerging from two societal extremes: the haves and have-nots, coalesce in ghastly pursuits inimical to the Nigeria project.

    How do we counsel them to be prudent, honest and just in their dealings? What do you promise youth that had been told that they can have anything they want without shedding sweat for it? How do you give them a new vision to deal with bitter reality?

    How do we breed youth on the belief that success should never be about accumulating obscene wealth to show off but the right to live life more fully and engage more expansively, the elemental possibilities of human existence?

  • Are you walking the dog or is the dog walking you?

    Are you walking the dog or is the dog walking you?

    The freedom of the bead is often impeded by the voluptuous hip. Thus is the paradox of the threaded bead, ageless bejeweller of the luscious waist. Beads on their own may seem attractive, astonishing perhaps, but when they are threaded together on a string, they lose the freedom to skitter around as they please.

    Think of the youth as the bead, the voluptuous hip as the government, a political party, big business or non-profit. The bead undoubtedly genuflects to the tyranny of luscious hips.

    The corrupt youth politician is a poseur. Like his venal peers in medicine, accountancy, social work, journalism, armed forces, and the civil service – among others – with whom he shares a kindred spirit, he flaunts a semblance of character but becomes visibly irritated and embarrassed, when reality punctures his contrived persona.

    His dignity is frantically sculpted and articulated to pass him off as a bleeding patriot, but he blooms like the proverbial damaged beautiful boy of Grecian lore.

    Gravitas to him is deceptively mustered. It is neither earned nor actualised. Thus he mounts the soapbox of activism, and scuds to the spotlight, like a pirate goon thundering ashore on a metallic scallop shell, the heraldic vessel of his unchaste personae.

    When you see the feverish scramble by most youths and youth groups for patronage by political parties, local and international political interest groups, and non-profits to mention a few, the stench of fraudulence hits you; its rank smell, redolent of the stink faeces make in a clogged latrine.

    The youths should, ideally, evolve and grow into the much hackneyed but romanticised roles of the ‘leaders of tomorrow’ but inexcusable greed has turned too many into dubious radicals, racketeers and seekers of unearned benefits.

    Like the crooked activist, who eventually ditches activism to display ‘table manners,’ they circumvent ethical boundaries and embrace the “Naija way” of “running things.”

    Money talks, corruption works; most youths frantically learn and intone the language of the game. They have learnt to agitate shrilly and in all ugliness, until they are courted, funded and co-opted by the predatory ruling class whose stranglehold presumably incited their discontent.

    At the 11th hour to the general elections, they emerge from the woodwork, driven by funded spunk, to support or contest all shades of ‘practical’ and ‘impractical’ causes.

    Like Arundhati Roy would say, “I’m not against people being funded—because we’re running out of options, but we have to understand, ‘Are you walking the dog or is the dog walking you? Who’s the dog and who are you?”

    The Nigerian youth is unquestionably the dog, and he is definitely being walked.

    From Boko Haram’s bloody terrorism, armed banditry, electoral violence to herdsmen-farmers attacks across the country, the youths, mostly underclass, perpetrate a cycle of violence, mugging and hacking each other to death in a senseless carnage. And everything thing is paid for.

    The latter constitute the muscle and mob continually unleashed as appendages to compromised law enforcers by the country’s oligarchs whose quest is to retain political power and privileges at all cost.

    The latter funds the repression, murder and incarceration of inflexible dissenters; even as they patronise and hurl money at those whose tenor of dissent is amenable to their wiles and leash of cash.

    Money shaves the edge off the most virulent activist till he ends up as what the Yoruba would call, ekun inu iwe (paper tiger) or what the Indians would call, paaltu sher (tamed tiger).

    Supposedly wiser youth coalesce into a pretend resistance and revolutionary impostors, like the electoral paper weight, Presidential Aspirants Coming Together (PACT) or the #EndSARS celebrity arrowheads; ultimately, they ignite the sparks that sodden coal makes beneath a waterfall.

    There is no gainsaying Nigeria’s demographic bulge seems in favour of youths, the country is relatively young. Going by the estimates for both males and females, the median age of the country is estimated between 17.9 to 18.4 years of age, even as the vast majority of youths are unskilled, underemployed, and unemployed.

    A major implication of this situation is that the youths are unsuited to serve as the vanguard of truly progressive politics and visionary governance that the country deserves.

    Where they are co-opted into mainstream politics, they are consigned to the fringes, enslaved to tokenism and the so-called “me-first politics” or “stomach infrastructure.”

    Kwame Nkrumah, Aminu Kano, Obafemi Awolowo, Nnamdi Azikiwe, Nelson Mandela, Ahmadu Bello, Mahatma Ghandi and Anthony Enahoro, among others, emerged as leaders of their countries in their youths due to their immense sacrifices and unflinching devotion to the collective – even if sectarian – good.

    In sharp contrast, the modern Nigerian youth, or politically ‘woke’ youth, if you like, personifies a dud joke. At the last general elections, while millions of illiterate voters played pawn to the problematic oligarchs, supposedly ‘woke’ youths united to spout and be seen on soapboxes they mounted on the social media.

    It was unsurprising that an alternative platform, like PACT, fell apart. Its initial language was untranslatable by realistic yardsticks; its cohorts spoke the same gibberish as the oligarchs. Ultimately, they brought nothing new to the table, save a slew of platitudes and tiresome rhetoric, vigorously broadcast on social media.

    Still, the joke persists in contemporary circuits, that, the battle to free Nigeria from the vicious grip of the oligarchs would be fought in social space and won by the cudgels and blades of ‘woke’ youth.

    This notion sprouts from ideological fields at home and abroad, where pasture, copse and tributary of thought, flourish from sickly seeds of violence and death.

    While Africa and Nigeria’s founding fathers, shed sweat, towering intellect and rigorous man hours to actualise their nationalistic dreams, the contemporary ‘woke’ youth experiments with brawn, reverse intellectualism and lip service.

    Yet being ‘woke’ is next to being a deity in contemporary youth circuits. It confers on the ‘woke’ a colossal ego, an exaggerated sense of awareness and idolatry of fawning peer. Hence the revolutionary chants wielded to inflame the polity via Facebook, Twitter, and shades of mainstream and manipulable media, at election time.

    Beneath the radical chants, however, subsists an immoderate hankering for money, fast cars and other material things. This translates to a morbid race against time, to acquire wealth by ‘woke’ young assassins and political thugs, internet scammers (Yahoo Boys), and prostitutes, to mention a few.

    As you read, youths with key-pad confidence are pounding away on their mobile phones, iPads and computers. They are done mouthing off and tormenting virtual space with insolent gibberish, about not being too young too run.

    This minute, they are obsessing about the next ‘insane’ reality show. The filthier the show, the merrier.

    The elections are over hence they are done standing on barrel-heads to spout and be seen. They will obsess about trendy filth in real time and what they could cheat the system to acquire.

    What Joshua Lubin identified as the “Me” decade has indeed recoiled inward at the expense of crucial national issues, like national progress and ethical rebirth.

    The Nigerian youth betrays self; poverty, selfish politicians and unemployment are cited as reasons for the betrayal. True, the society betrays the youth by the hour but it’s about time we understood that repaying perfidy with perfidy translates to self-sabotage.

    It’s about time we evolved dependable and practicable means of instituting a humane leadership and culture of citizenship. Only then can we attain progressive rebirth. How?

  • Hostage to the flesh envelope

    Hostage to the flesh envelope

    This minute, Nigeria pulses to fluid femaleness. Next minute, fluidity may surge trapped, and femaleness may unfurl insipid in the rite of hierarchies by which a dominant male divide harnesses female spunk to win elections.

    How do politicians define a woman with a voter’s card? As manipulable muscle perhaps. In truth, she is a worker of marvels. She is a peasant farmer and market woman of the sidewalk. She is a maternal hero and guardian of fruits from errant male loins. She is the spangled artisan mining the dreams of those that would put her in fetters.

    A shackled woman is a shackled nation; repressed womanhood often manifests dangerously; recent figures by the National Population Commission (NPC) and the National Bureau of Statistics (NBS), estimate Nigeria at 213 million people with approximately 51 percent males and 49 percent females.

    The figures hardly translate in favour of women in governance and elective positions.

    For instance, women recorded low representation at the 2015 general elections, securing a paltry 6.2 percent (seven female senators) of seats in the Senate while men constituted 93.8 percent. Only six women emerged as deputy governors in the 36 states of the country and no woman was elected governor.

    At the backdrop of this worrisome narrative, the Chairman of the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC), Prof. Mahmood Yakubu, revealed that more men voted than women in 2015, thus bemoaning the marked decrease in the number of women who have won elective positions since 2007: 11 percent in 2007, seven percent in 2011 and 5.6 percent in 2015.

    Out of 2,970 women who contested for different political offices, in 2019, only 62 were elected thus affirming 4.17% women representation in the 2019 general elections, as against 5.65% elected in the 2015 general elections to the National Assembly.

    Thus Mufuliat Fijabi, founder of the Nigerian Women’s Trust Fund (NWTF), pleaded for a level playing field with men, stressing, that women can excel and contribute immensely to the advancement of democratic governance in Nigeria.

    Again, Nigeria pulses to this frantic fiction of change; as INEC, civil and women’s rights groups demand greater women participation in politics.

    Getting more women involved in politics offers no solution at a short stretch, greater attention must be paid to the quality of their political awareness. Unlike her male counterpart, the female voter is modern politics’ most significant personae; a reckoning of phenomenal realities, she possesses immense power yet untapped.

    Crucial questions must be asked: What is the pattern of votes cast by women? What’s the quality of their electoral decision? Are they rooting for the candidate who always delivers? What are the poetics of such delivery? Are they clamouring to re-elect the candidate who bought them pepper grinders, ice coolers, ankara, and bread loaf during the last general elections?

    I remember an encounter with two female voters and neighbours, who were recently ‘upgraded’ to minor party chieftains at the grassroots. Both work for an aspirant seeking to represent their constituency for the third time, at the federal legislative chambers.

    At the latter’s first tenure, he promised them a borehole that never got built. At his second time out, however, he pleaded for forgiveness and bought pepper grinding machines, ice coolers, and food warmers for women across the local districts of their constituency.

    Brandishing a hazy list of beneficiaries, he promised to give their children scholarships, valued at N20, 000 each. Of the figure, each recipient will pay a commission of N5, 000 to the woman leader who facilitates the inclusion of her child’s name in the list of recipients. They have vowed to get him re-elected at all cost.

    The duo mirror a fragment of a larger percentage of females, who like their male peers, are blinded by an insidious culture of tokenism, to the gaping inadequacies of their preferred candidates, and the consequences on the economy, social, and political structures that herald their lives.

    They do not understand, that, these structures, which they have been tutored to serve, must be abolished to avoid disaster. The bane of such a voter divide is their handlers. Political parties activate their campaign teams with influential females answering to the title of ‘women leader.’

    The latter flaunt the lustre of folk heroines and local champions, who develop multiple forms of sentiments in the female populace, exploiting emotionality for political benefits.

    Some evolve into the political femme fatale, committing to their parties’ candidate irrespective of the latter’s true ethical bent. They play the devil’s advocate, showering plaudits and heroism on aspirants, whose lives are often examples of moral squalor and unchecked greed.

    Local politics careens dangerously by the antics of such femme fatale, who survive by the mystique of an equation akin to politics of the herdsmen and the herd.

    Women constitute a significant and very powerful section of the political divide no doubt. Societal problems, however, persist where they fail to wield their power and influence decisively in their interest and for the benefit of the country.

    The social afflictions of inadequate primary healthcare centres, substandard education, gender violence, and economic insecurity persist, where women fail to participate in national, state, and grassroots politics by progressive terms.

    It is often argued that if more women get into politics, there would be less failure and tragedy in governance. This argument, however, falls flat on the face at the backdrop of revelations of monumental corruption perpetrated by female public officers at all levels of government.

    Yet it may be argued that the culprits are victims of an interplay and intra-play of forces led by powerful male elements holding sway over public and private institutions.

    Leadership failure is ultimately a male sport, invented by the politically dominant male to patent victory by the choices of a hapless electorate. In order to fulfill this dysfunction and make it amenable to precepts of political correctness, the Nigerian female is occasionally tossed political office, like a gift of bone to a starving dog.

    Thus the emergence of often ceremonial female deputies and commissioners to male governors – even though their functions at times, conflict with the offices of their principals’ First Ladies. Such deputy governors, commissioners, in the end, settle into roles and functions beneath their designations.

    This is a manifestation of flawed choice, an ultimate human dilemma precipitated by survival instinct in a blemished system. The gravest challenge to our hopes and dreams as a nation are the messy political transactions prevalent at the grassroots and party arena, every minute and hour of every day.

    Resistance to such acts cannot take place without a degree of knowledge and self-reflection. We must end these acts by transforming moral outrage into concrete steps to curb such violations.

    We can no longer shut our eyes to the venomous superstructure foisted on us, fuelled by insentient politics, retained by toxic social economy.

    More women suffer the scourge of tarnished awareness in this political high drama that renders their conscience, a pitiful hostage of its flesh envelope; “whose surges and secret murmurings they cannot stay or speed,” says Paglia.

    If the woman’s body is truly a labyrinth in which the man is lost, the Nigerian woman should loom formidably before him as negotiations intensify on the country’s next social, political hierarchies.

    The conflict of economies and social ironies notwithstanding, a new class of womanhood must emerge not as a corpse in future argument with itself, but as a heroic shiner of light and hope on Nigeria’s dark aspects.

  • October wild and herd feral

    October wild and herd feral

    October 20, 2020, the #EndSARS protester paraded careless angst in trendy herd.  He was the plebeian statue sculpted of spunk and spittle. Governors, lawmakers, and the presidency considered him to be a dangerous cuss. But he saw himself otherwise.

    In truth, he was the proverbial yowl plundering rage slipshod, a revolutionary of dubious grace. His flashing eyes, vagrant rage, combined insolent swag with gruff panache. Flashing eyes may command and pierce but they can also incinerate from within. Ever wonder why the protests imploded and died?

    Violence was a mutation of the #EndSARS protest. When it broke, it was uninformed, primitive, and vast, like the chaos of savage night before the dawn of blossoms. Yet dawn erupts with sickly carnations. Despite the flowery fantasies of the protesters, their clamoured dawn illumined with moonshine.

    The fruits of the protests were negative for the same reason that they were positive for the youth; the resultant mayhem counselled the need for caution, tact, and masterful self-containment. One positive takeaway from the protests was the timeless opportunity it offered the youth to regroup and restrategise.

    Come 2023, they won’t seize power from the incumbent ruling class. That is a tall dream. But this minute, they could set about reordering in numbers and might, to renegotiate the nature and extent of their participation in the political process.

    Their inability to unite constructively for the good of all and their incapacity at achieving a rational engagement with the government and other demographics manifested as a desperate defect of the #EndSARS protest.

    The most sublime act they could have aspired to was the renegotiation of their terms of political engagement en route to the 2023 general elections and further. But they blew it.

    Many would rather seek cheap consolation and play to the gallery by romanticising the Lekki Tollgate shooting as a massacre. There was a shooting there quite alright, and it was in bad taste, but there was no massacre. Journalists should stop whinging reports to reflect the truth they can’t substantiate.

    Of course, several writers, presumed and self-appointed leaders of thought, celebrities, and publicity junkies would rail and declare this politically incorrect, their frantic grief is understandable. I accord them their right to it. “We move,” to echo one of #EndSARS purgative slogans.

    With #EndSARS, the youth seemed to speak with one voice but all they did was weaponise dissent and angst into a shrill orchestra. For a generation that prides itself on its disruptive capacities, their response to disruption was frantic, juvenile, and predictable – which further affirms the pointlessness of their rudderless protests.

    Contempt was a black hole of the protests, the disdain for constructive criticism, dishonesty, and a spiraling convolution of psyche. Little wonder the movement unfurled ethically-knocked.

    The youths must learn not to cherry-pick aspects of an insurrection to validate their caprices for change; life happened through #EndSARS, and they must deal with the consequences of their actions and inaction through the carnage.

    It’s inspiring that the youth have finally realised that their expectations of a better future are imperiled on the watch of a selfish political class but it’s self-serving to blame the older generation alone for the Nigerian crisis, the youths had always partnered with them in pillaging and carnage.

    The #EndSARS romantics, predictably, sought to immortalise October 2020 as the day soldiers killed an unsubstantiated number of protesters at Lekki Tollgate. But while they conjure the bodies from lies and bouquets of rage, we must remember that it was the day Nigerian youths murdered 22 policemen, roasting and eating some of them in Ibadan. A day the youths burned 205 police stations, and other critical private and public infrastructure. A day the so-called leaders of tomorrow burned over 164 police vehicles, looted, and bankrupted about 265 private businesses, leading to the joblessness of over 10, 000 youths.

    It was a day over 200 new public coaches were torched by angry youths; a day Lagos State and some other states lost over N20 billion to destructive youths. October 20, 2020, was the culmination of Nigeria’s loss of over N700 billion in economic value – over 14 days.

    It was a day Nigeria’s youths jointly escalated the crisis, leading to the deaths of at least 73 civilians, far from Lekki Tollgate. But the dubious, clout chasing celebrities and their unwitting groupies wouldn’t address these truths as they commemorated their fictive massacre at the Lekki Tollgate.

    Vladimir Lenin’s homily of a successful revolt benchmarks all three Russian revolutions in the 20th century; he said, it is not enough for a revolution that the exploited and oppressed masses should understand the impossibility of living in the old way and demand changes, what is required for revolution is that the exploiters should not be able to live and rule in the old way.

    Only when the “lower classes” do not want the old way, and when the “upper classes” cannot carry on in the old way—only then can revolution win.

    Youthful Nigeria dabbled with such reality until criminals among them and the ruling class perhaps hatched venom into their ranks. The youth were wooing the police. Videos of protesters sharing sumptuous meals and drinks with police patrol teams went viral and raised eyebrows among the ruling class. It scared them silly.

    Like all despotic regimes, the ruling class understood the import of the events. They dreaded what the endgame of such camaraderie of protesters and the police could manifest.

    They understood that once the foot soldiers of the elite – the policemen, soldiers, party hooligans and random street urchins, the civil servants, the courts, the press and academia, and finally the army – no longer have the will to defend the regime, the regime is finished. When these societal elements shun the whims of an oppressive regime, it crumbles.

    To rebuild Nigeria, the youth must seek legitimate means of participation in the political process. It’s about time they adopted or established a viable political party, duly registered, and founded on humane principles of nationhood, citizenship, and thought.

    They must present through legitimate means, to the parliament, a heartfelt wish to participate in the forthcoming elections. To achieve this, they could urge the National Assembly to normalise the use of the international passport, driver’s license, national identity card, and BVN (for electronic ballot) as acceptable means of voting at the 2023 elections.

    And if the youths truly intend to assert themselves progressively at the forthcoming elections, they must begin to woo societal segments they had hitherto ignored and dismissed as too violent, too dumb, too compromised, and too wild.

    They must accommodate the random hooligan, street urchin, among others, as co-travellers in the march towards the Nigeria of our dreams.

    Nobody was born to serve as a hooligan, arsonist, assassin; the youth must initiate debates and deliberations spanning various fora, nationwide, whereby they would honestly thrash out crucial issues that aid the reduction of Nigeria’s youth to disposable social elements and cannon fodder for political violence.

    They must eschew violence and the inclinations for hate speech, and their synergies must be guided and adapted through an ad hoc and premeditated coordination in repelling  moles, armed goons, and saboteurs, who would be sent to disrupt their rallies with tribal toxins, fake news, religious venom, and filthy lucre.

    None of these is achievable where the youths remain faceless and buried in herd feral.

  • Behind the glitter and the rape (2)

    Behind the glitter and the rape (2)

    Angela Jika’s grin is “expensive.” For the right price, it will slink into a sneer while she plays the pitiless dominatrix. To act a bondage (BDSM) script is expensive. She would take N40, 000, and nothing less, she said.

    Through her definition of “expensive” to her cocksure demeanour, at her first encounter, her voice crashed through the Thursday evening like a broken scream, and a silent shriek crept into her narrative. The impact was chilling.

    At 21, Jika can “act anything.” She would submit to restraints and take a beating from a dominant male or dominatrix. She would feign a rapture by draping a slick, sultry mask on her face. For N50, 000, she would spread out and make a flora bed of the studio.

    Since she made her foray into the porn industry, Jika has done everything. She has paid her dues. Money teases off her inhibitions. Hard drugs too. She’d do anything to feed her drug dependence hence at age 17, she let two married neighbours sleep with her on the backseat of a car, while her boyfriend, Azuka, secretly filmed them in order to blackmail and extort money from them afterward.

    Jika, like most millennials nurses a delusive edge to her craft and being; a supposed sense of worth and ardour for growth that defies convention. Her talent is her truth, she told me, stressing that she doesn’t give a hoot what anyone thinks of her.

    Jika is a miner and hawker of truths, however, fickle their depth and resonance. There is very little difference between her and the hordes of youths that make it into the fetishized brothel cum tabernacle of the big pervert reality show.

    The digital broadcaster of the show understands Jika and the inmates’ kind of “truth” hence it sinks its fangs into their minds, as the falcon does to feeble fauna.

    Porn performers are often female victims of sex trafficking. They are often forced to create sex scenes by abusers adept at mental and economic exploitation while using slovenly psychological tools to break down the inhibitions of the unsuspecting victims.

    There is no one to protect the significantly young audience from the aggressive cues and wild decadence the broadcaster insinuates into their psyches. The fault is hardly with the broadcaster, however, but with Nigerian parents who leave the purveyor of filth to the task of raising their wards.

    The blame goes to a Nigerian leadership stymied in a swamp of freebies, like complimentary boxes of the broadcaster’s decoder, free satellite subscriptions, among others.

    The press, which ought to serve as Nigeria’s shield and last bastion of resistance to the broadcaster’s perverse programming, and other weird inclinations, is enslaved to its tokens.

    In pursuit of millions of naira in prize money, a brand new SUV, inmates of the amorality jailhouse shun dignity, decorum, and their supposed good breeding, to engage in wanton sex, voyeurism, and tantrums.

    Like animals in heat, participants have had sex in a public toilet, before a global audience. The scene prefigures the transition in Nigerian civilisation from high morality to decadence. The antics of the youths in the debate about the depravity glamourised by the show emphasises a throwback to primordial whim.

    Entertainers use porn to groom society, and the youths, in particular, are dealt a gruesome form of psychological conditioning that leaves too many among them stirred, shaken, and receptive to dross.

    Despite its apparent dangers, porn addiction has become pop culture, cutting through swathes of conservative norms and social correctness. As it knifes through the country, cyberspace becomes a garish, raunchy boulevard; a theatre of libertine delight, fetishes, and rendezvous for voyeurs and porn stars.

    It also offers a negotiation point for the addicted desiring real physical action. The social space thus unfurls as an esplanade of taboos and fetishes that expands and contracts to temptation and patronage.

    A typical call for performers reads thus: “Do you want to join the porn industry today? We need ladies and young men who are ready to act porn in the Nigerian porn industry. To get a form, call. Maximum security is guaranteed, and all necessary background checkups will be done on all the ladies and men.”

    Read Also: Behind the glitter and the rape

    The terms and conditions are redolent of the admission criteria into the big pervert reality show.

    The stereotypes fostered by the programme are legion: voyeurs with tenacity post comments beneath porn videos, pleading with the producers to employ them as performers in subsequent videos. Some even offer to perform for free.

    Adult film actors and producers upload and sell content to popular porn sites for a fee. They also advertise their talents with suggestive thumbnails, while bragging about the number of subscribers to their sites. “Enjoy homemade videos of me having sex, masturbating, and being naughty. All my videos are real homemade videos of me. NB: I sometimes act with my friends, so they may not want to show their faces. Follow me on social media: IG: @####, Twitter: #####,” advertises a porn star.

    According to her, she picks numbers of prospective clients from social space, where available. She buys some from ‘digit dealers’ and.

    Each porn artiste’s story is remarkably different, although a few narratives resonate kindred needs and sexual exploitation. Several female performers – be it on cyberporn or the big pervert reality show – have argued that they are emancipated youths, wielding their sexual independence and ‘talents’ for a profit.

    However, the hushed narratives of the struggling newbies, who look up to them, establish that porn acting is no walk in the park. Not every porn artiste is assured of breaking even; for those who claim to make it, the road to stardom is grisly and the impact on actresses, in particular, is unimaginably severe.

    Although they talk shop about running tests on each other to prevent STDs’ spread, there have been cases of infections in major studios.

    Notwithstanding, porn allows the youth, safely removed from the traditional norms and social etiquette, to be voyeurs of a frighteningly prejudiced world of taboos and sexual stereotypes, where all the conventions of civilized society cease to exist.

    This eldorado is a place of cuckolded husbands, rapists, lechers, incestuous families, pimps, prostitutes, the dominatrix, and generally uncontrolled sex aficionados. And viewers are invited to slum in this world of debauchery, for a paltry fee.

    “Pornography hardly promotes sex, if one defines sex as a shared intimacy between two partners. It promotes masturbation, a solitary sexual auto-sexual. It’s a selfish experience that precludes healthy love and intimacy. Porn addicts are obsessed about getting off at someone else’s expense,” said Iyabo Osikoya, 41, a psychologist and sex therapist.

    The addicted must seek urgent help from experts. Therapy works, she said.

    But despite her upbeat claims of weaning the addicted off porn, Osikoya’s homily hardly serves the interest of porn artistes like Jika.

    The 21-year-old has done a lot of gang-bang and sodomy. She recently acted as a slave in a Bondage, Discipline, Dominance and Submission, Sadomasochism (BDSM) movie.

    “I was tied up and gang-raped. I was severely beaten and penetrated in every orifice. Viewers would love it,” she enthused.

    Yet through her enthusiasm, she slunk into a flat, numbing monotone, like a victim of trauma; a cottony shriek drifted across her coarse, heavily made-up face, and for a moment, unmasked the scarred youngster cringing beneath the icon of the sultry siren.

    “What you just described, was it painful?” I asked.

    “Yes,” she answered quietly.