Category: Olatunji Ololade

This year as all others, we pretended to have answers to everything. Did we? This year, we continued to spit words and eat them, like the dog that waddles back to gobble its vomit.

This year, we quoted Nietzsche, Plato, Disreali among others to garnish our columns while we did all we can to silence true-born dissent on our news pages and news networks, lest we incur the ire of irate benefactors.

This is the year we ennobled the thieving statesman and denied the patriot the plaudits we save for noble compatriots. This is the year we celebrated underachievers as the best of overachievers. This year, we celebrated the vanities of dim-witted celebrities on front-pages of our national newspapers.

Here goes the year we exhausted newsprint and priceless airtime to glamorize the shenanigans of “society bigwigs and small wigs” although we cannot tell and still cannot tell, the simplest manifestations of our news practice, on say, the vendor who markets the newspaper or the child-labourer to whom Universal Basic Education (UBE) remains an everlasting fantasy.

This is the year we feted the northern mafia, eastern cabal, western gerontocracy, and south-south uprising, as usual, even as they undermined our collective dreams and everything that nationhood and ambition had ever bestowed us.

Beyond our elegant words and brazen manifestations of high character, our practice is modeled after some greedy few’s cartography of citizenship than by any internal dynamic of allegiances. Hence our misinterpretation of the social contract between the Fourth Estate and every other estate charged with the administration and supervision of our nation-state.

Thus this year as all others, we hid behind interviews, ‘big interviews,’ to abdicate our responsibilities to the Nigerian public. This is the year we taught the public to feast and digest perversion because we believe it’s what they love to do best; because we know if we treat them to more depravity, they will become more willing participants, and we would get more adverts and keep smiling to the banks.

This year as all others, we turned a blind eye and conveniently lost our voice as creatures running the three arms of government squandered public fund to feed their gluttony. This year, as all others, we watched unperturbed as most of our colleagues ennobled and defended with their lives, the rights of the ruling class to pilfer our chests and rob us silly because leaders of men like them deserve to eat and dwell like no ordinary man.

This year, President Goodluck Jonathan and his coterie of tin gods and goddesses afflicted our lives with ineptitude and savagery. In response, we cry ourselves hoarse twisting logic and lip service for and against President Jonathan; eventually, we lose our voices to racism and confusion. Mr. President’s kinsmen believe Nigeria should get with the programme; a South-south man is in power and everything he does should be accepted unquestionably; “it is our time to chop,” they say.

This is the year in which our brothers in the north-east tirelessly blew to death our mothers and daughters, sons and fathers in the market place, schools, on the playground, in our bedrooms and houses of worship in the name of politics and religion. This is the year in which our brothers in the south-east determinedly kidnapped our wives and daughters, mothers and fathers, sons and heirs apparent, for a ransom, in pursuit of unearned affluence. This is the year in which our brothers in the southwest habitually mortgaged our future on the altar of politics, personal and sectarian greed. This year as all others, we refused to dissect these maladies, in the interest of our nation and thus helped the world to understand why we are regarded as the inheritors in whose hands the heritage dies and everything fails.

This year, we affirmed those dreadful points our internal and external publics love to make; that we have become inept, mediocre, irredeemably shorn of truth and uprightness in our work. This year, we affirmed that we are amoral and somewhat intellectually challenged by our ethnic and intellectual bigotry.

This year, we failed to actualize press freedom because it was socio-politically incorrect to do so. This year as all others, we failed to acknowledge that our survival or death as a nation is undeniably entwined with the tenor of practice and citizenship of the Nigerian press.

This year as all others, I make a case for re-sensitization of the Nigerian media. It is time we dismembered our clan of the shameless breed. I speak of the almighty charlatan who believes that the status quo should be sustained ad infinitum because characters like him deserve the right to unquestionable practice.

I do not wish that the press be gagged; I suggest no such arbitrariness – even if I do, it would hardly matter because we go through the practice, gagged.

We are our worst enemies. In spite of everything, we choose to play god. That is why “dogs don’t eat dogs” in our Fourth Estate although it’s okay if we choose to eat the entrails of a few ordinary Nigerians and almighty benefactors, like the unfortunate adulterer caught pants down even as we underreport thieving bankers stealing from wretched folk to enrich their privileged peers.

I hope we find the courage to report; “The Rot in the Media.” I hope we find the courage to report that for every kobo looted by government, in our public and private sectors, the press gets to have its share however meager it is. Dateline: media parleys, press conferences and governors’ roundtables.

If we could passionately and conscientiously monitor our affairs daily that we may not digress and put to shame our practice, wouldn’t journalism be much better? Were we humane enough to improve our welfare and conditions of service, wouldn’t our journalists be dignified and our practice nobler?

It’s time we asked: “Who is a journalist?” and aspire to an untainted definition of it. It’s time we redefined what level of knowledge, qualification and professionalism is expected of a journalist. It’s time we ascertained what manner of passion channels the direction of our news practice.

It’s time we refused to humour such society that continually disrespects us and treats us as disposable pawns in its grand scheme of themes. Come 2014, shall we continue to service the depravity of folk for whom our pens write maladies at the expense of melodies impoverished folk would die to have us write about – that they might fare better?

Will 2014 mutate like today and our immediate past? Shall we remain intellectual hit men of every hoodlum with towering cash? Shall we become cliff-hangers to take the portrait of every looter and celebrity nincompoop with a promising smile? Shall we remain the media managers that pay poorly even as we label expatriate firms, slave-drivers?

Next year, will the masses stare at our cover pages resignedly, knowing they would never hear or feel the infinitesimal clangor of freed hope because we are, as usual, nothing more than an aberration of their desperate circumstances? Shall we continue to speak from both sides of the mouth? Shall we continue to eat like idiots at the feast of the one who calls us “idiot?”

Gold plated doors and sofas. Plastered walls and Venetian glass. Platinum pumps and home theatre. Spring locks, expensive cars and wine cellars. Trophy wives and concubines among other things epitomize the good life; in our fatherland.

Civilization has been improving our houses and husks no doubt but it has not equally improved the men who are to inhabit them. Great thanks to modernity, we have learnt to build castles even as we cannot yet create noblemen and scions to inhabit them.

In our fatherland, the “civilized” citizen and elitist’s pursuits are no worthier than the savage’s. He spends the greater part of his life in pursuit and acquisition of basically gross necessities and luxuries that at the end, impoverishes him worse than the most contemptible barbarian.

That has to be shocking given that in the prime of his life; at the apex of his growth and self-actualisation, he becomes a President, Governor, Industry titan, religious leader and “very successful” activist or media consultant to mention a few. Ultimately, he becomes “rich” fundamentally in societal terms.

The Nigerian elite is “rich” and yet irrevocably poor. This poverty that I speak of connotes the poverty of his intellect and psyche. Insidiously weaned and self-propelled by a discontent that is at once insatiable and detrimental to his being, he engages in an eternal pursuit of luxuries and accoutrements that to him and his privileged peers indicates the “good life.”

Basically, he is handicapped. And this handicap of his extends beyond the familiar trope of the human forelock or Intelligent Quotient (I.Q.) if you like. Like a canker, it eats into his psyche and ravages him till he becomes not much in constitution and expression.

Thus the alarming desperation by which he strives as a constituent of the Nigerian society; hence his many vanities and vulnerabilities, particularly his inclination to engage in everything and anything in pursuit of money and attainment of the “good life.”

The Nigerian elite perpetuate the irony of a contrived metaphor. Although by virtue of its purported civilization, it is expected to serve as an instrument of positivity and progress, it isn’t. Rather than facilitate the process of growth that till date, remains elusive to the Nigerian State, it terminates it; rather than ignite hope in their less privileged compatriots, it extinguishes it. Every day, the citizenry watches helplessly and in awe, the appalling recklessness with which it extinguishes their hope and profit from such enterprise.

It would be overkill perhaps if I endeavour to relate Nigerians’ political hara-kiri at the recently concluded general elections to a treacherous and annoyingly insolent elite class. It could be akin to giving a skunk a bad name if I hereby blame Nigeria’s crushing woes on the highly selfish and hypocritical elite piloting her ship of state.

This is neither to flay the elite for the villainy it perpetrates nor is it meant to castigate it for the eternal hopelessness it fosters. This is to commiserate with the nation’s elite class, middleclass, upper-middleclass, upper class, aristocracy or whatever highfaluting title appeals to their ego.

A savage lust is basically its woe. Take for instance, the abject horror the nation’s government perpetuates in the name of providing decent shelter or “affordable and low-cost housing for all.” It would no doubt be deemed preposterous to allege that via such “citizenry-centred” and over-celebrated efforts, they brazenly embezzle public funds.

So doing, it perpetrates a two-pronged atrocity with chain reactions: it defaults in its promise of “affordable, low-cost housing” and subjects the citizenry to untold hardship characterized by homelessness thus the burgeoning shanties and slum republics prevalent in our most high-profile cities.

To this, I guess not a few elitists in government and their acolytes within and outside the corridors of power would argue that it is not the duty of the government to put food on everyone’s table. They would argue that the government couldn’t provide decent shelter for all even if it tried. Then they would seek refuge in the workings of capitalism which purportedly provides for every man to fend for himself, according to his means.

Not a few elite would pertinently state that the persistent failures of their class to facilitate an acceptable human state of affairs in the country are hardly unforgivable failures. They would claim that they merely add up to their inability to fulfill their constitutional obligations due to the “Nigerian factor” and because doing so would impose avoidable inconveniences on them. They would aver that it would be basically inexpedient to fulfill their statutory responsibilities given the unstable and feral nature of Nigeria’s democracy.

Simply put, it is the moral character that breaks down. How many Nigerians can afford to pay N7 million, N15 million or more cash-down or within a year, to acquire our elite-driven two and three-bedroom contraptions shamelessly dubbed “affordable and low-cost housing estates?

Truth is, it’s the cronies and associates of serving public officers that are able to afford such conveniences at such ludicrous rates. Once they acquire them, they put them up for lease at rates that makes Shakespeare’s Shylock fundamentally, a saintly man.

Even in the medieval era, every family owned a shelter sufficient for both its coarser and simplest wants. Today, in Nigeria’s towns and cities, where civilization supposedly prevails, the fraction of those who own houses is negligible. The rest pay an annual rent that basically renders them impoverished and barely able to feed and clothe, not to talk of owning a house.

The Nigerian elite care less about such issues than about getting one of its own into power. Its members are loyal not to posterity and ideas but to the pursuit and attainment of wealth and power by any means.

In an ostensibly capitalist country, these self-styled vanguards of capitalism espouse and brazenly perpetrate an oppressive social philosophy that upholds the existence of the average Nigerian as an imperceptible social organism—a view which implies that his needs are not valid instruments for perceiving social reality and improving it.

So doing, they project themselves as the chosen few supposedly endowed with special insight and ability to direct others. This implies the existence of an elite foundation of knowledge and aristocracy; a socio-political arrangement inaccessible to logic and beneath the mind.

Notwithstanding its astounding rise to relevance, the Nigerian elite will be toppled off its high horse sooner than it can ever imagine. This is unavoidable in spite of the citizenry’s seeming idiocy and duplicity.

Preoccupied by pursuits antithetical to national development, the Nigerian elite obviously do not know that it has lost the weaponry that guaranteed its rise to eminence and made all of its conquests possible: idealism and morality. It had to lose them precisely at the height of its success, since its claim to both was a fraud; the evident realities of its politics demonstrate the brute illogicality and inhumanity of its social code and gospel of sacrifice.

The Nigerian elite do not preach sacrifice as a temporary means to some desirable and lasting end. Sacrifice is its end—the sacrifice of the lives of others. It is the commoner’s independence, prosperity, and happiness that the elite wish to destroy. And it is succeeding in its plot.

 

There is a patience of the wild that holds motionless for endless hours the motorist at the police checkpoint, the kidnapper in his lair, the assassin in his ambuscade and the public officer in his perch – this patience belongs primarily to the predator while it hunts its prey.

Oftentimes, it manifests in uncontrollable spasms that have seen us bury our best and elevate our worst in abject negation of the cycle of the universe and morality. But who needs morals in a nation where fair is foul and foul remains fair?

A great majority of Nigerians of commonplace roots live through each day without ever contemplating or criticizing their living conditions. They find themselves born into dehumanizing squalor or somewhat indecent circumstances and they accept such sordidness as their fate – thus they exhibit no conscious effort to better their lot beyond what their immediate circumstances dictate.

Almost as impulsively as the beasts of the wild, they seek the satisfaction of the needs of the moment, without much forethought and consideration that by sufficient endeavor, they just might improve their living conditions.

However, a certain percentage – constituted by men and women of higher status among the nation’s working class – guided by personal ambition, consciously strive in thought and will to attain more privileged status that remains the exclusive preserve of more fortunate members of the society; but very few among these are concerned enough to secure for all, the advantages which they seek for themselves. This explains the number of self-centred and treacherous human rights activists, women’s rights activists, journalists and columnists parading our streets.

Very few men are indeed capable of that kind of love that drives martyrs to persistently rebel against glaring social evils in the interest of less fortunate members of the society. But there exists a few however, that are truly bothered by the impoverishment of their fellow citizens occupying the lower rung of the societal ladder regardless of any risk or discomfort it might attract to them personally.

These few, driven by compassion tirelessly seek, first in thought and then in action, for some way of escape; some new system of society by which life may become richer, more joyful and devoid of avertable evils that mars the present. But surprisingly, such men oftentimes, fail to curry the support of the very victims of the injustices they wish to remedy.

More unfortunate sections of the Nigerian population are hopelessly ignorant, apathetic from excess of toil and disillusionment, apprehensive through the imminent danger of instantaneous chastisement by the holders of power, and morally defective owing to the loss of self-respect resulting from their degradation. To excite among such classes any conscious, deliberate effort in pursuit of general improvement of the status quo proves basically a hopeless task, as antecedents of such efforts have proven.

Thus despite our claims to modernity, higher education, sophistication and relative rise in the standard of comfort among wage-earners in the country, the Nigerian society or working class to be precise, have failed woefully to achieve better living conditions and a better society even in the throes of rising demand for more radical intervention and reconstruction of the social order.

It is no surprise however that the Nigerian working class has persistently proved a dismal failure. And the reasons are hardly far-fetched: Nigerians have a problem with differentiating between appropriate and inappropriate political behavior. That is why the nation’s democratic experiment like any other system of governance practicable by us was doomed from the start.

What exactly has democracy offered? A 4-1-9 progressive plan that booms circumspectly like it had been doctored as part of a cold-war era propagandist scheme? But despite our self-righteousness and persistent cynicism with the current order, we really cannot explore a more worthy alternative than what we have now. The average Nigerian can’t bear to be led by a truly honest, visionary and accountable leadership. That explains why we opted for the incumbent leadership.

It’s the way we are programmed to live. I’d say we possess an overwhelming and oft-convincing inclination to self-destruct, thus our lack of a coherent and defensible political ideology essential to the evolution of a progressive leadership and state.

The average Nigerian is no more electable than the leadership he endures yet he loves to speak truth to power even as he functions simultaneously to smother his own voice in the riotous gabble of his exultation of the same ruling class whose end he claims to pursue. No matter who is elected, the demographic and economic realities of Nigeria will persist, and there is a very limited range of politically-viable solutions for dealing with them.

No man; be he a distinguished columnist, lawyer, soldier, or public officer in any office can command the tides of history. The few that appear to have done so–the Napoleon’s, Caesar’s, Hitler’s–were really nothing more than the most capable at making it appear that they command the tides, when in fact they were simply skimming along with them.

Thus the need for the Nigerian working class to consciously evolve in thought and will in pursuit of a more balanced social order. Such conscious evolution could only be achieved by a re-orientation in scholarship and purification of thought and action.

The foundations of scholarship and knowledge must tirelessly reconstructed to guarantee more progressive responses to internal problems of social advance — problems of work and wages, of families and homes, of morals and the true value of life; and all these and other inevitable problems of civilization must be resolvable largely by an average member of the working class by reason of his exposure and constitution. This informs a greater need for study and thought and an appeal to the rich experience of past and current mistakes in the journey towards the avoidance and reduction to the barest minimum of future foibles.

The answer to Nigeria’s widening income and social gap – which has so far manifested in preventable crises and persistent state of insecurity – is to found an educational process geared to steer successfully, the commonplace trains of thought away from the dilettante and the fool stereotype.

It’s about time poor, struggling members of the nation’s working class learned to scorn the maxim that holds that if their stomachs be full, it matters little about their brains; the paths to stable peace and security winds between honest toil and dignified manhood. That proverbial better society that we seek calls for the guidance of skilled thinkers, the loving, reverent comradeship between the low income earners and ambitious middle class emancipated by training and culture.

Such human elements would no doubt be conscious of the fact that not even the sustenance of oil subsidy, higher wages and a fairer economic system could protect its members from the usual handicaps and monstrosity constituted by the incumbent and predatory ruling class.

Hence they would be able to understand that such social enterprise and gesture towards change must be mooted and achieved by the working class itself in further substantiation of the working class’ capacities to assimilate the culture and common sense of modern civilization, and to pass it on, to some extent at least, to posterity.

 

We do strange things. Like crickets gone nuts, we chirp in riotous indignation at the whirlpool of tragedy that has become the Nigerian dream. But we will do nothing about it. Thus when opportunity beckons for us to gird our loins and change our stars, we swallow discontent like a sweet pill and entrust our destinies to familiar undertakers committed to devastation and plunder.

Back when we aspired to be adults, we attempted to do such stuff that higher animals are made of; like democracy and bloodless revolutions – even in the face of abject truism that there could never be a revolution without bloodbath.

The democracy we declared has recoiled into a spent shadow. Fourteen years on in the grip of blood-drenched mascots, it pilfers our sweetest fantasies like the proverbial slut making a surreptitious exit with her drunken lover’s wallet.

With a little more deliberation in our choice of character, we could essentially become something more than shriveled capillaries for familiar vermin to suck from. But we have not yet gotten a hang of the process of choosing an outlook and creditable character – which serves to reinforce that sincere and passionate belief that somewhere between men and cattle, God created a tertium quid and called it ‘Nigerian.’ Sincere apology to God.

Nigerian – a clownish, simple creature, at times even enchanting within its limitations but ultimately foredoomed to fulfill a prophecy of folly, blind pride and insatiable lust. It is never my wish to subject our kind to such reckless deprecation but even as you read, the average Nigerian, working class and enfant terrible elite alike, are perfecting innumerable plots to self-destruct; by the second.

As usual, behind those suicidal plots lurks a postscript; and predictably, regret – emotive shingles that constitute our second nature. And so do we stand ignorant and confused, half-conscious mutter of men that we have become; craving the essence of humanity and freedom only to forsake it for a token, a sentiment or fleeting vanity at election time. Just like we did last April.

We have become such recipients of freedom that are yet unsure of their right to enjoy it. This is the tangle of witlessness and resignation that requires us all to become better patriots and rejuvenators of the Nigerian dream. If we look carefully inwards, we will find that beneath our passiveness and utter cowardice agitates a quest for self-preservation and gruesome airs – which further perpetuates our fate as a stalwart labour force foredoomed to specious dreams and profitless endeavours.

Time and over again, a few critics and self-styled leaders of thought have decried our unabashed idiocy, fraudulence and lack of guts; such curious kinks of the Nigerian mind and society unfortunately do exist at a grievous price, and must be reckoned with. Yet these shameful twists to our psyches make us even more vulnerable as fair game to Nigeria’s gangs of vicious, ruling elite.

The Nigerian ruling class, despite their brutishness cannot be wished away or successfully weeded out by violence or bloodshed even if we tried. And yet they must not be allowed continual access to leadership and power. It’s about time we accepted them as the grotesque manifestations of the Nigerian factor; monstrosities standing in the way of civilization, progress and common decency.

They can only be confronted and eliminated by an expansion in breadth of human reason, catholicity of will and culture. The native aspiration of such men to loot our coffers and feed their greed must not be encouraged any further. Nor should we persist with our pitiful complacency and eagerness to acquiesce to their boorish enterprises, for the love of a token.

It’s about time we dealt decisively with such degenerate elite that we sheepishly endure as Nigeria’s ruling class. But how? How can we stage a peaceful but decisive revolt without bloodletting? Is the current crop of youth identifiable as Nigeria’s working class and future leaders capable of such challenging and fundamentally noble exploit?

No. But we could be soon. The Nigerian working class indeed personifies some ponderous metaphor: to stimulate our wildly weak and untamed minds is to ignite a ravenous and uncontrollable fire; and to persistently impede our rudderless enterprises is to incite our volatile minds to a harvest of violence and bloodletting.

To these bothersome questions and contradictory tributaries of thought, the potent and yet inadequately explored panacea of Education towers above all others. We live in dire need of such human training that will awaken our minds to the timeless knowledge inherent in the ideal and the practical, the realistic and the fantastic, the permanent and the contingent, in a workable equilibrium.

The Nigerian working class as we have now comprises of two fractions of inconsequential beings: the cantankerous, irrational illiterate and innately savage kind constituted by menial workers, police officers, petty traders, street urchins and appallingly, students among others.

The other fraction consists of the so-called articulate, cultured and progressive breed comprising young, upwardly mobile professional doctors, engineers, journalists, lawyers, and teachers to mention a few. Members of both divides constituting the nation’s working class are appallingly invested with bitter cynicism, jadedness and despondency.

They exhibit as much bestiality, irresponsibility and irrationality as the much despised ruling elite particularly in instances demanding inviolable tact, sensitivity and maturity. Fans’ reaction to national team performances in the highly competitive game of soccer for instance presents a worthy yardstick by which the degree of humanity and maturity of the Nigerian working class may be judged.

Not too long ago, Nigerian soccer fans launched a violent attack against the national team over perceived irresponsibility and lackluster performance of the team which cost the country a place at an African Cup of Nations tournament. That wasn’t the first time Nigerian soccer fans conducted themselves as lower brutes, for the love of football. And it wasn’t the first time either that Nigerian journalists and the high and mighty intellectual court of public opinion would excuse such behavior – thus applauding it – as some form of “highly emotional” and worthy response to the national team’s plodding and disappointing performance.

Yet we fail to mete out similar treatment to the country’s ruling class even as they rob the nation blind and foredoom us all to everlasting poverty and decline. It is no doubt obvious that we are incapable of certain vital rational, cognitive and affective sensitivities. A secondly, hourly and daily appraisal of Nigerians chosen randomly across both classes for instance, “revealed glaring abnormalities in their psychological constitution” according to recent sociological finding by a team of university researchers.

How could such vitally impaired characters be trusted to conduct their affairs appropriately and judiciously? This brings us back to the significance of an ingenuous process of human training in the struggle to build a progressive and formidable movement of the people for the people and by the people.

Democracy is simply never enough. Nigeria will never become that model nation of our dreams until we learn to evolve a social process that enables sufficient nurturing and guidance of thought and fundamentally adroit coordination of deeds – prime sureties to the path to true freedom, peace, equality, justice and national progress.

This brings us back again to the issue of quality education.

•To be continued…

There is no odor as dire as that which arises from tainted goodness. I will not deny any bit, the praise that is due to philanthropy, I simply demand sincerity of all whom by their works and lives pose to be a blessing to the country.

This is the age of charity. And trust Nigerians, they are desperately exploiting generosity for all its worth. Thus everybody is a philanthropist; even youngsters as green as dug-up spinach have caught the bug – which explains the preponderance of self-acclaimed “youth leaders,” “advocacy gurus,” “motivational speakers” and “philanthropists” afflicting our world like plundering locusts at harvest time.

A youngster on national youth service constructs tables and chairs for the school in which he’s serving and he pleads with selected mainstream media to mention it; then there is the advocacy guru who donates literature to a school library and pays the mainstream media to report it, after which she posts it on Facebook and other social networking sites for all to see.

Both characters among other things elevate and give expression to mankind’s greatest vanity: lust for applause and unearned greatness. In Nigeria, this has become social currency particularly among the youth. Youth seeking instant wealth and acclaim daily exploit the hackneyed terrains of philanthropy and what they perpetrate as “advocacy,” passionately praying and hoping that their exertions attract the attention and “goodwill” of local and international sponsors with deep pockets.

“There is a clear-cut difference between philanthropy and advocacy,” many are probably jabbering by now. Agreed; but both fields of human endeavour are essentially set to the attainment of similar goals; sustainable development and the improvement of humanity.

Philanthropy and “advocacy” as currently practiced by Nigeria’s youth is devoid of humanity. It is in essence, a partial and transitory act, projected in constant superfluity until the motives of the philanthropist and advocate are achieved. And what really are the motives? A fat bank account, a posh vehicle, a spectacular mansion, higher status, acclaim and unalterable greatness to mention a few.

Greatness should be earned. The seekers of unearned greatness and material benefits are merely social parasites, moochers, criminals, who are too limited in intellect and in character to pioneer the often tasking and spirited march to eminence. Essentially, they are a threat to humanity and the advancements we dream.

There is nothing as deceptive and neurotic in concept as unearned greatness as it makes a wretch of the individual who seeks it. To substantiate it is in fact, impossible, thus the nation’s youth like her under-achieving ruling class, is caught in the web of such deceitfulness. Dwelling on ostentatious, indefinable sound-bites of altruism and collectivism they struggle to give plausible form to their nameless vanity. Ultimately they seek to anchor it to reality to support their self-deception and swindle their unsuspecting victims.

Such deception never lasts. There is no short-cut to greatness. The best generosity and “advocacy” subsists in honest work. Be you a lawyer, doctor, accountant, journalist or accountant, your commitment to your calling represents the best form of advocacy.

If you build a library, toilet or bathroom for your alma mater, why plead with the media to report it? Why package your so-called philanthropy or advocacy for the viewership and applause of all? It is only con-artists and social parasites that do that.

Heartfelt, repetitive acts of diligence and altruism are sooner remembered and celebrated by the world. The world will accord you a listening ear and pay you the homage you deserve at fate and fortune’s appropriate hour.

But a greater number of youth aren’t wired to accept such fact. They would rather seek the shortest cut to affluence. If by towing such path, they achieve their goals, they claim to be “smart,” but if they fail in their quest, they blame the government, their parents, the society and everyone else but themselves for the failures their lives become.

It is our tragedy today that Nigeria still parades ‘promising’ youth with the heart of a lion and wit of a hyena. It’s our tragedy that we still talk the talk of champions and walk the walk of cowards.

Now more than ever, the Nigerian youth seeks to harvest sugarcane where he planted thistle.

The talk is of ‘seed.’ By every philanthropic act or showy advocacy, the lot of the unfortunate improves, it is claimed. Bet the “unfortunate,” ignorant recipients and audiences of such acts do not know that every such “charitable” act they approve, they applaud no humanity; rather they subject themselves as middling marks for their crafty philanthropists and “advocates” to rip off.

By consenting to be deceived, the society establishes and confirms its shameful ignorance and it’s purely illusory foundations.

This generation considers itself to be more intelligent than the one that came before it, and wiser than the one that comes after it; thus its inexorable quest to outclass both bastions of our past and future. It is not clear however, how well it would fare in this arduous quest but many a youth have argued that it’s about time the “wasted generation” moved over.

They claim that a new breed of Nigerian youth is fast evolving. This breed, they claim, do not seek handouts from the country’s under-achieving ruling class; no, they simply want the government to facilitate an enabling environment in which the youth could engage in gainful industry and thrive.

By enabling environment, they speak of stable electricity, safe and usable road networks, security, access to free and quality education, free and affordable healthcare, and a corruption-free society to mention a few. I agree that such wonderful environment is overdue in Nigeria, but for what manner of youth should the government create such enabling environment? Resourceful, mean, currency-activated “youth leaders,” “advocacy gurus,” “philanthropists,” “motivational speakers” et al? Should Nigeria become more habitable for such characters and pretenders to humanity to flourish?

To rebel against the established order, to criticize the current ruling class and in the same breath, court it; to lament the existing reality and confound extravagant hopes of the future by pillaging off the same reality are the common dispositions of a greater number of Nigerian youths. Add self-acclaimed genius to the mix, and you have yourself a perfect portrait of our leaders of tomorrow.

You need to learn to crawl before you walk. It’s the way the universe is ordered. It’s about time the youth got busy doing honest work. The best advocacy occupies a crucial niche in honest industry.

There is a sweet tang to success earned following years of slugging it out in the trenches. Career philanthropy and advocacy only encourages you to become a fraud unto yourself and your immediate society. There is no smart or street-savvy path to the good life. If you see certain people living large and amassing fortunes by circumventing honest sweat and industry, they are simply conning themselves off the rewards they ought to enjoy in their twilight.

You need to be extraordinary at something before you earn recognition for it. Fortune seeks out he who has paid for it in sweat and honest toil but the lust for vanities steer importunate fools to the path to tragic twilight.

There is no odor as dire as that which arises from tainted goodness. I will not deny any bit, the praise that is due to philanthropy, I simply demand sincerity of all whom by their works and lives pose to be a blessing to the country.

This is the age of charity. And trust Nigerians, they are desperately exploiting generosity for all its worth. Thus everybody is a philanthropist; even youngsters as green as dug-up spinach have caught the bug – which explains the preponderance of self-acclaimed “youth leaders,” “advocacy gurus,” “motivational speakers” and “philanthropists” afflicting our world like plundering locusts at harvest time.

A youngster on national youth service constructs tables and chairs for the school in which he’s serving and he pleads with selected mainstream media to mention it; then there is the advocacy guru who donates literature to a school library and pays the mainstream media to report it, after which she posts it on Facebook and other social networking sites for all to see.

Both characters among other things elevate and give expression to mankind’s greatest vanity: lust for applause and unearned greatness. In Nigeria, this has become social currency particularly among the youth. Youth seeking instant wealth and acclaim daily exploit the hackneyed terrains of philanthropy and what they perpetrate as “advocacy,” passionately praying and hoping that their exertions attract the attention and “goodwill” of local and international sponsors with deep pockets.

“There is a clear-cut difference between philanthropy and advocacy,” many are probably jabbering by now. Agreed; but both fields of human endeavour are essentially set to the attainment of similar goals; sustainable development and the improvement of humanity.

Philanthropy and “advocacy” as currently practiced by Nigeria’s youth is devoid of humanity. It is in essence, a partial and transitory act, projected in constant superfluity until the motives of the philanthropist and advocate are achieved. And what really are the motives? A fat bank account, a posh vehicle, a spectacular mansion, higher status, acclaim and unalterable greatness to mention a few.

Greatness should be earned. The seekers of unearned greatness and material benefits are merely social parasites, moochers, criminals, who are too limited in intellect and in character to pioneer the often tasking and spirited march to eminence. Essentially, they are a threat to humanity and the advancements we dream.

There is nothing as deceptive and neurotic in concept as unearned greatness as it makes a wretch of the individual who seeks it. To substantiate it is in fact, impossible, thus the nation’s youth like her under-achieving ruling class, is caught in the web of such deceitfulness. Dwelling on ostentatious, indefinable sound-bites of altruism and collectivism they struggle to give plausible form to their nameless vanity. Ultimately they seek to anchor it to reality to support their self-deception and swindle their unsuspecting victims.

Such deception never lasts. There is no short-cut to greatness. The best generosity and “advocacy” subsists in honest work. Be you a lawyer, doctor, accountant, journalist or accountant, your commitment to your calling represents the best form of advocacy.

If you build a library, toilet or bathroom for your alma mater, why plead with the media to report it? Why package your so-called philanthropy or advocacy for the viewership and applause of all? It is only con-artists and social parasites that do that.

Heartfelt, repetitive acts of diligence and altruism are sooner remembered and celebrated by the world. The world will accord you a listening ear and pay you the homage you deserve at fate and fortune’s appropriate hour.

But a greater number of youth aren’t wired to accept such fact. They would rather seek the shortest cut to affluence. If by towing such path, they achieve their goals, they claim to be “smart,” but if they fail in their quest, they blame the government, their parents, the society and everyone else but themselves for the failures their lives become.

It is our tragedy today that Nigeria still parades ‘promising’ youth with the heart of a lion and wit of a hyena. It’s our tragedy that we still talk the talk of champions and walk the walk of cowards.

Now more than ever, the Nigerian youth seeks to harvest sugarcane where he planted thistle.

The talk is of ‘seed.’ By every philanthropic act or showy advocacy, the lot of the unfortunate improves, it is claimed. Bet the “unfortunate,” ignorant recipients and audiences of such acts do not know that every such “charitable” act they approve, they applaud no humanity; rather they subject themselves as middling marks for their crafty philanthropists and “advocates” to rip off.

By consenting to be deceived, the society establishes and confirms its shameful ignorance and it’s purely illusory foundations.

This generation considers itself to be more intelligent than the one that came before it, and wiser than the one that comes after it; thus its inexorable quest to outclass both bastions of our past and future. It is not clear however, how well it would fare in this arduous quest but many a youth have argued that it’s about time the “wasted generation” moved over.

They claim that a new breed of Nigerian youth is fast evolving. This breed, they claim, do not seek handouts from the country’s under-achieving ruling class; no, they simply want the government to facilitate an enabling environment in which the youth could engage in gainful industry and thrive.

By enabling environment, they speak of stable electricity, safe and usable road networks, security, access to free and quality education, free and affordable healthcare, and a corruption-free society to mention a few. I agree that such wonderful environment is overdue in Nigeria, but for what manner of youth should the government create such enabling environment? Resourceful, mean, currency-activated “youth leaders,” “advocacy gurus,” “philanthropists,” “motivational speakers” et al? Should Nigeria become more habitable for such characters and pretenders to humanity to flourish?

To rebel against the established order, to criticize the current ruling class and in the same breath, court it; to lament the existing reality and confound extravagant hopes of the future by pillaging off the same reality are the common dispositions of a greater number of Nigerian youths. Add self-acclaimed genius to the mix, and you have yourself a perfect portrait of our leaders of tomorrow.

You need to learn to crawl before you walk. It’s the way the universe is ordered. It’s about time the youth got busy doing honest work. The best advocacy occupies a crucial niche in honest industry.

There is a sweet tang to success earned following years of slugging it out in the trenches. Career philanthropy and advocacy only encourages you to become a fraud unto yourself and your immediate society. There is no smart or street-savvy path to the good life. If you see certain people living large and amassing fortunes by circumventing honest sweat and industry, they are simply conning themselves off the rewards they ought to enjoy in their twilight.

You need to be extraordinary at something before you earn recognition for it. Fortune seeks out he who has paid for it in sweat and honest toil but the lust for vanities steer importunate fools to the path to tragic twilight.

It was cold out there; bitter, biting marmoreal cold, yet a score of children pranced about outdoors in the park at Agege, Lagos. They were happy as lambs in the spring. Their mothers no doubt relaxed the rules to let them play in the rain as it subsided to a drizzle. Daylight dwindled to a tranquil glow, emitting a picturesque flush of sort. It was the kind of scene that excites mushy old hearts to be young.

But nothing could be more picturesque than the impressionable young girl of age five or thereabouts sweating in a blanket of extreme poses. Left! Right! Wham! Her tiny, young pelvis swung to the woofers’ jolt. It was the kind of jolt that symbolically deflowered a generation of teens and blew chips off adult shoulders in the winter of 1977, thanks to Elvis ‘The King’ Presley, the late rock maestro.

This is hardly the swinging 70s and quite contrastingly, the speakers blared a remix version of “Free Madness,” a dancehall hit by Gabriel Amanyi a.k.a Terry G. Among other things, the lyrics of the track and its rhythm excited fever in the youngster characteristic of the insane. It was crazy, it was sensual, and she could really dance to it. That had to be too much for a five year old. It was.

The rhythm is the key to the appeal of Free Madness – its pulsating twaddle too. Even though a great deal of his lyrics pass as gibberish, the artiste popularly regarded as the next best thing to happen to dance-hall music in the country effortlessly made inroad into the hearts of local music enthusiasts, the youth in particular.

Free Madness was mistaken for a new-age music of the spheres, or “chante-chante music,” as its intrepid composer, Terry G, called it. Harsh syncopation and prolonged giddy drawl circling rapidly through repetitive musical patterns against a backdrop of daring electronic bass drums becomes the signature of the artiste’s music.

However, stripped to the basics, Terry G’s music had no melodies, no dynamic changes and no lyricism. What sounds at first like one continuous pulsing sound gradually reveals all sorts of inner gibberish: Oya walangolo eee, walangoloeee, omoge oya je ki nsangolo, je ki nsangolooooee…Enemies no want me to dey rhyme but they say the fact be say I stubborn like a mad man, am a mad man, mad man like gingah, gingah, gingah intellectual ganja, but still me co-operate me I get myself but still me, me drop my swagga, its about to finish ee but me I go test microphone ooo eee.

According to the self-confessed ‘mad man’ Terry G. “Na me be the ginja, the ginja; na me be the swagga, the swagga,” and of course, he became the rave in various dance halls across the country. So are the increasing numbers of Nigerian artistes whose music styles are not too different from Terry G’s. These days, it hardly matters what messages they propagate. From consequence-free violence, reckless sex, unrequited love to advance fee fraud, contemporary music is replete with lyrical mumbo-jumbo and you could still dance to it.

Enter Kelly Handsome, Olu Maintain, two self-acclaimed artistes, who elevated and ennobled advance fee fraud with their respective tracks: “Maga don pay, shout alleluia” by Handsome, and “Yahooze” by Olu Maintain. Despite the momentous acceptance, rave reviews and prominence they enjoyed, Terry G, Kelly Handsome and Olu Maintain are virtually non-existent today. They have sung themselves into irrelevance.

It’s even more bewildering to see promising music acts like Ayodeji Ibrahim Balogun a.k.a Wizkid perpetuate the same kind of silliness and directionless advanced by many washed-out music hopefuls. At 23, Wizkid, a talented youngster has already achieved so much, winning numerous music awards by his ambitious compositions.

But as if wired to self-destruct, Wizkid has chosen to go the way of several has-beens on the Nigerian music scene; his “hottest” track right now, “Carolina” glamourizes and perpetuates that bawdy, idiotic mediocrity characteristic of spent commonplace upstarts like Olu Maintain, Kelly Handsome, Tony Tetuila, Durella and Terry G to mention a few.

On local and international stages, social media and numerous music tracks, Wizkid redefines himself in the image of the stereotypical intruder on fame and music artistry. Then there is Olamide, a highly vocal and talented lyricist whose punch lines revolve around the much hackneyed claim to victimhood and studio gangsterism. Both artistes’ (Wizkid and Olamide) oftentimes sound off as irresponsible, infantile and overwhelmed by the demands of their roles as music stars and crusaders of futuristic Nigerian music.

Thank God for Tuface Idibia, Bukola Elemide (Asa), Irikefe Obareki (Kefee), Babatunde Olusegun (Mode 9), Jude Abaga (M.I) Abolore Akande (9ice), Etcetera, Eedris Abdulkareem, El Dee and Olaolu Tokunbo Akinbogun a.k.a GT the Guitarman, Nigerian music still retains a bit of the artistry and promise epitomized by music greats like the late Afrobeats maestro, Fela Kuti, Juju pioneers, King Sunny Ade and Ebenezer Obey, Fuji proponent, late Sikiru Ayinde Barrister.

It is not my intention to legitimize whatever eccentricities that sullied the character of the old music greats, living and deceased, I simply wish to appreciate the raw artistry, originality and appreciable conscientiousness that characterized their approach to the art and business of music.

Contemporary Nigerian music hardly ventures from such conurbation of raw energy into the much sought hamlet of genius and commercialism which pioneer local musicianship pulsates; neither does it enrich the global party or exit it into the uninhabited isolation of experimentalism. The norm is for artiste, music journalist and enthusiast to simply jump on to any trending musical train without knowing what they are getting into or where they are going whereas the teeming music enthusiasts already aboard waiting endlessly for gratification and direction have learnt to pay no heed to the directionlessness and mediocrity of contemporary artistes and the fancy nomenclature: “the track is phat,” “the album is tight…insane” and other humbug that characterizes modern music journalism.

Nigeria looks worse every time the ignorant hordes congregate towards generic and dreadful music. It’s outright folly to deem contemporary music ‘great’ while it sizzles with outright thefts and bastardization of evergreen oldies and rehashes of one-hit-wonders that have been pawned to the used CD store.

Modern music enthusiasts are unwilling to absorb anything new; irrespective of its quality as long as it has a great thumping beat attached to it. It’s even more horrendous to see excellent musicians like GT the Guitarman struggle against the outrageous patronage and money funneled at auto-tuned posers like Davido to mention a few.

Those who compromise quality in music, according to a discerning music enthusiast, compromise quality in many other areas: “Voting the same candidates into office, buying products known to be harmful, investing in Chinese plastic novelties, and many other things. Inability to investigate the particulars leads to enjoying shallow and meaningless things. The big picture is missed in favor of lazily glossing over the details.”

I am Nigerian and I am so ashamed of the mediocrity and garbage that we shove into the world. Sure, Nigeria has plenty of fantastic artistes, but they are obscured by the mediocre

 

The music dies because we kill it; every second, every minute, every hour, every day. Shame. Shame being the appropriate tribute to those of us who diminish the music in order to find it and hear it. Shame being the fitting apparel to those of us who make smaller, the luxuriant tropes of the bight of the muse.

Shame on all powerful and giant telecommunication networks spending a few millions to rip us off hundreds of hard earned millions in the name of Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR)…in the name of the music. Shame on the producer, director, video-jockey (VJ), dancer, artiste and songwriter perpetually burying the essence of the music for the sake of a few desperate Naira, and more. Shame on you and me.

And yet the greater shame on us for whom and what we have become to the music; we, the hideous trolls dishing discordant tunes to the sound of the music; we, the standard-bearers on whose watch the music skits and grinds to a stop.

Thus we go nameless and artless in music; the music we make becomes the echo of something else, like nothingness and vile. The artistes we make and celebrate annoy us, disrespect us and confound us. And the music they make is hardly the work of genius. It’s simply deafening and hogwash. Bet you hear their crinkle and chirp like crickets gone nuts: Senge Menge…Wiskolowiska…Je ka collabo…Baby je ki’n sangolo, sangolo eee…I’m in love with two women; I don’t know which one to take; and you could still dance to it. Do you?

At least, for the artistes, it foots the bills for the easy girls, flashy cars and bling-bling. More importantly, it provides the wads that fit into colourful envelopes of various shapes and sizes, the soul of entertainment journalism. Perhaps put more precisely, the life-boat of charlatans selling off news pages – that ought to be hard-earned – for as little as N10, 000 for two pages and N5, 000 or N3, 000 for a page, while passing themselves off as entertainment writers to the detriment of journalists who would remain true to journalism and music.

Mad? I guess. How easy it is to dismiss this or at least dislike the import simply because it evokes that cheeky music critic cliché that makes you want to brick yourself, I do not know. How consolatory it might be to dismiss this too as some idle rant of that typical whiney, sanctimonious warhorse that fears change and hates everything novel to trade in nostalgia and jaded musings on the way things were and how they ought to be, I do not bother.

Who knows, some sunny-minded reader and music enthusiast may bother to discern and see past the ominously-wrought rant, passionate jazz-vibes and end-is-nigh metaphors to appreciate this take, however discomforting, on the deplorable state of music and entertainment journalism in the country.

Questionable awards and the obsession with being number one diva, lyricist and most sought-after entertainment writer cum artiste manager are killing the music. It’s completely true; blogs give rise to non-professionals, mediocrity blooms and cash rules us and everything around us in the music journalism parlance of the Fourth Estate. No? Of course it does.

Between the music journalist and the artiste, there is ever an unasked question: unasked by most due to feelings of delicacy; by others due to the difficulty of rightly framing it. All, nevertheless, flutter around it and avoid it.

Thus we approach every upstart or wanna be music star belly-in-mouth, wit-disarmed – in a half-hesitant sort of way, eyeing them expectantly, patronizingly and then, instead of asking directly, “Why do you steal from foreign artistes?” “What is music?” “How would you define your music?” “What is the story behind the music?” “How does it feel to churn out confusing music or something like it?”

“Do you not think you are a problem to music?” we ask: “Are you a sharp-dresser?” “How do you cope with female fans and admirers?” “What is your beauty routine?” “Are you a perfume freak?” “Who is your favourite designer?” And then we pick up the camera we hardly get to use, the tape recorder we hardly get to use and leave, comfortable in the realization that we have done nothing to jeopardize our “right” to “flava” (financial gratification) and other perks.

Thus we snuff out the life of the proverbial classic music reviews which among other things, explores an artiste or band’s social context, their history, future and explains in glistening prose, their palette, pacing and lyrical nuances.

Today, we murder the music to appreciate it. Today, we label every mediocre…every lyrical hopeful and wanna-be idol with a demo track, a star, just because we make it easier for them to get on the airwaves and dominate our entertainment pages albeit undeservedly.

We can blame it on the internet as much as we like…reality is; we have boxed ourselves into the tightest of corners. We are hardly the music gate-keepers we were meant to become. You see, the average music enthusiast no longer needs you or me nor any other form of music gate-keeper or standard-bearer to explain why some piece of music is worthy, ever-green or life-changing when they can just form their own opinions – however mediocre or misleading – buy it, download it and dance to it.

You see, writing about music is hardly the revered art of expose, trashing of mediocrity and vetting of musical masterpieces as it used to be. And we have painstakingly made it so.

The readers whose interests we ought to serve and whose interests we continually compromise for the love of the “flava” have decided to jettison their loyalty and reverence of our approximation of how a particular song sounds or what emotions it evokes, however articulate it may be, ever since they discovered that it’s not just that we have sold out professionalism for the “flava” but that we have increasingly become shorn of the mandatory musical gen and artistry – while parading an army of bedazzled wanna-be music critics and bootlickers masquerading as entertainment reporters and writers.

It’s so amazing, isn’t it…that a pioneer hip hop artiste once deemed his fellow artistes, “errand boys” – and so-called established artistes at that – and yet we who should serve as their conscience and nemesis painstakingly and merrily serve as their errand boys. Sublime, isn’t it?

Truth is, our music suffers and flutters due to the dearth of competent music journalism, among other factors. The best that we have done and that we could ever possibly do is to serve as errand boys and publicists to every wanna be music star, acclaimed star and charlatan with N10, 000, N5, 000 and well slanted interview plants, prepared in question and answer formats by individual artistes’ in-house publicists and managers.

Yet our talk is of respect while we serve as errand boys to the artiste, MTN, Globacom, Nigerian Breweries and every other musical show sponsor with the deep-pockets.

Just recently, an esteemed reader and music enthusiast marvelled why seven national dailies would parade a struggling music star and music talent hunt finalist on their entertainment cover. The answer is simple: she got “flava.”