The Nation Newspaper

Category: Olukorede Yishau

  • A glimpse into tomorrow

    A glimpse into tomorrow

    How easy is it to choose the best Nigerian writing for a particular period without the bias of those given the task and some other factors coming into play? That, I have no doubt, must have been the dilemma the editors of the book, ‘A Possible Future: An Anthology of The Best Nigerian Writing (1789-2018)’, must have faced.

    As someone who has followed Nigerian literature for decades, there are books I thought should have made the cut based on global recognitions and reception from the audience. Three of such books are Chika Unigwe’s The Nigeria Prize for Literature-winning ‘On Black Sister’s Street’, Ayọ̀bámi Adebayo’s 9Mobile Prize for Fiction-winning ‘Stay With Me’ and Chigozie Obioma’s Booker Prize-shortlisted ‘The Fishermen’. Their publication fell within the period of this Farafina Trust and Sterling Bank project. But art appreciation varies from reader to reader. Apparently, they didn’t tickle the fancy of the editors of this potpourri, which has poems, novel excerpts, short stories, memoir excerpts and plays from literary giants and new cats. It is some kind of history of Nigerian literature in one volume.

    The anthology covers more than two centuries, featuring exquisite excerpts from over eighty literary works that highlight the excellence of Nigerian texts across pivotal eras like colonialism, despotism, and post-colonialism, and serves as a reminder of our vibrant literary heritage and offers insights into what the future may hold.

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    Arguably, some of the country’s memorable writers find space here, and two writers the editors would have loved to include,  Elnathan John and Sefi Atta, were said not to have given their blessing.

    The anthology’s inability to have much to present from the 1990s is a reminder to those clamouring for the return of the military into Nigeria’s politics. In that era, not much could be done in the literary space. It was an era writers and intellectuals were hounded and not a few went on exile. It was an era self-publishing was the main option for the few who released works. It took the return to democracy in 1999 for there to be a renaissance with the birth of new home-based publishers ready to either release the Nigerian editions of foreign published Nigerian novel, or give home-based talents the chance to flourish.

    The work also reminds us of the different eras in the country’s literary journey, such as the pre-colonial, colonial, post-colonial, military and post-military periods. It also has a rich representation of the civil war, a period that birthed novels, memoirs and poems.

    It also brings to life the contributions of the descendants of exiles, who have embraced their fractured African identities. One of them is Helen Oyeyemi. Her “Icarus Girl,” set in Ibadan (her birthplace) and the UK (where she has primarily resided), presents a captivating portrayal of spiritual displacement amidst liminality, offering a contemporary perspective rooted in the animist realism of Fagunwa. Although centered around twins, a motif rich in Yoruba mythology, the novel sparked debate over its classification as Nigerian literature due to the author’s self-identification.

    In the anthology, we re-encounter Olaudah Equiano, D.O. Fagunwa, Wole Soyinka, Cyprian Ekwensi, Gabriel Okara, Obotunde Ijimere, Chinua Achebe, Duro Ladipo, Chukwuemeka Ike, Christopher Okigbo, Ola Rotimi, JP Clark-Bekederemo, Ken Saro-Wiwa, Isidore Okpewho, Buchi Emecheta, Femi Osofisan, Niyi Osundare, Elechi Amadi, Tanure Ojaide, Odia Ofeimun and Mobolaji Adenubi.

    Also featured are the writing of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Uzor Maxim Uzoatu, Sarah Ladipo Manyika, Biyi Bandele, Ikeogu Oke, Abubakar Adam Ibrahim, Lola Shoneyin, Teju Cole and more.

    The first excerpts are from the biography of Equiano, which was first published in 1789. There was no Nigeria at the time but its inclusion is strictly because of the author’s tracing of his roots to present-day Nigeria.

    The excerpts tell us of his abduction at the age of ten, his movement from one place to the other, including England, where he called home after buying his freedom and worked for the end of slavery.

    The book gives us the chance to compare Soyinka’s and Ladipo’s treatment of the 1946 colonial authorities’ attempt to stop an Oyo chief from performing a traditional rite after the Alaafin’s death. Ladipo’s version, which was originally in Yoruba before being translated into the English version in this anthology, is titled ‘Oba Waja’ while Soyinka’s is known as ‘Death and the King’s Horsemen’ (which is now a Netflix movie directed by Biyi Bandele and made in Yoruba instead of the English language Soyinka wrote it in). It is clear that both set out to fault the colonial authorities’ demonisation of what they didn’t understand. ‘Oba Waja’ was published in 1963 and ‘Death and the King’s Horseman’ was in 1975.  

    Achebe’s 1958 ‘Things Fall Apart’ gets its due slot in this book and we get to re-encounter Okonkwo in his fullness, his warts and all, his fears and despair, his failings and his successes.

    The excerpts from Emecheta’s ‘The Joys of Motherhood’ remind us that misogyny is an evil that must be uprooted. We see how patriarchy messed up Nnu Ego and how in the name of “tradition” women go through hell. This theme is reflected also in the excerpts from Lola Shoneyin’s ‘The Secret Lives of Baba Segi’s Wives’. Shoneyin laughs out, not loudly but subtly, at the stupidity of men like Baba Segi who think they are in charge but are being fooled by those they think they are under their jackboot.

    The anthology also reminds us of what Ekwensi was known for: chronicling the city. ‘Burning Grass’ and ‘Jagua Nana’, the two books featured here.

    We also have Eghosa Imasuen’s short story, “New Generator: I Pass My Neighbour”, a poignant exploration of Nigeria’s longstanding electricity supply challenge. There is also A. Igoni Barrett’s short story, “Dream Chaser”.

    My final take: Literary appreciation is not an objective exercise. It is like beauty, which we are told again and again, is in the eye of the beholder. How a reader or a critic sees a book is dependent on factors that are, most often, personal to the reader or critic.

    Farafina has done its bit. Whoever feels some worthy books are left out can do another project to accommodate them. There is alternative Booker, so what is wrong with having alternative best of Nigerian writing.

  • Dear men of God

    Dear men of God

    On this bright day, esteemed fathers of faith, I’m reaching out from Houston, a city in Texas that I once mistakenly believed to be its capital until I learnt that Austin holds that title. This message carries weight—it’s not just any letter. It stems from a deep realisation, a painful one, that certain businesses affiliated with churches share a concerning similarity with government entities, something we’ve vocally criticised for years: wages that barely suffice for employees’ needs.

    I write not to belittle you or ridicule you but to say the truth and let the devil be ashamed as you always tell us sermon after sermon. It is out of love; it is because I believe the Church should show the way. I get disappointed when I see things that are below par within the body of Christ. Nothing more nothing less.

    Sirs, let me get to the story behind this letter, a story that will drive home my point, a story that many have experienced but have chosen to keep to themselves because they feel speaking out means touching the anointed.

    This is the story: A good friend of mine called me excitedly recently after a very rigorous recruitment exercise with the publication unit of one of Nigeria’s biggest churches. He had done written and oral tests and was chosen among a multitude, all professionals and members of the church. After he and another person were chosen, they were made to undergo medical examinations. While this long process was on, there was no hint about salaries and other emoluments. Since the church said it wanted professionals, my friend looked forward to a truly living wage.

    When I received his call, I didn’t share in this excitement, because a protegee and her hubby who work in businesses owned by another of the nation’s biggest Pentecostal church earn next to nothing. My protegee’s mother-in-law was so angry with the pay of her son one day that she wondered aloud why the church was spreading poverty. I don’t blame her. How can a grown man with a child still be living with his parents? He was being paid pittance despite his degrees, his second degree was even earned in the United Kingdom and his parents paid through their nose.

    The two of them are very brilliant. The wife nearly finished as the best in her set in a private university where her father paid handsomely. She also has a post-graduate qualification. These feats should reflect in what employers pay them, especially faith-based businesses whose leaders pray for people to thrive.

    Back to my friend’s tale: Curiosity, dear fathers of faith, made my friend ask a longstanding employee in the unit what the salary structure was and he was told not to expect much. In his previous job, he earned over half a million Naira monthly. When the much-expected offer letter came, the annual package was equivalent to what he earned monthly in his previous job. This miserable amount was a little over N50,000 in a month.

    In the Nigeria of today, to fill up a car’s tank, depending on its size, costs between N30,000 and N50,000. If you live far from where you work, a full tank may not even go beyond one week.

    Sirs, I am writing to you because the church shouldn’t champion the spread of poverty. The church should show a good example. When church members volunteer, it is a different thing, but when faith-based businesses employ professionals such as editors, engineers, accountants and so on, they deserve to be well-paid. They shouldn’t be told they are “working for God”. They are offering their services as professionals; they aren’t volunteering. How will they be able to pay their children’s school fees? How will they pay their rent? How will they be able to buy and maintain their cars? How will they pay bills? How will they feed their family? How will they enjoy the basic necessities of life without becoming nuisances to people around them? How will they avoid wearing rags?

    I have wondered what their dire situation must have done to their dignity. I imagined the indignity of them relying on friends and family members for survival, and the shame they must have been subjected to. Perhaps someone had insulted them before because of their constant requests for assistance.

    Civil servants, who have a history of being poorly-paid, augment their pay with bribes, a situation which has seriously affected the quality of the service they offer. People who work with faith-based businesses can’t go this route, which is filled with pot-holes and man-holes. The best the church can do is pay them like the professionals they are. They should be paid like their colleagues in the private sector; the public sector is not a good model. It is a faulty model that is at the root of the challenges our country faces and will continue to face until labourers get their dues.

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    As I write this, fear is etched on my mind that my intention will be misconstrued, that my faith will be queried, that I’ll be told I ain’t discerning enough to understand matters of faith, and that I’ll be written off as a busybody. But, I stand by all I’ve said. A labourer deserves his or her wage. There should be dignity in labour, a virtue that is absent in many establishments in our country because employers act as though they are doing those who work for them favours. It is even a different ballgame in faith-based establishments because workers are seen as working for the mission. In a nutshell, they are doing God’s work and shouldn’t be concerned about earthly things like money. But, how will they settle their bills?

    My final take, sirs: You pray for us to do well at work. Doing well at work involves receiving good pay. But when faith-based businesses pay pittance to professionals, it is a negation of the prayer to prosper in life. The status quo can’t remain, shouldn’t remain.

    I wish you well, Sirs, and expect changes.

  • Of COVIK one nine

    Of COVIK one nine

    We knew we were living in a changing world. What we didn’t know was the possibility of a virus breaking out and keeping all of us indoor for months. Businesses were closed, schools were shut down, the roads were cordoned and the airspace was off limit for aircrafts. And major events were put on hold. The holy pilgrimage to Saudi Arabia excluded people from outside the Kingdom. No thanks to the COVID-19 pandemic, whose pronunciation was unknown to the then President Muhammadu Buhari. In his first speech on the virus, he pronounced it as COVIK One Nine. His mistake is now the title of an anthology of poems and short stories on the pandemic.

    It is a Paperworth Books project edited by Ibiso Graham-Douglas, who also contributed a story. Other contributors to this collection of captivating narratives, with themes such as resilience, despair, and redemption, are Obari Gomba, Michael Afenfia, Chimeka Garricks, Olukorede S. Yishau, Dolapo Marinho, Shehu Zock-Sock and Michael W. Ndiomu.

    “The book takes you on a journey through the intricacies of life in the COVID era with a rich tapestry of short stories and poems. Eight esteemed and emerging storytellers spin narratives that traverse the landscapes of Nigeria and its diaspora, offering profound insights into the essence of our shared humanity,” said the editor.

    The anthology opens with award-winning poet, Obari Gomba with the poem, ‘Wuhan is still next door’. In the poem, Gomba reflects on the COVID-19 pandemic. He focuses on the early stages and the repercussions of the outbreak in Wuhan, China. He uses the metaphor of the pandemic as a snake that escapes from a digital platform (WeChat group), and highlights the rapid spread and uncontrollable nature of the virus. The snake imagery evokes fear and the idea of something slippery and elusive, mirroring the elusive nature of the virus and the challenges in containing it.

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    With the lines “You cannot keep a viral snake in a bag that has a hole/You cannot keep a problem in a room that has many exits”, the poet emphasises the futility of trying to contain something so pervasive and infectious. He closes the poem with a reminder that Wuhan, the epicenter of the pandemic, is still “next door” to all of us. This shows how connected the global community is. Gomba has two other poems, ‘Oxford Fellowship in Limbo’, which is about how the pandemic puts his fellowship in limbo, and ‘We Shall Rise Again’ about the human race’s capacity to build back what the pandemic has taken from it.

    Marinho’s ‘Smoke and Ashes’ is about grieving, grieving in a time of pandemic. In normal times, people would have hugged, held hands and more. But, with faces hidden under masks, they also keep their hands and their hugs to themselves. We see the pandemic affecting funeral proceedings and church attendance and the popularity of virtual church. The resolution of the crisis in this story is exceptional. Really beautiful.

    My short story in the anthology, ‘The Good Doctor’, is about undocumented immigrants and how COVID-19 worsens their already bad situation. It depicts the hell people with emergency cases must have gone through during the peak of the pandemic. The story follows a man who relocates to Houston because his business collapsed in Nigeria. He is still learning to find his feet when the pandemic strikes and threatens to take him out.

    Graham-Douglas’ ‘God Abeg’ is about butt enlargement gone wrong in a time of pandemic. It follows a lady whose parents are fond of, but is always taking the wrong routes, with the BBL being the height of it. The pandemic forces her to go under the knife in Nigeria instead of her original plan of doing it in Turkey. Things go wrong and all manners of pains become her best friends. Her woes are compounded when her sister, the one always looking out for her, falls under the COVID-19 jackboot, forcing her to go on her knees to say “God abeg”.

    Afenfia’s story, told in pidgin English, is called ‘Aproko’. As the title shows, it is about eavesdropping, but in a time of pandemic and the secrets that get heard are huge. Set in Canada, it also shows marital challenges, which become exacerbated during the pandemic. The mood at the funeral, where the eavesdropping takes place, also allows the narrator to think about the ravaging pandemic and its unprecedented damages, including how the lockdown keeps him at home and brings things between him and his wife to a breaking point. 

    Zock-Sock’s ‘Heavy’ is a suspense-fueled tale that examines some aspects of life that the pandemic put on hold, such as its effects on long distance relationships. Lovers in such situation are unable to travel to see each other, thus reducing conversations to video calls and voice calls. Hiding under life issues such as paternity fraud, murder and guilt, it unwraps the side effects of the pandemic. 

    Garricks’ ‘Original of the Species’ begins in a prison, when a lawyer visits a lady accused of murder. Set during the pandemic, the story is about restitution and is built around the ‘outside’ daughter of a big man whose manfriend is found dead in a Port Harcourt hotel room. It shows how frustrating Nigeria’s criminal justice system is.  

    Ndiomu’s ‘Captured Moments’ introduces us to a couple. At the time we meet them, the pandemic lockdown is about to start and the husband is on his way to Abuja in search of a contract. Several weeks after the lockdown lapses, the man refuses to return home, giving one excuse after the other until providence reveals a shocking secret.

    My Final take: Ours is a world where nearly anything is possible. The fact that we never saw the pandemic coming is a testament to this. Yes, we have found a way to get our grooves back but the lesson of it all must not be lost and it is that we need to always prepare for emergencies.

  • When friends turn foes

    When friends turn foes

    In journalism— the profession that has ensnared me for two decades and five years— when a man bites a dog, his acclaimed friend, it is a juicy piece of news. But, when a dog bites a man, at times, it is even considered a show of love or an act done on a suspected criminal. It is nothing strange.

    Because of dogs’ relationship with humans from time immemorial, millions of us the world over spend fortunes to keep them healthy and happy. In places like America, Canada, Europe and elsewhere, there are people who even treat their dogs as their children, as family members worthy of being made provisions for in their Will and Testament.

    But, what are we likely to witness if dogs, suddenly, decide to turn against us, their friends? This is the main question prolific writer Bolaji Olatunde has attempted to answer with his first Young Adult fiction, ‘The Heptagon Revolt’, which among other germane matters hints at the need for leaders to surround themselves with good advisers. A leader, he sems to be saying, is as good as the quality of the advice he accepts.

    There is also the extremely gender critical part: “As the days went by, it was noticed that many of the dogs started declaring themselves as sexes opposite to the one they had been born as. When some of these dogs were asked why they did so, they replied to the leaders that they genuinely felt that they were born in the wrong bodies. They quietly told their close friends that they needed more food.”

    In this 157-page masterpiece, which brings to mind George Orwell’s ‘Animal Farm’, Olatunde’s imaginations run wild—so wild that dogs can hear what human beings are saying; however, human beings can’t hear dogs, a development, which makes it easy for them to plan their revolution against the human race.

    The novel follows Liz, a female dog, Bobby, a male dog, and their puppies and other dogs.

    Bobby, a rebel, tries to frustrate his owner’s plan to make him mate with Liz for puppies, but his revolutionary nature, especially the need for an increase in the canine population to support the revolt against humans, makes him change his mind and Liz births nine puppies, including Rex and Oriade, the special one.

    Liz and the nine puppies are moved to Abuja to stay with the Adejumos while Bobby is left in the Lagos home of his owner from where he later escapes at about the time the Adejumos’ plan to relocate to Canada materailises and they decide to sell Liz and her remaining puppies. Thus enter Heptagon, a security firm where Johnbull acts as a dog trainer.

    As a trainer, Johnbull believes “dogs are like human beings. If you don’t train children early, and well, they won’t listen to you when they become adults. They become bad seeds in society. When they’re old, they won’t listen to you. It’s the same with dogs — you must catch them young.” And it is with this mindset that he plans to handle the dogs. On the day Heptagon comes to pick them up, Rex, the most rebellious of the puppies, protests: “I don’t want to be bought and sold like a non-living thing.” Liz pleads with this stubborn puppy to follow the others but it keeps barking: “I refuse to be a slave to any human.” Rex then bites Johnbull.

    At the farm, where Heptagon keeps them, Oriade turns out willing to abide by the rule, but Rex tries his best possible to frustrate Johnbull. His mother’s plea falls on deaf ears. He has imbibed Bobby’s revolutionary character and soon begins to instigate other dogs to join him to free themselves from humans.

    Meanwhile, while Rex is planting his rebellious seed, news begin to make the round that a dog named Bobby is on his way from Lagos to the North in search of Liz and her puppies and is setting dogs on his pathway free.

    The Coronavirus pandemic, which forced the world on a break, plays a role in this book. Because of the lockdown, the dogs’ movements are curtailed to their cages and on the day Johnbull gets them to be allowed to roam the farm’s field, all hell breaks loose as Rex is attacked by an older dog he was rude to. Another older dog fights on his behalf and in no time a free-for-all ensues. Days after this fight, things fall apart when an army of Bobby-led dogs invade the farm and set off the revolution. But, who has the last laugh between humans and dogs? This is a question the author answers in a trickish way, which can better be appreciated only when the book is read.

    Though aimed at the young adult fiction demography, everyone can read this book. It raises issues around loyalty, equality, substance abuse, mediocrity, nepotism and communism. It also delves into unity of purpose as something central to success. The bit about communism raises questions about greedy people acquiring wealth they do not need, while the masses struggle to make ends meet. 

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    There is another issue a reader may consider: Is this book really about dogs? Or, like ‘Animal Farm’ is it an allegory about the greedy, in this case represented by human beings and the oppressed represented by dogs? In the clash between the greedy and the masses, attempts by the oppressed to revolt are usually quelled with violence. We experience the same in this situation. So, is it a treatise on why revolutions may either fail or succeed?

    Unity is a challenge Nigeria has been unable to defeat since the British cobbled together strange bedfellows. In this book, the different dog breeds can be taken as the different tribes in Nigeria. What we see among the ethnic groups in Nigeria is not different from what we see among the dog breeds. Or, am I just reading too much meaning into a book that is just simply about dogs? Whatever the intention of the author, the book is affecting in ways beyond the surface.

     Leadership, the novel shows, is about sacrifice. When leaders make promises and break them under one guise or the other, we also find in the book, they lose credibility.

     My final take: Any society whose leaders aren’t ready to sacrifice for their people or fail to keep their words can’t progress. Such a society will instead regress and with time tire out the masses and what follows is usually unpleasant. Asking the people to endure while your lifestyles as leaders show no austerity is an invitation to chaos.

  • Finding a good thing

    Finding a good thing

    Ladi, about 30, returns from the United Kingdom with first and second degrees in his belt. The world seems to be his oyster and though he has not gotten his dream job, he feels that a wife will complete him. After all, the Bible says “he who finds a wife finds a good thing”. He meets a dashing beauty you just have to allow me call Sarah. They start dating, a Christian dating devoid of sex. They go from one counselling session to the other. Pastors feed them with words of God, verses upon verses about how to make the best of their married life and other tips considered vital to running a good home. Ladi’s parents feel that the two of them are not ready for marriage, given their son’s financial handicap, but they give in and will use this as a weapon later when issues start arising.

    The wedding ceremony comes and goes and they start a home. Weeks turn into months and months into years and they are having a blast enjoying all the sex they avoided while dating. However, the financial status of the two of them is a snag. Ladi earns next to nothing in his place of work and Sarah’s hustle brings cash in trickles. The turning point is when Sarah becomes pregnant and, in his husband’s wisdom, she will be better taken care of by his mother so he ships her to the home where he grew up. She does not like the idea but she reluctantly agrees because she wants her baby badly, especially because of her initial bad experience. All is going on well until she has her baby and her in-laws’ attitudes assume a frightening mien. One of the key areas of disagreement is that she wants to move out of their house after the baby’s birth, a decision vehemently rejected. Then there is also Ladi’s reluctance to continue a sexual relationship with his wife. His reason: His financial status does not support having a second child. So, for years, his young wife embraces celibacy because he is unwilling to go beyond occasional kisses and fondling. Sex thus becomes something needed only for procreation.

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    Let’s leave Ladi and Sarah and get into the story of a couple I have chosen to address as Abraham and Nkechi. They have been married for over a decade. The marriage is blessed with four kids, three girls and a boy, the last girl was conceived during the Coronavirus-induced lockdown. From time to time, Nkechi catches Abraham with one girl or the other, but for the sake of her home, she keeps quiet about it. The best she does is to explain to her sister-in-law and also quarrels with her husband.

    These two marriages show different challenges people face in their homes. If the challenge is not about the husband having a girlfriend, it is the in-laws interfering and, if it is not that, not having enough sex is the problem.

    I know of another couple. Let us just call them Bolanle and Omoniyi. They have been married for close to two decades and they have two kids. They used to have three until they lost one after an illness that saw her being admitted to a government-owned hospital. For all of the years they have been married, Omoniyi does not feel bad about being irresponsible. Paying school fees, house rent and other bills in the house is not his priority. His ready excuse is that he has no money and most times he disappears from home. Recently, he cultivates the habit of sneaking home to change his clothes when the wife and the kids are out. When they call him, he gives excuses that do not make sense. Now his kids face the danger of either not completing secondary school or ending their educational pursuit after that. Their mother ekes a living from selling retail products and barely manages to make ends meet. She owes rent for her shop and anytime her landlord calls; she avoids the call and thereafter lapses into a sad mood. She is on the verge of moving out of Lagos to a town in Ogun State, where she hopes her bills on rent and others will drastically reduce.

    Like Ladi and Sarah, Bolanle and Omoniyi have financial constraints. In the case of the former, in-laws’ interference has worsened the challenge and the wife is at the receiving end of their verbal attacks, which has become an every other day affair while, for the latter, the husband carries the crown of leaving the wife in a sad mood. As expected, their sex life has also suffered. Unlike Sarah and Ladi, Bolanle is the one denying her husband sex because she feels there is no sense in an irresponsible man ‘pummeling’ her. Sarah, like a normal woman, wants and desires sex, but Ladi hangs on his financial handicap to avoid giving her right and, when she complains, she is vilified, not only by Ladi, but also his mother, who relishes telling her that for years too she did not have sex because her husband was outside the country on an assignment.

    Let us get one thing straight: Sex is important. Let me say it again: sex is important. And let me add: No woman should be painted bad because she likes sex with her husband. To deny a woman sex deliberately for years is evil, and to now act as though she is a sex freak is immoral. It is a different ball game if the husband is incapacitated. But to use the excuse of not wanting to raise another child yet to dodge sex with one’s wife for years turns logic on the head. What happens to family planning? If the wife cannot use pills or any other method, the husband can use a condom or the withdrawal method or time the sex to periods when she is safe. Avoiding sex totally because you do not have money to raise another child is a no-no. To add salt to injury, you will kiss her deeply and do other romantic stuff but refuse to penetrate when her hormones are already on fire. Somebody should please explain this to me. I cannot fathom it. At all.

    My final take: The marriage institution is a school. In this school, some learn soothing lessons; some learn bitter lessons; some others learn semi-bitter lessons. Many learn from these and adjust appropriately and live happily ever after and sadly, the lessons are lost on many and their homes crash. Hardly any marriage is perfect, but from what I have found out, love’s role in sustaining a marriage is infinitesimal because in the face of unmet financial needs, love withers and dies. A man who is incapable of meeting the financial needs of his home quickly finds out that the love between him and his wife is powerless in keeping them together. In-laws’ interference is another factor that anyone desirous of keeping a home should check, be it from the man’s or the woman’s side. Genesis 2:24 screams: “Therefore a man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and they shall become one flesh.” That is what it should be. So in-laws should let couples be.

  • Nothing lasts forever

    Nothing lasts forever

    A time was when being a Marlian was the madness a multitude was afflicted by. A sizeable number of students, teachers, artisans and more prided themselves as Marlians, fans of music star Naira Marley (a London returnee who preached all sorts of morally-bankrupt ideas). His music was reigning so there was a reason for the cult followership. The death of Mohbad erased whatever was left of the Marlian affliction.

    Now, no one except Naira Marley himself publicly identifies as a Marlian, a timed idea whose promoters acted as though would outlive them.

    Before the likes of Naira Marley, time was when Tony Tetuila, Idris Abdulkareem, Eddy Remedy and so on were the stars and the moons. Now, we simply reminisce about their great years, whose chances of being reenacted are slim. Now, it is time for Wizkid, Tems, Simi, Rhema, Burna Boy, Tiwa Savage, Kizz Daniel, Davido and others. Like those before them, they won’t reign forever. No one does. If age doesn’t take them out of the limelight, death at ripe ages will.

    Time was in the film industry in Nigeria when Ade Love, Ogunde, Eddy Ugboma, Baba Sala and so on determined where the pendulum swung and by the time the industry ‘downsized’ into home video and became known as Nollywood, it looked as though the shots would always be called by the Ejiros, the Amenechis, the Andy Bests and the Nnebues. The marketers of yore were so powerful they banned Genevieve Nnaji, Omotola Jalade-Ekeinde and others for demanding their rights. Genevieve and Omotola are relevant but time has dumped those who sought to diminish them.

    In the 60s, Nigeria’s destiny was in the hands of Ahmadu Bello, Obafemi Awolowo, Nnamdi Azikwe, Tafawa Balewa and others. The military class took over thereafter and didn’t vacate until 1999. No matter how long the likes of Ibrahim Babangida stayed, their time ran out. Olusegun Obasanjo had his time, passed it to Umar Yar’Adua and his death forced power on Dr Goodluck Jonathan who later lost it to Muhammadu Buhari. When Buhari was starting out, it looked like eight years would never end. Now, it is Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s turn, and it will end; the maximum is 2031. Another will come and another will come and another will come. It is a cycle and it will keep spiraling like a revolving door that pushes you out when you have had your turn.

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    It is not only human beings that have their time. Even gadgets come and go. Technology ensures the door keeps revolving. DVD retired VHS, but now memory cards do their jobs and more. Streaming platforms are dealing with cable channels. Time will tell how long cable can keep fighting back and what will come and take out streaming. Landlines are being retired by mobile phones, and even phones keep getting renewed and what looks like the in-thing today will become relics tomorrow. Blackberry’s fate is a good example.

    Once in a while we all need to visit hospitals and be preached to by the sick or visit the mortuaries and listen to the sermon from the dead. Either of these will make us humble and stop attaching too much importance to ourselves.

    F. Scott Fitzgerald, in The Great Gatsby, wrote: “Whenever you feel like criticising anyone, just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.” I rephrase it this way: When you feel you are the all in all, just remember that it is because it is your time, and when time is done with you, you will be in its dustbin.

    My final take: Nearly everything has its time. This is a fact we all must realise. In everything we do, we must realise that a time will come when our relevance will wane, when our phones will ring less, when we will receive less invitations to events, when our mails will drop, when almost everything will go low.

  • Two hundred and eighty seven

    Two hundred and eighty seven

    Two schools. And two hundred and eighty seven pupils and teachers. We’ve been afflicted once more. Chibok was where it first happened on this magnitude. Now, it is the turn of Kaduna. Others had their turns in between. When the Kaduna victims will return from the terrorists’ enclave is a question no one can answer because not even all the ones taken from Chibok have returned. Many taken from elsewhere are yet to return to their homes.

    The Chibok abduction will be a decade on April 14. Yet, the pains remain. A perfect sense of these remain can be gleaned on the pages of a one-in-a-kind book, ‘The Stolen Daughters of Chibok’ by Aisha Muhammed-Oyebode with photographic illustrations by ace photojournalist Akintunde Akinleye.

    The book features interviews with 152 of the over 200 Chibok families affected.

    Yana Galang, the mother of Rifkatu, one of the schoolgirls, still cries each time she hears her daughter’s favorite song. Another thing that makes her cry is seeing the man Rifkatu was to marry.

    “Whenever he sees me, he bursts into tears and we cry together. He had to move on,” Yana recounts.

    Unlike Riftaku’s husband-to-be who has moved on, Yana is unable to move on. Every single day, she remembers her daughter and either fights back tears or allows it.

    The students, Muhammed-Oyebode notes, were girls from communities such as Garu, Likama, Shirkarkir, Mbalala, Korongilim, Kuburmbula, Gatamarwa Kautikari, Askira, and Damboa.

    Many of their parents, she said, had watched helplessly from their villages as the flames engulfed the school.

    “The parents were afraid, as they knew who the intruders were. Some had heard of another incident at the Federal Government College in Buni Yadi just south of their location in the neighbouring Yobe State, exactly forty-seven days earlier they had heard of schoolboys marched in line by gunmen to the assembly ground. They had heard of slit throats, burned bodies, and other barbarities. They, too, hurried to Chibok to rescue their daughters, but by the time they arrived, the school was smouldering on the soil. When I think of that night, I still imagine the first smell of smoke the walkers experienced and the torturous remaining miles to its source.

    “For days, the rumours about their daughters were vague and inconsistent. Perhaps not knowing what else to do, a host of fathers and brothers carried primitive weapons into the Sambisa Forest, men clutching cutlasses and hunting rifles, to fight an enemy they could not identify,” Muhammed-Oyebode writes.

    The book shows that 57 girls escaped days after the abduction and for two years, 219 girls remained missing. But in May 2016, the first of the missing students, Aisha Nkeki Ali, was found by the Nigerian military. 107 more are back home. Four were freed by Nigerian military/ para-military intervention, twenty-one through negotiated release in October 2016, and eighty-two more in May 2017. Switzerland and the International Committee of the Red Cross, according to the book, brokered the deals. Increasingly complicated negotiations between the Nigerian Government and Boko Haram continue for the 112 girls who remain captive.

    Yana is not alone in her grief. Hauwa Mallum, the mother of Kuma Solomon, is on the same ship. She took her daughter to school because she didn’t want her to be an illiterate like her.

    “That decision eventually led to the loss of my daughter. She has been kidnapped by evil men who believe that Western education is a sin,” she says.

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    There is an interesting ring to the case of Awa Sasa, who is still in the grip of the terrorists. Her mother, Pogu Sasa, didn’t want her to go to Government Girls’ Secondary School, Chibok, where she had dropped out after two years. Her objection to her daughter’s admission to the school wasn’t about Boko Haram threat.

    Her reason: “During my time there, there was hardly any teaching. The teachers were not teaching well. I felt that my daughter would be wasting her time by attending a school where I didn’t think she would learn much. I myself can’t speak English.”

    Asmathic Zara Ishaku is also still with the abductors and her mother worries who is taking care of her.

    Panda Lalai, whose daughter, Kau’na, was also abducted, is one of the lucky parents whose daughters have regained freedom. She was released from Boko Haram captivity in May 2017. While she was in captivity, Lalai did two things: Prayed for her release and cried for her loss.

    “Sometimes it starts with a prayer and ends in crying and sometimes we cry and round that out with prayer,” she recalls in the book.

    The parents of Rahila Bitrus also got lucky when in May 2017 she was released. She was sixteen when she was abducted and didn’t return home until she was nineteen. She loved education so much that whenever she went to the farm with her parents she went along with notebooks and a novel.

    Deborah Peter, who sold some of her goats to fund her education, is another of the set freed in May 2017, two years and eleven months after the abduction.

    Also in this set is Mary Ali, the only one of twenty children to attend a formal school. “I do not believe that Boko Haram are Muslims. They are not human beings. We are Muslims,” her mother, Ngwakuma, says. 

    Ex-President Obasanjo, in his foreword, captures the permanent nature of the pain of the abduction. He said he had suggested that Nigerians and the world needed to come to terms with the reality that these lives had been irretrievably cut short. “That we would never see these young women, these girls, in the way we remembered them. That in the years following this tragedy, they would trickle out of the forest with the scars, both metaphorical and physical, of their time in captivity. I was vilified for my bluntness,” the ex-president writes.

    Mohammadu Sanusi II, one-time Emir of Kano, in his contribution to the book, argues that the anger towards Boko Haram over the Chibok abduction should also apply to the condition of the Northern Nigerian Muslim girls.

    Nearly all 107 freed girls, according to the author, are enrolled in a special programme at the American University in Yola. Four of the earlier fifty-seven escapees, who she now serves as their guardian, are attending a special programme in America. One returnee, Deborah Jafaru, Muhammed-Oyebode notes, declined a university education offer and is back in Chibok to be with the husband she married two weeks before she went to the school to resit her West African School Certificate exams and got kidnapped.

    My final take: Are we going to see the end of mass abductions in Nigeria? Or, has it become our reality and we have to see it as normal? And will the terrorists ever be defeated or we just have to co-exist with them?

  • A Nigerian in America

    A Nigerian in America

    Within the Nigerian community in Houston-Texas, Shola Adeoye is well-known. Through his platforms, he has helped to revive dying homes and he has helped to link people who want companions. Some days ago, the pastor-cum-medical doctor sparked a thought in me. It all started when he posted a picture of himself devouring a Nigerian dish complete with the notorious ponmo and he wrote a caption expressing his love for being a Nigerian: “Jesu, I beg you next time make sure I come back a Nigerian. I like this Naija life way you dash me so.”

    A comment from one of his hordes of followers, however, made him expatiate that his preference was to be a Nigerian in America and not a Nigerian at home.

    “Nigerian in America ni oooo,” he stressed.

    Behind this sentiment is his love for Nigerian dishes but a vote of no confidence in Nigeria, which two-time Booker Prize finalist Chigozie Obioma described thus: “The land of lack, of man-pass-man, the land in which a man’s greatest enemies are members of his household; a land of kidnappers, of ritual killers; of policemen who bully those they encounter on the road and shoot those who don’t bribe them; of leaders who treat those they lead with contempt and rob them of their commonwealth; of frequent riots and crisis; of long strikes; of petrol shortages; of joblessness; of clogged gutters; of potholed roads…and of constant power outages.”

    I am sure many Nigerians in the Diaspora won’t mind being Nigerians in Nigeria provided things work. What is the attraction outside if our country becomes the land of surplus, the land of equal opportunity, the land of where kidnappers have no place, the land where ritual killers are no more, the land where policemen are truly our friends, the land where leaders no longer rob us of our commonwealth, the land where riots are rarity, the land where long strikes and petrol shortages aren’t the norm, the land where unemployment rate is next to nothing, the land where drainage channels aren’t clogged, the land where our road networks are free from holes and a land where electricity supply isn’t epileptic?

    We need to reenact those years when graduates were offered jobs with housing and car allowances. Can we get back those years when university students ate free meals? What is wrong with our country being so alluring that most people abroad for schooling will return home to start new lives even when they are given tempting offers?

    Like in the years gone past, our tertiary health centres need to be global in every ramification. They need to attract the best from all over the world and be able to offer unparalleled services. Our doctors need to have the best tools to work with, and the era of them running private practice to get by should be a thing of the past.

    We need to reverse the dire situation that makes our citizens ready to die trying to get to Europe through the Sahara deserts. We shouldn’t be the nation where one in three of its citizens live in poverty, which represents thirty-two per cent of the population. Thirty-seven per cent of children shouldn’t suffer from malnutrition. Half of the Nigerian population should not use unsafe or unimproved sanitation, and our position on the sustainable development goal index should be good. This situation is why a Nigerian will prefer to be a Nigerian abroad.

    Nigeria is no hell, it is not. It is also not a shithole. The sense of community that we have at home is missing overseas. In this nation of my birth, people support one another. Old people have their children and members of their extended families taking care of them. Abroad, old people largely end up in old people’s people. Siblings rescue one another to pay rent and sort out other bills. Abroad, it is to your tent o Israel! Bills are crazy. What is paid as rent abroad in a year can serve as 10-year rent in Nigeria.

    The loneliness abroad can sometimes be overwhelming. Not a few of our people abroad are battling depression, serious one for that matter. The individualistic approach to life overseas encourages poor mental health.

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    There is something instructive we all need to know: Award-winning novelist Dr. Maik Nwosu said: “At a certain point, you will realise that no matter how long you live in America, you will always be a Nigerian. And when you come back to Nigeria, people will say that you have been away for too long. So you are no longer fully Nigerian. Before you know it, you will begin to have an in-between existence that is neither entirely Nigerian nor entirely American.” This is one of the reasons why our country has to work and work well.

    As Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN) ex-Deputy Governor Kingsley Muoghalu noted recently, the last decade witnessed significant devastation, characterised by a swarm of challenges such as fiscal mismanagement, unproductive external borrowing, needless budget deficits, the CBN engaging in illicit Ways & Means lending amounting to N30 trillion, and an unprecedented level of corruption. He added that misguided responses to oil price shocks, coupled with an ineffective attempt to stabilize the exchange rate, led to two recessions within seven years.

    These issues, he argued, were exacerbated by a successful political assault on the central bank’s independence, resulting in the relinquishment of control to those with dubious intentions. All these must be corrected for us to have a country that can rival any other in the world.

    My final take: We are tired of being a Third World country. Nigeria has all it takes to be a developed nation. We have wasted so much time developing. Now, we need to quadruple our strides.

  • For the greedy ones

    For the greedy ones

    Death is greedy. Ever eager to take and take and take. In the last few weeks, it has taken the very amiable and amazing Yetunde Oladeinde; it has taken the Wigwes; it has taken Abimbola Ogunbanjo; it has taken Sisi Quadri; it has taken Mr Ibu; and it has taken many others. And it’ll continue to take to satiate its unending thirst. There is nothing we can do about it. Let’s pray from now till eternity, death’ll play its role; let’s use all the medication in the world, they will only work if it is not time for us to exit this world.

    Death shares its greedy nature with many people in this world. The reality of death is the reason I am writing you, the greedy ones: You know the truth; you know you do not need many of the properties you keep, but greed will not allow you to give them away to those who really need it. You just derive some joy in keeping what is capable of making millions happy to yourself alone. You epitomise the saying that there is enough for everyone’s need but not for everyone’s greed. It means nothing to you that you are acquiring riches at the expense of some of the poorest people in the world.

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    Life is almost nothing. It is not worth taking too seriously to the extent of solely keeping the wealth that can turn around the lives of millions. The moment you die, chances are that people will begin to fight over your properties. Even when you have a last will and testament, your children will begin to quarrel, and we have seen instances where they start querying your sanity at the time the last testament was written. Your own children now start using style to say you were mad at the critical point. They have simply moved on. Fighting over your estate is part of their survival strategies.

    There is enough for our needs but not enough for our greed. All we need do is distribute wealth proportionately and not take more than we need. You do not need those billions lying idle in your accounts. Start a foundation, give scholarships to hundreds of people and institute a grant-giving scheme for start-ups.  

  • Tears for Nigerian readers, publishers, writers

    Tears for Nigerian readers, publishers, writers

    Books are good. Without them, I don’t know how billions of readers across the world would have survived. Books make us forget our sorrows. Books help us get superb knowledge. Books take us to places we will never physically visit. Books, books, oh my God! They are lifesavers. Through hardback to paperback to e-books and audio books, souls like mine have been enriched.

    But there is fire on the mountain. The Nigerian economy is the source of the fire and soon and very soon, we will see the effects clearly. The signs are already showing and the next few months will make them glaring.

    Some days ago, I saw a reader expressing his excitement at getting the hardback of the Nigerian edition of the fourth book of a Nigerian writer. After his excitement, he urged Nigerian publishers to invest in hardback editions of their books. I have a sad news for him: The publishers are in no position to take his advice. Reason: With the Naira doing a full-blown war with the dollar, the costs of producing hardback books have reached an alarming rate and it makes no business sense for publishers to sink money they aren’t sure of making on hardback editions.

    The crazy change in costs is not affecting just the hardback editions, the paperbacks are also hard hit. Bookstores in the last few months have had to jerk up the prices of books in their stock and the new ones they are stocking. A book recently released that is less than 400 pages is being sold at N18,000. How many people in the Nigeria of today can afford that? The implication is that automatically the number of copies that will be sold has been reduced. And what the publisher and the author will make will be next to nothing. This is a disaster for an industry where no author makes a living from publishing in Nigeria.

    Writer Elnathan John last year made 400 euros from all his books. He is the author of a novel, ‘Born on a Tuesday’, and others published by Cassava Republic. His books are popular and have undergone reprints. Yet, what he earned from the sale of his popular books is not enough to sustain him for one month. That is the fate of almost all his colleagues. Now, the situation has been worsened with the prices of books quadrupling at a time purchasing power is at its lowest.

    The new pricing regime that the economy has imposed on publishers is simply a conversion to Naira of the dollar value of the foreign editions of the same books. This in a country where the earning is miles apart from the developed world is not sustainable. But, we can’t blame the publishers because what you give is what you get: Nigeria imports almost everything that goes into book publishing. We don’t produce printing presses; we don’t produce high quality printing papers; we don’t produce quality printing inks; we don’t produce anything. This means publishers and printers have to source dollars to import papers, ink and other inputs and the added costs are automatically transferred to the buyers. When the prices become unbearable, publishers will sell less copies, find it difficult to publish more titles and book sellers will be put in a tight corner. If care is not taken, the book sellers will be unable to pay their bills and may be forced to close shops.

    I fear for traditional publishing. With high costs of printing and small profit margin, publishers may concentrate on self-funded books. If you are an author and willing to pay for the production process, they will help you get your books out, and for talents without money, their dreams will die.

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    Before now, publishers with printers in Singapore, India and some other foreign jurisdictions were incurring relatively less costs than those printing at home. When they printed thousands of copies with these overseas printers, the costs crashed radically for the simple reason that the Nigerian printer still has to import everything he uses from those foreign lands and by the time they add Customs duty and other local costs, the publishers patronising them bear the brunt. With the current state of things, printing abroad is still cheaper but it still doesn’t make the pricing affordable to an average reader. 

    As a coping mechanism, even when things have not gone this bad, some publishers started publishing only textbooks because they knew students must read books. The way things are now, parents have to fork out money they hardly make to buy books for their children in primary, secondary and tertiary institutions.

    Maybe we will all resort to e-books, which require no printing papers, no inks and other printing inputs that we need dollars to bring in.

    My final take: The publishing industry before the dollar-Naira debacle was crawling. Now, it is tip-toeing and that is not good for the country, for publishers, for writers, and for readers. The fruits of the government’s reforms need to germinate fast so that the industry will not die. Now, it is on oxygen mask and how long it can afford this costly way of living is something not difficult to guess.