As Naija Clocks 50

Our Prayers/desires for our country, Nigeria....

Change...that Nigeria will experience the kind of transformational change that will be glaring 2 all that God has intervened. ...That God will sanitize our leadership system,... that we be no longer recognized as a corrupt nation, but as a nation that fears God....‘That Kidnapping & Insecurity will become things of the past, and that God's peace will reign supreme.

-          Odiba Igonoh.

I pray for a country that will wake up from its slumber. That provides smooth roads and a transportation system that encourages one to leave one’s car at home and lounge on a train to work instead of the stressful practices we endure every day.

-          Oyinkansola Suulola.

"I pray that fresh, visionary leaders would be raised among us; we need new wine in new wine skin”.

-          Sochi Azuh

That corruption be eradicated and the coming election would produce God fearing leader.

-          Kehinde Olanrewaju

I congratulate Nigeria on her 50^th independence anniversary. However, as I reflect on the nation’s natural endowments, it occurs to me that we should be years further ahead than we are today.

I wish the people of this country would adopt a different attitude as the sort of changes we desire in this country will only occur if we first change our attitude as a people.

I wish for a revolution in the Nigerian Police Force so they can ensure security of life and property; the reason for their existence.

I wish for a sound educational system which will serve as a pivot for the revolution of all other sectors of our system.

-          Bright Idemudia

And she clocks 50……………………

(Random Musings for Niger-Area )

Mary Slessor Christened, Lord Luggard Amalgamated…

She’s a beauty.  A beauty in the Sahara…..

Alluring vegetation, Undulating plateaus, the delta, confluence, olumo and more...

Even though she get wahala,

Plenteous katakata in summer and after,

Woe to the magas and saboteurs.......

Shame on those that brew wahala and make her children suffer

As I reminisce and ponder over her,….. (Politics, economy and all)

Nigeria; She stands tall and above all

With hope and advantage……

With grandeur and stamina……..

Pray; Good people- Tell her to wake.....

Thou sleeping giant….

Nigeria!

-          Femi Oni

Nigeria is Fifty! Fifty years is a long time to survive and the attainment calls for celebration. We should close streets and even whole states in celebration. We should take holidays from our jobs and spend a week relaxing, saying to one another “’Job well done!” But Nigeria IS fifty so maybe we shouldn’t. 

It’s been fifty years of roaming the wilderness unable to locate the footpaths to the Promised Land. It didn’t even take the Children of Israel that long. Fifty years of roaming blind in the dark (thanks to NEPA/PHCN). Fifty years of Ibo not being able to say “brother” to Hausa without flinching. Fifty years of begging the Western World “anything…anything at all to keep body and soul together”. 

If we were 5 years, it would have been pardonable, we would have said “omode lo-un se” (it’s an exhibition of youthful exuberance). But we’re not toddlers, not in our teenage or even young adults. Nigeria is like a full grown man whose hair is starting to go grey while his thumb is still stuck in his mouth with an adult diaper insecurely wrapper around his paunch.

No, we shouldn't block streets in celebration or even take the day off work ‘cos Fifty years after breaking free from our colonial masters, we should be anywhere but here, in this place of confusion, victimized by our own, starved in the midst of plenty. We should be the envy of our neighbours; People the world over should be looking up at us, not looking down their noses at us.But we can't even stand up-right for the shackles that bind us hands-to-legs... our shackles of ignorance and misguidance.

We should be that country that decides to make its revenue from oil this year, cocoa next year, and groundnut the year after. Our greed has however robbed us of that privilege and now …like children on the welfare line, we queue in wait for what oil can bring.

People say that we are a sleeping nation, but I fear our situation might be even worse. I fear insanity... Shh! ... the kind that seizes a rich man and causes him to roam the streets in rags and engage in acts that would embarrass him were his wits intact.

And so I pray! I pray that something would happen to knock the sense back into us or the scales off our eyes so we can see the squalor we’re living in and be appalled into taking actions.

As for our vampire-like leaders, who keep us chained like prey for their feeding pleasure, I pray that God would break the chains of our bondage and set us free, free to grow and blossom. Free to be the nation that by all standards and indications we can be. 'That light will shine down on our nation and send the vampires scurrying into the holes where they belong paving the way for full blooded humans; whose hearts beat with life and human passions like love and empathy, can step up to the round table.

I pray that our educational sector would take a turn for the better. So that we can set off to school with our heads held high; children of the rich and poor alike. And so on the return journey, we would be able to stand shoulder to shoulder with our peers the world over and say we have been educated.

I pray that every man who has an ache in his heart to serve will find a system that avails itself to his course, not a people who block his path and call him “Fool”. 

I pray that we would become a country for real, not this people that we are, who seem to have inadvertently found themselves thrown together in confusion with no love lost.

                                                                      -          Nora Gbagi

My Dilemma

My thoughts are distorted; I want to say so much, yet very little

I want to pour my heart out, yet I fear that I might be too weak to stand after the ordeal

Yes, that’s what I think!

It’s like tearing a page out of my heart’s diary

What I feel, consumes me

What I want to say eludes me

Turmoil, love, fear, hurt, disdain, hope...

Turmoil over the emotions that have possessed me

Love – hell, I don’t even know what that is doing here!

Fear; over the knowledge that someone holds, or worse, is my kryptonite

Hurt; over the fact that I’m here

Disdain; at the fact that I’m one of the ‘Fallen’

Hope...a tiny glimmer, that maybe, just maybe...

Waiting without knowing why...or if

Waiting...still waiting, tis foolish I know

And insane as it may sound, I don’t mind

It’s amazing how you think you’re untouchable,

And just when you let your guard down...ever so briefly,

You’re made aware of how delusional you have been

It’s like the veil of ignorance being lifted

My judgement has been warped by prejudice

I always thought no matter how hard I fell, I could stand tall and walk away,

How beguiled I have been by my own parti pris

And here I am, struggling to sit...struggling

Yet failing...not for the lack of strength

But more for the lack of will and too many conflicting needs

The need to shut this door: to stand tall

The need to hold your hand; to feel the butterflies dance again

The need to rebuild the wall; to mend my heart’s pieces

The need to own this love; to have those kisses

The need to walk away

The need to see you stay

I have been struggling  

But today, I decide...

I don’t want to think, don’t want to need,

Don’t want to will, don’t want to feel

Just want to breathe...


(A Poem by HoneyBrown)

Our Little Runaway

We anticipate a lot of things when we take a child to the boarding house for the first time. We suspect that the child would thump its nose at the school food for the first few days, until hunger brings wisdom. We anticipate that the child would be home sick for many days and keep counting the days till he or she can return home and do all within its power not to return to the ‘God-forsaken-place’. We worry about bullies and even sexual predators.

We anticipate a lot of things probably ‘cos they are reminiscent of our own feelings and experiences in our own first days in the New World. Some things however do not cross the mind at these times.

Exactly a week after taking Eruhwvun (my 9 year old sister) to her new school, we heard a knock on the gate. The person on the other side turned out to be the last person we were expecting…scratch that.. ‘cos we weren’t expecting her at all. No, it wasn’t her Principal come to tell us that she had been crying inconsolably the whole week. It was my Sister herself!

I’m not lying…my 9 year old sister turned up at the house unescorted a few days after being safely deposited at her new school…the island she is supposed to be stuck on till her parents come for her. The story surrounding her journey home is best imagined as it’s spun around public transportation and long treks in the dark night.

I’m torn between admiring her bravery and being angry that she would take the risks that she did. Of the many qualities that I possessed as a child of 9, I doubt that the kind of bravery involved in her escapade was a strong point. It occurs to me that she might have been oblivious of the dangers that lurk our cities. She apparently knows nothing of children going missing right on the streets their families live on. Now, this quality I did not lack as a child; I have always been wise in the ways of the world.

There is the school that was vested with the obviously cumbersome responsibility of keeping the child safe. I’m wondering, “if they couldn’t keep her for a week, however are they supposed to manage for 6 years?!” Should I start sending mails to members of their PTA informing them of this breech in their responsibility?

They have a right to know don’t they?! *(Mischievous Grin Here)*

THE NEW WORLD

On Sunday, my Baby Sister took her first steps into the real world… she went to Boarding School.

The weekend I went home and found a newly purchased box packed with the paraphernalia of a first-timer at boarding school, I couldn’t hide my shock. Along came flashes of her at 1 month and still a novelty to us all, then at 5 months as a baby whose mother confidently left her in our care all day. I remembered her first birthday and many other events scattered across the years…all the times she sneaked into my bed ‘cos she has never been able to keep her wits about herself in the dark. You see, in my eyes, she has almost always been that baby (never mind that she now stands almost as tall as me and keeps comparing our heights in anticipation of the day when the difference would even out or even worse) but now I was being forced to admit…”Eruhwvun* is now a big girl oh!”. To work the edge off my surprise, I pained horror stories about how her sojourn into the real world would begin. I was very willing to put my money on the prediction that she’d lose all her clothes in one month and be forced to return home naked (To tell the truth, I didn’t fare much better myself 14 years ago).

When I went off to school those many years ago, I didn’t have the benefit of an elder one to give me tips on the dos-n-don’ts of the new world I was making a foray into. My parents tried their best to make up for this shortage, but I was selective about what I took in and what sailed over my head. They must have embarked on their own sojourns at least 20 years ago?! Surely, they couldn’t know half the things I needed to hear about. I hope my Baby sister didn’t think these same thoughts as I eased her into a chair on the night before the D-day to dish out the words of wisdom of the loving elder sister. I just wanted to be sure she was ready for the world out there (like that is ever possible). I even made her show me how she intended to fold her clothes when she got to school ‘cos it occurred to me that I had never seen her fold her clothes and put them away.

I had, in a moment of excitement, made one of those promises that we make to loved ones while lacking the ability to make good on them. I assured her that I would go with her to school… (That’s the easy part) and stay with her a week (aha!) to ease her transition from home-life to boarding-house-life. So the night before she asks “Aunty Nora 'she' you said you’d follow me?” even as something in her tells her my promise is a castle built in thin air.

I made good on the easy part; I went with her to confront this novelty…this place where she’d be held pseudo-prisoner for the next 6 years of her life. The goodbyes got a little teary as she clung to me. But this was short-lived as one of my other sisters (have you lost count yet or are you still trying to figure out how many children we are?) warned that tears would make her fall out of favour with her new school boys. As we flocked off without her, I wondered if anyone of our party was feeling the blend of guilt and apprehension that was tumbling in my stomach. But it faded as soon as I convinced myself that it was a rite of passage. So I turned my attention once again to predictions. She’s going to get a bit giddy with her new found freedom, I foretold. But in about two days, her bubble would burst, and she’d be homesick. The time of this prediction was rough Sunday, 2:30pm.

Thank God I didn’t make any bets on this particular prediction, confident and tempted as I was ‘cos by 4:40pm same evening a wailing Erhuwvun called home, begging “Mommy please come and take me home…I don’t want to be a Boarder anymore, I want to go to a Day School!”

I guess freedom is no longer worth what it used to.

LAGOS CODES

Back in the days when we were being taught good morals, according to societal and religious norms, one point that ran the risk of being over flogged was the ‘Do Good to Others’ code. We were brought up to believe that a good person lends a helping hand as often as it’s in his power to.

I love the Bible and I like to think of myself as a good person. I however live in Lagos, and in Lagos, we have a slightly different code of conduct. According to our ‘Lag Norms’, giving alms is not the way of the wise. There is some semblance of an agreement between our ‘Lag Norms’ and the ones we were taught at Sunday School. It’s the belief that acts of kindness to strangers might get you closer to the gates of Heaven. Don’t be fooled however, I did say semblance ‘cos while they seen like the same idea, they actually mean different things. Feel free to spot the difference.

Which of the numerous stories pertaining to the diabolic should I recount? Is it the one where a family who stopped to offer a lift to a heavily pregnant woman ended up losing a child to ritualists? Or the story of the man who’s genitals mysteriously disappeared after giving alms to a ‘beggar’? These stories are swapped at dinner tables in Lagos. They are part explanation for why people on Lagos streets look the other way from a beggar on their way home from church on a Sunday afternoon.

Some months ago, I was at an eatery when an elderly man walked up to me and recounted a story about how he was supposed to have been on his way to Redemption Camp, but had been left behind by his travelling party. He looked so decent that skeptic that I am, it din’t crossed my mind that he might have made the story up. So I dipped in my bag, and showed myself a good Christian. I felt so good with myself and certain that I had just gotten a little tick in Heaven's records of Good 'n' Bad Deeds.

About a month after however, I was at Park ‘n’ Shop when the same man walked up to me with a totally different story requiring me to offer financial help. I was livid! I hurried off before I lost control and started to rain insults on him.

That’s another reason no one gives alms in Lagos. Begging has become a day time job for some people. The tools of the trade are compelling stories and the right facial expressions. Going by the number of women with twins, and other cadres of beggars on the streets, I’m tempted to think that business might be pretty lucrative.

I have a couple to say about those women and the other beggars/'Windscreen-Washers' that have recently taken over Lagos streets, but they are a tale for another time, another post 'cos they are not the reason I’m blogging about our skewed Lagos morals. Apparently, there are two sides to the coin. On the one hand are people who won’t render help because they doubt the genuineness of the requests, but increasingly popular are those who won’t accept help rendered because they question the authenticity of the offer. I’m sure we’ve all played on both teams in the past. If you have turned down an offer of a free ride from a stranger in pouring rain or opted to roam blind despite someone’s offer to give you directions, you’re guilty … and so am I.

The other evening, it was raining cats 'n' dogs, and I was stuck at the Lekki Phase 1 roundabout. I was having a hard time getting a cab to take me where I wanted. Now any normal person would have wished for a kind-hearted person to stop and offer a ride. But I'm a Lagos Girl, and I guess it's not quite the same as being a Normal Girl 'cos along came that free ride, but what did yours'-truly do? I bent and peered from under my dripping umbrella at the two gentlemen in the car as one of them asked where I was going. With a polite smile stuck on my face and sadness in my heart, I thanked them and declined their offer in one breath. Their laughter as they drove off said they must have thought it amusing that I was clinging to my spot in the rain. Truth is I couldn't tell if they were simply being nice or shopping for something...or shall I say someone (God Forbid that it be me!), so I decided to take my chances with the rain and elusive cabs. As water pooled around me, I ruefully thought "See what Lagos has done to me!"

These and many more are the fruits of the Lagos Code…or is it more than a Lagos thing? Is it a disease that is eating across the nation and globe? I can't decide which I want it to be, A Lagos thing or a Wide-spread cancer? If it's a Lagos thing, the the bright side is the knowledge that all hope isn't lost 'cos there is hope somewhere out there. But if that's the case, I can't help wondering if it's something about the Lagos system. 'Maybe something in the air...in which case, you and I might be in danger of getting infected soon.

So I ask...What can possibly be done to get us back on track to being our brothers’ keepers...or even allowing our brothers keep us?

LOVE EXPERIENCED

I used to dream that when love found me,
It would hold on to the strings of my heart and never let go.
I used to look longingly at pictures of love
And wonder…
“how would it feel to be caught up in a web like that?”

Now I know.
Now, I know that love is more,
less and all it’s fabled to be,
I know it sounds impossible, but true.

The promised butterflies have built a cosy nest in my bowels.
There are nights when my lips weave themselves
into a neat smile as I lay in bed, thinking of that place where my heart is.
To count the mornings when I wake up with the same name
resonating in my head would cause a mean blush…if I were Caucasian.
Love is everything my aunties said it would be.

The pictures did not prepare me for this consuming feeling
that refuses to be put to rest, even just for the night.
They didn’t foretell the unnatural but musical words
that would flow from the lips of one, through the ears of another
and make their home in the heart
or how comfortable I’d get with PDA.
Love is a stronger brew than they warned.

But aunty must have forgotten to mention that
Love doesn’t stop the heart from breaking.
She must not have known that
though love welds the cracks in your heart,
it undoes it all with it’s warmth.
She could not possibly have realized that each time
Selfish words are uttered,
They’d somehow cause my heart to snap
in places that didn’t exist before.
Or that love could be a yoke
that I’d beg to take with me to my dying bed
Cos hurt as it may sometimes,
I’d rather have a day of these beautiful chains
Than a lifetime of freedom wandering in solitude.

THE THING ON YOUR INSIDE

I’m just 26.

In the eyes of many, I have seen too few years to think that I might have stumbled upon the secrets of good living. I hear them say “How can?! When men 3 times your age are stumbling about blind and lost as children in a blizzard?” But I have.

I confess that I don’t yet have all the answers… only some. I confess that sometimes I myself perform the little dance of the lost sheep, but thanks to The Force at work in my life, such moments are short-lived.

So I don’t have all the answers to life’s questions now, but I will. I will happen on many more nuggets tucked in the folds of life for us to discover, when we choose the paths in which they lay in wait. And in the mean while, I’d try to make the most of my life with the few I have in hand.

One thing I have learned; that there is an infinite reserve of strength in every man, bubbling just behind the surface, impatiently waiting to be tapped. There isn’t a man lacking in this goldmine, from the youngest of us to the oldest. Ironically, unlike most other advantages, it’s an innate ability, planted in us by the same one (and I suspect, at the same time as) who planted in us our bones and many delicate organs.

This reserve is like and unlike a trust fund. Like a trust, it’s always been there, waiting for the time when you’d be ready to make your first and subsequent withdrawal(s). Unlike your trust fund, the maturity date isn’t set by someone else, but by your very self. You’re ready to cash it in when you say you are and it’s ready for mining when you say it is. The resource from this well are not to be wasted on our everyday experiences, oh no! It’s not for dealing with broken nails or even missed buses. They are for those make-or-break moments that mark our graduation from one class to another in the University of Life; the moments that leave you farther from clay and closer to gold.

What’s more? I’ve discovered that this well of strength, unlike our physical adaptative reserve never runs dry…like the widow’s oil jar, it just keeps getting a top-up from that mysterious source…so I guess all that’s really needed is for one to stay connected.

I could go on and on…you know what they say about power being intoxicating. But with effort, I’d stop here and simply urge that we seek out this secret reservoir…cos sooner than later, life will give you cause to need a drink from it. It’s better to have it ready for tapping before that time comes upon you.

I Have Seen the Face of the Captain

I didn't write this...I wish I did, but I didn't. It is however one of the loveliest pieces I have read in a while. I read it and it was like soothing balm on a burn... no, much better than that! i decided that I wanted it for myself, wanted it somewhere I could easily reach for it when I need to have a peek at the master's reassuring face, the gloriously handsome face of my father, whenever life throws me curve balls and tantrum storms. So I've brought it here for safe keeping...and for sharing. I hope u like it as much as I did.

I Have Seen the Face of the Captain

Robert Louis Stevenson loved to recount the story of a ship tossed in a storm. The sea was rough and the rocky coast perilous. Danger was real and dread expectancy active among the seamen. One frantic sailor who was laboring below the water line could contain himself no longer. He rushed to the control room, closed the door behind himself, and stood frozen in fright watching the captain wrestle with the controls of the huge ship.

Skill of mind and strength of hand enabled the captain to guide the vessel through the threatening rocks into open water. The Captain turned slightly, looked at the frightened sailor, and smiled. The youth returned below deck and assured the crew all danger was over. When they inquired how he knew, he answered, "I have seen the face of the Captain, and he smiled at me."

If you will only "turn your eyes upon Jesus, look full in his wonderful face, the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of his glory and grace." When you know who is in control there is no fear.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY...TO ME!!!

I love Christmas, (my boyfriend swears he has never known anyone to feel as strongly as I do about the annual event) But more than my love for Christmas, is that for MY BIRTHDAY.

Yay! It’s my birthday once again …August 17^th … to me the date is almost as good as my name. I always ask people if they ever get that feeling about their dates of birth; the feeling that it is a part of their identity; the sense of connection to it that makes you turn and pay attention whenever the date is mentioned, kind of how you turn and listen whenever you hear your name or a namesake being called. So far, I’ve gotten only funny looks from the people I’ve asked. It’s either I’m asking the wrong people, or I’m one of a kind…like how I’m one of the few people who have (or admit to having) Red as a best colour. Call me a nut case, call me sentimental, I don’t care much…I LOVE MY BIRTHDAY and I ain’t ashamed!!!

I know some of you are wondering… I’m 20 and 6 years today...yes Nelly, I can hear you, I’m old. But that’s just chronologically speaking, cos in my heart, where it matters most, I don’t feel any different from how I felt 10 years ago when I clocked 16. Yes, I’m wiser and more financially responsible but I’m just as gay (no, I’m not referring to my sexual orientation) and playfully as ever.

As a child, I concluded from my observation of adults around me, that adulthood implied, amidst other things that one had to become very “serious”; that somewhere between childhood and adulthood, I’d have to give up my right to smiling a lot and laughing till I got a stitch in my side. This bothered me a lot so you can only imagine my relief at discovering that I can still be as goofy as I like at 26. Its either I have defied the rules and latched on to my “fun-side” or I got it wrong back then. If I have defied the rules, it’s probably cos I’ve been blessed with a certain level of right-attitude-to-life and to be surrounded by people who encourage fun and being myself. God bless u lot!

It’s been a wonderful year for me; a year that could be described in different ways. While some might view it with pessimism others might feel inclined to see the good that was tucked between the mishaps. I have chosen to see the glass as half filled and on its way to overflowing and as such I think it prudent to say “Thank you” to the one from whom my glass gets its fillings cos it's b His grace that I have come this far unruffled.