ajagunna

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Tag: Nigeria

Mr. Olubakin (ESQ.) Sues NBA For 500 Million Naira Damages, Claims NBA Stole Intellectual Property, NBA Already Presented Portrait to President Buhari

The Nigeria Bar Association (NBA) Gifted President Muhammadu Buhari a Stolen Portrait of the President. Owner of Intellectual Property, Mr. Olubakin (ESQ) Sues for Immediate Return of Stolen Portrait and 500 million Damages

Facilitated by the Nigeria Bar Association (NBA), President Muhammadu Buhari received an artwork, a portrait painting of the president. The portrait, painted by Mr. Olubakin Oladele, also a lawyer and a member of the association, who has since requested that the painting be returned back with immediate effect, was declared missing by NBA, only to ahve it presented to the President with fanfare. In addition to wanting the portrait returned, he is suing for damages to the tune of over 500 million Naira.

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NBA Presenting the Stolen Portrait to President Buhari. Vice President Osinbajo was present too, a Law Professor and Former Minsiter of the Redeemed Christian Church of God (RCCG)

Mr. Olubakin, a God-fearing pastor, lawyer and respected member of the esteemed association, who also happens to be an artist, painted the non-commissioned portrait of the president. He took the finished work to the association and requested that same be presented to President Buhari on the condition that he was there for due recognition. The association took possession of the painting, noting the request of Mr. Olubakin. He went back to get a response, but was told that the painting could not be found due to many reasons. Moreso, even if it were found, it could not be presented to the president. Unhappy about the development, which Mr. Olubakin duly communicated tot he association, the association promised to locate the painting and return same to him. Mr. Olubakin was sure to leave a message with the secretariat of the association. He wanted his portrait returned as soon as the association found it.

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Court Order Requesting the NBA to Return the Portrait and Suing for Damages

This request was unfortunately bluntly ignored. To his greatest shock and surprise, Mr. Olubakin only found out that the missing portrait had been found when it was presented to Mr. President by the Nigeria Bar Association (NBA) with accompanying fanfare. Not a single word was said about the source of the portrait, no recognition whatsoever. In fact, the recognition would not have been necessary because Mr. Olubakin had requested that the painting be returned to him once found. It was not to be presented to the president anymore.IMG-20180314-WA0002

Recovering from the shock, the rightful owner of this work of art, being Mr. Olubakin, went to the secretariat of NBA to understand what had just went down, what exactly happened, who found the portrait, where was it found, why was it not returned, why was he not informed. So many legitimate questions, yet the NBA ignored all questions and request to have the portrait returned. Request for amicable settlement was ignored. All attempt fell on deaf ears.

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Mr. Olubakin, Lawyer, God-fearing pastor, standing beside his intellectual property before it went missing.

The association, being the highest body representing lawyers’ interest in Nigeria, understands too well the implication of its action, no doubt. It begs understanding though, why the association, aware that an intellectual property remains the property of the creator except otherwise agreed, ignored the request of Mr. Olubakin, the rightful owner of the portrait, to have it returned.

Since the NBA is unwilling to settle the matter amicably, Mr. Olubakin has decided to have the case resolved in a court of law. He is suing for damages of over 500 million Naira as shown by documents made available to AhjotNaijaBlog.

BreakingNews: MIN Ambassadors Visit President Buhari in London!

“Agba to so agbado modi, lo so ara re di alawada ediye” Yoruba Proverb

Buhari is clinically dead. No, Buhari is dead. No, Buhari is dead and his handlers wouldn’t let us the people of Nigeria, we voted for him overwhelmingly in the last presidential election, mourn a good man in peace. He actually was an evil man, but one doesn’t talk ill of the dead. He deserved all the good and badwill, he worked his life off gathering them in tons. He was part of Nigeria civil war by the war, a repeat of which Nnamdi Kanu is not calling for, but this same president is encouraging with all his body language and actions, right from Nigeria to London in his dying hours.
Meanwhile, two people from MIN, don’t ask what that is, just Google, (MIN is a very powerful group feared by the Aso Rock Cabal on and off Facebook, if that description epps)they visited Buhari in London, the same Buhari that the Cabal prevented our Dearest Aisha, the wife of our dying president, from seeing. The two MIN ambassadors saw him.

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President Muhammadu Buhari

First of all, he’s taking his Nigerian drugs, I mean Buhari is taking his drugs, no fears, the ones that our doctors packed in his aeroplane parked in London hanger, very expensive place to sleep for a Nigerian aeroplane and strange too. No sun, no rain, nothing, nada for the poor aeroplane. We will come to that later.
Meanwhile, Nigerians, knowing what hell the poor creature is facing, have been calling for his immediate retrieval home, I mean the aeroplane, not the person it carried across the ocean, but Femi Adesina, the mouthpiece, whose son is now a pilot, not that the son flew Buhari to London o, he’s not involved, but his father has been talking about him plenty of times these days since Buhari absconded office, it was this Adesina who said Buhari is not dead, as if we needed any confirmation of his being alive, and that tje aeroplane should wait there, not considering what the people are saying. He said many more things which this book cannot contain.
Back to MIN, they saw him and laughed out loud, with the president of course. Who wan die laughing at a sick president! One of the MIN ambassadors is a man disguised as a woman, the president didn’t notice, he’s so sick. If not, he would have been wondering who brought a kitchen material into a hospital space. No respect. Our president is that tactless, no respect for Angela Merkel, Germany’s powerful Chancellor. It was in her presence Buhari shamed his own wife, the wife he married in the right way, Yoruba will say, nisuloka, with yams and yamflower. Poor Aisha I cried when I heard the news and saw the video for myself .
Anyway, this is not about my emotions, back to the president matter. He’s hale and healthy, even Asiwaju is short of words at the moment, Asiwaju The Great. Yoruba oni gbagbe e lailai! It was Obasanjo who gave us Yaradua. Asiwaju topped that in record time. Another dying president sold to us in a beautiful package! APC! The packaging powerful! How did we buy the elephant in the house?! Just how?! All our great people, the intelligentsia in America and Europe and the abroad, they are now calling it what it is, a bad market, but before now, they swore on their own lives that we had no better alternative at that moment.
Meanwhile, one MIN member back then was shouting so loud he lost his voice. He said and I quote: “my people, vote for Jonathan and go and vomit thereafter, it will not kill you if you vomit early enough.” He said so many other great things, like, let me quote again : “APC and PDP are latrines, my people, I advice you as a proud MIN, choose the latrine with two P in it, the one that featured Jonathan as president.” End of quote.
Not that Jonathan was the best Nigeria had to offer, but this MIN member was sincere enough to admit we were already screwed and Jonathan would screw us slower than this unlimited screwing we have been enduring from Buhari since that we can’t take it no more. As I was saying, many many quotes, check them out yourselves on Google, they are everywhere. They littered everywhere some Cabal blocked this selfless Nigerian self for the great effort to save Nigeria from us. That’s history.
Now back to the visit. Buhari spoke not in Hausa this time. He was polite he chose Edo, the language of the Gods, a dialect of The Great Yoruba Language. Alright. Alright. Is alright. No quarrel, yet is not about language or dialect that is not dialect or important, that discussion will come later. For now, it’s about the body language of the president. He’s suffering from speech impairment. Sahara Reporters don’t do fake news. They are real. To be sincere, the president is in bad shape. I have known and seen people in his condition. He deserved all the pity and prayers in the world.
The latter will help no more though. He cursed the Gods too many times they have chosen to ignore any of the latter that involved the name of our president. A tip: When saying a prayer for him, do not mention his name. I repeat, avoid mentioning his name. Just pray.
Some badbelle people are saying the photos from the MIN people are photoshopped. Others say, and so what?! We are okay with them like that. All we are saying is for President Buhari to come home hail and hearty. We love him that much. Dead or alive, just bring hin home, his family doesn’t deserve this shame. Let a good man be brought home with dignity. President Buhari is not like this. It’s people who have been laundering his image since he happened to our public consciousness decades ago. And till today. Lies! Lies!! Lies!!! Imagine how quick bad names stick. Only that in this case, Buhari did all the bad bad things people said. At least, this presidency is a nightmare already, and people are saying this is even childsplay, it pales in comparison to the terribleness of Buhari’s first coming. Is like, the more we are screwed, the juicier it gets for the old and new brigade alike. The politicians and their sidekicks, the people.
I am speechless but not speech impaired. Thank goodness. Anyway, before we lost thread of the conversation, we are still looking for our President, someone said he’s in hiding, seeking asylum in London, some said he’s dying. We are not sure sha, but we know he’s dying. All our Great Dibia from the North are not seeing good things. Imams from the East are speaking with one voice, not seeing anything different. According to Ifa priests from where they are from, there’s tunnel at the end of the darkness. The Babalawo of Osborne is at rest, he believes the Imams and The Dibia and The Ifa priests. Nothing evil, no evil shall happen to our president. Ten thousand shall fall by the right, tens of thousand by the left, none of this shall befall him. I believe too, like the #halleluyahchallenge, Nigeria will survive it. Let us pray.

Taninomo’s Piece of Mind (TPoM): Joy Isi Bewaji vs. Hallelujah Challenge Brouhaha (JIB vs. HCB)

Don’t throw the child away with the bathwater. While many of you are calling for Isi Bewaji’s head because of her rant against the Halleluyah challenge, you seem to neglect the salient lessons. She was wrong to have interfered in the religious business of faithfuls who decided to come together to worship their God. It was not the Ministry of Science and Technology or the Ministry of Education that called the challenge, it was a group of Christians and that is why they called Christians. But she was also right in the rant; religion has to a large extent adversely affected us. It has made us more selfish, close minded and unquestioning.

So, I went to an ‘SU’ secondary school, those schools where the proprietor is an ultra-religious adherent. We had a long list of dos and don’ts. The school directress, who at that time was running her PhD in English, told us not to read Festus Iyayi’s Violence, a NECO prescribed text. Her reason: it was ‘corrupt.’ The intolerance was top-notch; these were people willing to kill with the rod in order to bend you to the mould they think is right.

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Hand-in-pocket: Oluwaseun Tanimomo of TPoM

In general, it seems besides salvation a number of Nigerian churches have no other good to offer. Church here means an organized body of people on earth who gather in a place regularly to listen to a scriptural exegete. What obtains in the religious circles in Nigeria and some African countries is different from the reality in Western countries, where Christianity and churches appear to be compassionate. In Germany for example, I know that the Catholic Church and the Protestants have scholarship stipends for students. They have hospitals and organise conferences and fairs. In Nigeria we build big churches and organise big programs year after year. How do you explain to the people that they are the real church when we spend millions adorning buildings? And are those private jets really for evangelism or for jetting out to world capitals where the honorarium is heavy and enticing? Do our super-pastors travel to the villages in Adamawa, the poorest parts of Malawi and Mozambique to preach? It seems to me that the good news is only for the super-rich. That is one other thing I like in my German church; offerings are collected to travel to the very poor, for ‘development aids’. Just look at the good Pope don’t you like him?
Religion for a number of us is a tool for control; a tool to force people into your line of scriptural interpretation. It is the reason we are so quick to fight for our God. Imagine! In my second year at the Obafemi Awolowo University, I had picked a Quran to read, so this boy called Maxwel, who we had all thought to be Ibo and consequently Christian told me to drop the Quran. I smiled and thought the bros was joking until he picked a knife. I like my life! I dropped it immediately until another good Muslim friend, Damola is his name, explained to me that they don’t treat their holy book the way we did ours. I asked Damola why he chose not to stab me instead. After all, they are both Muslim . Damola condemned the action of the violent Muslim.
Still in my second year, a group of student-religious leaders decided for the whole hall that it was wrong to watch adult movies in the common room on Friday nights. They succeeded because they added violence to their quest. This was a hall of residence for students majorly above 18 years. adults. Anyways, we went on a two week break after that, we called it Mojo break.
As a child of about 8years, my mum once left her work to come pick me and my siblings at my grandma’s place in Ijoko-Ota because the Gods of the Ota people did not know it was the dusk of the 20th century. Businesses shut down and a pin-drop silence accompanied by a palpable fear enveloped Sango-Ota area, a midway city to Ijoko-Ota, and its environs. The Oro festival was being held. Talking about Oro festival, I once attended a vigil as a child and Oro visited. They charged at us because there were women in the church. Women should not see Oro. Well, our Pastor’s wife and also a family friend said she was not going to hide that she had rights. Fearless woman! Whether you interpret this as a Westernized Christian woman, disrespectful of her culture, standing in the way of tradition. Or a fearless woman standing for her rights against a patriarchal religion is another matter. I choose the latter.
Family members, friends complain about the gridlock along the Lagos-Ibadan expressway from time to time. True, it might not be the responsibility of the churches to build roads, but I believe these churches have enormous influence on governments.
Whatever shape or form religion takes in Nigeria, it seems that those at the helm of its affairs are one way or the other complicit in the oppression of the people. Our ancestors had seen the tyranny of religion and concluded that religion or whatever deity we choose to serve must be able to save us and make our lives better. Orisa bi o le gba mi, se mi bi o ti ba mi, our ancestors warned. In the act of our ancestors, they preempted a danger of an unbridled deity, hence the insertion of the freedom clause in the design of our Gods. The freedom to choose is important, saving which the head of a particular God may swell and tell adherents to kill or punish non-adherents so that (s)he can be more God.
Christianity, Islam and our traditional religions sure have many positive sides. But to be a slave to religion is to be a slave to unreason. Religion should help and not be a problem. In fact, I am against this seeming adopted Westernized religious manicheeism in Nigeria that clearly divorces reason from feeling, and religion from science. Fact is, science and religion can walk hand in hand and lead humans to a more humane world. It does really not have to be this manicheeism kind of approach as it is presently in Nigeria.

Na Who Debauchery Epp?

“With these thoughts in my mind I came to Italy and Sicily on my first visit. My first impressions on arrival were those of strong disapproval-disapproval of the kind of life which was there called the life of happiness, stuffed full as it was with the banquets of the Italian Greeks and Syracusans, who ate to repletion twice every day, and were never without a partner for the night; and disapproval of the habits which this manner of life produces. For with these habits formed early in life, no man under heaven could possibly attain to wisdom- human nature is not capable of such an extraordinary combination. Temperance also is out of the question for such a man; and the same applies to virtue generally. No city could remain in a state of tranquillity under any laws whatsoever, when men think it right to squander all their property in extravagant, and consider it a duty to be idle in everything else except eating and drinking and the laborious prosecution of debauchery. It follows necessarily that the constitutions of such cities must be constantly changing, tyrannies, oligarchies and democracies succeeding one another, while those who hold the power cannot so much as endure the name of any form of government which maintains justice and equality of rights.”
Plato, 360 B.C.E.

Plato is wrong! Damn wrong! He jumped too early into conclusions. Ignorant outbursts. SMH. I’m laughing out loud. LOL. LMFAO. He never was in Nigeria before making this ignoramus of a statement, in fact of himself. He should have waited, or traveled a little farther. He didn’t walk enough. He would have met the great people of Nigeria. Yes, they were all great. No jokes. I don’t have such luxury when I’m reading Plato, The Great. He is such a writer. A great man. A Great Prophet. Of Our Time. Daddy. How did he know there was a man called Senator Dino Melaye in Okunland? This Plato is more than any president!
President Buhari needs to read him. Somebody please read Plato’s The Seventh Letter into Buhari’s good ear. Not the bad one, please. Yes, there was a line, in fact a whole paragraph in the letter where Nigerians apologized profusely to President Buhari for voting him into office. They said it’s time to go. If you don’t believe me, Google the document. It’s there for all to see. It’s history.
Plato called out Saraki and Tinubu goodly terrible names. I’m not making things up. But wait o, what if Plato was a man like Chief Obasanjo, a man who wrote books, a genius, and all the books are full of lies, contorted truths, shistories turned on their heads. And I’m here reading him. Jesus save us from us! We are back from 360 B.C.E. to torment hell into us!
Welcome back, Good People. Let’s ignore Plato. And dance away our problems. Who intellectual debauchery don epp? What intellectual debauchery!!! Debauchery?! What’s the word? What does that mean? I don’t know. I didn’t check, like many of our people, we don’t check, and if we do, we just don’t do. Like the last manifesto before the election. Who understood the document?! Not me. Who get that kain time? At least, I know I don’t. Life is too short to care about non-existent beauty.
Who needs beauty and good roads when there is Gala and LaCasera to sell. We are too much. We are like that. Ahen. Now that I have used the word “Debauchery” I can go back to reading Plato. It feels so cool showing off in a time like this. Bad time it had been. Worse time we had. This is Buhari time. So cool. Asiko yi a tun wa lara o. May this time soothe us like Aboniki Balm. Do they still sell the balm? My neck aches.
Who reads Plato when the country is not well-runned?! Have you ever heard of an hungry deadman? It will not happen. Strange times are here. A Woman, Pastor Wife. Killed. She was not dismembered, as in her head was still joined to her body when she was found dead in her own body. The vice-president church member. That’s an improvement, I mean that completeness of the dead. We are grateful. At least, the president urged us to respect each other’s religion. That was the last time the person who was killed and dismembered was found out not to have been dismembered but only killed. Did that make any sense? No? That wasn’t my intention too. Life is too short to make sense. Not when you can afford not to.
Everybody is tired. No, only some. People like us, poor masses who cannot afford a new car. That’s why we hurting on the good president. Leave him alone. Go grab your husbands and wives. He’s not your president. Can’t you see that? SMH. We are poor and our children finished from England universities. We can afford it. Go to hell if you can’t afford your own children. Why you born them? Useless (wo)man. Thank you. You too. Go and steal if that’s how easy stealing is.
The Man of Daura never wanted to be Head if State. We forced him. Like Tinubu and his gang did with a forced presidency. After the inauguration, somebody said it felt like a big mistake and a relief at the same time. That somebody was Sahara Reporters. I added the relief part. That is a lie.
Back to Plato, he mentioned fuel scarcity in The Seventh Letter. Look not too far. I will quote more when I finish reading him and submit my opinion on my blog. It’s a free world. Grab a copy of NTA and read. Many terrible things in the news these days. Oshiomole. How I wish this people can read Yoruba. Kai! Disaster Has Now Not Only Known Our House. It’s now living with us. At first, we thought it was a joke, we told Disaster we had no stood. Or is it stool. The thing to sit down. Like magic, Disaster produced a fine golden chair and sat with us. Eating, praying, sleeping with us real good. We are pregnant as I speak. May we deliver in peace. IJN!
We are enjoying it. All the roads had been bad, were bad, are bad, will be bad. Please somebody tell Oshiomole to stop the accusations. It’s not his fault. The loan he collected will not be asked back from him. He may keep the whole money. Patapata porongodo. He’s not a useless government. Unlike his predecessors. I don’t mean the people he replaced. I don’t mean anybody. Who wan die! I’m not visiting Nigeria anytime soon. The price hike is revoked. By a court of law. Who cares? After all, it was in the sky The Minister of Darkness announced the price hike. You don’t get it? Don’t worry. This is the truth. The man accepted to grant interview. He told us in the sky. You all must pay more for the darkness to get worse. There’s light at the end of the tunnel. Only if you agree to pay more. You all on your own now. He kept a promise. Bad belle will carry nobody nowhere. We are in this together. Congratulate him! Haba!
Buhari, unlike Jonathan, will serve two terms. He’s doing a good work. See him in the military regalia. He is so cute. Sai Nigeria! Just like Jonathan some years back. Some caps simply don’t fit again.
Our Buratai is a richman. He earned all that money. You haters are going to hate, anyway. Buratai. General Sir! We love you! Leave the haters out. EFCC will cater for them. They have started well, sealing off the offices. We have to start somewhere. Anywhere belle face. We need no plan. Professors support the corruption fight. I’m not a professor. I support too. What’s the price of tomatoes got to do with making Nigeria corruption free. The masses are in support. Like Nigerians in diaspora and home love to say. Na corruption we go chop? Who corruption don epp? Bad habit. I crazily like the sound of that word. “Epp!” I can’t have enough of it. That’s why I use it here. Like Debauchery. The thing sound well for ear. Like Nigeria. We need more of it.
At least trillions have been recovered in promise. Trillions of money. To fill the Atlantic Ocean! We are not broke. Hell forbid! We are not broke. We repeat that enough and the truth, this truth shall set us free. We are free. Free at last! The Man of the People has made it clear. No free money to share. Only wise and people friendly thieves can steal. Go back to livestock. Go back to where you come from. Go get life.
The president understands what Nigerians are going through. I assure you people, it’s like that in Germany. Everywhere in the EU. Money is scarce. Children beg for money on the streets in Brussels too. The Capital of the EU. I’m not joking. Begging is not a Nigerian problem. This is not peculiar. My people. Let us calm down and continue. It’s like that everywhere in the world. Who change don epp? LOL. SMH. I am not laughing out loud. Check my article on Pestilential Beggary in Brussels. The records are there.
Our children go to school in swamps. I mean not in Brussels. In Lagos. Those on festland have terrible classrooms. I went to school in that kind of place. Yes. When I saw VGC children for the first time. I mean I became a teacher after all and taught richpeople children. That was when I realized you either get rich or die trying. Nigeria is like America. Two countries. What is two? plenty countries in one. The rich don’t worry. They are rich. Pray you are not poor! I know what it means to be privileged. I have seen it with my my two korokoro eyes. Privilege. That word. Ehn. It’s not a richman word alone. There are privileged poor. Poverty get category. Nigeria is that kind. I know because I moved all my growing up years in that circle.
Let’s leave that. Back to the issues. When is the speed-train inauguration? We call it ICE. Inter-City-Express in Germany. In France. TGF. Or something more chic. America and the UK don’t have that. That’s what bad belle can do to a country. Nigeria. We are not bad belle. I heard the speed-train is in the pipeline. Many things are in the pipeline. That’s why Niger Delta Avengers are bombing pipelines. Goldrush. The mad goldrush. There is gold and plenty of madness. It will go round. Whatever that means. Boko Haram has been decapacitated. Our girls are not back. The ones found are living large, hail and hearty in Aso Rock. Our government has given us life. We are thankful. I swear we are.
The other time, good rich people in power and politics shared food with the poor. To celebrate End of Ramadan. That’s the spirit. In Ekiti state the same spirit worked. , the magic is near over. The stomach infrastructure has its limits. If given a chance, Nigerians would vote overwhelmingly for the Man of Ekiti. To fight later. Don’t argue it. We did it before. Facts are like that. Like PHCN and NEPA. Hardly distinguishable. Many years ago. We voted proudly for Jonathan, followed by Buhari. Fayose is not that bad a choice considering who we are and where we are headed. Even if he is not educated, Fayose speaks English. Good or bad. At least he speaks. Buhari hired lawyers to argue out his WAEC certificate, most times doesn’t understand what he’s saying, and he doesn’t care. Old people are like that. I am old too. Especially those of us who can afford the school fees of our children abroad. This is what we do. We don’t care.
Nigerians and our leaders are genius. We always set newer standard. We raise the bar. So that people with commonsense may never reign over us. Yes, reign. Not rule. Who commonsense don epp? That’s our genius. Think about it. We started with Obasanjo, a man with 20 thousand Naira to his name, according to the El-Rufai mythology, now we are here, dealing with a man who could not afford APC Nomination Form. I was moved to tears when I read the news. I wrote op-eds. Many people did. Professors. Diaspora and Home. Inbetween the two, we had Yar’Adua and Jonathan. Think am, my people. We are lucky. Who knows what the Christian God has in stock for us next.
I’m not curious. I’m interested. There is a chance I will make my first one million Euro with the information at the jackpot. Really, somebody should create an app, like Pokeman. Guess who is Nigeria’s next president and be rich. Nooooo. Rara. Not gender, names, or things like that. Those are for idiots. Not for Nigerians. Choose among the four we had so far. If you guess right, you win. Hey, I should patent my great idea before it’s stolen. I’m the next big thing. Albert Einstein. More books. More books. This summer will be bahd. Real bahd. I’m jobless. I need to find ways to turn this into money. Any epp? Who knows Aso Rock? Abeg. Na we-we-arrangement. Sure. I go settle. Thank you.

FacebookUpdate (FUp): The Philosophy of Awomoju by Isiaq ‘Deji Hammed

Isiaq 'Deji Hammed. An elephant does not pass by and you describe his presence with a wave of hand. He is a giant social media cum political commentator on matters of the Middle East and Africa, of particular interest is Nigeria. He shares his time between Nigeria and Saudi Arabia. ahjotnaija is proud to have him guestblog for us.

Isiaq ‘Deji Hammed.
An elephant does not pass by and you describe his presence with a wave of hand. He is a giant social media cum political commentator on matters of the Middle East and Africa, of particular interest is Nigeria. He shares his time between Nigeria and Saudi Arabia. ahjotnaija is proud to have him guestblog for us.

If you have been dreaming that one day you will wake up and see ex- President Jonathan clobbered with manacles round his wrists, you better wake up now. Stop daydreaming. It won’t just happen. That possibility is at best a tall order in a military regime and at worst utopic in a civilian administration. Mind you I deliberately refuse to use democracy because the latter in its truest and uptimal form is in itself another utopia.

Yesterday, I read Bamidele Ademola-Olateju, my Facebook teacher’s latest treatise in her weekly Tuesday Premium Time column where she posited that whereas Jonathan’s minions should be prosecuted and sent to jail if found culpable, he should be spared of any humiliation but at most be made to return his loots. Courtesy of a successful election cum a peaceful transition.

Again this morning my most  Respected Bishop Matthew of the Sokoto diocese was on Channels TV Sunrise daily. Mind you, this man, Pastor Tunde Bakare, Cardinal Onaiyekan and recently Father Mbaka  are the clerics that have my ears and heart when it gets to Nigeria’s issues. So, Kukah again underpinned Mummy GO’s position. Courtesy of this same historical display of sportsmanship and statesmanship on the part of the man from Otuoke.

I remember sometimes in February while having our regular banter with my colleagues in our school canteen in Riyad, I posited that it a person gets to a point on the ladder of leadership that s\he becomes an untouchable. An awomoju. Like it or not. Believe it or not.

That “all animals are equal but some are more equal than the others” is real.

This universal aphorism will not be an exception in Jonathan’s case.

It may not be an ideal thing but that is the reality. That is the norm. The World over.

That is why a people must be careful in their selection or election of leaders at the helms of their national affairs. Reason being that the Prerogative of mercy or clemency or amnesty that a leader exercises over his or her ‘subjects’ (the governed is ideal here) will later turn to his or her benefit. Out of office, s/he in turn becomes a beneficiary of public clemency and amojukuro. Like it or not. Accept it or not.

Let me draw some parallels in our recent history.

Ivory Coast. Over three thousand Ivorians lost their lives within few months as a result of Gbagbo’s obduracy to vacate power when he lost fair and square the 2010 Presidential election. His main challenger, Alassane Ouattara, agreed to a negotiated soft landing with him which included amnesty from prosecution,  full honour and prerogatives as a former Head of State as well as choosing any country in the world where he will like to retire to. Angola and South Africa were ready to receive him on their shore. He bluntly refused and fought to the last man standing. Today he is at the ICC. The story will have been different had he yielded to the sybaritic proposals.

Just like how President Abdallah Saleh of Yemen case’s was different. Just like how Ben Ali of Tunisia was different. Just like how Houssein Mubaraq case would have been much different had he succumbed and left Egypt on time.

Where are the George Bush of this world with his atrocities in Afghanistan and Iraq? Where are the Ariel Sharon and Netanyahu of this world with their constant carnages in Palestine?

 Don’t be surprised,  if Bashar Al- Assad  of Syria and Omar Bashir of Sudan negotiate their ways and relinquish power tomorrow, nothing will happen. All their hitherto crimes become ajemonu and they become awomoju.

Unfortunately, that is the reality of our world.

Even in the Quran,  Allah sent Musa (Moses) and his brother Aaron to Pharaoh to invite him to His obedience and sermonise him in the best and gentlest of manners. Had Pharaoh yielded, he would have been forgiven and spared of the perdition of the Red Sea.

Similar occurrences abound in history. Both recent and distant.

Jonathan’s case will surely not be different. The highest we will get is the return of some his loots and maybe coupled with the incarceration of some of his minions.

And that is all.

And even at that,  given the porosity of our anti graft laws and the criminal leniency of some of our judges, the most determined political  will on the part of President Buhari alone may just not be enough to handle this lower  bunch of avid kleptomaniacs talk less of the Ogas at the top. Our ex-Presidents.

Let the reality dawn on us.

Patrick!Point-Blank! P!PB!: Nigeria(ns) In General

Mr. Sowunmi Patrick is a passionate freelance journalist, photographer, social media commentator and public speaker. He writes for P!PB!, the latest addition to Ahjot Naija BlogFamily.

Mr. Sowunmi Patrick is a passionate freelance journalist, photographer, social media commentator and public speaker. He writes for P!PB!, the latest addition to Ahjot Naija BlogFamily.

Even in writing this piece, I must have spent several hours rewriting or deleting out of either dissatisfaction at the choice of words used or as a result of having not properly said my mind. The truth is, to describe Nigeria and Nigerians in general, one can’t be too careful as regards what words to use or what expressions to employ. The situation is one of utter confusion and sheer uncertainty.

I ran into a lady in the elevator and I asked her “please, are you going down?” to my total amazement, I got the most unprecedented reply of my entire life time, she told me bluntly “God forbid, I will never go down, I’m going to the bottom floor of the building”. I couldn’t help laughing, immediately she flashed me a stern look that killed the laughter instantly. I can imagine the disgust on her face when she attempts to relate the incidence to her fellow religious fanatic or colleague. Equally, it got me thinking, this is the extent to which the average Nigerian has become conscious of what comes out of their mouth, thanks to the Pastors and other religious heads that have spared nothing in teaching their followers the power of the tongue. At this point I dare ask, is this actually what we need? Is this the attitude we must cultivate to excel and have better standard of living as Nigerians?

Though true, what we confess does matter a lot but what if I told you that positive confession alone doesn’t fix things, what if I told you that a matching positive attitude and sense of responsibility does more. If for anything, what I see is a Nigeria that has become a religiously misguided set, we are so religiously oriented that when compared to other parts of the world, Nigeria should be considered a center for various religious pilgrimages for the wider world.

Nigerians in my opinion are the most unpredictable people, I am not even sure unpredictable is the word that best qualifies us, I will let you in on my thoughts and subsequently allow you pleasure of sorting out the right word to describe us.

In church on Sunday, we pray on top of our voices, practically screaming at God for success, uncommon favour, undeserved glory, money, money, money, the kind of grammar used to qualify what they want will definitely stop you in your tracks be you a mere passerby, been quite a long time since I heard any sermon about holiness and heaven. These people want everything, the best cars, cloths, jewelries, houses, luxury lifestyles at any cost. They decree with faith things that might take decades to accomplish legitimately and they want it in a rush too, now that’s the problem.

Church is over, it’s Monday morning, everyone is dressed for their hustle, marketers for banks, insurance companies, ladies precisely, dressed provocatively, going in for the kill, prepared to do whatever it takes to get accounts and policies, slip into bed with whoever necessary to beat their target, brothers defraud their companies and pay huge tithes, managers employ church members ahead of better qualified non members. They ignore others on the queue and attend to church members during banking exercise for example the bank verification number exercise among many others. Outside the religious circle, the regular Nigerian is always very loud and easily heard complaining about societal ills and government failures to perform their duties judiciously they say the government is corrupt, undisciplined, blah, blah, blah, but at the slightest opportunity, the same Nigerian full of self righteousness, won’t hesitate to jump queue at the filling station for fuel, will sit and drink countless bottles of beer at a bar located right on government designated pedestrian walkways and flower beds, same person can’t take the trouble to go turn at the appropriate round about, rather they follow one way gbam! Same person will pay for special centers for their children’s exam, settle lecturers, some even are the ones at the receiving end of such bribes. Some get jobs with fake certificates, pastors pray on parcels of illicit drugs so they can pass through custom, immigration and NDLEA checkpoints unhindered, they anoint known corrupt politicians and assure them of victory at the polls, using phrases like “God uses instruments of the devil to achieve good” to justify their deeds. Haba! I tire o.

Let’s go down to the younger generation, they have no educational challenge or urge anymore, they are all opting for careers as street dancers, musicians, comedians, and worse still the girls see prostitution as the most lucrative alternative ever. Intellect has been relegated to the status of boring while stupidity has become the new cool. Everywhere you turn, it’s a show of absolute shame, the budding generation is gradually turning into nothing but a bunch of nil witted zombies, living the madness they see in music videos. This is not to say their totality belong to this pool of fools, but a great majority of them really have little or no dream or ambition beyond clubbing, riding luxury cars, whoreing and day dreaming about superstar lifestyles.

To be candid, so many things are going wrong in the society and everyone seem to only notice what the government of the day has failed to do, not stopping for a minute to identify what we can do as individuals, we only stop to condemn and blame government for all that is going wrong. Yes! Government does have a huge role to play, but we seem to be forgetting that those in government cultivated their habits as ordinary citizens growing up in this otherwise lost society, they can’t give what they don’t have. So as people, we need to stop to check ourselves first rather than run to God screaming for things we need to fit into this class crazed society, we should begin to consider how to start raising our standards right from our homes.

Merchants-of-Memories (MoM): This Is Growing Up

cropped-upload-gq9u7q43rfm1ntpe2aaaj4rj30397680-final.jpgThis Is Growing Up. I was playing outside, playing ball with other friends, I can’t tell how many exactly now or who they were. Of course, if I had to guess I would immediately think of Jelili, Biodun aka Agbako, Saburi, Wasiu et al, who played with me on that day. We had an unripe orange as ball, and we kicked it around until it was no more playable, then we got another or engaged in other activities.

I am sure what I did exactly at the moment mother came to call and informed we were moving. I had both my hands on the ground, rested firmly on my palms, I wanted to sommersault, I laughed while I did, apparently enjoying myself. I saw mother coming from behind through my bent head which could see what went on behind. ‘Come, lets go’, she said. I did not ask why. I followed.

I changed into another clothe. Mother had cooked beans, not exactly my favourite, but since I did not have to eat immediately, I was less concerned. She packed it into a bag, we carried few bags and set out for our new house. I made the journey with mother, my sister and an aunt my age. I am not sure now if my brother came with us, but this I am sure of: Mother did tell me what would happen to our clothes, furniture and other things in the room that had housed us since I was barely five. I know for sure now because I asked her what would happen to our loads. She responded: ‘Akin and Alfred will bring them tomorrow for us.’

We walked to the bus-stop, about three kilometres from our face-me-I-face-you-house. We had always walked this way to connect omnibuses when we had to go to church, to LBSS, to General Hospital or to visit friends and families who lived faraway. We walked this route again so we could enter a bus to Oke-Odo. The buses queued in rows of two, waiting for passengers to fill up their empty seats. We walked past Orile-Agege Primary School, Saka-Tinubu High School and past Orile Agege Baptist Church, in front of which was a transformer. That transformer used to be like a giant each time I walked past it. Maybe it still is, I think my child-size magnified it in my eyes. Even now in my memory I still see it as the giant transformer.

We walked past the poffpoff seller. She had her market not too far-removed from the transformer. Whenever we walked to church on Sundays, I was sure to hold on, patiently hoping mother would buy us some hot poffpoff. If she did not, I wept the rest of the way. If she did, my joy knew no bound as I devoured the delicious sugar-fried flour-balls as if nothing else ever mattered.

We crossed the busy road and walked the few metres, barely 300 metres, into a waiting bus. There was a Y-junction just before we reached the yellow-with-black-stripes omnibuses. On the left were the omnibuses, the road on the right led to the palace of Oba Orile. I looked with wonderment each time I went past the palace gate. Memories. Memories. Memories. I hope I would be patient enough to tell you all. I must not forget to tell you this very quickly: Just opposite the Baptist Church, on the other side of the road was Ile-Esu-Orile. The small shoplike room housed a particular deity. The deity is sacred and must not be moved or destroyed, so she stood at that spot gidigba. Any construction work that had to be carried out must find a way to accomodate her space. Well, lest I stray too far into many things I want to tell you, thereby killing you with too many unstraightened memory, let me return to the journey at hand. I will tell you later of Igbale Egun sited three houses away from our house. I will tell you too of Ile Osa right beside our house, which doubled as our communal football field and mini waste-dumpyard.

Boarding a bus was not always fun especially when we had to maximize a space of one to accommodate four persons. One needed be prepared to meet the anger of the busboy. We met that of our busboy, but with the help of other passengers, we succeeded in calming him. So, one passenger carried on her lap my sister, my aunt sat on the engine in front of mother. I sat on mother’s lap. I am sure I was very excited to sit on mother’s lap. With this arrangement, we paid a fare for a passenger. After this, we had two other buses to join before we reached our destination. The story was not less different- unfriendly and angry busboys who thought, and that rightly so if I may add in retrospect, that they were being unfairly cheated.

It was night when we reached our destination, our new house. Once again we walked from bus-stop home, this time around, it lasted less than three kilometres. Unlike busy roads and bustling activities of Orile Agege, Ijoko welcomed us with a nightly serene I have come to cherish till today. This is in no way to say I cherish any less the ever bustling life we lived in Orile Agege before we moved. If anything can be relied upon to remind how much I enjoyed growing up in these two places, then my memory is.

Now, let me talk of our arrival.

We arrived. There was a burning shakabila two plots away from us, it was from Baba Ile-Keji who henceforth with his family of eight became our only close-by neighbour. His house was a modest hutlike one room house, he was sure to build the house big enough to accommodate his big family. More on Baba later.

Mother, accompanied by my aunt made their way to Baba Ile-Keji’s house. In what happened to be a coincidence, Baba had called one of his sons to follow him to our house. He said he heard unusual movement and sound from our wallside of his house, so he wanted to check that it wasn’t thieves. He was pleased to come out into mother’s arm and that of my aunt. ‘Ma’a Sunday, it is you’. He had a bush cutlass in one hand, a torchlight in the other, his son had a lantern. They all came over to us. We greeted. Bringing out the cooked beans, Baba sent his son home to fetch gaari. He came back with his mother and Sister Basira, Baba’s eldest daughter. When it was time to eat, the gaari leebu they brought was a perfect match for the beans we had brought all the way.

Before food, we lit candles and spread clothes on the floor. The breeze of the night behaved like a good breeze, it cooled our traveled body. Once in a while, lizards in the ceiling broke the silence that ensued when no one talked. They ran here and there in that part of the house. Later, we believed they were no more lizards but runaway cats who have grown into big dangerous wild cats. Baba and his wife and his two children left after we ate. They were visibly delighted a neighbour arrived. We thanked them for welcoming us. The tiredness from our journey returned, sleep overtook our overwaka-limbs, we laid on the spread clothes and slept. I woke up in my own pool of pee when morning broke. It was such a night!

So, before I continue with Ijoko-Ota, I will tell you of the three or more memories I touched on already. Fairness demand I do. I love and hate suspense like kilode 🙂

Palace Oba Orile. The palace was right in the middle of Oja-Oba. Two market kiosks away from the palace were chicken sellers. I was always delighted to see the chicks. They looked beautiful and innocent. The joy in my eyes made my heart race fast whenever I saved enough to buy one of them. There was even a time I was able to buy two! Double joy!! Come and see my happiness!!! I (actually, not only me) would raise the chicks to become real big chickens. Anyone who cared could touch the pride in my eyes. So strong was my sadness too whenever we had to go throwway dead chicken because gutter rats had chosen to kill them with their sharp teeth when the chicks slept at night. Really, we tried all we could to keep the rats away, but like any human endeavour, success was not always guaranteed.

Past the palace led a road to Mrs. Siwoku’s house. Mrs. Siwoku owned a post office box. So mother would send Tunde to go collect Dad’s letters from London. I used to be very excited whenever he allowed me to follow him.

On the doorpost of a one-storeyed house was an inscription, it read: ILE ABENI ILORI. I was sure to look at the inscription each time we went past the house, as if to be sure it was still intact. Years later when my Yoruba subject-teacher taught us the importance of sign-placement in order for our written-thoughts/sentences to be so understood as intended, I could not stop laughing; my mind brought back the inscription on the doorpost of that house when I used to accompany Tunde to collect Dad’s letters.

The road to Mrs. Siwoku’s house was gully and rocky, the earth was mud-red. So, enough about the palace and its memories. At least for now.

The only thing I remember about Ile-Esu-Orile is this: Close to it was fruit-tree. People sat under for shade. I passed the shrine to deliver mother’s errand to her friends.

Ile Osa was sacred land. It belonged to the gods and must be left undeveloped. We did not only play football here, we sometimes dug out old bottles and metals which fetched us good money from merchants who dealt in this business. Once in company of friends, we attempted to make money from lizard-head. There was a myth that lizard-heads dey turn money, one only had to do the ritual well. When after three days nobody talked about the lizard-head we buried for money-sake, I concluded the ritual did not work for us. To be sincere I thought one of us probably outsmarted the rest in that he went earlier to dig out for himself alone the money we had all wished on the lizard-head when we severed it from the rest of its body. We had buried the head not too faraway from the goalpost, the body we threw into the smoky fire that burned wastes dumped in that space which was meant to house the gods.

Igbale Egun. Apart from being the spirit-yard from where human beings, turned masquerades, emerged in colourful costumes with scary heads of different shapes and sizes, we were often told anyone who entered without permission go die mysteriously. This held my curiosity under control. The closest I got into this yard of ancestral spirits was few steps past the open gate one day like that. It was masquerade festival period. I was damn scared to go beyond the gate. It was horrible enough that the masquerades scared the hell out of us when they moved around streets with whips and sticks. The whips, we used to believe, were poisoned, anyone beaten with it, would need special intervention to avert ominous end. There was a rumour that one Alfa, once beaten by a masquerade, stood his ground, beat up the masquerade, and unmasked this rude masquerade. The story had it that the spirit being disappeared when it became impossible to prevent Alfa from desecrating him. I did not witness this event. I wished I did each time this adventurous encounter was narrated.

So, now that I have unburdened these memories, I will tell you what happened after I woke up in my own pee. E ma ba mi ka lo.

I packed my wet sleep-clothes, changed into another and went outside. I heard mother and aunt talking at the backyard. Looking up, I saw guava tree. Birds chirped at ripe fruits. I breathed in fresh air, the freshness was touchable, the air smelled strongly of it. I walked to the tree. On the sandy path were guluso-moulds, I scattered some with my legs, some with my hands, I let others be. There were neatly dug holes too, small, and plenty. Aunt showed us later we could trick out the caterpillar-like insects that lived in these holes. So, when we saw any, we cut juicy yet-to-mature part of this yeriyeri-grass and inserted it into the holes. The caterpillars in this earth always bit the thing and we dragged them out without delay. Sometimes we killed them, other times we let them be, at times we simply looked on in wonderment.

On the guava tree, I spent a pretty good part of the morning. The birds all flew away when they saw me. I sat on a branch and helped myself to as much I could. I plucked and filled my pockets. When they filled up, I let them fall on the ground. I was going to gather them when I got down the tree. I went home when mother called out that food was ready. I adapted to my new life seamlessly.

In the afternoon, Brother Akin and Brother Alfred arrived with our loads. Two more uncles accompanied them. They began unloading at once. We helped them while they did.

New home. New life. New friends. New families. New memories to make.

Pastor Akinleye was a carpenter. I got to know before we reached his house. He had helped with carpentry work in the new house. That was how mother happened on him. Since, he has been very supportive. The road to his house became the road I walked very often in my sojourn in Ijoko-Ota. It led to the houses of my new friends. Mother took me along to pay him a courtesy visit. Following Sunday he came with church members to pray on our house. That was a week or two before the house warming ceremony.

I have told somewhere of the sacrifice mother offered when we moved in. It wont be out of place to repeat it here. It confirms the Yoruba proverbial saying of faith/Western religion not forbidding participation in the traditional Oro cult. This is what I was able to spin from the little hearsay I remember today: Mother was afraid, or rather unwilling to move into our new house. She thought she had it too easy! Imagine a woman building a 3 bedroom flat with such a big expanse of land to join! That was 1995. Unbelievable! So, for fear of this-or-that ills, she did not want to move in fiam like that. She confided her fear in her brother, who in turn told their father. Baba Igashi acted swiftly. ‘Iyabo, it is bad omen to finish a house and not move. It is not good!!! Have you forgotten Lagbaja Omo Lakasegbe who built a house and refused to move on time!? You have to move into your house, even if not complete yet. We shall consult the oracle to know if need be for a sacrifice.’ This way Baba Igashi was able to convince mother it was time to move. The oracle advised we sacrifice a big goat. We slaughtered a big goat when we moved, so people had enough to eat during the house warming ceremony.

If I had thought religion was a big part of my life in Orile Agege, then it became my very existence in Ijoko-Ota. The church and her members did not only play a very active role in my growing years, the mosques in and around our street contributed in no little way to my interculturalness and acceptance of you-for-you- you might belong to a different religion, but you are first human! How else does one survive in a community with a potpourri of all possible religious confessions and colourations. Of particular interest was Baba Laila. We did not know his real name, he got his nickname because he would say this word times without number when he talked. He was a Muslim. Many thought he was not completely sane, but I wondered what yardstick we measured sanity with. If the words Baba Laila spoke were a yardstick for sanity, then he was not mad. In his many rants it was clear he detested hypocrisy and intolerance. He spoke good English too. For me, Baba Laila was neither Muslim nor Christian, he was a bit of both and a traditionalist at the same time. This old man spoke wisdom almost all the time. So, when we returned from church, it was the mounted loudspeakers of the muezzins’ call to prayer that welcomed us. When Mukadam, the young Muslim cleric beside our house began holding night vigils in his Quran school, I began to rethink many things I had hitherto thought were only common to the Christian faith. I will still talk about Quran recitation feasts celebrated to showcase successful attendees of the Quran school; it was a necessary rite of passage for devouts of the Muslim faith. I witnessed many of them. Just be patient with me, I will tell you all about them. Trust me, I wont forget to tell you too of many Baptismal classes and Holy Ghost Services plus Special Services held to eat The Lord Last Supper; they were all part of me.

There was this big fight between Baba Ile-Keji and a land-urchin, popularly called Kwara. Among land-urchins, he was least-liked. He could be loud and unruly. Overtime Baba Ile-Keji became a land-dealer too. One thing one thing, it happened that Kwara felt Baba’s landbuyer was a former potential landbuyer that Baba snatched from him. I did not know how it all began but it became real messy at the end. I saw Baba Ile-Keji high up, bourne in Krawa’s hefty hands, landed on the bushy footpath. I am not sure if he intentionally dropped him at this spot so he did not get killed. Baba Ile-Keji sprang on his feet and ran home while two of his sons scratched and tore at Krawa’s flesh. He pushed them off with fists thrown in all directions. Baba’s voice did not stop being heard on his way home, he shouted instruction to his children not to let Kwara escape. Apparently, he was coming back. And back he came! He came with a small chord. I saw him held the thing to his tongue, licked and spat at Kwara, then cursed! The curse-words were better left unsaid, I swear. Kwara would take none of this charm-shakara! He dashed at Baba Ile-Keji and landed him a hot slap on the head, then back-sent the curse. This were his words: Igi ti arigisegi base ori are re lo fi nru!

When we saw the fight was not going to end in peace and on time, we dispersed one after the other. With nobody to voice-separate the fighting duo, the fight ended.

Another crowd-puller was when Alfa was caught red-handed in the act. I was coming from Thursday Revival Hour when I noticed this strange figure on the rooftop of a church in front of Orolu’s house. That strange figure, silhouetted by night’s darkness became Alfa when street people gathered to see the face of our rooftop-thief. We did not know what to do with this familiar thief. Alfa was once an influential landseller, his family owned our street before he and his sibling sold the whole land plot by plot. Mother once told of a time when Alfa and family whisked away large chunk of money in baskets, and when there was not enough baskets they wrapped hard-earned monies in their dansiki and carried them away. In short, Alfa was rich until another family won a court case and claimed Alfa’s gold-shitting donkey.

We were children and women who had caught Alfa. Pity almost rescued him until Baba Anu appeared. I had seen him running towards us, he must have heard that his distant relative was caught stealing roofing sheet. With a tight fist, he went straight for Alfa’s face. Successive fist punches landed on the thiefman-face. Alfa was heard shoutcrying for mercy under this fistrain. ‘Shanu mi! Shanu mi!! Shanu mi…!!!’. This is the truth: Where I grew up, a thief is not among creatures to be pitied. We beat them till they bleed or die! I will tell you why. Just hold your breathe first 🙂

I was barely 7 years old when thieves came to Alhaji Raimi Street. The following day, different stories filled the air. One story in the mouth of all was that of Omo Alhaji. She had returned from Mecca few weeks. They wanted gold. Some version had it that she had first flown to London, then routed her flight to come home via Mecca. In short, news of her expensive trip must have reached the thieves who held us hostage in our own houses that night. Not to long the talk sha, Omo Alhaja aka Madam Custom died two months later from post-thiefvisit trauma. Doctors confirmed that her condition could not have survived such a shock! She was pregnant, she died with her foetus.

The drama that accompanied this thief-night was horrible and funny. Imagine. Married men shat in their trousers, toddlers clamped to their mothers howling their throats dry for fear. Different scenarios of thief-stories stared me in the face. I was terrified! Scenes of rape, handcutting, correct beating, outright killing, Naija-style humiliation, all of them flash-flash my head in an instant! I died and ressurected, all the nightmares came rushing back! We were cramped in the passage and rooms. Mother scooped the money she had and gave Brother Bayo. ‘Tie it inside nylon and drop it inside drinkwater-drum. Stomach dey turn me!’ Our hell hot hotter with bullets. Only when day broke were we sure of our safety. Such a nightmare!

Tanimomo’s Piece of Mind (TPoM): Three-And-A-Half Thoughts

Mr. Tanimomo is a scholar resident in Germany. He guest-blogs on http://www.ahjotnaija.wordpress.com He is author of the popular bi-weekly: Tanimomo’s Piece of Mind (TPoM).

Mr. Tanimomo is a scholar resident in Germany. He guest-blogs on http://www.ahjotnaija.wordpress.com He is author of the popular bi-weekly: Tanimomo’s Piece of Mind (TPoM).

Many thoughts on my mind, all seeking for attention, I will develop them into something more elaborate in the future, but in the meantime, these thoughts outdid others.

Thought 1: Nigeria is not a bad country because we are bad people, Nigeria is bad because we have no structures. This thought seems trite but let’s look at it this way. As a student at Obafemi Awolowo University, someone who looked like a professor chided us for trying to cross a lawn through a clearly cut footpath around the faculty of Social Sciences. He took us all the way to America and Germany; places he claimed he had visited and he did not find such footpaths on lawns. So today I saw on German soil, one highly organized country in the world and I am like ‘this professor can lie for Africa sef!’

It proves that as humans, we all want the fast route. What sensible governments have done is to place rewards and punishments for law upholders and law offenders respectively, at least to a very large extent. It has not been as easy as getting LaCasera in a hold-up though – it’s a process that has undergone trial and errors, re-workings and adjustments.

Thought 2: Let the search for an alternative opposition party begin; the PDP is a bad party bereft of initiatives and sound arguments. Innovation is as scarce in their meetings as finding a man of integrity is in their party. Since after elections, they seem to have lost their voices until the president-elect took a wrong step by barring AIT from reporting his activities. Nothing on the PWC report, not that APC was that constructive as the opposition but you could find an atom of constructive criticism and intelligent hooliganism in their oppositions.

In the light of this, the All Progressives Congress needs close monitoring. I don’t know about other states but Lagos, which has the poster-boy of APC’s good governance (Gov Fashola) as its governor, has on several occasions experienced the high handedness of the bespectacled barrister-governor. Apart from the LASU fees which was rescinded after the party lost in Ekiti, the government has not been known to withdraw on its decisions. Think of the toll gates.

Thought 3: Can we talk about this ethnicity business? It is an open-secret that the various nations that make up Nigeria have not seem themselves as one yet. The last elections are testimony to this. So, should we revert to regionalism or form our own system of government the way we like it not necessarily within the scopes of what Western powers call democracy. This system of government and federalism should be built to recognize all the nations that make up Nigeria.

Also, the pretense and hypocrisy around the civil war has lasted a long time. In my opinion, there has been no other period in our collective history as a country when an overwhelming number of Nigerians have followed a conviction to that extent. So we have been thinking that the horrors of the civil war that saw extra-intelligent minds like Christopher Okigbo could be wished away General Gowon’s 3 R’s a la Reconstruction, Rehabilitation and ReCONciliation (You google that! 🙂 ).

The recent reference to this horrific event by a number of opinion writers and intellectuals is a reminder of what is wrong with us. The war has no closure, the earlier we accept and retrace our steps the better. We are one big pretentious country! I read that at least 10,000 books have been written on the American civil war. We run away from our past praying it won’t catch up with us. I shake my head.

Thought 4: Why do girlfriends ask their boyfriends (and vice versa) to scream ‘I love you’ in crowded places? Most times, ‘victims’ of this emotional bullying know it is not for affection but a stamp, a roar to scare intruders away!

SundayStarter: Buhari to Kill Corruption! Elrufai to Chaseout Poverty! FOREVER!! Chai!!!

“@OakTVOnline: “I ask you to join me to chase out poverty forever”- Nasir El-Rufai @elrufai #KadunaState #FocusOnElRufai”

So, now that change has come, I can tell you a story. E ma ba mi kalo!

This morning was a reminder why I returned to Dortmund. Till today some friends and family would not stop joking my zealousness and positivity for Nigeria. I would not be told otherwise that Nigeria was not worth it! I was a strong believer in that country! I still am 🙂

Tumi ran up to me, cry-shouting while trying to let me know something was wrong. I could not figure out what could have gone wrong, so I shouted instruction at him. “You talk to me now so I know what is happening here! Talk! Talk!! Talk!!!” I held him in my arms. In my panic I was trying to figure out what could be wrong.

He had swallowed a sweet in error. It was painful and the stonelike sweet might be stuck in his throat or lungs. I left him standing, dashed into my room, grabbed my mobile phone to call the emergency service. I told the officer about my boy. I gave him my address and family name. “Yeah, that’s the name on the doorbell…Yeah…Thank you…See you.” I hung up.

When my babysitter rang, I knew it was not the emergency. I let her and her boyfriend into the appartment. I let them in on the incidence. We all waited together for the emergency to arrive. And they arrived! Less than ten minutes after my call for help. A young woman emergency doctor led the way. They were five in all.

Andre was surprised they came with two ambulance vehicles to attend to my son. He saw the vehicles when we got downstairs, on our way to Essen. I had been about to leave for Essen when the sweet incidence interrupted me at the kitchen-sink. I nodded and and answered a simple yeah to his wonderment.

Three and half year back. In my apartment. In Nigeria. Midnight. I had thought I was the only one who heard the sound of a gun. I refused to shake. Deep down I was scared like shit. Come to think of it, I had barely ten thousand naira in the whole house. A pregnant woman and other people’s children in my care. What would I have done if the thieves we heard came calling in the middle of the night had happened on us?! My worry cum fear knew no end.

When day broke and the pregnant woman in my house told me she heard the gunshot the other night, my worries notched up many inches. I could bear it still that Ibukun was mosquito-bitten. The big bite-wound would heal up soon enough to leave only scars and memories. But how would I deal with a pregnant woman inflicted with potential thief-visit hypertension?!

The last straw that broke my camel’s patience was a ride in a BRT enroute to Sango-Ota.

So, the driver switched on the airconditioner. It was yet to circulate the whole bus. We were lucky to be on this bus. Yes, lucky that the driver deemed us worthy our busfare to turn on the thing. What shall we have done if the thing was bad?

I thought it was a joke when two people began this argument. The other had opened the window, and the other argument-partner wanted him to close the window! Before long, other passengers joined. Some wanted more windows opened so the airconditioner could work better! Others joined the fight of the person who thought it good for us if the windows were closed. After a while, we did not know what the problem was, we were all shouting and cursing this-or-that.

I said “we” not because I was part of the madness. Of course not. The “we” is alone an indication of my presence on the bus. I was beginning to realize I was in the wrong place almost all the time.

I was deep in thought. Only days back I fought in a bank because they would not pay me my money because a friend had paid in the big money the same day. On a bike to work, I tried to make my rider understand why he deserved better than he had. He did not understand. Another woman exchanged harsh words with me because I had insisted on sitting comfortably on a seat I paid for on a bus etc etc.

I ran back to Europe disappointed, broken and broke!

Back home, I was beyond happy. Here I could be who I was: A poor teacher who earned so much I could afford the kind of comfort reserved for the likes of Buhari and the Lion of Bourdillon in Nigeria.

So, you think I am interested in political office or feel better when I shout on social media why no senator deserves a better life than a (homeless) child living in Ijoko-Ota or Igasi-Akoko with a secured future in poverty etc?!

No, I am not. I am fine without one.

I only wanted the wife of my uncle (your uncle too) with ten children or even more to know where to run to when a newphew swallowed a sweet in error. Even if his father has no money!

Yes! And it is not your grandfather’s fault he did not choose to die when he was young! After all, those would-be-grandfathers who did the other time lost their life in the immigration job scam!

Our cultures love old and young people, no matter what their background is. They deserve to live their old and young age in peace on a dignifying pension and secured social system!

After all, Jonathan will too. As of now, he is making plan to return to Otuoke with our stolen wealth. Like all PDP’ers who shall become APC member anytime soon, for loot and convenience sake.

Truth be told, Nigerians who are poor do not deserve the kind of poverty that torment them at present. They need not be this poor to begin with.

So, now that change has come, it must begin with the fulfillment of what El-Rufai promised on twitter yesterday (or at least what oaktv twittered that he said): I ask you to join me to chase out poverty forever! in Kaduna state.

Why wont I just believe the promise?! The forever part?! I don’t know.

Think of change this way: Two years uninterrupted electricity for all in Nigeria, LOYOLA/ABTI-standard schools for all and sundry, hospitals good enough to repair (yes! repair!) Tinubu’s leg and your legs in Nigeria etc etc.

Impossible?! Then, we might be in  for another PDP-arrangement of 16 year-democracy-scam! Achieved by 2019?! That will be kicking out poverty FOREVER and that is change!

Home! away-from Home! H!aH!

The question to ask is this: Why must people give me reason(s) to connect good things with bad. And it seems they often do. At least, each time I enter Afro-shops in Dortmund. Home away from home. I am not missing home. Good?! That exactly is the problem! There are things I definitely want to miss about home, some of them prompted my departing after all. Top of the list is dirt!

The other time I went to buy okro. My sister followed me. I was thankful at first the usual close-to-badfish odour did not welcome us. The thankfulness was short-lived. The pay-counter was beyond dirty. The young oldwoman attending us was unkempt. Yes, she is young, but must have chosen to age herself faster. She hit the rickety scale. Then tried to type in something. The machine did not respond. She hit again. When it finally answered, I paid for my two plantains. My sister handed over her fish. The woman put her fingers into a small transparent cup beside the scale, punched in something to tell the price of my fish. I already mentioned the pay-counter was beyond dirty, allow me spare you the details. In short, the whole place is a successful mess.

Skin-bleachers are everywhere, in Germany too! I was lucky my own laughter did not choke me when I read someone said she was not bleaching, that she was only toning. Was it Yvonne Nelson or another actor like that. Yes, this is how good our sense of comparison and humour is. It sounds perfectly cool, init?! Crazeman-logic.

In there I had attempted to strike a conversation with my sister.

Me: Iya Bukunmi, have you heard?

Iya Bukunmi: What?

Me: I heard our people now use shampoo toner cream to “tone” skin colour to yellow! I read it on a blackberry thread.

We continued our conversation outside the Afroshop. I began the shampoo toner talk because I saw a woman who must have been a user of this terrible method of skin degradation. She left too soon for my sister to notice what I saw. Her whiteness yellow pass palmoil. But why are our people like this?, I asked my sister.

Apparently, self-hate would stop at nothing to kill her victim. That was how the other day I saw this teenager who overnight turned mulatto; she is now a mix of bad yellow and spot-stained black around neck, fingers and wrists! I almost screamed at her! ALMOST! She used to be black. She was beautiful. We used to enter (enter!) the same metro and tram, so I knew her well. What desperation could have driven her to damage her skin this bad?! I will not pretend to know.

Bad role models? Maybe. Talking of bad role models reminds of a black couple I saw last year in Bochum. I was sure I set my eyes on them, saying nothing until they disappeared into their parked jalopy. I was beyond thankful Ibukun did not follow me out that day. She would have asked why I looked on with so much pity and disgust. The mulatoness of this couple showed they are unrepentant bleach cream users. The husband has a burnt back neck. The redness lay between deep-pink and light-lila. The wife looked more terrible. When the young lady I was with told me they had actually come to buy more bleaching cream from the Indian shop-owner, I could not be more surprised. I remembered the Yoruba logic of that proverbial cough-victim who but would not stop biting at coconuts and chewing dry-corn. This stubbornman-story was the only explanation I could find for the couple’s addiction to bleaching.

Now think of children birthed by these parents and the picture of a shampoo toner offspring is perfect. I told a friend she could consider our friendship over that day if she ever shampoo-tone herself. Abi? Even if I hate myself, I will not be foolish  enough to teach my children to self-hate. Lailai!

I think of using the toilet in a “normal” African church somewhere in Europe to see what is wrong with anything communal in Africa. If the toilet is not being cleaned non-stop (yet stinks of piss plus uncomfortable to use), then the water-pipe is leaking. I might even have to pour water using a bucket to flush my business. Scratch that, I exaggerate a little. The last time I was in such a toilet in London, memories of Iza-antiseptic tormented me. I missed and I did not miss home in that short moment. I was sure to keep my bladder under control till I got home. Each time I entered a good toilet, say Mc Donald, I was sure to tip the toilet-boy/-girl well after I finish. And I think of say many of these boys/girls (read MEN/WOMEN) are good churchgoers.

Yeah, it is that bad, so I avoid at all cost being haunted if I could. Hear a nightmare: I once heard a slab covering a pit-latrine gave way under the feet of a toilet-user. That was long ago. Each time I squatted, remembering the fate of the unknown fellow scared the hell out of me. If you don’t understand why I was that scared, stop trying, you never would!

Hell is real! At least for those who chose to live in the hell they left behind. The last time I showed up in that congregation was on my second visit. I went with Tumi. I throw-way face when he first complained the mounted loudspeakers were deafening. Our own noise as fellow-singers only increased the whole thing. He began to cry. Ibukun pinched me. I took a walk, away from the noise. We met a bird on the green grass and I was sad we had no food to feed the beautiful companion.

Some worshipers walked past us into the congregation of hell-believers. A woman was shout-talking. When we returned, the pastor was cursing himself to prove he told nobody secrets left in his custody by counsel-seekers who had visited during office hours! During prayers he saw some of us had trouble sleeping because a python pursued us in our dreams; the python spirit was in our midst, he concluded. When service ended, he prayed favours for those who shall visit government offices the next day. His declaration confirmed my fear all along. I was (back) home!

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