Friday, September 27, 2013

LET'S ASK #OurNASS By Olawale Smith @iam_Smithzzle

"The government is merely a servant -- merely a temporary servant; it cannot be its prerogative to determine what is right and what is wrong, and decide who is a patriot and who isn't. Its function is to obey orders, not originate them."
― Mark Twain

When an average nationalist walks into a gathering of men and women, he/she has the right to believe that it should be a convention of men and women of high intelligence and decorum. Moreso, when they are convened in a supposed "hallowed chambers". If the hallowed chambers in question is that of the National Assembly of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, then the man/woman's believe is totally wrong.

The National Assembly (subsequently shortened to "NASS" in this text) is, by my own judgement, the filthiest convention of Nigerian people. A gathering of men and women whose candidacy first of all was due to his/her geo-political inclination and whose election would probably not stand the thorough test of a free and fair poll. #OurNASS consists of Nigerians who claim to serve constituencies they have never been to. The NASS consists of Nigerians who have spent important periods of their plenary to, by themselves, downgrade the level of the supposed "hallowed chambers", to the mediocre level of engaging in fisticuffs. The NASS has proven itself to be a gathering of a few proportion of Nigerians who have ultimately decided to legislate on how much more they should earn, instead of discussing and proferring solutions, constitutionally, to important National issues.

All I want to do is Ask Why???!!!!

Why have Our NASS decided to legislate so much funds to the running of their arm of government when the average Nigerian feeds on about a dollar per day? Why have they decided to turn deaf ears to the people who "voted" them into power? Why should the internal problems of a political party be topmost on it's agenda, when the future generation of the country is rotting away in their homes? Thomas Jefferson said "The purpose of government is to enable the people of a nation to live in safety and happiness. Government exists for the interests of the governed, not for the governors." Our NASS have obviously begged to differ.

In all these, I think the most worrisome of all is that the people are afraid to question their leaders. Mr Alan Moore said "People shouldn't be afraid of their government. Governments should be afraid of their people." If I may ask, have we the people pushed our voices loud enough to make the government fear us? I attribute the brazenness of the government to the sheer ignorance and gentility of the Nigerian populace. Edward Murrow rightly said that "A nation of sheep will beget a government of wolves" and that is exactly what we are experiencing in our dear country Nigeria.

The problems, inadequacies and short-comings of our NASS have always been well publicized and analyzed by some of us who are just too bothered to keep quiet, but its time to seek for the change we so rightly deserve. Following the dictates of the Holy Bible which says "Ask, and ye shall receive", Let us Ask #OurNASS today!!!!
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless handheld from Glo Mobile.

Monday, July 29, 2013

PRESS RELEASE FOR THE ECLECTIC SUMMER TOUR 2013 TAGGED "GIDICRUISE2013"

GIDICRUISE is a weekend tour of Lagos Nigeria, with concentration on the tourist and entertainment Centres in Lagos, which is being organised by Eclectic Tourism. It is an event that aims at uniting West African youths of Ghana, Togo, Benin Republic and Nigeria through tourism.

Eclectic Tourism is a sub-division of Eclectic Entertainment and was conceived to foster friendship and collaboration amongst African youths, through tourism and entertainment. Haven done it successfully on several occasions to Badagry, Benin Republic, Togo, Ghana, Abuja and Calabar we intend to make this edition even grander. This year's trip would be a three-day (August 30th to September 1st) tour of tourist and entertainment Centres in Lagos Nigeria.

For the three days, Eclectic Tourism would kick off the road trip/boat cruise of Lagos on the 30th of August with a seminar at the banquet hall of Eagles park Hotel, Ikeja, Lagos and later proceed to Anthony Village to enjoy a Night out at The Prince Of Anthony Hotel where the participants will be hosted to an exclusive dinner and fashion show before embarking on a club tour. The event also features visits to the Oba of Lagos' Palace, the Ghana High Commission, The Palms shopping mall, Silverbird Cinemas, The National Museum, Boat Cruise to Ibeshe beach, The National Theatre, before departure on the 3rd day.

Eclectic Tourism has partnered with several Nigerian companies to cover transportation, accommodation, the actual tour around Lagos, feeding, cinema, clubbing as well as make T-shirt, DVD of the event available afterwards

The theme of the event is uniting West African students through tourism and entertainment and promoting the African culture.

The objectives of this event is to provide an avenue for students to explore the rich natural resources Lagos possess, with visits to tourist Centres across the state, entertaining, educating and providing information to West African students and also at curbing the influence of negative social vices in our society as a result of ignorance and idle minds.

Eclectic Summer Tour is an event that will touch the lives of many Nigerians positively.

Thus, we solicit the support of the general public in making this tour a reality. Your valuable partnership and participation will be highly appreciated.

For more enquiries you can contact us on:
Facebook- Eclectic Tourism
Twitter- @Eclecticng
Email- eclecticng@gmail.com
Tel: +2348091527233, +2347088323873

Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless handheld from Glo Mobile.

PRESS RELEASE FOR THE ECLECTIC SUMMER TOUR 2013 TAGGED "GIDICRUISE2013"

GIDICRUISE is a weekend tour of Lagos Nigeria, with concentration on the tourist and entertainment Centres in Lagos, which is being organised by Eclectic Tourism. It is an event that aims at uniting West African youths of Ghana, Togo, Benin Republic and Nigeria through tourism.

Eclectic Tourism is a sub-division of Eclectic Entertainment and was conceived to foster friendship and collaboration amongst African youths, through tourism and entertainment. Haven done it successfully on several occasions to Badagry, Benin Republic, Togo, Ghana, Abuja and Calabar we intend to make this edition even grander. This year's trip would be a three-day (August 30th to September 1st) tour of tourist and entertainment Centres in Lagos Nigeria.

For the three days, Eclectic Tourism would kick off the road trip/boat cruise of Lagos on the 30th of August with a seminar at the banquet hall of Eagles park Hotel, Ikeja, Lagos and later proceed to Anthony Village to enjoy a Night out at The Prince Of Anthony Hotel where the participants will be hosted to an exclusive dinner and fashion show before embarking on a club tour. The event also features visits to the Oba of Lagos' Palace, the Ghana High Commission, The Palms shopping mall, Silverbird Cinemas, The National Museum, Boat Cruise to Ibeshe beach, The National Theatre, before departure on the 3rd day.

Eclectic Tourism has partnered with several Nigerian companies to cover transportation, accommodation, the actual tour around Lagos, feeding, cinema, clubbing as well as make T-shirt, DVD of the event available afterwards

The theme of the event is uniting West African students through tourism and entertainment and promoting the African culture.

The objectives of this event is to provide an avenue for students to explore the rich natural resources Lagos possess, with visits to tourist Centres across the state, entertaining, educating and providing information to West African students and also at curbing the influence of negative social vices in our society as a result of ignorance and idle minds.

Eclectic Summer Tour is an event that will touch the lives of many Nigerians positively.

Thus, we solicit the support of the general public in making this tour a reality. Your valuable partnership and participation will be highly appreciated.

For more enquiries you can contact us on:
Facebook- Eclectic Tourism
Twitter- @Eclecticng
Email- eclecticng@gmail.com
Tel: +2348091527233, +2347088323873

Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless handheld from Glo Mobile.

Sunday, January 20, 2013

The day before Christmas By FIYINFOLUWA AKINSIKU (Fiction)

You lower your feet gradually to the ground, trying hard so the creaking of the rickety bed will not wake them up. You succeed and wear your slippers. The heels have eaten so deep inside that you can feel your own heels on the floor. On second thought you pull your feet out of the slippers. You freeze when you hear her cough painfully. You sigh and tiptoe barefooted.
Outside, the moon is at its best. Liberty Dam road is glistening from end to end. The cold feels like the bite of a ferocious dog. The rocks behind your house stand still, firm and sure as if they are watching over you. You see Bingo, Mama Gebu’s dog, on the wooden stool. Her eyes shine in the dark and when you walk closer, she gets down from the stool. You don’t want to sit on the stool. Bingo always has lice. The other day, your left foot’s little toe was painful. When you checked the back of the toe, you found a swollen louse. When you stepped on it, blood splashed.
You are still contemplating whether to use the stool or not, when you hear a sound from behind. The smell you hate the most but are used to, fill your lungs. The he-goats are fighting each other. They always invade other people’s farm in the neighborhood and eat their crops. The farm owners would come and shout and warn Mama Gebu. Then the he-goats were three. One day one of them became weak and lay on its belly throughout the day. The next morning, it was dead. You overheard Mama Mama Gebu say that it ate poison on someone’s farm. And afterwards, she tied the remaining two to tethers. She has two children Gabriel, (whom everyone called Gebu) and Blessing and says she lost her husband in the 2008 crisis. But Mama Rokiba always insists it’s a lie, for she was there when whirlwind carried Mama Gebu’s husband away. He had offended someone.
You walk down the narrow passageway to Mama Akeem’s door and pick a stool. You bring it to the front of your room and sit down. Mama Rokiba’s children, Rokiba and Gbenro are not snoring tonight. You can’t even hear the creaking of Mama Gebu’s bed and the usual masculine grunt. The night is very quiet. Unlike some other days, when the sound of Mama Akeem performing her wifely duties wildly sliced the silence of the night. You think about how they cope: five children and Baba and Mama Akeem in one room. Akeem, Monsura, Bimpe, Tope and Toke. Just yesterday, you noticed Mama Akeem’s slightly bulging stomach. It looks like she’s expecting another baby.
Your jaw rests in the crook of your palm as your elbow digs deep into your thigh. It’s supposed to be painful. But physical pain is almost nothing when the heart is in turmoil. What will your younger ones eat when they wake up? Two nights ago, they did not eat. They also did not eat throughout yesterday.
You hear the slow squeaking of a door. It’s Mama Gebu’s. You move back and plant your back firmly on the wall. You hear her characteristic footsteps towards the toilet. Your back is still touching the wall when Mama Akeem’s door opens slowly. You wonder what Mama Akeem and Mama Gebu are doing outside at the same time when you realize the footsteps you hear are that of Baba Akeem. When the toilet door opens and closes, you hear Mama Rokiba’s door pull open and you see the top of her head before the door closes.
Yesterday, you tried to ask Mama Rokiba for a bowl of rice but your heart failed you just as you entered her room. What came out of your mouth was that you wanted to see how she was doing. You sigh, cover your head with the jacket’s hood and sit down. You must do something at daybreak. Something. Anything. You tiptoe back to your bed and almost hit the bucket your younger ones urinate into every night. They don’t urinate much these days. When your body touches the bed, you realize your stomach is grumbling, for hunger is a bad girl.

***

The sun’s glittering rays are like spikes when you open your eyes. They are piercing through the thin and torn curtains. Yet, you feel a blanket of cold has wrapped round your skin. It’s quarter to eight. Siji and Tomi are helping Mummy sit up. Edileola sits in one corner, her blouse high up over her head, holding her bare belly.
No one tells you good morning. You tell Siji, your immediate younger brother to take care of everyone. You say you will be back with something for breakfast with a lot of conviction. Siji nods blankly and Edileola gives you a hungry look. Only Tomi does not look at you.
You will not take your bath. It will waste your time. You wear a dress and pick your second jacket. Truly, when you walk out, you find the queue in front of the bathroom. People from the other compounds always use your bathroom. Their landlord, Baba Ijebu, will not build a bathroom for them. He locks the only bathroom in their compound. They must pay a hundred naira daily before he allows them bathe in it. In front of the house, Mama Rokiba is telling someone in her usual loud voice that Baba Rokiba who has not touched her in three weeks, travelled last week, is not yet back, and was lucky to have run into a hospital during the last crisis. She also says he has not given her money for soup for about a month now.
You change your mind and pass through the back of the house. Behind her room, Mama Gebu is talking to a man, whose hands are on her hips, in a subdued tone. She sees you and drags the man into the corner formed by the other side of the house.
You walk out of Liberty Dam road, towards the rising sun. The ever industrious people are already opening their roadside stores and getting ready for the day’s business. Businesses would boom today.
Hamper packs line the front of Anwuli’s mother’s store opposite Reality Bank. At Rikkos junction, you look into the street. Baba Apeke was pursued down Rikkos road during the bloody crisis in September 2001. He was beheaded and burnt beyond recognition. The thought of it still make you shudder. Mama Apeke returned to Osogbo after that.
The goods in front of Chibuzor’s mother’s shop make your mouth water. Cornflakes, orange juice, a bottle of groundnut and some other things you can’t make out from the other side of the road. The cars move so fast that they blow dust all over your face. Your lips are dry. You run your tongue over your lips and withdraw your tongue because you lick grit and dust. You try to spit it away but spittle refuses to form. The road is tarred but the potholes look like a crone’s toothless mouth. The contract for the construction was awarded by the state government some years ago. Daddy was the contractor and the day he began work on the road was the day crisis started. That day, in November 2008, people were killed en masse in Angwan Rogo and Daddy was one of them. Someone told you he saw him. An axe was used on him. You did not see him again. You could not even bury him. That same day, in Angwan Rukuba, Mama and Baba Akeem’s house was razed as they fled for their lives. Baba Akeem’s brother was not lucky. He was trapped inn the burning house.
Gun-wielding soldiers are in the middle of the road and cars line up to be checked. As you pass by the soldiers, you hear them hail the big man in a black Toyota Camry and ask anything for the boys. They laugh and wish the man safe journey. The road curves and rocks are on either sides of it. You remember all the times you sat beside Daddy and heardhim hum his favourite hymn, How Great thou art while he drove down this road to Angwan Rukuba. It’s now you realize that happiness’ slender body breaks too easily.
At the newspapers’ stand at British American junction, you stand behind the men who argue about news headline: from sports to politics to religion. In times past, you argued sports with them. Whenever you wear your blue Chelsea jersey, they laugh at you and ask you to burn it – why would common Corinthians FC beat Chelsea? It’s like Enyimba FC beating Barcelona FC. Too big disgrace.
Today, the headlines read: POLICE DEPLOY TROOPS FOR TOMORROW’S CHRISTMAS CELEBRATION. MORE SOLDIERS ON THE STREETS OF JOS and they are arguing about whether the terrorist group, The Striking Cobra, would attack any religious service tomorrow or not. They say they are tired of crises. They want a peaceful Jos. Peaceful coexistence is possible between all the inhabitants, no matter the tribe or religion. But today’s hunger pangs will not let you make a contribution to the discussion. The headache you feel must have been how Daddy felt when that axe was used on him. And even worse. Someone told you his tongue was axed first. You shut your eyes. You hate to remember it. When you turn to go, you hear them call your name, but you do not answer.
You put your fingers in your jacket’s pocket and wrap the jacket properly around you. When you feel a thin paper in one of the pockets, you are happy. It’s a fifty naira note. There’s money for public transport.
In the tricycle, the music is loud. The beat is fast and the only words you can make out is dancing alingo. The girl besides you distracts you. Her perfume fills your lungs. She’s fiddling with her Blackberry. A Whiteberry actually. Abi why is it called a Blackberry when it is white? She’s very fair and her nails are long and coloured. Her Brazilian hair is long and silky. She moves some strands of hair from her face intermittently and plants it behind her ears or tilts her head back a little to let her hair fall back. But when she bends her head to press her phone, some strands cover her face. Her smile is a genuinely happy one as she stares at the screen of the phone. Maybe her boyfriend is pinging her. She can’t be older than you, can she? When she looks at you, she says you look familiar. She asks if you are Mama Gebu’s neighbour. You nod. A smile lights up her face. You should please tell her she would come and see Mama Gebu later today. You nod. You turn your face and look at the fast moving houses along Murtala Mohammed way.
You get down in front of a fenced bungalow. You enter and greet the man in uniform at the gate and he replies effusively. When you ask the woman at the reception if he – you point at the door - is in, she nods. Her hands are moving so fast on the keyboard and her eyes only take a second’s break to look at you and then return to the screen.
Inside the office, he’s sitting on a shiny leather-bound swivel chair and his mahogany table is well polished. The reflection of his laptop screen is on his face. He takes a long time before his face touches yours. When it does, he tilts his glasses well and balances it on the bridge of his nose before he calls your name: Okiki. Okiki. He looks at his screen again before he asks you to sit.
When you are done narrating your ordeal, he shakes his head and says you know work is going on the church auditorium - plans to turn the church into a wonder to behold - the biggest cathedral in Jos. The work is almost done. And the council of elders says it must be commissioned on Christmas Day. So, they can’t help you. When he sees the look on your face, he apologizes. When he stands and beckons you to come over, his lanky body has a stoop as if he’s carrying a burden too heavy. He wraps you in an airtight hug till you feel your backbone will snap. He plants a feverish kiss your forehead. His hug is always avuncular. It makes you remember your uncle Lanre.
He says you should go in peace, God be with you. He gives you one thousand naira for transport fare because he does not have much at the moment. He just paid his first son, John’s school fees in England. When you are at the door, he calls you back and gives you a sheet of paper to help give his secretary as you leave. When you close the door, you turn to stare at the inscription of Daddy General Overseer on it. Your footsteps feel jerky as you walk down to Terminus. The market is rowdy. Everyone is having their last minute shopping. You wish you could be shopping like them too.
Your heart stops. You turn back. You don’t have the nerve to enter the tall building immediately after the teaching hospital old site. You walk down the market and inspect the remains of the Jos main market that was burnt in 2001. Mama Gebu was a trader in Main Market before all her life savings turned to ashes. You shiver as you put your hands into the pockets of your black jacket and cover your head with the hood. You know Jos cold is like a faithful husband that sticks with you everywhere you go, never letting be, through thick and thin.
When you finally walk back and enter the tall building, your knees knock. You do not greet the woman on uniform cleaning the corridor on the second floor, a mop in her hands, even though you see the tribal marks, one long vertical mark on each side of her face. Bulus, your former neighbor would have told you to see your fellow Yoruba people. And you would have laughed. You miss him. And at the time you moved out of Rayfield, you already liked him. And you knew he liked you too. You blink and swallow saliva. Bulus is the boy whose presence suspends your memory; the knowledge of every other thing becomes a blurred mass when you are with him.
When the thick voice tells you to come in, you make the sign of the cross and go in. There’s a sardonic smile on his face and he smacks his lips when he sees you. His cheeks are round and you look at the folds of fat flesh that clutch his neck. The fist in your chest bursts. He beckons you to sit. He asks you if you are ready. You keep quiet. He laughs and asks you if you have come for a game of silence. His teeth have the jagged edges of broken bottles. You begin to cry and beg him to help. He should give you the job and he will not regret it for one second. His face becomes all serious as he says if you are not ready, you should leave. You want to leave but you remember Mummy’s hacking cough and tell him you are ready. There is a largerock in your throat now and it’s trying to choke you.
His face is flooded with joy as he moves the laptop he staring at before you came in and phones and iPad from the table. He tells you to lie down. You are disappointed because you feel it should be a better place. But what choice do you have?
He locks the door and undresses. You cry when you see his breasts like that of a woman and his close-to-term pregnant belly. He rushes to his phone and tells his secretary not to disturb. He’s busy. When he’s through with the call, he asks what you are waiting for with your clothes on.
The pain is searing. You bite your lip and cry all through. After cleaning the table, he dresses and asks you how old are you and what is your qualification is. That smile is on his face again. Now the smile seems wicked. You do not look at him as you answer. Nineteen. You finished secondary school two years ago. He asked you the first day you came; the day he first told you about what he would get in return for the high paying job he would give you. The day you told him you didn’t understand and he stood up, walked towards you and tried to undo your button. You hissed and your clenched fist landed on his fat fingers before you walked out and slammed the door behind you. You went that day to the welfare secretary and she said Daddy General Overseer said the welfare money would be channeled to the building of the mega cathedral. That was when the foundation of the building was laid. That was when Mummy first needed money to remove her diseased breast in Jos Hospital. You sold some of her jewellery and the surgery was successful. You moved out of Rayfield when you could not pay your rent anymore. Daddy was building his house and he just completed the boys quarters in Lamingo when he was killed. The main house in front was still under construction. So, you let out the remaining rooms in the boys quarters and lived in one room. You’ve spent the advance rent on the first course of chemotherapy.
Tears cloud your eyes. You wake up when he puts two fat bales of money in front of you. Your eyes almost jump out of their socket. Now, he’s nodding and whistling. He tells you to come and resume on the first Monday of the new year. He picks his phone, checks his calendar and says tenth. Yes, come and start work on the tenth of January. You mumbled a thank you and immediately feel you should not say it. You feel sticky and when you get up you realize your body is new. You enter into the market to buy a few things for breakfast and walk slowly home, your footsteps heavy. You see Bulus in front of JAMB office. The sun has brought out the beauty of his well-chiseled frame, his well-shaped face. You can’t look at him straight in the face and when he asks what is wrong with you, you shake your head. You know it’s a souvenir to fondle later when he gives you a goodbye hug. You feel his eyes bore into your back when you walk away.
At the Film Institute junction, a car stops by you. It’s Mummy General Overseer. You recognize her Armada Jeep and its plate number well. She parks. So she has returned from the US where she went to inaugurate more branches of the church? You think you look scrawny when you see your reflection on the glass. When she winds down, you stick your head into the car. She smiles as she returns your greeting. The cool breeze from the AC mixed with the aroma of the air freshener rushes into your face but you can’t exhale; no matter how much you try. You were not in Tuesday Bible study. You were not in church on Sunday. She missed you in the teenager’s class. Mummy was not even in church. How is she? How is everybody? You squeeze a smile and hide under that everybody-is-fine umbrella. You can’t tell her
Mummy’s illness has relapsed. She says she and her nephew would visit later today. She winks and laughs. Perfect teeth. You watch her car move into the traffic, with the ease of one life has been fair to. She’s the kind of woman you can stare at all day and when she’s gone, she leaves you with the feeling of wanting to stare more. She’s that kind of woman: beautiful within and without.
You walk past uncle Lanre’s former office – the place Daddy rented for him for his business. Since Daddy died, he has been nowhere to be found. He has not even called for one day to know how you are faring. The last time Auntie Bukola came from Ondo and saw the room you all are living in, she left immediately. Yet, you knew she came to see if she could raise money for her business. She always did when Daddy was alive.
At home, you boil hot water because you feel like scrubbing your skin with iron sponge till it bleaches; like removing your skin and wearing a new one. But there’s no running away from your skin. It’s yours permanently. At the end, you dilute the water and feel it dilute your tears as you wash away his fluid and the baked blood from your body.
Siji and Tomi are busy in the kitchen at the backyard while you count the money. Edileola is sitting on the ground. Mummy coughs one long, hard coarse cough. It’s blood. The first thought in your head is to call Cephas, the medical student in the next house. When he first moved to the area, you and he spoke a lot till when he made advances at you. You kept your distance since then. But today is different, you need help. You rush out to call him. But he’s not in. He’s on call, a female voice says from inside. The voice is different from the voice of the girl you always see with him.
You call Siji. Both of you have to take Mummy to the Hospital. When you tell Mummy, she shakes her head weakly. She does not want to go. Siji says she has been coughing up blood for a long time now. You ask him why he did not tell you. He says he does not want to add to your stress. Besides, you don’t come back early.
The roof is cracking. You sit and hold your head in between your palms and your tears are torrential. In the past days, you have not been home early. You have been scouting for jobs. Besides, you can’t bear to see your younger ones hold their tummies and lie silently in bed in hunger. Edileola always cries. And you hate it whenever you tell her to sleep so that the hunger would disappear. You hate it to see Mummy lying down there, her breathing laboured. You look at the money in front of you. It’s forty five thousand naira. And you remember the sheet of paper you gave Daddy General Overseer’s secretary. The paper showed that Daddy donated the highest amount of money for the building project. Daddy always said it’s good to give to the Lord. He always said you should lay up your treasures in heaven where moth would not eat it.
The food is ready. Siji, Edileola and Tomi eat voraciously. When they ask if you will not eat, you say you will. You don’t feel like it right now. As shadows elongate, Mummy coughs up more blood. You beg Mummy to let you take her to the Hospital. There is money now. She shakes her head. Now you realize she’s white and has lost weight. You are crying.
Someone is shouting outside. It’s Mama Akeem. You hear a loud slap then a scuffle. Mama Gebu is shouting. Siji wants to leave his food to see. You shout at him to finish his food and you feel dizzy. Hunger seems to have dug a deep hole in your stomach. You walk slowly out.
The Hausa children in the other compounds are there but their faces show confusion. Mama Akeem and Mama Gebu are fighting and shouting in Yoruba and are almost stripping each other naked. Mama Akeem is shouting, husband snatcher, prostitute!
Mama Rokiba emerges from her room and joins Mama Akeem in beating Mama Gebu. Her voice is distinct because she speaks the Oyo type of Yoruba and pronounces her R as harrrh. Now, Mama Gebu is no longer fighting but desperately trying to save herself from the shame of nakedness. The Blackberry girl comes and tries to save Mama Gebu from the two women. But Mama Rokiba and Mama Akeem are shouting, prostitutes!
You don’t know how long you stay there, watching them, because soon, some of the men who discuss at British-American Junction come and separate the fighting women. You hide. You don’t want them to know that you stay here.
Someone lets out a piercing scream from inside and wind piles up in your head as you turn round. Siji, Edileola and Tomi are all around Mummy. They call her name, Mummy. Mummy. Mummy. Edileola is crying and Mummy is not answering. You tell Siji to call Cephas. You put your ear close to her chest and you can’t hear a thing. You raise her hand and it falls to the ground.
Edileola and Tomi are howling. You rest your back on the wall and sink to the ground. You draw your knees up and wrap your hands around them. The door opens and Bulus and Mummy General Overseer step in. The smile on her face gradually disappears as she puts the plastic basket that contains fruit juice and cornflakes down. Her face is wrapped up in fear as Bulus walks towards you. People who cry have a lot of energy. You do not have enough to cry.


******************************************************************************



Fiyinfoluwa Akinsiku attended University of Benin Nigeria and studied Medicine. She's working on her debut novel.



Friday, October 12, 2012

RE: @rickrozay – Hold me back video (Nigeria). PLEASE FREE THE DUDE via @iam_Smithzzle

There has been so much fuss about a video from the stable of the American hip-hop/rap superstar and leader of MAYBACH MUSIC, Rick Ross which was shot in a part of a state in a country that over-time has been synonymous with slums and underdevelopment - Lagos, Nigeria.


Rozay as he is fondly called by millions of fans across the world flew to the economic capital of the most populous black nation in the world to perform in a show that was scheduled for the Eko hotel and suites, but as soon as he landed, he tweeted that he had landed and was off to the slums to shoot a music video. This, expectedly, already caused a fuss on social networks as people were frowning at the decision to go shoot his video in a "slum". Just a couple of weeks ago, the video was released and it has caused a major stir in Nigeria


It is only unfortunate that in a country of purported high intelligence, Nigerian musicians have made us grow to love the rhythms produced by their trademark beats over the lyrics of the songs they write(if they actually do write). Did any of Rozay's critics try to listen to the lyrics of the song before opening their mouths and social network accounts to propound false patriotism to a country that has shown only as much readiness to make sure that we maintain our status as slum-dogs. Block your ears and watch a music video, if you cannot deduce all or parts of the lyrics from the video, then the video is just crap. Rozay, in the song "hold me back", was hitting back at the people who made sure he didn't see the better life growing up as a kid in his native America; I relate these "niggas" to the government. In the song, he talks about how he made it through the difficulties of growing up in the slum and making it as big as he has done. The song is a street song, what do want to see? Hoes? Champagne? Fast cars? Sky-scrapers? Oh please!!!!!!


Please, please and please, what were you expecting? You want the world to believe that we are a "champagne-popping, supra-wearing" nation as most Nigerian artistes have seemingly decided to keep portraying in most of the videos they are churning out to the international media?? How many of our own Nigerian artistes have done songs/video to show the plight of Nigerians who live in poverty? Majority of them portray Nigeria in their videos like all is fine and we all live the good life. Some don't even shoot their videos in Nigeria, they go to other African countries to shoot videos, is that what you like? People who don't believe in a country that made them rich and famous? Some make it worse by using white models in their videos, the height of inferiority complex. It's a shame that anybody will feel offended by a foreigner who came over to Nigeria to shoot a video in the slums that we Nigerians have forgotten about. We should all be totally disenchanted that it had to be an American musician who came to Nigeria to point out the actualities of the state of living of the common Nigerian man.


By the way, did you all see the tribute to Rashidi Yekini?

I loved that, R.I.P to the legend of Nigerian Football.


Plus do you know that he bought out a whole grocery store and ordered that everything he bought be shared to the impoverished kids that featured on that video. Do you actually think that those kids would be angry at Rozay for that video? You should be in their shoes for a week then give an answer to the question.


Now, finally to those who just don't like the video because they feel it portrays Nigeria in bad way to the outside world, first of all let me make a point clear to you all; "the average, hallow minded, myopic, stupid and dumb non-Nigerians [especially the whites] see Nigeria and Africa as a whole as a jungle of black monkeys who hang on trees and stuff, and there is nothing anybody can do to change it, because majority will die in their ignorance".


That aside, I have some questions for those who feel insulted by the video being shot in the slums. Are the visuals of the video that of Nigeria or not? Is Nigeria a developed country? What does the average Nigerian worth? How much does the average Nigerian spend in a day? Is Nigeria a paradise for majority of Nigerians? Those people in the slums, are they lesser Nigerians than you are? Are you really offended because you feel bad for them or because of your own ego? Do you care about those particular set of people? Why do you have a problem with the whole world seeing how majority of Nigerians live? Answer those questions in your minds, they are rhetorical.


A country blessed with so much natural resources, and yet so much poverty and suffering by the majority of its people, a country that cannot boast of steady power supply, good health care, good roads, good water supply, good education and several other basic infrastructure that every Nigerian deserves; why will you as a Nigerian want to help the looting and corrupt leaders of Nigeria hide the fact that majority of we Nigerians live in abject poverty and penury in the midst of plenty?


And it's funny and ridiculous that you think you can hide the fact that majority of Nigerians live in poverty because of corrupt leaders, I mean these leaders steal public funds and store in the hands of these same people we are trying to hide from. The world is not blind, they can see, they know how we live, they know that majority live in poverty, you can't hide that fact. The fact that you are privileged and have access to a little more money, Blackberries, iPhones and other luxuries does not change the fact that majority of Nigerians are poor and live below a dollar a day. I find it very inhuman to feel offended that Nigerians like you and I are in a video, but because they live in the slums; you are bothered about how the outside world will feel about us in general. The outside world will only talk, they don't care about you and I, they won't solve our problems, it is you and I that will solve our own problems and get ourselves out of the abject poverty that we have been subjected to as Nigerians by our thieving and corrupt politicians.

Do you know the joy and happiness those people in the slums felt? Do you know what is means to be rejected by the government of your own country and left to live in permanent misery and poverty only to be remembered by a foreigner who went ahead to shoot a video so that we all can see their plight? You all should be ashamed of yourselves, for feeling offended over the joy of Nigerians who got remembered for once in a very long while.


The government has forgotten these people, left to die in the slums, now you are also going to betray and deny them, because you have more money? Shame on YOU!!!


What have you done to help out? Have you touched the lives of Nigerians who live in poverty? What have you contributed? Nothing, absolutely NOTHING! I'm appalled.


#OkBye
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Olawale Smith-Agbede is a passionate nigerian who has been a foremost socio-political analyst, writer and justice-fighter. pls ff him on twitter @iam_Smithzzle
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless handheld from Glo Mobile.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

THE STRIKING ANACONDA by Fiyinfoluwa Akinsiku

 "And do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; but rather be afraid of him who can destroy both soul and body in hell…." Matt 10:28(AMP)

Ara watched as the golden brown coffin that held Bamitale hostage was carried out of the hearse by four undertakers who wore black suits. They sang the hymn, It Is Well With My Soul, and the crowd proceeded into Rest Home Cemetery. Ara stood close to Mum, her brother, Lomi and sister, Sile. They were all dressed in black.
Bamitale's siblings – Anti Taiwo, Buroda Kehinde, Anti Idowu and Tejumola – were dressed in black and held one another's shoulders and waists.
Their spouses: Anti Taiwo's husband, Broda Kehinde's wife, Anti Idowu's husband were directly behind them. Their friends followed them closely. Anti Taiwo, the eldest, would miss him the most.
Apart from the emotions that clung like glue to her voice the day she informed Ara of his death, she had been normal. Ara had never seen her cry or show any emotions. She acted as though his death did not shock her, yet Ara knew it rudely did. It looked as though Anti Taiwo accepted it without questioning, without fuss. Ara had not known her to be a deeply religious person but at that time Anti Taiwo seemed to draw strength from a statement which seemed full of strength: God giveth and taketh.
Yet Ara once overhead her telling her friend, Mrs Ojuirin, that she had accepted her brother's destiny. Who was she to query God? Crying and wailing would mean she was questioning his brother's Creator, the one who dashed him that destiny. Why would she query Eledua about what Bamitale chose from heaven? Mo ti gba f'olorun. It had happened. Tears could not raise him from the dead. K'olorun f'orun ke. May God grant him peace in heaven.
Destiny? Ara had walked away angry. Who said it was Bamitale's destiny to die in a bomb blast?
Was God so wicked as to attach death by bomb blast to someone's destiny? No! The Striking Anaconda killed Bamitale. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was born in the wrong country. Insecurity killed him. If the security personnel had been efficient, the suicide bombers would not have entered the building that housed several foreign agencies.
Some days after that, Sile had told her she overhead some people say that Bamitale must have offended Ogunlaka aye osimole, the god of iron. Bomb was made of iron. Ara laughed through her tears. People were just preposterous and impossible.

There were lots of sighs interspersed with silence and occasional singing. The atmosphere was charged. And the silence screamed anger, sadness and pity. Anger at the The Striking Anaconda for their incessant bomb blasts; sadness and pity at the death of so many people in the blasts. Nobody survived the last blast at the Foreign Aid Mission building where Bamitale worked. What did The Striking Anaconda want to turn the country into?
Two weeks ago, she went with Anti Taiwo to the mortuary of the Teaching Hospital to identify his corpse. That was her first time in the mortuary; in a mortuary.
Outside, there were a lot of people. A woman, restrained by so many hands, was shouting and calling on Amadioha to strike The Striking Anaconda. May Agbala twist their necks till they see their back. They would not live their days. They would die before their time. Her red eyes were closing and opening. Her laced fingers were on her head and her face was bathed with tears mixed with snot. She said some other things in Igbo that Ara could not decipher.
Further down the drive way, a man sat on the ground, bit his lip and quietly sobbed. The men who stood close to him looked lost, confused and dejected.
As they entered the embalming unit, Anti Taiwo perceived the piercing odour of formalin and coughed so much that she could not go inside. Ara entered the mortuary with the Mortuary Attendant – who looked like someone so used to corpses that he could sleep next to several stiff ones – and walked down the hall before she was told to stand at the entrance. She could not go in more than that. The dead should be respected. They were in their natural state. Naked and stiff.
She tried her best not to throw up. The smell of formalin was pungent. A table with a corpse which was covered with white cloth was wheeled towards her. She resisted the urge to run. Her vision was blurred and before she could say jack, tears ran down at break-neck speed.
The Mortuary Attendant stopped and fixed his gaze on her. No Madam. Nobody cried in the mortuary. Crying was done outside. If she continued crying, they would not show her his body. She said alright, like a child who was being threatened with injection. She stopped crying and ran the back of her palms over her eyes.
The Mortuary Attendant laced his gloved fingers. She should not waste time because people outside wanted to identify the corpses of their relatives too. He gesticulated. They were not yet ready so they could not enter; they were still crying. The gloves were made of rubber and they made his fingers bigger than normal.
He removed the white cloth from the corpse, exposing only the head. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat that was determined to stop her breath. Bamitale's hair was burnt and what remained was soot.
Vertically, half of his face was totally burnt. It was blacker than the darkest night. Transparent liquid oozed from the eye that popped out. His nose was so flat and when she saw his blistered lower lip, she remembered their last kiss. That French kiss. She sobbed more, trying her best to stifle it. He asked if the body was her relative. She said yes. He was her husband. Husband tumbled out of her mouth before she knew it. Husband? She said yes, even though they were not officially married as he wanted to make more money before they settled down. Mum hated the fact that they lived together and she said it was a sin. And when, the last time they spoke about it, she had asked Mum where it was written in the Bible, Mum's eyes flogged her and she called her name in full: Aralola! and her name sounded like an insult in Mum's mouth.
He removed the cloth from the body entirely and a naked corpse lay before her. The hair on his chest and pubic region were burnt. His tummy was extremely flat and the cap of his phallus had peeled off. What remained was stiff and black.
She could not look again. She grimaced, screamed and ran out, howling as she did.
And Anti was there to hold her before she fell. She reeled in Anti's arms so much that Anti could not control her.
She re–echoed the curses of Mama Risika, her neighbour, the day before. "The Striking
Anaconda o! Sanponna would kill you! Sango would strike you! Ogunlaka aye osimole would swim in your blood! Iyemoja would make sure you drown! Esu laroye would kill you! God punish you! May your mothers cry over you!" Inbetween rolling and screaming and falling out of Anti's hands and spears of sorrows thrusting deeply into her heart, she heard so many footsteps come in her direction. Several hands gripped her and bundled her into her car.

The burial procession moved slowly under the hot sun. It Is Well With My Soul. ****************************

After the Pastor read the Bible passages at the graveside, it was time to lower the coffin into the ground. Two men, naked from the waist up, came from somewhere behind and jumped into the grave. Four thick ropes held the coffin at its angles and were used to lower it into the grave, as the men in the grave received it and placed it down gently. Someone was already sobbing out loud. Then another. And another.
During the funeral service, the charismatic Pastor had, in the midst of excessive jumping and shouting, told them to pray and declare fire, gale and hailstone on The Striking Anaconda. May 3D thunder strike them. The Holy Spirit should pour hot water on them. Ice blocks from heaven should destroy them. The frying pan of heaven should pour hot palm oil on them. The demons of heaven should wee wee on them. Angels should poo on them. The congregation had stood up and prayed the prayers with aggression. After the prayers, the sermon was, Is your name in the book of life? But Ara was not listening.
Bamitale was gone. She was doomed. She was a walking corpse. A part of her was bombed with him. She was like a smoked cigarette. Half of her was gone. Ashes remained. Grey ashes. Why did she not have a premonition of his death? Why did providence not smile on him that fateful morning by giving him acute watery diarrhoea? Why not throbbing headache? She thought about how life could be so precious and ephemeral, how sad things could be, how yesterday would go and memories would fade, how love could turn and not come back to what one could remember and how life's single flip could drag excruciating pain along with it. Love was the light of her life and when love was gone, light was gone for good.
He was everything she needed in a man. Before him, there was Bayo and Chuks and when she met him she thought she had got to her last bus stop. Their quarrels went down as soon as they came up. She remembered his body which they both enjoyed. It was now charred. The pastor said vanity upon vanity. His body with which he did things that floated her in a high erotic realm was now a charred stiff stick. Bamitale was a gymnast in bed. He loved and worshipped her body. Made her feel like a natural woman. Vanity upon vanity. Now it was over. What would you tell God when you stand before him? the Pastor said. She shivered at the thought of those words.

It got to her turn to do the dust to dust rite; she grabbed the shovel and rested on it, as if she would collapse if she did not. She had told herself she would not cry that day. As she packed earth, it dawned on her again that that was the end.
She was not seeing him again. He was never going to walk into the living room and gather her in his arms anymore. He would never make her laugh again. Her brain, which could not comprehend the thought, threatened to burst. The hole pain bore in her heart threatened to tear it into two. She poured sand on the coffin and much as she tried to stifle it, she howled. It was as if everyone was waiting for her to start because their cries soon formed a din.
Before Ara knew it, someone jumped into the grave and laid on top of the sandy coffin, rolling and screaming, Bury me! Bury me with him! We are going together! Buroda Bamitale ooo! It was Tejumola. Everyone screamed. There was fear. Apprehension. Commotion. The two men beside the coffin immediately grabbed her and carried her out. Buroda Kehinde gathered her in his arms and carried her away as she struggled and struggled. Mum and Sile held Ara on both sides as she hid her face behind her palms and walked away.
The Striking Anaconda had done its worst.

To everyone who died in a bomb blast…

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Fiyinfoluwa Akinsiku @fiyinsiku

Jesus freak. Medic, Writer, a Nigerian, is the Creative Writers Workshop(2007) Prize Winner for Fiction. She attended University Of Benin and studied Medicine. Her stories have been published in Naijastories, Sentinel Magazine, The Touch magazine and The Stethoscope. She's currently working on her debut novel.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless handheld from Glo Mobile.

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

SHOULD WE LEGALIZE DRUGS?? via @iam_Smithzzle

Walk around your typical alley anywhere around, in the noisy Lagos suburbs, the sunny estates in Nairobi or the hoods in Brooklyn and a certain sight is very common: That of young men (more often than not) hoarding their white wraps of marijuana and enjoying a good smoke. It is not an everyday occurrence yet, because most still do it in hiding, but it's still a vivid and common picture).


I am a young Nigerian male, and I have had my fair share of travels around to know that this phenomenon is very global. Secretly done or not, the proportion of the Nigerian male (and female too!) that indulge in all/any sort of drug (apart from normal cigarettes and clinically recommended tablets) is very high. Which brings to fore the question: Are drugs really illegal? Even in the movies and music videos, our icons have helped no bit. Times without number, we have seen our heroes and favorite musicians, sportsmen or movie stars arraigned and rightly convicted for wrongful possession and/or consumption of drugs. Rightly convicted I said, only because it is STILL illegal to possess or consume most of these drugs. But is that trend about to change? We would try to analyze that together on this page. Just for perspectives, maybe it's important to note that I don't smoke. It's just a topic of interest.


I would like to start by actually listing as many kinds of drugs as we have and some extra information on them.


Antidepressants are a prescription medication used to treat depression and mood disorders like obsessive-compulsive disorder, eating disorders and other anxiety problems. The problem is that some antidepressant drugs can actually carry serious side effects and when used in combination with alcohol or other depressant drugs, can actually make you more depressed. Likewise, discontinuing use suddenly can cause mild withdrawal symptoms


Barbiturates: There are many different types of barbiturates out there, many of which are prescription, and work by depressing the central nervous system. This can cause sedation and anesthesia. While used to treat seizure disorders, insomnia and other problems, they can be abused. Users often build up a tolerance to them, requiring larger doses to achieve the same effects. Overdosing occurs often in those abusing "downers."

Cannabis is also known as marijuana and has psychoactive effects. It is taken into the body in the form of smoke or vapor and can even be consumed and mixed into food or steeped in a tea. While the jury's still out on whether or not marijuana is addictive, it is often believed to act as the "gateway" to other more serious substances.


Depressants are a type of drug that works by reducing the function of the central nervous system. Drugs often included in this category are barbiturates and benzodiazepines.


While hallucinogens have been around for years in ceremonies and rituals, they play a role in modern society as well. They work by producing sensory hallucinations in users involving any of the five senses. Common substances that fall within this category include LSD, PCP and Peyote.


As their name would suggest, inhalants refer to a group of drugs that are inhaled in the form of a gas or solvent. Potential inhalants can be found just about anywhere and include common products like nail polish remover, gasoline, glue and aerosol cans.


While the term "narcotics" is often used to refer to any illicit substance, it technically means a substance derived from opium (opiates) or its synthetic replacements. Examples of narcotics include cocaine, morphine and heroin, all of which are highly addictive.


Anabolic steroids are not the same as the kind used in medicine for the reduction of inflammation. Rather, these substances are used to build muscle mass and strength. They typically consist of male sex hormones and can be very damaging when used without a prescription.


Stimulants are a class of drugs that boost alertness and increase the activity of the central nervous system. Examples of this type of drug include amphetamines, methamphetamines, cocaine and nicotine, all of which are highly addictive.


Tobacco is often smoked in the form of cigarettes or cigars or chewed and contains nicotine, which is a stimulant. It's a highly addictive substance and has been known to cause cancer and other diseases.

>>Refer to www.thegooddrugsguide.com for more information. (People, you need to read more on Google or Wikipedia about all these drugs, see pictures and statistics on usage and production/using countries and you would be shocked!)<<


Now, I bet you didn't know half of this before now? Well, I didn't too! So here we would focus more on the effects and the fight against the use of Tobacco (e.g. cigarette), Narcotics (e.g. opium, cocaine, and heroin) and Cannabis (e.g. weed, Igbo).


Now, very simply and quite understandably, these drugs are damaging because they could be addictive and could also induce one to be in an ecstatic state where crimes become a lot easier to commit. And since the traditional role of governments is to protect its borders, its security and the security of its citizens, it is no surprise that all governments are sworn to the cause of its eradication or drastic containment. In Mexico and Colombia, the war against drugs is taking phenomenal dimensions. Tens of thousands have died. In Mexico, it is estimated that more than 11,000 people have died in drug related crimes since 2005. The only human catastrophe that rivals this data since 2005 is probably the Haiti earthquake. It is saddening. Governments are spending so so much on the war on drugs. Afghanistan for example, where the Americans and their NATO allies have been fighting since 2001 against the Taliban (despite Russia's earlier disgrace in that country years ago), produces about 75% of the world's opium! That's huge! And for years it was (still is) the major source of funding for the Taliban and their extremist elements. Today, it remains a huge source of livelihood for millions of Afghan farmers. America is rightly concerned because globally, this trade yields hundreds of billions every year and is second in income generation only to the oil industry. A UN report said the global drug trade generated an estimated US$321.6 billion in 2003 alone. Also because the main consumers of this deadly drug are the Westerners themselves. Mexico borders America, Colombia is not that far away. That's why America spends about $52.3billion a year to fight a losing battle. Nigeria would solve its electricity problems for ever with a quarter of that, and to think of it, this is a yearly spend!

Well, a poll on October 2, 2008, found that three in four Americans believed that the War on Drugs was failing. Many countries have been thinking along this line too. The Netherlands is a famous example of this, where drugs are decriminalized and you are only prosecuted when you commit crimes under the influence of drugs. Either way, you would still be prosecuted if you committed crimes under no influence, yeah? So what's the point? To this end, Mexico decriminalized the use of drugs in 2009. The US was less raunchy in its response (compared to Mexico's earlier attempt in 2006) by simply saying they were adopting a "wait and see" approach. This may be pointers to the fact that America wants to see if it works to also consider towing the same line.


So, my big question is this? Why are governments still fighting the drug war so hard? The fact is, the drugs trade is still booming. Those who consume drugs still consume it, only in hiding. Those who get addicted still get addicted anyway and either die of overdose or remain senile or less active forever. The damage is all on the individual.

What are the disadvantages of legalizing this? Really? As far as am concerned, I suspect many governments of dubiously siphoning funds through claims of fighting drugs trafficking and usage. I remember the complicity of America's CIA and FBI in the Iran-Contra feud years back and the very open claims of America's support of the despot and drug lord, Noreaga.

As for me, I want to look first at the positives of legalizing drugs use. One: You free up millions and billions of funds used in the expensive and low-yielding war on drugs to other sectors needing urgent attention. If I were President, I would spend that money on health advocacy campaigns and proper education so that instead of scaring the devil out of our children on this drug issue, we open their eyes to see the ill and we give them the power to choose rightly. Millions of roads can be paved with these funds, our police can be revamped and better furnished. Ohh, there's so much we can do.

The US can triple its funding for HIV and other health related issues in Africa. Secondly, it frees up our jails of thousands of nonentities who would probably just die-off in their homes from addiction anyway! Thirdly, it allows the government focus on other more productive areas of crime control and drug usage. Lastly, and most importantly, you put the few but very powerful drugs lords out of business because everyone can now sell and since the market for drugs is huge and lucrative, you create employment for thousands (including the rehab centers that will eventually take the addicts), create a vibrant middle-class and lift millions out of poverty! See? Now, I know why I have always dreamt of being President! Someone give me Barack's number so I share this great idea with him! Lol.


The point is, as far as am concerned, a drug is a drug. If people are already allowed to take cigarettes (in any amounts), then why not the harder ones? Why should the government regulate this? There are greater evils on this earth to battle than the ones who affect the individuals in question themselves.


I might be wrong. That's why I enjoin you to take part in this debate. Should we "legalize drugs" like Sean Paul has humorously demanded in his song?


I await your candid and frank views. Let's have a civil discussion, and please no attacks on my person or on any comments. Thanks!
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Olawale Smith-Agbede is a passionate nigerian who has been a foremost socio-political analyst, writer and justice-fighter. pls ff him on twitter @iam_Smithzzle
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless handheld from Glo Mobile.