My! My! what a year!

The year 2009 was very eventful – at least for me. When I woke up on that first day of January, I did with a dream to change Nigeria, a passion to help change our mental models, world views or whatever you want to call it. I told myself that I could do this. This was not my resolution for the year; it was more like a calling I called myself to. Truth be told, I abandoned the cause before you can say Smokey Robinson because I realised that to change the world one has to change herself first and I really had to practice what I was preaching. So I made myself my personal project for the year and believe me when I say that it was not an easy project. The consequences of some action I took however yielded results, rewarding results and I am better for it, Nigeria is better for it. I remember when I decided to give fitness a chance in my life. I felt so invigorated in those months. I would jog in the wee hours of the morning and finish up with crunches and other things that might or might not be called exercise such as dancing. At that time I was encouraging people to increase their physical activity so it was necessary for me to practice what I was preaching. However I had to stop the jogging because security was an issue. It is hard to move about early in the morning when you do not know if the person walking fast behind you is set to harm you.

I worked hard in 2009 and achieved some things. If I had worked harder, I would have achieved more with the help of God. Where I did not achieve what I sought after I did not give up, just postponed them till a more convenient time. Call it procrastination if you like. It was also a year I threw caution to the wind...do not let your minds run too far, all I did was let go of myself so that I could achieve more albeit I didn’t perform too well in that task, I tried.

I met people this year, great and small alike. I brainstormed, dined and laughed and worked with some while I cussed out a few (don’t ask me questions but I did regret some of the things I said). For those I truly hurt for some abstruse reason, or cut out their hearts from their chest when they didn’t deserve it, I am truly sorry. Of course I did some things that should not be mentioned for the sake of my sanity and yours but I have learnt considerable from them. All in all, I am a better spirit, better human, better friend, sister, better everything than I was at the beginning of the year and I give glory to God who helped me in the construction.

I must admit that I am not too excited about 2010 for the much known reason that the country has cancerous growth all over her body and there is not even palliative care in place for her. It does not take a prophet of doom to prophecy that things will be tough but we have God, we have hope and we will work hard to make it a successful year.

To all of you out there, I do not know how your year went but I figure, good or bad, we shall have a better chance to start afresh. I wish you all the things that I wish myself and they are God’s divine favour, blessings, protection and guidance. I wish you success in all your endeavours and progress in all your undertakings. I also wish that you have zeal to work towards a better Nigeria. Finally, I wish you all a very Happy New Year.
Yeside Pikuda

CELEBRATING FOOD IN TIMES OF CRISIS

Food, they say, is a basic requirement of life. It is that which feeds the body that feeds the mind that feeds the soul. Food is an essential ingredient in achieving health and productivity and therefore it has a large economic and political significance. The world shall celebrate food on the 16th of October 2009 as have been done every year since 1945. The theme of this year’s celebration is achieving food security in times of crisis.

Food security has been said to exist only when all people, at all times, have physical and economic access to sufficient, safe and nutritious food that meets their dietary needs and food preferences for an active and healthy life. People must not live in fear of hunger or starvation. Food insecurity is evident when household members are concerned about the adequacy of their household food supply and there are adjustments in food management such as reduced quality of food, increased unusual coping patterns, when people repeatedly experience the physical sensation of hunger. According to the Food and Agriculture Organization, it is estimated that more than a billion people, one in every six human beings, may be suffering from under-nourishment.

You must agree with me that the state of being food secure is not yet in our reality. A large proportion of Nigerians cannot be certain of a complete meal at all times. The increase in food prices around the world has had people unsettled for a while now and the belief is that the governments are not doing enough. We must reflect on the statistics and the suffering behind them. We have the know-how to do something about hunger in our society. Let us all work together to alleviate this critical problem because the consequences are great.

This world food day would be an excellent time to appreciate all those who have contributed to agriculture in Nigeria. It cannot be easy producing food in a country like Nigeria where subsistent farming is still the order of the day and there are inadequate storage systems, Poor distribution channels, and inadequate food processing system to mention a few challenges. Farmers, distributors, marketers, banks, research institutes, the Nigerian government, non-governmental organizations and international agencies have been working tirelessly to ensure that the nation is food secured. This target has not yet been reached; however, we must applaud these people.

Women should be specially commended because of their important role in assuring food and nutrition security. Their roles as producers of food, as managers of natural resources, in income generation and as providers of care for their families cannot be overlooked. Though women often continue to have limited access to land, education, credit, information, technology and decision making bodies, they still fulfil their socio-economic roles in food and nutrition security and in ensuring care, health and hygiene for themselves and their families.

Finally, we must appreciate the maker, who first ensured that man was food secure in the Garden of Eden. Adam, in the beginning, did not have to worry whether he would have enough to eat or not. He had the opportunity to diversify his diet and live a healthy life. We must also thank God for the wisdom and knowledge he has given to us in this present world to guarantee that we are food secure. The hope is that we would utilize this knowledge, remove the obstacles in our paths and ensure food security. Happy world food day.

PEOPLE IN THE COCOON

Turmoil and struggle, resignation and submission- these are the things that we face each day. There are those – very few of them - that truly fight back. They fight with all their might; arms and all. We sit and ponder ‘why can’t they fight in silence like we do?’ we watch as they destroy themselves in hope that their fight would yield good fruits; as they surrender all to their cause.
We pay tributes with our lips and with our buttocks, sit still – holding fast to our soft cushions. We watch the aggression of our brothers in the Delta, Kenya, Sudan, Rwanda and outside the continent but we clamour only for peace. ‘Peace is good.’ We say to ourselves.

Boko Haram popped out of the northern air and our feathers were ruffled, Clinton said her piece and some of us gnarled at her. Instead of learning from others and from experience we fight things that do not need fighting. Who started this Boko Haram? Who had Bayo Ohu killed? Who are those really behind these things? Don’t sit and ask, shout at those who can give us answers, force their mouths open. Corruption cannot be fought with peace, or can it?

As we sit, wonder and sigh, thought of our needs consume us. We want electricity, we want good roads, and we want water, jobs and security. We want our children safe and though we crave desperately for all these things, yet our buttocks, brown and round, remain buried in our soft cushions.

The fans above our heads do not roll, we cannot do much work and we are impoverished yet we sit and shout ‘give us our due.’ We don’t want to get up because half bread is better than none and we are afraid of the loss that comes with contest. We could lose our homes and peace of mind, we justify our inactions. We also have to think of our children and what may become of them. We hope a lot and we like to live in peace.
Hope is good and peace is good too so we look forward to them for we are convinced they will come someday. In the mean time – that could mean forever – we strategize, adapt and endure.

Some say to us ‘Ko ti de oju e’ – It has not reached the eyes yet. So we sit since there is no fire under our butts. We the people in the cocoon are peaceful and hopeful.

PEOPLE IN THE COCOON

Turmoil and struggle, resignation and submission- these are the things that we face each day. There are those – very few of them - that truly fight back. They fight with all their might; arms and all. We sit and ponder ‘why can’t they fight in silence like we do?’ we watch as they destroy themselves in hope that their fight would yield good fruits; as they surrender all to their cause.
We pay tributes with our lips and with our buttocks, sit still – holding fast to our soft cushions. We watch the aggression of our brothers in the Delta, Kenya, Sudan, Rwanda and outside the continent but we clamour only for peace. ‘Peace is good.’ We say to ourselves.

Boko Haram popped out of the northern air and our feathers were ruffled, Clinton said her piece and some of us gnarled at her. Instead of learning from others and from experience we fight things that do not need fighting. Who started this Boko Haram? Who had Bayo Ohu killed? Who are those really behind these things? Don’t sit and ask, shout at those who can give us answers, force their mouths open. Corruption cannot be fought with peace, or can it?

As we sit, wonder and sigh, thought of our needs consume us. We want electricity, we want good roads, and we want water, jobs and security. We want our children safe and though we crave desperately for all these things, yet our buttocks, brown and round, remain buried in our soft cushions.

The fans above our heads do not roll, we cannot do much work and we are impoverished yet we sit and shout ‘give us our due.’ We don’t want to get up because half bread is better than none and we are afraid of the loss that comes with contest. We could lose our homes and peace of mind, we justify our inactions. We also have to think of our children and what may become of them. We hope a lot and we like to live in peace.
Hope is good and peace is good too so we look forward to them for we are convinced they will come someday. In the mean time – that could mean forever – we strategize, adapt and endure.

Some say to us ‘Ko ti de oju e’ – It has not reached the eyes yet. So we sit since there is no fire under our butts. We the people in the cocoon are peaceful and hopeful.

Mr Policeman! Put on your clothes.

What do you do when you see a plain-clothed man – probably looking untidy – strutting around carrying an old rusty gun and beckoning on you to park your vehicle? Gut instincts tell me to run; with or without my vehicle. I don’t know about you but if you follow my path – running that is – you might end up in more trouble than you bargained for because he just might be a policeman. He would definitely harass you for trying to run out on him and if you make the mistake of explaining that you thought he was an armed robber; you know how things will go for you.

Some of us have encountered armed robbers in our lives and I sure can say that you cannot tell the difference between plain-clothed policemen and the misfits of society. This does not mean that policemen are misfits or anything derogatory, I’m just trying to point out that these armed robbers are normal people.

I was sitting in a tricycle recently with an elderly couple waiting for the driver to start the engine when a man with a gun passed us by. His cloths were as I described earlier, bedraggled and the old lady beside me gasped in fear but was calmed when her husband told her that the man in question was a policeman. You know how elderly people are - full of experiences and memories – so they told the story of a friend of theirs that had an encounter with ‘policemen’, this time the reverse was the case. The friend thought that he was being stopped by a plain-clothed policeman at a check point very close to a police station so he had no reason to worry. He got robbed, stripped to bare minimums and left on the streets. He had to go the police station where he met officers that thought he was a mad man strutting around naked and he was offered cloths they stripped off criminals.

Sad story really but the point is this - if a policeman wants to carry his gun he should were his uniform. It is not enough to wear a wristband that has the police colours; it could be mistaken for the reggae colours especially for those who might be colour blind. There are already too many things wrong in our society and we do not need any extra stress that could lead to hypertension, heart attack or something graver.

We need to call a spade a spade, call a policeman a policeman and not an armed robber. I personally do not want to have any encounter with any of them and I pray that you do not. If you are in a position to make changes in the Nigerian police force, please tell them to keep their clothes on.

All The King's Men....

I got inducted into newspaper reading at an early age. In those days, I would pick up the newspaper and read from the back page starting with the crossword puzzle. Then I would proceed, like I was writing Arabic, to the fun section where I would read about funny things happening around the world or about the cartoons with potent messages. If NEPA was being itself and I had nothing to do, I would read the dear Abby or Rebecca column to find out what kind of questions people were asking about their relationships.
After performing these tasks I would have a smirk on my face feeling like an ardent newspaper reader. However, as I grew I began to look at the front page and ponder on the headlines before I delved into articles that pique my interest and even spot out grammatical errors while reading. One of the things that struck me the most in all my newspaper reading years is that the pattern of news about Nigeria has been the same. Like they say, there is no news like bad news. If a leader has not embezzled money or the house of parliament is not in a ruckus, a senior government official would be scandalized about his trip to a dibia. News about accidents, militants, strike, upheavals and all fill the news daily and I wonder, can anything good come out of Nigeria? Can Nigeria have something great to celebrate about apart from the entertainers making breaks internationally? You find good news about other countries of the world in the Nigerian newspaper but you find our worst news on the pages of international newspapers. When will the leaders sit down and make a change? When will they fight for us? When will the roads get better? And the hospitals? And the schools? And the power supply? And the Niger delta? There are so many issues for them to attend to and we have so many leaders. If only one of these problems is solved Nigerians would feel a little hope.
When are we going to talk about our country with pride, with dignity and respect? Is it when all the children have died? Or when businesses are destroyed? Or when the oil dries up? Why can’t these leaders see Nigeria as their own and try to make it work? When are we going to disprove those who believe that there is something wrong with the black skin?
These days when I go through the papers, I recall a nursery rhyme with nostalgia. Nigeria is a classic case of the humpty dumpty rhyme:
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall;
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king's horses,
And all the king's men,
Couldn't put Humpty together again.
I certainly hope that one day, the king’s men would deviate from their lackadaisical norm and put humpty dumpty together again.

RAT PRINTS IN THE SAND!

As humans leave their foot prints in the sands of time, so do RATS. These rodents of various species have superseded us on the wall of lifetime achievements (as early as 1347 AD - Black death (plague) and 2009 - Lassa Fever). They have a shorter life span than we do but are more efficient in leaving a trail. Yes, A trail! These cosmopolitan rats migrated decades ago from the wilds to the cities where they join humans in creating viable businesses for themselves.

I would like to believe however that they are unaware of the disaster they leave on their trail. Such disasters include disease carriage, property destruction and food contamination to mention a few. Diseases contacted from these rodents depending on the specie include Hantavirus pulmonary syndrome, Leptospirosis, Eosinophilic meningitis and Lassa fever to mention just a few. Some of these diseases are deadly and are easily contacted through consumption of food and water contaminated by the rat’s urine, droppings and saliva.

The Lassa fever which is one of the most recently occurring diseases in Nigeria is particularly worrisome. Lassa fever is a viral haemorrhagic disease caused by the mutlimammate rat otherwise known as the Black Rat. Infection of Lassa fever may pass unnoticed in some people who come in contact with the virus, but in others, symptoms start from fever, to increased body weakness, headache, sore throat, chest pain, to diarrhoea, breathing problems and ultimately bleeding from every opening in the body. You might find the Black rat in dirty, overcrowded communities. The saddest part about this Lassa fever issue is that there are no vaccines for prevention but drugs exist for treatment at an early stage of detection.

It is expedient then that we keep our environment clean to prevent these diseases. If you have a rat problem in your home, I urge you to use all the method that you can think of to get rid of them. There are different catchers such as the gum board, metal trapper which have proven effective over the years. However, you must agree with me that these rats update their knowledge on technologies humans use to trap them so I press further that you use rat poisons too (but keep away from children. When you have done your best, you can be assured that the rat prints in the sand will disappear gradually and you can be healthy enough to put your own foot prints in the same of time.

My Heart, Your Heart!

The official shape of the heart is the love shape albeit when you look at anatomy textbooks you’ll see something close to an upside down pear. The love shape of the heart makes us have romantic views about it. The pumping of the heart and its overdrive is often misconstrued as a display of emotion to the one the heart cares about. On the other hand you also feel your heart in motion when you have done something you shouldn’t have done and you are about to get caught – albeit some people don’t. Between working for love and slaving to hide your guilt, the heart works effortlessly and tirelessly. In an average lifetime, the heart beats more than two and a half billion times and only stops when we die. Like a pumping machine, the heart provides the power needed for life.

This 300grams lifesaver does a lot of work for you. It keeps you going day and night, holds you together during good and bad times and what do you give back to your heart? What is the composition of that mix you call a meal? Cholesterol? Did I hear someone say salt? Healthy meat? I do not mean to come across as being harsh but it is expedient that I drive a point here. That point is this: Garbage in, Garbage out. Before you put your fork filled with a sumptuous diet into your mouth, please pause to look at it for a second and ask yourself these questions, ‘Is this morsel of food good for my heart?, does it contain a lot of cholesterol and fat? Is it high in salt? And other things bad for the heart?’, then put your morsel into your mouth and swallow. Your questions shouldn’t stop there; ask yourself ‘Am I eating grains, fruits and vegetables? Am I doing some exercises? ‘These are things that are good for the heart. They will help to keep you in top shape and keep you generally healthy. I must warn that if you have had a problem with your heart in the past consult a physician before you embark on any form of exercise. It might save you an early trip to the world beyond. Do you also engage in filling your lungs with smoky nicotine? You could cut down the number of sticks till they are down to zero. This might be hard to do but the future of your heart, your life, might be at risk because of the cigarettes.

The products of incorporating these healthy behaviours into our daily routine are
1. We get to be healthy
2. We get to let our heart run into over drive when we see our loved ones without having to check our pacemaker
3. We get to live better and freer from illnesses generally because these rules apply to a lot of other diseases such as cancer.

In all, there are lots of benefits attached to eating healthy and doing exercises. The heart, whether love or pear shaped, would always do its duty, which is to give you 72 wonderful beats every minute of your life to keep blood flowing through your wonderfully crafted veins and arteries that keep you logged on to reality. I implore you to eat, flex and live well.

The Pain of Rain

The past weeks have been characterized by the hot weather. The intensity of the heat has been excruciating to the extent that people started to think they would suddenly be struck down by a stroke or some unimaginable diseases and their prayers have been ‘let the rain come, oh Lord’. We all know however that the man upstairs does things in order. He granted the rain at the appointed time.

When the sprinklers of heaven were turned on, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. The days were gentler on the brain and skin while the nights caressed us till we floated into the dreamlands. The rain came down to wash our pain away. Some folks however use the rain to their advantage. They expect the rain to wash their physical pain as well. They toss their refuse into the rain so that the flowing waters will carry them away. And it does. The major setback however is that the rain washes it away from them to the streets blocking the drainage and causing the flooding of the streets. When the clouds are clear again and the sun starts to peep, the refuse are seen on the streets constituting a nuisance. The rain is then made an accomplice in propagating disease everywhere. This is really sad because these selfish folks will always be around. Do we then pray; ‘let the rain go, oh lord’? If we did and it was granted, the crops would suffer, rain water harvesters have to find another means of water supply and we would be toasted like the smoked fish Mallam Adamu sells to his customers; darkened and stiffened by heat.

Let us appreciate the rain because it is a gift. Encourage a neighbour to stop the habit of throwing dirt in the rain, to be more kind to the earth and to respect everyone’s right to live free from diseases and unnecessary pain.

Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby. ~Langston Hughes

Somebody's Butt

When I was young (I still am by the way), there were lots of jokes flying around. Every kid knew how to crack one. I would hear my brothers crack jokes and I’ll cram them repeating it to myself in other not to forget. When it was play time at school the next day, I would crack the jokes and make my friends laugh. There were different kinds of jokes moving around back then. Some were related to the physique of people, some the mother tongue and others were country related. I remember one that goes thus:
There were three men in an airplane. One was an American; the second was Japanese and the last, a Nigerian. The American wanted to know when the airplane reached America so he brought out his hands and felt the snow. ‘Yes’ he said ‘this is America’ and he notified the pilot who let him alight. The Japanese put his hand out of the window and his hi-tech wrist watch exclaimed ‘This is Japan.’ When it was the turn of the Nigerian, he didn’t know what exactly to do because the weather varied across states and there were no development of hi-tech wristwatches. So he pondered until he got an idea, he put on his wristwatch and put his hand out the window. Within twenty seconds the wrist watch was snatched off his wrist and he exclaimed, ‘pilot, this is Nigeria.’

It was so funny back then. We would laugh and roll on the floor. There were many more like it over the years. As I grew I moved on to more productive jokes. All the jokes about Nigeria being the centre of robbery, indiscipline and stupidity wore out like tired expressions. Some were still hilarious but trite nonetheless.

Recently, I was watching a favourite program, Saturday Night Live, and the guest artist was Anne Hathaway. She started by telling us a joke of how she broke off with her Italian boyfriend who was some days later arrested for fraud. After a while she met this Nigerian prince on the internet who made her happy. She shared things about herself with him including her social security number. She also sent him a CD plus a hundred Dollar bill as a birthday gift.

The audience in the show laughed. It seemed funny to them but I couldn’t laugh. It was more of a reality check for me. She said that about my people. I was upset at first, almost attempting to dislike her but then I thought ‘I don’t blame her, that’s what some Nigerians do.’ They have tarnished our image at home and abroad and the poor, unproductive and crippled system that we have has not made enough effort to revive it. We have become the butt of many jokes. Nobody likes to be made fun off except in situations when it is a matter so trivial and there is nothing that can be done about it. As a kid it was cruel, as an adult it is childish. But when you give people reason to make fun of you then I think they are justified.
I look forward to the day when Nigerians would be respected, when we can hold our heads high at home and abroad. When different people from different walks of life would see a Nigerian and say ‘you are a Nigerian? Wow, that’s great.’ Personally I look forward to hearing jokes like this:

There were three men in an airplane. One was a Nigerian, the second, Japanese and the third an American. The Nigerian wanted to know when the airplane reached Nigeria so he brought out his made-in-Nigeria Mobile phone that displayed the coordinates to indicate that they were flying over Nigeria. ‘Yes’ he said ‘Pilot, this is Nigeria.’ The Japanese put his hands out the window and his hi-tech wrist watch announced ‘this is Japan’. When it was the turn of the American, he brought out his terrorist-detecting device which was made in china that said ‘你说阿富汗?’
‘That must mean America.’ he said and alighted only to find out that he was in Afghanistan. The pilot had already flown away and young able-bodied men with turbans on their heads surrounded him shouted ‘Allahu arkbar.’

(The joke is not exactly funny but it just gave me an opportunity to get back at Anne Hathaway in my mind. Bear in mind that I love her dearly.)

Paraskevidekatriaphobia

Have you heard the word ‘Paraskevidekatriaphobia’or ‘Friggatriskaidekaphobia’? Well, if you haven't, it is a morbid, irrational fear of Friday the thirteenth. That’s today’s date. Don’t get spooked yet, an event that will occur today would do that. Let me call it Frigga for short because the full name of the phobia requires a lot of mouth muscle manipulation.

Frigga is the most popular myth of our century. Do you know that there is no real origin of this myth? According to Wikipedia, there is no written evidence for a "Friday the 13th" superstition before the 19th century. The earliest documentation occurs in an 1869 biography of Gioachino Rossini:
[Rossini] was surrounded to the last by admiring and affectionate friends; and if it be true that, like so many other Italians, he regarded Friday as an unlucky day, and thirteen as an unlucky number, it is remarkable that on Friday, the 13th of November, he died.

Do you know that many hospitals have no room 13 (not in Naija anyway, we don’t even have enough hospital rooms); while some tall buildings skip the 13th floor and some airline terminals omit Gate 13?

I’m sure, if we went down to the dusty and creepy libraries of old we would find something concrete about Frigga's history. What you wouldn’t find in the library is me.
That’s enough on the history (or no history) of ‘Friday the thirteenth’ superstition. If you get spooked in any way today or you witnessed any unusual occurrence – like a dog wearing sunglasses or a monkey beckoning to you - please feel free to tell us about it. Don’t get spooked, just have a great day.

Who Do People Say I Am?

Jesus asked his disciples, ‘Who do people say I am?’
They answered, ‘John the Baptist; but some say Elijah, and others, one of the prophets’
Jesus asked ‘Who do you say I am?’
Simon Peter answered, ‘You are the Christ’
Simon Peter recognized Jesus for who he really was. I understand from that passage of the holy bible that Peter had watched Jesus closely and could tell that he was not from this world. Other people also had an idea of who he was. They all thought highly of John the Baptist and Elijah and therefore thought highly of Jesus since they associated him with the great prophets. This passage of the bible struck a chord in my head because of an incident I witnessed.

An Intern in a corporation was asked by a staff to carry his backpack to a specified location. The intern did this without hesitation or questions. Thirty minutes later, the staff was seen marching back to the office, his face was distorted by anger. He went straight to where the intern was sitting and jacked him up.
‘Where is my Laptop? And what did you do with my three phones and documents?’
He brandished slaps across his face and began to drag him by the trouser to the security office. People had gathered to watch the scene and after the staff had given a recap of how the intern stole his things they joined in the castigation.
His vindication came when about 7 staff of the department who he worked with directly ran out to defend him. They fought the staff on his behalf. They insisted that he could not have done what he was being accused of. A senior staff shouted ‘This young man can never do that. Stop dragging him’
This went on for a while, the security intervened and the staff was asked to leave the boy. A moment later the staff went into his office and found out that he had picked up and given the intern someone else’s backpack – there were other staff that had the same backpack. He had accused the intern wrongly and had to apologize. The following day, the staff of the intern’s department demanded a formal apology from the staff. This staff went round the offices and to the security apologizing. The boy was vindicated and all those who were part of the ‘crucify him’ party also heard of his vindication. They apologized duly, giving excuses for their actions.

I marveled at the way the intern’s departmental staff defended him. They had seen him work. They had studied his behavior. They knew who he was. A hardworking, honest and humble young man. I admired the intern more because all through the accusation, he was still very respectful and did not fight back. He only tried to defend himself by speaking out.
If you were caught up in the same or similar ‘boat’ as the intern, will you be defended? Will people stand up for or against you? Will your Peter say ‘you are the Christ.’? Who will people say you are?

MAN I CURE OR MAN I CURSE?

I was sitting at the salon having a manicure and listening to a plump lady telling her friends about her penny-pinching husband when the news of the battering of petite Rihanna by pretty boy singer ‘Chris brown’ came on air. Bewildered by the incident, I decided to take some time to read more about it on the internet. It was appalling to know that this was happening right in the heart of so much wealth and power. I was under the impression that if a woman were empowered financially and education-wise and could make informed decisions about her life, no man would be able to talk down to her not to talk of battering her.

Violence against women (VAW) is a battle that is being fought in Africa and the world at large; a battle we hope we will win. I must ask ‘Is man cursed to batter woman?” I am sure you would probably say not all men. That is true. I applaud men who know that they should not and would never hit a woman. As for the men who take delight in battering, belittling, and tormenting women, I see women who have been victims of violence sitting round a smoky cauldron containing your names and green slime. I see them throwing in potent spells that would emasculate you in all aspects of your life. Upon more meditation I see calamity in cursing you so I am forced to picture myself sitting before God almighty asking for a cure to the diseases that cause you to treat women as you do. The only solution is to establish rehabilitation centres to care for these men.

I find out that there are many civil societies that are safety nets for victims of gender based violence with focus on women. I, however, have not seen any rehabilitation centre for men who perpetuate these crimes. If these women are taken out of their reach they are certain to find other women, who do not know much about them, falling as their victims. When you analyze the root of causes of these behaviours you would find out that these men are as battered as the women they batter. If anyone is looking for a worthwhile venture, or a way of contributing to the society he/she could start up an organisation in which these men can be treated. I am in no way sympathetic to their plights, I am only stating the need to have a society where men respect and cherish their women and it is reciprocated without fear or anger.

‘Marley and me’

Reading ‘Marley and me’ made me think about all the animal pets I have had. I come from a family of pet lovers. Let me correct that statement, dog lovers, because we had superstitions about cats and snakes were a no go topic as we saw them often and dreaded having an encounter with them in our backyard.

Growing up, we had different breeds of dogs. We never wanted the same breed twice. The only challenge was that the exotic breeds were very expensive. The first dog we had was named Sally the Santana or we sometimes called her Sally the superstar. She was Sally for short. She was a cream and brown-coloured local mongrel. (I call her a mongrel because that’s the closest name for her breed I could think off. The other would be ‘bingo’). In Australia the word ‘Mongrel’ is a derogatory term used to refer to an ill-bred man; a man of poor manners or morals. That is how I would describe sally. However, she was a loveable dog. We had fun running around with her and pulling stunts but she was way different from the Marley in ‘Marley and me’. She wasn’t much of a watch dog but she backed fiercely when friends come to visit. I cannot really remember how the end came for her but she suddenly vanished from our lives. Then we had another set of mongrels, we named then Jack and Jill. My dad gave out Jill to a friend just as you would give a basket of fruits to a friend who comes to visit. Jacky soon became bored because he was now alone. He would sit and stare into oblivion. Then there was the howling cry. It was quite chilling to the bones. I used to think it had seen a ghost or there were evil spirits around. Although Jacky was a sad dog, he was still a bit rambunctious when it was in the mood to play. However, things turned around in the following months.

During the Christmas season of that year, my father’s doctor gave him a big, smelly ram. The ram was tied to a guava tree in our yard and my dad used to cut the blades of the elephant grass for its consumption. At first Jacky was weary of the huge presence in the yard, but later he soon learnt to ignore it.

One day we woke up to see Jacky and Mr Stinky playing together. Talk about networking from different walks of life. You know how the saying goes ‘if you can’t beat them, join them’, that was what happened to Jacky. He started to eat grass. I know that some dogs eat grass to regurgitate but this one was eating grass like it was dessert. Jacky would lie down beside Mr. stinky and chew away. We were amazed and saw Jacky as ‘the dog that thinks it’s a ram’. Dooms day reared its ugly head when it was time to kill Mr. stinky for the celebrations. Jacky ran away. We didn’t find him for days. When it came back home, he was not the same again. He refused to nibble on the well seasoned bones of Mr. stinky. All darling Jacky did was eating grass and wailing out loud. The wailing worse than the time Jill left. It avoided us and became a troubled creature. It started biting everybody and soon became a menace to ‘society’. Daddy, a giver at heart, gave out Jacky to another friend. Looking through the eyes of Jacky, we saw ourselves as we really were- ‘killers and eaters of ram alias Mr stinky.

An Uncle’s German Shepard had just delivered multiple puppies as was expected of dogs. We got a male dog which we named Prince. Another uncle got a female he named Sheba, after the queen of Sheba. Prince was ‘The Dog’. He was a playful but fierce dog. While I went away to a boarding house, Prince grew bigger and stronger. On visiting days, my brothers would tell me of how Prince attacked people, chased them, and tore their clothing. I was distressed because I knew this dog would not know me anymore. Coming home for the holidays was now a big issue. Prince, the proud Alsatian, never liked me. It would bark at me and push at the door of the kernel. My dad would say ‘don’t worry about that, once he gets used to your face he will calm down”. Prince never did. During the day time I would throw bones to it, prince would not eat. It would look at me sternly till I leave then it would sniff the bones before nibbling. My brothers however would throw this stupid dog a bone and it would run to catch it as if its life depended on it. After a year of trying to make the dog my friend, I gave up. It started to hate it like it hated me. I knew Prince hated lighted lanterns so I would toss a lantern at him when he was tied up. My brothers never played much with the dog because it was such a rough player. Its teeth were too sharp, its nails were like scissors, and the force at which it would jump on you was so powerful you would find you self on the ground in seconds. They couldn’t even take him for walks because he was stubborn and would cut its chain or he would threaten the passers-by who would swear at them and almost run into oncoming vehicles.

The long and short of it, Prince got bored and sad, my brothers got busy and I didn’t care. My dad suggested a play mate; we got coral. Coral was a nice, people pleasing German Shepard. She wore her emotions on her hoofs. Apparently prince liked her because they had some puppies together but you never know he was a dog after all. They had Major, then kiki which my dad used to pronounce as chi chi. Then Prince died. It was a sad time. We all looked very sober. My mother said she felt like shedding tears and I understood. On my part I was sad but I felt peace. No more feelings of being house arrested, no more fears about an animal that did not even have a soul. After the death of Prince, Coral, the female dog, became sober and died too. We gave Major out because we were tired of dogs.

After years without dogs, my brother got a Rottweiler. It was a change from the regular Alsatian. He was named Baron. Baron has a lot of self respect. Once you tell it to buzz off, it would leave but not scurry away like some boneless dog. Sometimes it would ignore everyone and at other times it would act indifferent and then give you a chase with its strong teeth ready to hook your legs from behind. I like Baron but I am not crazy about it. I might get worried if I don’t see it but I don’t worry about his feeding, bathing or emotional state.

Personally, I’m done with dogs. If another one comes into the house, good for it. It would probably die of boredom because we have all become very busy. Maybe if we had a poodle or one of the hairier breeds I would be excited again but my worries are well grounded. The ticks and other animal parasites that I find on the dogs when they have not had a bath in a while are not so appealing not to talk of the slobbering. Enough said about dogs, I don’t want dog lovers to have a go at my head for not showing them the love and care they require. In the future, if I really have a need to get a dog, I’ll get one that is cute, more poodle like and most importantly stuffed.

Count Down To Valentine

Valentine is a special day set aside to celebrate love. It is a time to express love to family, friends and lovers. In Nigeria, this day is meant only for lovers but I stand to be corrected. For Business people, it is a special day for making ‘bad’ money on things that shouldn’t cost as much. Boxes of chocolate and perfumes are the greatest victims. On Saturday, the 14th, every restaurant, club, and space where people can hang out will be filled. The popular eateries such as Mr. Biggs, Tantalizers would be ‘busting at the seams’. When there are no spaces left, the smaller eateries – places where people do not normally converge in mass - get occupied. The most interesting thing is that people go in as couples. Every girl is hanging on to her guy and they always look so ‘happy in love’. The guy just takes his time treating her right and she is on her best behavior.

It has been a while since Valentine’s Day fell on Saturday. In recent years past, it had fallen on week days. This had reduced the ‘temperature’ of the day. Guys and girls could not get too hot because they knew that they would leave the office late and have to get up early and prepared for the ‘jungle struggle’ at work. This Saturday however, happens to be one in which people (normal working class people) have time for themselves and their loved ones. I sense that there would be action packed, fun filled entertainment in every corner of Lagos and the world at large. There would be lots of talk shows in honor of Saint Valentine (at least in the name of love). Raffles are already been drawn in the name of love and of course the radio stations would caress our senses with love music from soul to rock and with call in shows – “I just want to use this medium to tell Kevin that I love him so much and I can’t live without him”. The excitement in the air alone can give goose bumps and lonely Nigerians would get really pissed when they can’t just get a parking space at the mall.
All in all the end results might be:
1. Serious drunkenness that would lead to an excruciating hangover
2. Fights over the ‘girl’ because all her ‘boyfriends’ might get to meet themselves
3. Disappointments because the ‘girl’ you have been spending lots of money and gifts on tells you she can’t sleep with you
4. Shock and anger over the poor looking gifts the guy buys for the girl (no more lines like ‘I’m sorry I was too busy at work, shops had closed and this is all I could get)
5. Lamenting on the amount of cash withdrawn from the ATM and the fear of ‘hungry days’ yet to come
and last of all
6. Omigod! I think I am pregnant.
There are definitely more end results I just chose to dwell on the bad ones (don’t mind me, its not that bad. True love is in the air). Exciting isn’t it? I hope that you really have a good time. The financial situation in the country might make you try to ‘dull’ yourself but just have fun, spend quality time together, go to the beach, hang out in lovely hot spots on the Island and mainland and be nice to all. Happy Valentine’s Day.

The Morning Breeze

The rustling of the curtains at my window woke me up. I opened my eyes to see rays of beautiful sunlight peeping through my window. I smiled and rushed to the window. Closing my eyes, I took in a deep breath. As I sucked in the morning air through my nostrils the smile on my face began to fade and the skin on my forehead creased to form a frown. With an immediate and agonizing force I expelled the air sharply hoping and praying it had not contaminated my body or mind. I believed that a good conscious intake of fresh air in the mornings was important in starting a good day. A minute passed and I was still expelling the horrible stench out of my nostrils. I didn’t bother to find out the source of the stench, I knew the answer would find me, after all this was Lagos.

With annoyance I got ready for work. As I stepped outside, I was comforted to notice that people covered their noses. Since I started my day with a bad start I didn’t want to share the feeling alone. As I stood by the road side waiting for a cab to come my way, a lady standing close to me said “people are saying it’s the mortuary down the road. They have not had power for a while now” This meant that human bodies kept in there were decaying and polluting the air and nothing was being done about it. I was upset. I felt ashamed because I had come to the conclusion that it was either the open refuse dump not too far from my house that smelled or a truck carrying tons of fish had an accident. Never did it cross my mind that Human bodies were being robbed of dignity - no respect in death. As I stood pondering why our system was too poor or broken to accord people gone before us with respect. I wondered if I died whether my body would be left to bloat, decay and abuse the senses of mankind or not. I shivered, not of cold but of fear of what was to come.

As I pondered and sighed, the hooting of a horn startled me. A colleague was hollering at me to enter the car. I entered into his vehicle and shut the door. The windows were wound up and breeze from the air conditioning system attacked me. I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath. I exhaled gentle and smiled. I was going to have a good day after all.

From Trifle to Marvel

To improve on our vocabulary, my friend and I read and memorised words from the dictionary in no particular order. We would jump from the list of 'B's to the 'y's and back to the beginning. Most importantly, we looked out for words that were interesting. Interesting meant that they were not commonly used words, easy to remember and easy to get people's attention when used.

On this particular day, we looked for such a word that meant 'nonsense'. So we searched, flipping the pages back and forth. We didn't hav a theasaurus but we made do with out dictionaries. After so much ado, we found the word 'twaddle'. Our excitement was killed when we experimented and it didn't give us the kind of response we wanted. We went back to our tables and searched. Finally, we found two other words- tosh and bosh. For the appropriate effect we waited for a time when lots of friends were around us - especially the guy friends we had. My friend brought up a topic and we asked the others for their opinions. When a guy gave us his piece we jumped at the opportunity - he was used to saying lots of things that do not make sense. We cut him short and chorused 'Tosh, bosh and twaddle'. We said it with a lot of attitude. Some guys smiled while others raised their eyebrows. The ladies were another matter. Some of them looked outrightly disgusted, some grunted while others just feigned indifference.

Later that night, we pondered on our 'project' and decided to move on to other 'projects' such as guys. Now, years later, whenever I listen to a speaker at a conference i wish silently that we had pursued our little 'project'. Words which are uncommon but used appropriately in speech still dazzle people and win some admiration.

Well, enough of my fiddlefaddle.