As it is with everything ever written, it begins with a story. The tale of a child and how by following a sphere of light billions of miles away, men who claimed wisdom bestowed upon him the title; King. It is the story of Jesus, but since we know it already I’ll just move on.
Years ago, let’s say 2030 years ago, ‘Christmas’ would probably have been a Jewish birthday celebration of some carpenter's kid. Maybe there would have been toys, small wooden figures, horses or camels made in his father’s workshop. A fat uncle here and there, one or two scribes or rabbis, some guys from the Carpenters Association, friends from the neighbourhood synagogue, wine and water and the general spirit of cheer.
Nowadays, it’s an international celebration of feasts with chicken and turkeys and fireworks and parties and worshippers lighting candles and singing “Come all ye faithful”. In this country,[Nigeria], the tradition of holly weaving and sipping eggnog by the fireplace have not really caught on, though I spot a mistletoe twig here and there (especially around my bedroom) and we do sing carols and drink beer.
I have at best celebrated fourteen Christmases with a sane mind and I have enjoyed just about every single one of them. For years, the season was my favorite and the gifts just made it all the sweeter. The taste of éclairs and chocolate bonbons on my tongue and the scratchy Jim Reeves vocals on the gramophone while Mum and Dad danced to “Christmas polka” are among my fondest memories.
Now I am older, I have just graduated from the University and I am accountable. The sounds of “Christmas polka” have faded into the dark of my mind and the onus is upon me to create new memories, so I ask myself; what is happening this Christmas?
In Calabar, and in Lagos, Port-Harcourt and Abuja, the streets are agog with merriment and both literally and figuratively, the carnival is in town. I write from Benin City, the Ancient Kingdom, and one could say, the closest thing to a carnival that this city knows is a couple of local talents screaming out their lungs to an audience already inebriated with alcohol. But there in is fun nonetheless.
Outside my window, in the streets by my house (my mother’s house actually), the people are awake, the sidewalks are crowded and lit brightly. Young and old people sit and tell jokes, even at this time (it is 10:22pm, 24th December), the sound of jubilation is in the air and the merriment is palpable. Firecrackers scream into the heavens giving yours truly a start every now and then, and with them, ‘real’ fireworks light up the sky in an amazing display of colours, making everything beautiful. And I smile and imagine tomorrow.
Tomorrow would be sunny, the air would be bright and in the wind, a sparkle so beautiful. Magical tones would tinkle upon the leaves, and wafting out of every house, the sweet, sweet sounds of carols. Joy would resonate in every heart and ‘jingle bells’ chime in our spirits. In my city, the worshippers would sing praises as the fatted turkeys and chickens would come to rest in our bellies, chased down by healthy quantities of the proper brews. Night would come quickly, and as the dark comes upon us, the streets in my area would light up in sparkles of red and green and Christmas lights. And the carnivals would blaze in brighter colours and the people would be happy and everyone would say “Merry Christmas”, and all tribe and religion shall be one.
But I was wrong.
This Christmas did not dawn sunny. I woke with a sore throat to find a dull morning. The sky was overcast in gray clouds and the air was hazy with the thread of dryness and a hint of smog. The smell of cordite and gunpowder was in the air and the firecrackers continued to explode and startle me half to death. And then the bad news came. In the early hours of the morning, while worshippers prayed and sang, Evil struck and bombs blew up churches in Jos and Yobe. And the day which should have been joyous took on a solemn turn. And the power company refused to restore full power and the generators went on in every compound and soaked the atmosphere with smoke and soot.
But what is Christmas? Is it dependent upon circumstances or travails?
Like it has always been and most probably always will, the Spirit of kindness and love prevailed and the clouds parted and the veil of darkness was rolled away, and rays of sunshine penetrated the gloom and as though at a sign from the gods, everything became warm and I could hear the magical tinkles. From afar a neighbour shouted, “Merry Christmas!” and from every house up and down the street came back the chorus, and the air was filled with joy again.
Later in the evening, as I sat on the floor with family and friends, opening gifts, a holiday movie playing on TV, I could feel a stinging in my eyes as the tears threatened to fall. Whether because of the jet of Champagne that had splashed on my face as I opened the bottle or the joy I felt at that moment I cannot tell. One thing was certain nevertheless, this Christmas was wonderful. It did not hurt that ‘Santa’ had provided most of all that was on my wish list, [“World peace” would have to wait for next year], and it was a nice feeling when, as I was about to propose a toast, I heard a child scream from somewhere on the street, “Up NEPA!”
Merry Christmas!
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Thursday, December 15, 2011
A Case for †ђξ gods
"As Ȋ̝̊̅§ usual, I would love τ̲̅ȍ announce that I do not intend τ̲̅ȍ act in atheistic temperament nor with any religion-attackin bias", this Ȋ̝̊̅§ M̶̲̥̅γ̲̣̣̥ opinion Ãήϑ I would let it be known, if you don't like it, I recommend you hug tight †ђξ transformer on your street.
That done, let's move on.
When we take a look down †ђξ halls of history, Ãήϑ we picture the wars fought on †ђξ great plains; Elba, Stalingrad, Carthage, Little Horn, †ђξ streets of Biafra, we picture bloodsoaked streets Ãήϑ bodies of men Ãήϑ women Ãήϑ children, littered everywhere as far as †ђξ eye can see. We imagine †ђξ foulest stench upon †ђξ air; †ђξ smell of corpses Ãήϑ blood Ãήϑ Death. In our minds we bemoan these battles Ãήϑ we curse this waste of human life Ãήϑ we wonder at †ђξ folly behind it all.
There Ȋ̝̊̅§ little knowledge of obvious fact, that †ђξ greatest of all these battles, †ђξ most violent, †ђξ most determining Ȋ̝̊̅§ that which has for ages been fought in †ђξ minds of man. †ђξ Battle of Mind Ãήϑ Religion.
Religion Ȋ̝̊̅§ †ђξ belief in †ђξ existence of a Supreme Power which governs †ђξ affairs of Man Ãήϑ †ђξ world. Man, as †ђξ social Ãήϑ cultural being that he Ȋ̝̊̅§ , has Religion intrinsically woven into †ђξ very fabric of his being. Every man believes in a Power (whether it be Allah, GOD, Zeus or †ђξ Mighty Atom), Ãήϑ this should never be counted against him. Where †ђξ problem lies Ãήϑ where it must be confronted Ȋ̝̊̅§ in †ђξ fanaticism or bigotry associated with these beliefs.
In †ђξ state of Nigeria (more than a couple of years ago), existed tribes Ãήϑ peoples, various 'nations' spanning from †ђξ Southern riverine areas over †ђξ mountains τ̲̅ȍ †ђξ arid North, Ãήϑ in between all these lay a vast pantheon of gods. Every tribe believed in theirs Ãήϑ in all of †ђξ Niger area all was at Spiritual peace. Until there came a camel rider from †ђξ desert Ãήϑ †ђξ religion of Islam was introduced τ̲̅ȍ this soil. Unlike †ђξ previous religions practiced in this land, this Islam spelt boldly that all other gods were false Ãήϑ their followers infidel Ãήϑ wrong. It proclaimed that whosoever followed †ђξ God of Islam was set for an Afterlife of paradise Ãήϑ those who didn't were destined for †ђξ Sheol. †ђξ people who heard this message were angered but soon enough †ђξ new religion caught on, (especially after a war was waged on its behalf), Ãήϑ all was at rest.
But not for very long.
Across †ђξ sea came another group, on iron camels[ships], this time around. These ones where whiteskinned Ãήϑ they brought a religion called Christianity Ãήϑ †ђξ god was called Jesus. This religion advocated †ђξ non-existence Ãήϑ complete powerlessness of †ђξ ancient gods, Ãήϑ it demanded that all follow its path. According τ̲̅ȍ Christian God, if you did not believe Ãήϑ spread this gospel, you will burn in Hellfire etc etc. As usual, †ђξ people did not follow completely, until there was a war, Ãήϑ they were knocked into that religion.
Ãήϑ thus began an era of religious bigotry, where men who once lived together in harmonious peace now sought τ̲̅ȍ convert their fellow brothers τ̲̅ȍ their religion, desperate Ãήϑ ready τ̲̅ȍ use force where necessary. In a classic example of a tug of war by evenly matched sides, †ђξ rope which was Nigeria tore in two.
Two, but not half.
Welcome τ̲̅ȍ Nigeria in †ђξ latter end of 2011, †ђξ land of bigotry Ãήϑ a welcome example of a country hanging by a thread. †ђξ people have all taken their places Ãήϑ †ђξ citizenry lies divided between a number of religious groups, with †ђξ majority Ãήϑ definitely most volatile being shared between †ђξ God of Islam Ãήϑ †ђξ Christian God. In †ђξ schools Ãήϑ Universities, †ђξ centres of learning, †ђξ very place where one would have expected more logical points of view, students are persuaded τ̲̅ȍ join one of †ђξ two major groups. Ãήϑ so it Ȋ̝̊̅§ , in †ђξ markets, †ђξ shops, †ђξ offices, in buses Ãήϑ on planes, †ђξ proselytizing goes on Ãήϑ we are constantly being sold one or †ђξ other brand of religion, while that which should bind us Ãήϑ National unity goes down †ђξ drain τ̲̅ȍ rest in an archive of lost hope Ãήϑ diminished glory.
When asked of a student Pastor, what he would do if a traditional worshipper walked into his class, he replied, "I will take up a cane Ãήϑ flog him out". What amazes Ȋ̝̊̅§ that, †ђξ Pastor sees nothing wrong in that. In a fit of righteousness, he throws away his sensibilities Ãήϑ †ђξ onus τ̲̅ȍ protect GOD-given freedom Ãήϑ takes upon a pseudo-mantle of punisher. What stupidity!
Ãήϑ now, I wonder, were things not better before these bigotry gods came?
Just saying...
That done, let's move on.
When we take a look down †ђξ halls of history, Ãήϑ we picture the wars fought on †ђξ great plains; Elba, Stalingrad, Carthage, Little Horn, †ђξ streets of Biafra, we picture bloodsoaked streets Ãήϑ bodies of men Ãήϑ women Ãήϑ children, littered everywhere as far as †ђξ eye can see. We imagine †ђξ foulest stench upon †ђξ air; †ђξ smell of corpses Ãήϑ blood Ãήϑ Death. In our minds we bemoan these battles Ãήϑ we curse this waste of human life Ãήϑ we wonder at †ђξ folly behind it all.
There Ȋ̝̊̅§ little knowledge of obvious fact, that †ђξ greatest of all these battles, †ђξ most violent, †ђξ most determining Ȋ̝̊̅§ that which has for ages been fought in †ђξ minds of man. †ђξ Battle of Mind Ãήϑ Religion.
Religion Ȋ̝̊̅§ †ђξ belief in †ђξ existence of a Supreme Power which governs †ђξ affairs of Man Ãήϑ †ђξ world. Man, as †ђξ social Ãήϑ cultural being that he Ȋ̝̊̅§ , has Religion intrinsically woven into †ђξ very fabric of his being. Every man believes in a Power (whether it be Allah, GOD, Zeus or †ђξ Mighty Atom), Ãήϑ this should never be counted against him. Where †ђξ problem lies Ãήϑ where it must be confronted Ȋ̝̊̅§ in †ђξ fanaticism or bigotry associated with these beliefs.
In †ђξ state of Nigeria (more than a couple of years ago), existed tribes Ãήϑ peoples, various 'nations' spanning from †ђξ Southern riverine areas over †ђξ mountains τ̲̅ȍ †ђξ arid North, Ãήϑ in between all these lay a vast pantheon of gods. Every tribe believed in theirs Ãήϑ in all of †ђξ Niger area all was at Spiritual peace. Until there came a camel rider from †ђξ desert Ãήϑ †ђξ religion of Islam was introduced τ̲̅ȍ this soil. Unlike †ђξ previous religions practiced in this land, this Islam spelt boldly that all other gods were false Ãήϑ their followers infidel Ãήϑ wrong. It proclaimed that whosoever followed †ђξ God of Islam was set for an Afterlife of paradise Ãήϑ those who didn't were destined for †ђξ Sheol. †ђξ people who heard this message were angered but soon enough †ђξ new religion caught on, (especially after a war was waged on its behalf), Ãήϑ all was at rest.
But not for very long.
Across †ђξ sea came another group, on iron camels[ships], this time around. These ones where whiteskinned Ãήϑ they brought a religion called Christianity Ãήϑ †ђξ god was called Jesus. This religion advocated †ђξ non-existence Ãήϑ complete powerlessness of †ђξ ancient gods, Ãήϑ it demanded that all follow its path. According τ̲̅ȍ Christian God, if you did not believe Ãήϑ spread this gospel, you will burn in Hellfire etc etc. As usual, †ђξ people did not follow completely, until there was a war, Ãήϑ they were knocked into that religion.
Ãήϑ thus began an era of religious bigotry, where men who once lived together in harmonious peace now sought τ̲̅ȍ convert their fellow brothers τ̲̅ȍ their religion, desperate Ãήϑ ready τ̲̅ȍ use force where necessary. In a classic example of a tug of war by evenly matched sides, †ђξ rope which was Nigeria tore in two.
Two, but not half.
Welcome τ̲̅ȍ Nigeria in †ђξ latter end of 2011, †ђξ land of bigotry Ãήϑ a welcome example of a country hanging by a thread. †ђξ people have all taken their places Ãήϑ †ђξ citizenry lies divided between a number of religious groups, with †ђξ majority Ãήϑ definitely most volatile being shared between †ђξ God of Islam Ãήϑ †ђξ Christian God. In †ђξ schools Ãήϑ Universities, †ђξ centres of learning, †ђξ very place where one would have expected more logical points of view, students are persuaded τ̲̅ȍ join one of †ђξ two major groups. Ãήϑ so it Ȋ̝̊̅§ , in †ђξ markets, †ђξ shops, †ђξ offices, in buses Ãήϑ on planes, †ђξ proselytizing goes on Ãήϑ we are constantly being sold one or †ђξ other brand of religion, while that which should bind us Ãήϑ National unity goes down †ђξ drain τ̲̅ȍ rest in an archive of lost hope Ãήϑ diminished glory.
When asked of a student Pastor, what he would do if a traditional worshipper walked into his class, he replied, "I will take up a cane Ãήϑ flog him out". What amazes Ȋ̝̊̅§ that, †ђξ Pastor sees nothing wrong in that. In a fit of righteousness, he throws away his sensibilities Ãήϑ †ђξ onus τ̲̅ȍ protect GOD-given freedom Ãήϑ takes upon a pseudo-mantle of punisher. What stupidity!
Ãήϑ now, I wonder, were things not better before these bigotry gods came?
Just saying...
Friday, November 25, 2011
†ђξ Virgin
Who is she? What is her name? I dare not write it, nor does my heart dare τ̲̅ȍ speak it, for in its meaning it conveys beauty & at its utterance it sets fire τ̲̅ȍ the senses.
Oh, but the beauty of the gods!
When she smiles you're forced τ̲̅ȍ smile too, as though with †ђξ radiance which emits thus, you're assured of a future of bliss & no pain.
Oh, but d innocence behind that smile! It is as though †ђξ world is free & nothing can go wrong...
Then, she stands τ̲̅ȍ take a walk, you are conscious of those small pointed breasts as they appear in perfect proportion τ̲̅ȍ her slim frame which tapers towards a models waist & a flat belly.
Then at the waist,you're shocked again. For with a curve that would have made Andromeda jealous, her derriere reaches out and curves with such luscious lines, you gasp for breath. Then she walks away swinging her hips τ̲̅ȍ the rhythm of a silent primal beat..the walk is not forced, it is not learned, it's natural.
You keep on staring & suddenly it seems she has noticed, for she suddenly turns with an amused tilt τ̲̅ȍ her head & a mischievous smile on her lips. Her face is smooth & fair, her eyebrows are full & dark.
Then you see her eyes! and d world stops..
Behind those long lashes are dark pools that promise
desire & yet reveal chastity. You long τ̲̅ȍ drown in them, yet you fear τ̲̅ȍ tarnish their purity. You long τ̲̅ȍ know their secrets, τ̲̅ȍ feel their pains & their joys & their fears. You long to love them.. She blinks slowly & her eyelids flutter & open again. It is not on purpose but it sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine τ̲̅ȍ rest in your bowels & a now familiar stirring rises in your groin.
She smiles again & resumes her walk, then you realise you've been holding your breath.
Oh lord, you sigh, she's beautiful.
And it's true.
Oh, but the beauty of the gods!
When she smiles you're forced τ̲̅ȍ smile too, as though with †ђξ radiance which emits thus, you're assured of a future of bliss & no pain.
Oh, but d innocence behind that smile! It is as though †ђξ world is free & nothing can go wrong...
Then, she stands τ̲̅ȍ take a walk, you are conscious of those small pointed breasts as they appear in perfect proportion τ̲̅ȍ her slim frame which tapers towards a models waist & a flat belly.
Then at the waist,you're shocked again. For with a curve that would have made Andromeda jealous, her derriere reaches out and curves with such luscious lines, you gasp for breath. Then she walks away swinging her hips τ̲̅ȍ the rhythm of a silent primal beat..the walk is not forced, it is not learned, it's natural.
You keep on staring & suddenly it seems she has noticed, for she suddenly turns with an amused tilt τ̲̅ȍ her head & a mischievous smile on her lips. Her face is smooth & fair, her eyebrows are full & dark.
Then you see her eyes! and d world stops..
Behind those long lashes are dark pools that promise
desire & yet reveal chastity. You long τ̲̅ȍ drown in them, yet you fear τ̲̅ȍ tarnish their purity. You long τ̲̅ȍ know their secrets, τ̲̅ȍ feel their pains & their joys & their fears. You long to love them.. She blinks slowly & her eyelids flutter & open again. It is not on purpose but it sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine τ̲̅ȍ rest in your bowels & a now familiar stirring rises in your groin.
She smiles again & resumes her walk, then you realise you've been holding your breath.
Oh lord, you sigh, she's beautiful.
And it's true.
Cry of Pain..
The clouds darken, mirroring my mood...all around me evil gathers as I plummet deeper & deeper into
an abyss of sorrow &pain.
D pain is not physical; it reaches from deep within †ђξ far reaches of my heart...gnawing & chewing away, this
nebulous monster takes apart my faith and soul until I'm nothing more dan a pack of muscle & bone.
Once, i was content: young, smart, christian & in love, then in one swoop dat lasted a year, everything changed & †ђξ colours of d world 'harshened' from a golden yellow τ̲̅ȍ the gray of a
cloudy sky and a black as the Devil's robes.
I grew older and the complexities of d world were laid bare τ̲̅ȍ me as childish innocence faded away; I grew smarter & less wise as I chose Science & Logic over Faith & God and as the last straw, Love died and d futility of it all was laid
bare.
But I did not die!
Rather I gave myself τ̲̅ȍ instinct as i became the true animal; powerful, proud & handsome. Avenues were examined by instinct and a measure of Logic rather than blind Faith; Love was discarded as
lust and freedom were embraced as against †ђξ fetters of a relationship. In it all, a sliver of regard was retained for God, however his servants I regarded with suspicion - experience haven taught
me never to trust, where before I would have relied on Faith.
However, soon I lapsed into debauchery and I gave myself up to enjoyment to d full & discipline was thrown out the window.
Slowly and slowly, I dug the pit into which I fell, I 'smoothened' the sides so I couldn't climb out Ãήϑ by d time I realised it.. It was too late...too late...
an abyss of sorrow &pain.
D pain is not physical; it reaches from deep within †ђξ far reaches of my heart...gnawing & chewing away, this
nebulous monster takes apart my faith and soul until I'm nothing more dan a pack of muscle & bone.
Once, i was content: young, smart, christian & in love, then in one swoop dat lasted a year, everything changed & †ђξ colours of d world 'harshened' from a golden yellow τ̲̅ȍ the gray of a
cloudy sky and a black as the Devil's robes.
I grew older and the complexities of d world were laid bare τ̲̅ȍ me as childish innocence faded away; I grew smarter & less wise as I chose Science & Logic over Faith & God and as the last straw, Love died and d futility of it all was laid
bare.
But I did not die!
Rather I gave myself τ̲̅ȍ instinct as i became the true animal; powerful, proud & handsome. Avenues were examined by instinct and a measure of Logic rather than blind Faith; Love was discarded as
lust and freedom were embraced as against †ђξ fetters of a relationship. In it all, a sliver of regard was retained for God, however his servants I regarded with suspicion - experience haven taught
me never to trust, where before I would have relied on Faith.
However, soon I lapsed into debauchery and I gave myself up to enjoyment to d full & discipline was thrown out the window.
Slowly and slowly, I dug the pit into which I fell, I 'smoothened' the sides so I couldn't climb out Ãήϑ by d time I realised it.. It was too late...too late...
Monday, November 14, 2011
†ђξ darkness of †ђξ Soul...
There Ȋ̝̊̅§ a darkness at †ђξ heart of every man. †ђξ measure of †ђξ strength of that man Ȋ̝̊̅§ his ability τ̲̅ȍ conquer that darkness. In this battle with †ђξ very tightly woven fabric of his soul, a man sometimes loses, but †ђξ men who are counted worthy Ãήϑ who stand above all others are those who break through Ãήϑ destroy that darkness.
†ђξ people who stay around you, who form your circle of friends, who are your family, those you care most about, they feel †ђξ brunt of this darkness. It Ȋ̝̊̅§ they, who first feel †ђξ whip of †ђξ evil which resides deep within you. Ãήϑ †ђξ question which always arises: could you have stopped it? Could you have prevented this evil from existing Ãήϑ from affecting †ђξ people you love?
In †ђξ effort τ̲̅ȍ destroy that which so eagerly threatens τ̲̅ȍ tear apart †ђξ very fabric of our soul, we find ourselves understanding it, we come τ̲̅ȍ love it, we come τ̲̅ȍ enjoy †ђξ feeling it releases Ãήϑ as with every drug, we become addicted Ãήϑ we come τ̲̅ȍ need it. It Ȋ̝̊̅§ at this point that we transcend that point where we were embattled humans Ãήϑ we become truly evil.
When we don't care anymore, when we do what we do because we can Ãήϑ with absolutely NƠ̴͡ regard for †ђξ feelings of our friends. When we remove †ђξ care Ãήϑ warmth of emotion Ãήϑ we truly Ãήϑ wholly become cold blocks of icy logic. When we die τ̲̅ȍ †ђξ world Ãήϑ care NƠ̴͡ more. When we lose those we care for †ђξ most. Then we near †ђξ pit Ãήϑ that crevasse from which if we surrender, we would never pull out again.
When do you then demand for salvation? ♓☺W do you get it? Ãήϑ from whence may it come?
As it Ȋ̝̊̅§ with any form of ice Ãήϑ cold, warmth Ȋ̝̊̅§ †ђξ cure Ãήϑ a rush of emotions Ȋ̝̊̅§ necessary. But in a heart so cold Ãήϑ dead, can love so pure suffer it τ̲̅ȍ break?
A rush of emotions, a cold heart, a teary eye Ãήϑ a heart torn nearly assunder...
Pure madness.
†ђξ people who stay around you, who form your circle of friends, who are your family, those you care most about, they feel †ђξ brunt of this darkness. It Ȋ̝̊̅§ they, who first feel †ђξ whip of †ђξ evil which resides deep within you. Ãήϑ †ђξ question which always arises: could you have stopped it? Could you have prevented this evil from existing Ãήϑ from affecting †ђξ people you love?
In †ђξ effort τ̲̅ȍ destroy that which so eagerly threatens τ̲̅ȍ tear apart †ђξ very fabric of our soul, we find ourselves understanding it, we come τ̲̅ȍ love it, we come τ̲̅ȍ enjoy †ђξ feeling it releases Ãήϑ as with every drug, we become addicted Ãήϑ we come τ̲̅ȍ need it. It Ȋ̝̊̅§ at this point that we transcend that point where we were embattled humans Ãήϑ we become truly evil.
When we don't care anymore, when we do what we do because we can Ãήϑ with absolutely NƠ̴͡ regard for †ђξ feelings of our friends. When we remove †ђξ care Ãήϑ warmth of emotion Ãήϑ we truly Ãήϑ wholly become cold blocks of icy logic. When we die τ̲̅ȍ †ђξ world Ãήϑ care NƠ̴͡ more. When we lose those we care for †ђξ most. Then we near †ђξ pit Ãήϑ that crevasse from which if we surrender, we would never pull out again.
When do you then demand for salvation? ♓☺W do you get it? Ãήϑ from whence may it come?
As it Ȋ̝̊̅§ with any form of ice Ãήϑ cold, warmth Ȋ̝̊̅§ †ђξ cure Ãήϑ a rush of emotions Ȋ̝̊̅§ necessary. But in a heart so cold Ãήϑ dead, can love so pure suffer it τ̲̅ȍ break?
A rush of emotions, a cold heart, a teary eye Ãήϑ a heart torn nearly assunder...
Pure madness.
Democracy: †ђξ utopian farce
Democracy, they said, was government of the people, by them and for them. The history behind the concept stretches back in time through the ages and I will not bore us with a history lesson. There are other things to bore with.
Democracy as an ideology is wonderful, but just as it is with Faith and fiction, it exists on the pages and in the mind. It has no tangible form.
There is no way in any normal society so prone to many different psyches and ideologies even, that a system of government whereby a people lead themselves in such away that the profits are shared equitably among them can exist.
Humans are animals at their best, beasts at their worst, and with all such living forms, there is something known as a caste system. Some are always at the top, and the profits of the spoils are given to them for first sampling.
Take a lion's pride for instance. Lions, as the heads and rulers, if I may, of their prides, stay back while the rest of the pride, the lionesses, do the hunting, and the killing. A classic example of 'Monkey dey work, Baboon dey chop...'
The President of the nation, or Ruler or Chancellor, is an animal, a baboon.
One basic thing about democracy which is utterly surprising is the irony which lies between 'basic human rights' and 'upholding the rule of law'. For the completely antagonistic who are willing to learn, I'll give a short lesson.
What are basic human rights?
Right to food, shelter, warmth right? Wrong. It goes a lot further than that. It extends far more. It involves the right to do what one wants to do. Whenever one wants to do it. That is the part they try to make us forget.
Please note that, I do not seek to promote any form of anarchy or indicate that there exists a conspiracy to put down the common man below the boots of the Baboon.
I just want to say the truth, and as I see it. You are entitled to your own belief.
'Upholding the rule of law' is another matter entirely. What exactly is the rule of law? I don't have a law degree. I graduate from the University with a bachelor's degree in microbiology, but I know that 'upholding the rule of law' involves the use of force to determine that the inhabitants of a particular area are subject to rules that have been put down by other people. A direct violation of their rights.
The upholding of the law is a direct violation of the law.
Democracy like I said before is a farce, and not only in my country, Nigeria. It is the same all over the world, but here in Nigeria, the stink of the falsehood which follows the concept reeks so badly, one is tempted to look over his shoulder for the source of the smell.
In a law debate, the argument for democracy would go thus: the people making the laws which govern the land were put in place by the same people who are to be governed. There is no problem with that concept and ignoring the obvious, (which involves election rigging and the simple fact that it is not always the person one wants that gets elected), it may even be applauded but for a single problem. The simple issue that it eliminates freedom.
The singular feature which coats democracy and makes it so attractive to the world, is freedom. Democracy promises freedom and an opportunity for the man at the bottom to reach the top. It eliminates the caste system and places each man as an equal. Small wonder the Russian revolution and the overthrow of the Tsar. Very Greek, very Christian even.
It does this on paper only.
Democracy institutionalizes position, and that which in the monarchial caste system is based on birthrights is now left for whoever can grab it. Very un-bourgeois if I may, and thoroughly false.
Democracy is like the rainbow, a colouring so visible to the eye and yet, so invisible and unreachable. In my opinion, as a concept, to be taught in schools and maybe practised, there is
no problem. But as an ideology higher placed than gerontocracy or the monarchy, I demand it be pulled down.
The concept never worked, except in an ideal society. And we know, no such thing exists.
Democracy as an ideology is wonderful, but just as it is with Faith and fiction, it exists on the pages and in the mind. It has no tangible form.
There is no way in any normal society so prone to many different psyches and ideologies even, that a system of government whereby a people lead themselves in such away that the profits are shared equitably among them can exist.
Humans are animals at their best, beasts at their worst, and with all such living forms, there is something known as a caste system. Some are always at the top, and the profits of the spoils are given to them for first sampling.
Take a lion's pride for instance. Lions, as the heads and rulers, if I may, of their prides, stay back while the rest of the pride, the lionesses, do the hunting, and the killing. A classic example of 'Monkey dey work, Baboon dey chop...'
The President of the nation, or Ruler or Chancellor, is an animal, a baboon.
One basic thing about democracy which is utterly surprising is the irony which lies between 'basic human rights' and 'upholding the rule of law'. For the completely antagonistic who are willing to learn, I'll give a short lesson.
What are basic human rights?
Right to food, shelter, warmth right? Wrong. It goes a lot further than that. It extends far more. It involves the right to do what one wants to do. Whenever one wants to do it. That is the part they try to make us forget.
Please note that, I do not seek to promote any form of anarchy or indicate that there exists a conspiracy to put down the common man below the boots of the Baboon.
I just want to say the truth, and as I see it. You are entitled to your own belief.
'Upholding the rule of law' is another matter entirely. What exactly is the rule of law? I don't have a law degree. I graduate from the University with a bachelor's degree in microbiology, but I know that 'upholding the rule of law' involves the use of force to determine that the inhabitants of a particular area are subject to rules that have been put down by other people. A direct violation of their rights.
The upholding of the law is a direct violation of the law.
Democracy like I said before is a farce, and not only in my country, Nigeria. It is the same all over the world, but here in Nigeria, the stink of the falsehood which follows the concept reeks so badly, one is tempted to look over his shoulder for the source of the smell.
In a law debate, the argument for democracy would go thus: the people making the laws which govern the land were put in place by the same people who are to be governed. There is no problem with that concept and ignoring the obvious, (which involves election rigging and the simple fact that it is not always the person one wants that gets elected), it may even be applauded but for a single problem. The simple issue that it eliminates freedom.
The singular feature which coats democracy and makes it so attractive to the world, is freedom. Democracy promises freedom and an opportunity for the man at the bottom to reach the top. It eliminates the caste system and places each man as an equal. Small wonder the Russian revolution and the overthrow of the Tsar. Very Greek, very Christian even.
It does this on paper only.
Democracy institutionalizes position, and that which in the monarchial caste system is based on birthrights is now left for whoever can grab it. Very un-bourgeois if I may, and thoroughly false.
Democracy is like the rainbow, a colouring so visible to the eye and yet, so invisible and unreachable. In my opinion, as a concept, to be taught in schools and maybe practised, there is
no problem. But as an ideology higher placed than gerontocracy or the monarchy, I demand it be pulled down.
The concept never worked, except in an ideal society. And we know, no such thing exists.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Our Independence; Our Freedom
*Clearing throat* Yes, it's time for something serious. Once again, I have abandoned my adolescence and pick up the mantle of my 'Old age', according to my roommate.*laugh* Time to pen the words for my country.
Years ago, so long now it is almost forgotten, that brilliant Sunday morning in October, when we became a nation, free, and independent. For sixty years, we had been an official colony, a protectorate of the British Royalty. Finally, freedom was ours. One country, one nation, united under one banner, by border and as brothers, one people under GOD; Nigeria.
Many years have passed now and yet the meaning of what we won by blood and toil is still lost upon us. Independence is what we celebrate, but the true meaning of our independence is unknown to us. As a date upon which a state is free as a polity and is able to conduct herself politically, we understand October 1, 1960. But as the day when a people came together as one, and the dark blue Union Jack was tossed down and a new, bright green and white flag flew bravely from the rooftops, signifying a people free from dependence or control by any person or group, that day is what we have forgotten.
Till this day, in our everyday activities, we still see the oppression, the suffering, the put-down of our people by others who have by some means been elevated to some sort of status. Till this day, we see people who would seek to take away our independence and our freedom. We see people who by diverse machinations seek, hard, to ensure our continued subservience and dependence upon them. Till this day, our freedom, our complete independence from subjugating control is challenged.
Our enemies come in different shapes and shades, putting on various masks and pretences. They live among us. They are in everything we are involved. They are everywhere we are. They can be seen and heard, we know who they are, but the fear, the oppression they levy determines we do nothing. They are called by different names. We know those names. We know our oppressors.
The ancient scourge of our economy as a nation has been corruption, this monster seeps deep, deep within our souls. It entrenches itself within us, reaching deeper, into our subconscious, making itself a part of us, deciding our actions, eliminating our freedom. This monster creates the oppressors. It is the urge to be corrupt which gives birth to oppression. The oppression from our leaders, the oppression from the bribe-taking lecturers in our schools, we know these things. We know these people. We know these oppressors. We see them every day. They will seek to destroy us. They will seek to climb upon our backs to glory, and bask in the view of our dead corpses if they can. But we will not let them.
Over fifty years ago, in a world not so different from ours now, brave men stood united and decided to fight for what they wanted, for what they knew was theirs. For “Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.” The oppressors would seek to enslave our lives, that our liberties are extinguished, that in the pursuit of happiness we fail. But we will fight them. Marching head high, with the arrows and bullets of derision flying all around us, we would reach into the hearts of the monsters and rip out their source.
In this, we would suffer casualties. In this endeavour we would almost fail. As we march down this road, things would get worse and the pain from the oppression we would face would be interminable. Then, it would get better. Just at the edge, at the brink of failure and defeat, we would rear up again and push the oppressors down the ledge of human history and once again, it would be written that brave people stood and fought against tyrants and won their freedom.
To those who oppress I write a few words. Your time has come. The life of tyranny you have led before now has come to an end. No more. No more would you sit upon your malodorous thrones and demand sacrifices of those who seek simply to live the lives they were born for. No more would you spread your foul-smelling tentacles into the hearts of the pure and innocent and corrupt their souls for your evil schemes. No more would you serve your evil master, Corruption, and enslave the Children of this great nation. My country is free, Nigeria is independent, and her people more so.
Years ago, we were given freedom as a state, now we demand freedom for ourselves. The battle for our souls cannot however be won by our mortal might, solace and refuge must be found in the arms of GOD and by his Grace, with his power flowing in our veins, we would conquer the evil ones.
And when the oppressor seeks to stand in whatever form, whether as a political leader enforcing a policy, an extremist religious faction trying to terrorize us or a lecturer forcing us to bribe through his course, we will be steadfast, we would not back down, we would stand and say NO, and demand that that which is right be done and our freedom remain. We would stare into the face of oppression and proclaim our independence, our freedom.
So help us, GOD.
Years ago, so long now it is almost forgotten, that brilliant Sunday morning in October, when we became a nation, free, and independent. For sixty years, we had been an official colony, a protectorate of the British Royalty. Finally, freedom was ours. One country, one nation, united under one banner, by border and as brothers, one people under GOD; Nigeria.
Many years have passed now and yet the meaning of what we won by blood and toil is still lost upon us. Independence is what we celebrate, but the true meaning of our independence is unknown to us. As a date upon which a state is free as a polity and is able to conduct herself politically, we understand October 1, 1960. But as the day when a people came together as one, and the dark blue Union Jack was tossed down and a new, bright green and white flag flew bravely from the rooftops, signifying a people free from dependence or control by any person or group, that day is what we have forgotten.
Till this day, in our everyday activities, we still see the oppression, the suffering, the put-down of our people by others who have by some means been elevated to some sort of status. Till this day, we see people who would seek to take away our independence and our freedom. We see people who by diverse machinations seek, hard, to ensure our continued subservience and dependence upon them. Till this day, our freedom, our complete independence from subjugating control is challenged.
Our enemies come in different shapes and shades, putting on various masks and pretences. They live among us. They are in everything we are involved. They are everywhere we are. They can be seen and heard, we know who they are, but the fear, the oppression they levy determines we do nothing. They are called by different names. We know those names. We know our oppressors.
The ancient scourge of our economy as a nation has been corruption, this monster seeps deep, deep within our souls. It entrenches itself within us, reaching deeper, into our subconscious, making itself a part of us, deciding our actions, eliminating our freedom. This monster creates the oppressors. It is the urge to be corrupt which gives birth to oppression. The oppression from our leaders, the oppression from the bribe-taking lecturers in our schools, we know these things. We know these people. We know these oppressors. We see them every day. They will seek to destroy us. They will seek to climb upon our backs to glory, and bask in the view of our dead corpses if they can. But we will not let them.
Over fifty years ago, in a world not so different from ours now, brave men stood united and decided to fight for what they wanted, for what they knew was theirs. For “Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.” The oppressors would seek to enslave our lives, that our liberties are extinguished, that in the pursuit of happiness we fail. But we will fight them. Marching head high, with the arrows and bullets of derision flying all around us, we would reach into the hearts of the monsters and rip out their source.
In this, we would suffer casualties. In this endeavour we would almost fail. As we march down this road, things would get worse and the pain from the oppression we would face would be interminable. Then, it would get better. Just at the edge, at the brink of failure and defeat, we would rear up again and push the oppressors down the ledge of human history and once again, it would be written that brave people stood and fought against tyrants and won their freedom.
To those who oppress I write a few words. Your time has come. The life of tyranny you have led before now has come to an end. No more. No more would you sit upon your malodorous thrones and demand sacrifices of those who seek simply to live the lives they were born for. No more would you spread your foul-smelling tentacles into the hearts of the pure and innocent and corrupt their souls for your evil schemes. No more would you serve your evil master, Corruption, and enslave the Children of this great nation. My country is free, Nigeria is independent, and her people more so.
Years ago, we were given freedom as a state, now we demand freedom for ourselves. The battle for our souls cannot however be won by our mortal might, solace and refuge must be found in the arms of GOD and by his Grace, with his power flowing in our veins, we would conquer the evil ones.
And when the oppressor seeks to stand in whatever form, whether as a political leader enforcing a policy, an extremist religious faction trying to terrorize us or a lecturer forcing us to bribe through his course, we will be steadfast, we would not back down, we would stand and say NO, and demand that that which is right be done and our freedom remain. We would stare into the face of oppression and proclaim our independence, our freedom.
So help us, GOD.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Greed
I had one of those days yesterday.
I have always asked of several things from GOD, though I pride myself on not being too greedy, and one of these is the ability to control myself and to establish control over the surroundings.
GOD is gracious.
I always get what I ask.
I wonder if it has been the right thing.
Yesterday, my control was tested. My ability to establish control over all within my reach was examined.
My control over my own self was tested.
To say I acted out of control would be so wrong as to be sinful, on the contrary, I was so in control of both self and circumstance it scares me.
Coolheadedly and with an almost completely detached air, I executed motions I would ordinarily debate, motions and actions I still am not sure were in the best interests of both I and those around me.
I did commit a certain level of sin yesterday. Which makes me wonder not too little if I indeed was the mastermind behind the matters or if I, unknowinly, was and still is the pawn in some horrible scheme.
Maybe I've been bewitched and completely screwed.
The way forward.
This matter bothers me. It is a surprising trait of humans when we seek to achieve certain goals, we strive and push and in the event we reach our mark with a minimum of fuss we are bothered and surprised.
I was surprised. I am bothered.
It is not as though I had any doubts I would be able to achieve what I wanted, it is just that I didn't believe it will work so quickly, and easily.
Thr true test of achievement is this then:
Not merely a matter of reaching a goal aforeplanned, it is a matter of attaining a place once dreamed of with the joy and happiness which stems from fulfilment.
It is that joy that escapes me now.
I have what i wanted, I am just not happy with it.
Of the many constitutions that exist, the seven deadly sins, greed is a predominant factor associated. I fear now, that I am falling for greed.
But ask yourself, is the pursuit of perfection simply a motive for unsatisfying greed? Does a man who seemingly wants more in order to have the best suffer from a simple bout of greediness?
Am I, who has gotten what he wants, but not how he wants it, simply a greedy bastard?
Questions.
I wonder what to make of everything sometimes.
I will accept my fate. My destiny does hold alot more. Right or wrong, that which i need and want, I will get. The road to success I will line with the carcasses of all that stood to oppose me and destroy me and trick me into believing I had arrived. The false signposts will I bring down. More will i want, more will I get. And if I am accused of greed, so be it.
I am Janus afterall.
I have always asked of several things from GOD, though I pride myself on not being too greedy, and one of these is the ability to control myself and to establish control over the surroundings.
GOD is gracious.
I always get what I ask.
I wonder if it has been the right thing.
Yesterday, my control was tested. My ability to establish control over all within my reach was examined.
My control over my own self was tested.
To say I acted out of control would be so wrong as to be sinful, on the contrary, I was so in control of both self and circumstance it scares me.
Coolheadedly and with an almost completely detached air, I executed motions I would ordinarily debate, motions and actions I still am not sure were in the best interests of both I and those around me.
I did commit a certain level of sin yesterday. Which makes me wonder not too little if I indeed was the mastermind behind the matters or if I, unknowinly, was and still is the pawn in some horrible scheme.
Maybe I've been bewitched and completely screwed.
The way forward.
This matter bothers me. It is a surprising trait of humans when we seek to achieve certain goals, we strive and push and in the event we reach our mark with a minimum of fuss we are bothered and surprised.
I was surprised. I am bothered.
It is not as though I had any doubts I would be able to achieve what I wanted, it is just that I didn't believe it will work so quickly, and easily.
Thr true test of achievement is this then:
Not merely a matter of reaching a goal aforeplanned, it is a matter of attaining a place once dreamed of with the joy and happiness which stems from fulfilment.
It is that joy that escapes me now.
I have what i wanted, I am just not happy with it.
Of the many constitutions that exist, the seven deadly sins, greed is a predominant factor associated. I fear now, that I am falling for greed.
But ask yourself, is the pursuit of perfection simply a motive for unsatisfying greed? Does a man who seemingly wants more in order to have the best suffer from a simple bout of greediness?
Am I, who has gotten what he wants, but not how he wants it, simply a greedy bastard?
Questions.
I wonder what to make of everything sometimes.
I will accept my fate. My destiny does hold alot more. Right or wrong, that which i need and want, I will get. The road to success I will line with the carcasses of all that stood to oppose me and destroy me and trick me into believing I had arrived. The false signposts will I bring down. More will i want, more will I get. And if I am accused of greed, so be it.
I am Janus afterall.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Boko Haram; the scare...
Etymologically, by loose Hausa translation, Boko Haram means 'Western Education is Sin'. How exactly a bunch of Fulani herders intend to pass that across beats the imagination, but then I am not Shakespeare.
Yesterday, hooligans claiming righteousness held an academic institution to ransom, many academic institutions if truth be told. What i want to understand now is the reason behind, not their righteous parade, but the compliance by members of the said institutions to their wishes.
In times past, the colleges of learning, the universities and schools have been bastions of hope and support at the times when it seems the entire world has gone to hell. Professors and teachers, have remained the solid wall of reasoning and logic when all seems lost and the leaders of countries and nations are wringing their hands in despair. That was years ago, and probably not in this country.
The Northern militants decided to make maximum use of their newfound publicity and threaten the sanity of Nigerians with bomb attacks on their children. This time they said they would spread their tentacles southwards and attack my school. Wrong move.
Naturally, as it is when things like this happen, conjectures started to fly. People remembered when 9/11 happened and how, apparently, the US had foreknowledge of the disaster and were unable to prevent it. They didn't forget the UN bombing of a few weeks ago (GOD rest the souls of the departed), and how the SSS had foreknowledge which was not acted on and the disaster which resulted. This time around they argued, (those disaster-mongers), GOD has given us the opportunity and we would not mess it up.
Plans were made and next thing we had previously job-seeking young men thronging our gates searching those coming into the campus and those going out! Still, when the time came and the week of bomb-wise annihilation came up, students still walked the campus without fear and with total disregard of whatsoever form of threat the now decentralized Bokos had in mind. That was until wednesday.
What is the definition of a man of GOD? According to popular hearsay, a man by that title went on International Tv and told everyone, very conveniently, that something tragic was going to happen on the University campus at 3 O'clock. No p.ms or a.ms, just 3 O'clock. Naturally panic descended and students of a university, people learning to examine problems from a logical perspective flew into fright and tried to escape school.
By the next morning, as early as 2 a.m, pandemonium had descended fully on Ugbowo campus and trickle by trickle, the students poured out of school. That in itself is understandable, most of the students, like it or not, are children and the situation was too much for them to handle alone, after all those that they ordinarily would have turned to had fled the scene.
At the very moment when all seems to be lost and insanity has replaced the sane mind, and the world turns usually to the masters of logic, they were nowhere to be found. The reasoning they hid behind was the age old cliche, "Better safe than sorry", forgetting that the man who was predicting [according to the grapevine],the bombing could scarcely predict the results of an all too obvious match up, [something even octopi can do], perhaps one should start taking only the opposite of whatever this man prophesies.
3a.m passed, then 3p.m, and then some people started wondering whether he meant 3 O'clock Eastern time. I do not blame any one who ran away from their duties due to a bomb threat, and I commiserate with the girls in the school hostels, it wouldn't have been easy coping with that trauma, it's a hard time our country is going through, we need but pray and hope.
The Boko Haram sect has declared war upon the citizens, Government and Constitution of our great nation, it is our ill-luck to live in such a time, nevertheless it is a blessing, for now we have a chance to turn the tables and raise the bar on this nation. This is a war of terror, and the winner is the one who is able to establish fear and thoughtless incoherence on the other. We wouldn't lose this war. We would not show fear, we would not let Boko Haram win us. Instead, we would not relent and with our heads held high, we would stand and fight back and strike fear into the hearts of our oppresors, the cowards.
In the Holy Qu'ran, Sura 42, it says; "All those who fight (back) when oppressed shall incur no guilt, but Allah shall punish the oppressor."
Yesterday, hooligans claiming righteousness held an academic institution to ransom, many academic institutions if truth be told. What i want to understand now is the reason behind, not their righteous parade, but the compliance by members of the said institutions to their wishes.
In times past, the colleges of learning, the universities and schools have been bastions of hope and support at the times when it seems the entire world has gone to hell. Professors and teachers, have remained the solid wall of reasoning and logic when all seems lost and the leaders of countries and nations are wringing their hands in despair. That was years ago, and probably not in this country.
The Northern militants decided to make maximum use of their newfound publicity and threaten the sanity of Nigerians with bomb attacks on their children. This time they said they would spread their tentacles southwards and attack my school. Wrong move.
Naturally, as it is when things like this happen, conjectures started to fly. People remembered when 9/11 happened and how, apparently, the US had foreknowledge of the disaster and were unable to prevent it. They didn't forget the UN bombing of a few weeks ago (GOD rest the souls of the departed), and how the SSS had foreknowledge which was not acted on and the disaster which resulted. This time around they argued, (those disaster-mongers), GOD has given us the opportunity and we would not mess it up.
Plans were made and next thing we had previously job-seeking young men thronging our gates searching those coming into the campus and those going out! Still, when the time came and the week of bomb-wise annihilation came up, students still walked the campus without fear and with total disregard of whatsoever form of threat the now decentralized Bokos had in mind. That was until wednesday.
What is the definition of a man of GOD? According to popular hearsay, a man by that title went on International Tv and told everyone, very conveniently, that something tragic was going to happen on the University campus at 3 O'clock. No p.ms or a.ms, just 3 O'clock. Naturally panic descended and students of a university, people learning to examine problems from a logical perspective flew into fright and tried to escape school.
By the next morning, as early as 2 a.m, pandemonium had descended fully on Ugbowo campus and trickle by trickle, the students poured out of school. That in itself is understandable, most of the students, like it or not, are children and the situation was too much for them to handle alone, after all those that they ordinarily would have turned to had fled the scene.
At the very moment when all seems to be lost and insanity has replaced the sane mind, and the world turns usually to the masters of logic, they were nowhere to be found. The reasoning they hid behind was the age old cliche, "Better safe than sorry", forgetting that the man who was predicting [according to the grapevine],the bombing could scarcely predict the results of an all too obvious match up, [something even octopi can do], perhaps one should start taking only the opposite of whatever this man prophesies.
3a.m passed, then 3p.m, and then some people started wondering whether he meant 3 O'clock Eastern time. I do not blame any one who ran away from their duties due to a bomb threat, and I commiserate with the girls in the school hostels, it wouldn't have been easy coping with that trauma, it's a hard time our country is going through, we need but pray and hope.
The Boko Haram sect has declared war upon the citizens, Government and Constitution of our great nation, it is our ill-luck to live in such a time, nevertheless it is a blessing, for now we have a chance to turn the tables and raise the bar on this nation. This is a war of terror, and the winner is the one who is able to establish fear and thoughtless incoherence on the other. We wouldn't lose this war. We would not show fear, we would not let Boko Haram win us. Instead, we would not relent and with our heads held high, we would stand and fight back and strike fear into the hearts of our oppresors, the cowards.
In the Holy Qu'ran, Sura 42, it says; "All those who fight (back) when oppressed shall incur no guilt, but Allah shall punish the oppressor."
Monday, September 5, 2011
Flag of truce
It can't work between us.
I have determined it finally. It would not work. The very concept was dead from the beginning, i had so far served only to prolong it. No way, no more. I have tried my hardest. It cannot work.
If at this very stage when things are rosy and all seems beautiful, things are like this, then in the time of trial and problems and heartbreaking tribulation, this would not stand the test.
I give up.
No more.
She, i thought was for me. I have been wrong before. I was wrong this time. There's no point. I give up.
I thought something beautiful was growing between us. I was wrong again. The thought that someone so beautiful could become mine swayed me into such a frenzy that i forgot that which was most essential. It's over.
I give up.
Pathetically, i hoped and prayed, but even the gods had denied me. It's over. I give up.
The mystique of that which had crept up between us before has fizzled. The light is gone. Sparks are vanished and once more, the lonely god sits alone.
I have never had this feeling before, i guess it's a first, but it's over.
I give up.
I have determined it finally. It would not work. The very concept was dead from the beginning, i had so far served only to prolong it. No way, no more. I have tried my hardest. It cannot work.
If at this very stage when things are rosy and all seems beautiful, things are like this, then in the time of trial and problems and heartbreaking tribulation, this would not stand the test.
I give up.
No more.
She, i thought was for me. I have been wrong before. I was wrong this time. There's no point. I give up.
I thought something beautiful was growing between us. I was wrong again. The thought that someone so beautiful could become mine swayed me into such a frenzy that i forgot that which was most essential. It's over.
I give up.
Pathetically, i hoped and prayed, but even the gods had denied me. It's over. I give up.
The mystique of that which had crept up between us before has fizzled. The light is gone. Sparks are vanished and once more, the lonely god sits alone.
I have never had this feeling before, i guess it's a first, but it's over.
I give up.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
A Soldier's notes...(an excerpt)
I wonder if I should write this down. Most people would advise me against this. People would tell me not to. They would point out the all too obvious disadvantages to my spilling my guts. But I will tell the truth anyways. It's my life and I can decide to reminisce on what I will.
Besides, I'v never really cared what people think.
My name is Maj. Gen. Emmanuel Oluyemi Obasogie. This is bad manners, I know I should have introduced the lady at my side first. I always, always, should act like a gentleman. That is what the Army taught me, at least when it was still an honourable profession.
The girl can't talk anyway. She is dead. She lies on the bed beside me. Earlier today she was bursting with life and energy, promising to do things to me I can't even imagine. Now she lies naked on the sheets, her skin cold as ice.
A dead whore.
I need a drink. I think I have some left in that bottle. I bought a dozen bottles of whiskey and rum last night. I think it's morning now. It has to be. My body tells me it is. My body hasn't been wrong in twenty years. Not since i joined the Army.
I hate war. It's a foolish venture. A soldier is supposed to say that. We are told to hate war. We are taught to live for it. To love it. I hate war.
As a General, I am accustomed to having an adjutant at my every beck and call, some young officer eager to serve a true military professional such as I. Most times we Generals hardly bother with carrying weapons, but the Army drums into you, much more than the Boy Scouts, be prepared at all times. I have an Army issue Beretta. Right now I have no idea where it is. I should look for it, as soon as I find my clothes.
I remember the first time I put on an Army tunic. It was a proud moment. I had dreamed of being and Army officer for so long, the first feel of brown khaki on my shoulders threw me into a near-orgasmic frenzy. That was how cleaning my first issue felt also, the smooth lines of the rifle, the hard stock and tight trigger, it was a simple CAR-15 rifle but i loved it like you loved a womans body. On nights we were given R&R and my mates went into town, I stayed over in the barracks cleaning and polishing Ada, my rifle, my first born.
The first time I went on R&R into town was a disaster. I would rather not remember it. Nevertheless, the taste of a woman's flesh has never been able to replace the feel of the rifle stock against my cheeks when i kneel to snipe. Not to talk of the Fear of GOD. The Fear of GOD is something that annoys me sometimes. The endless wonder of whether one would go to heaven or not. Just like this dead girl. Would she go to heaven or not? This dead whore...?
Her last words were a scream, a strange scream. I wonder why she screamed. I thought she was happy. Maybe she wasn't. She begged me with her eyes. She begged and she screamed but i didn't hear a sound. Her mouth was just open. The scream was in her eyes. Maybe it was because my hands were wrapped around her throat, squeezin tight...
Besides, I'v never really cared what people think.
My name is Maj. Gen. Emmanuel Oluyemi Obasogie. This is bad manners, I know I should have introduced the lady at my side first. I always, always, should act like a gentleman. That is what the Army taught me, at least when it was still an honourable profession.
The girl can't talk anyway. She is dead. She lies on the bed beside me. Earlier today she was bursting with life and energy, promising to do things to me I can't even imagine. Now she lies naked on the sheets, her skin cold as ice.
A dead whore.
I need a drink. I think I have some left in that bottle. I bought a dozen bottles of whiskey and rum last night. I think it's morning now. It has to be. My body tells me it is. My body hasn't been wrong in twenty years. Not since i joined the Army.
I hate war. It's a foolish venture. A soldier is supposed to say that. We are told to hate war. We are taught to live for it. To love it. I hate war.
As a General, I am accustomed to having an adjutant at my every beck and call, some young officer eager to serve a true military professional such as I. Most times we Generals hardly bother with carrying weapons, but the Army drums into you, much more than the Boy Scouts, be prepared at all times. I have an Army issue Beretta. Right now I have no idea where it is. I should look for it, as soon as I find my clothes.
I remember the first time I put on an Army tunic. It was a proud moment. I had dreamed of being and Army officer for so long, the first feel of brown khaki on my shoulders threw me into a near-orgasmic frenzy. That was how cleaning my first issue felt also, the smooth lines of the rifle, the hard stock and tight trigger, it was a simple CAR-15 rifle but i loved it like you loved a womans body. On nights we were given R&R and my mates went into town, I stayed over in the barracks cleaning and polishing Ada, my rifle, my first born.
The first time I went on R&R into town was a disaster. I would rather not remember it. Nevertheless, the taste of a woman's flesh has never been able to replace the feel of the rifle stock against my cheeks when i kneel to snipe. Not to talk of the Fear of GOD. The Fear of GOD is something that annoys me sometimes. The endless wonder of whether one would go to heaven or not. Just like this dead girl. Would she go to heaven or not? This dead whore...?
Her last words were a scream, a strange scream. I wonder why she screamed. I thought she was happy. Maybe she wasn't. She begged me with her eyes. She begged and she screamed but i didn't hear a sound. Her mouth was just open. The scream was in her eyes. Maybe it was because my hands were wrapped around her throat, squeezin tight...
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Beneath the Archives
Okay, so I was looking through my collection of stuff I've written like ages ago and I came across this...(stil thinking of a word to define it) piece and I wondered if someone could decode for me:
''I hear the bells ringing, silent peals echoing down from the hills. A warning, a message. The time has come. The demons are here.
The voices in my head are silent, but only for a moment, then they cry out loudly, clashing sounds and vibrations that threaten to make me madder than I am now. But there is no point. The Devil is here already..the end has come.
I see blood in the skies, a deepening red that seeks to overcome the Heavens. A heart of forgiveness is erased and anger and hatred dwell deeply within and it seeks to possess me and keep me. I will not fight it. I embrace it. Death is willing.
The old man in the leathery cloak seeks to grab me and i walk to him with arms widespread. I embrace death and give in willingly..I die and live not even in spirit. This is d end. Nothing more will be said, nothing else can be. I am gone. It's over. I am dead.
Nakedness.''
Okay, this is it, wat the hell did that mean??? Who ends a piece about blood and fear and resignation with 'Nakedness'??? I guess I'll look on the bright side and say, this simply explains that there is certainly room for improvement. Lol...
I am happy today, sleepy and happy..maybe lata.
''I hear the bells ringing, silent peals echoing down from the hills. A warning, a message. The time has come. The demons are here.
The voices in my head are silent, but only for a moment, then they cry out loudly, clashing sounds and vibrations that threaten to make me madder than I am now. But there is no point. The Devil is here already..the end has come.
I see blood in the skies, a deepening red that seeks to overcome the Heavens. A heart of forgiveness is erased and anger and hatred dwell deeply within and it seeks to possess me and keep me. I will not fight it. I embrace it. Death is willing.
The old man in the leathery cloak seeks to grab me and i walk to him with arms widespread. I embrace death and give in willingly..I die and live not even in spirit. This is d end. Nothing more will be said, nothing else can be. I am gone. It's over. I am dead.
Nakedness.''
Okay, this is it, wat the hell did that mean??? Who ends a piece about blood and fear and resignation with 'Nakedness'??? I guess I'll look on the bright side and say, this simply explains that there is certainly room for improvement. Lol...
I am happy today, sleepy and happy..maybe lata.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Love...the lie
It's all it takes for me to pick the pen, (figuratively), a slight burst of emotions.
It's her again.
This is the evil thin about relationships. One moment, you're the rationally thinking, highly intelligent individual, the next, you're a snivelling, paranoid suck-up human.
Why then do we bother? Why have these relationships if we have to suffer through them?
I wrote something, it seems like a year ago now, about, 'The Death of Friendships'. I decried everything that makes us succumb to the desire of fraternity and leave behind individuality to grasp the group identity. Simply put, I said, it's a bad idea to have friends.
The piece didn't put me in good light with my friends, is putting it lightly. It almost made them leave me behind...*grinning*. But this is the issue, I retracted the piece, (sort of), and took back what i said or wrote, but today, I am more or less being proved right.
I am falling in love. I am falling so fast, I don't have time to apply brakes or to contemplate what would happen when I land, for I would surely land. The Pit of Love is not endless despite whatever they tell us.
Falling in love is not a bad idea, it is what has to be done to preserve that love that irks me.
When we love someone, we have to change our manner of speech, action even thought. I love Oscar Wilde and he said, '...always be yourself, every other person is already taken...' i like that. It's true. There is no point in pretending to be who you're not. But when you're in love...you pretend.
Imagine a magazine article saying that basing a relationship on a lie is only a very minuscle percentage against the success of the relationship. I think, it's a very huge percent FOR the success of the relationship!
We lie. For those we love, we lie and cheat. Lie, cheat, pretend.
I think i should write a book, I'll call it, 'Relationships...We Lie, Cheat and Pretend'. It'll probably sell in Asia...*laughing*
All in all, I wonder why we have to do this. Why can't we just be ourselves and still keep the ones we love? Why can't I...?*sigh*
I wonder if she'll see this. I know she would...I wonder what she'll think?
Ha!
It's her again.
This is the evil thin about relationships. One moment, you're the rationally thinking, highly intelligent individual, the next, you're a snivelling, paranoid suck-up human.
Why then do we bother? Why have these relationships if we have to suffer through them?
I wrote something, it seems like a year ago now, about, 'The Death of Friendships'. I decried everything that makes us succumb to the desire of fraternity and leave behind individuality to grasp the group identity. Simply put, I said, it's a bad idea to have friends.
The piece didn't put me in good light with my friends, is putting it lightly. It almost made them leave me behind...*grinning*. But this is the issue, I retracted the piece, (sort of), and took back what i said or wrote, but today, I am more or less being proved right.
I am falling in love. I am falling so fast, I don't have time to apply brakes or to contemplate what would happen when I land, for I would surely land. The Pit of Love is not endless despite whatever they tell us.
Falling in love is not a bad idea, it is what has to be done to preserve that love that irks me.
When we love someone, we have to change our manner of speech, action even thought. I love Oscar Wilde and he said, '...always be yourself, every other person is already taken...' i like that. It's true. There is no point in pretending to be who you're not. But when you're in love...you pretend.
Imagine a magazine article saying that basing a relationship on a lie is only a very minuscle percentage against the success of the relationship. I think, it's a very huge percent FOR the success of the relationship!
We lie. For those we love, we lie and cheat. Lie, cheat, pretend.
I think i should write a book, I'll call it, 'Relationships...We Lie, Cheat and Pretend'. It'll probably sell in Asia...*laughing*
All in all, I wonder why we have to do this. Why can't we just be ourselves and still keep the ones we love? Why can't I...?*sigh*
I wonder if she'll see this. I know she would...I wonder what she'll think?
Ha!
Friday, August 5, 2011
Whatever it means...
I resumed today. Writing has always been second nature to me. Sometimes, I sit alone, people walking past, sometimes even in conversation with me, and all I can do is whip out my phone or a piece of paper with pen and type or write.
Yesterday, with the lines from a bad movie ringing in my ears, I was scared. I had not written anything in a long while and I was almost afraid of a lost talent...or ability? But with the clashing sounds of a strange japanese instrument in my ears and Linkin Park screaming down my pinna, I had no choice.
Art begets art. That's the truest truth in the world. I always, and I mean that, find myself in a creative mood when I hear good music [death to Linkin Park haters], and sometimes even with a good movie or book or art. My best experiences with sex have always been in this creative mood. Indeed, sex is art.
I was sitting on my own today, once again, flipping through my song collection. Then I got to Linkin park's 'Easier to run'. I don't know about you, but the song with it's clashing vocals was enough to rouse something latent in me...even to throw me into near tears. I don't really understand how, but writing things with a certain depth always throws me into such an emotional state, I am close to weeping.
Once I wrote something that actually threw me into a sobbing fit. It was about people's attitude towards sex...imagine!*shrug*
Today though, I think I know what started the fit. What I think, despite my subconcious trying its hardesT to hide it from me, is all about a girl. I wanted to call her and I think I needed a song to put myself into the mood and 'Easier to run', threw me into this.
I've known her for years...in my head. There have been times when I doubt her reality, when she seems like something I cooked up..from dream or fantasy. What is she? Who is this princess that fulfils all my desires?
Even as I type now, my mind wanders and it is her smiling face as I last saw it that resides behind my eyes. The keys of my phonepad blur together and all I see are flashing colours and the eyes which always threaten to engulf me...to take up my entire being into a happiness I'll happily surrender to. Who is she?
I have wondered sometimes if she is some silver wraith sent from somewhere below the underworld, a place more beautiful than Paradise, to tempt me and force me to succumb to her charms and lure until I destroy and explode in a cataclysm of bliss. But I know that is just my over-active imagination. She is a goddess. A special being, created by God to satisfy every desire I may contemplate upon. Created specially for me.
Sometimes I wonder if, like the Golden Fleece and Jason, I am worthy to have her. She seems like a jewel to pretty to be touched by my many times tainted hands. But who knows...she might be my chance for redemption?
Sounds are still banging in my head, now it's 'Jesus of Surburbia' and Green Day smashing that tune out. I love this particular song because of it's unpredictable changeability, it sometimes reminda me of my own soul and mind which switches tracks too often and sometimes with almost no seam of connection. I wonder...
I have almost forgotten her, but can I...she dwells within my heart, I can't leave her, no matter how hard I try. I am alive, perhaps I love?
I have had fleeting moments of passion over the past few years, some lasting weeks, others days, some months and some hours. I have been shocked and jumped, but I have never been broken, not again. Perhaps my artistic heart has decided to break for her. Maybe that is what this is...maybe this is another one of those fleeting pursuits. Maybe...
Yesterday, with the lines from a bad movie ringing in my ears, I was scared. I had not written anything in a long while and I was almost afraid of a lost talent...or ability? But with the clashing sounds of a strange japanese instrument in my ears and Linkin Park screaming down my pinna, I had no choice.
Art begets art. That's the truest truth in the world. I always, and I mean that, find myself in a creative mood when I hear good music [death to Linkin Park haters], and sometimes even with a good movie or book or art. My best experiences with sex have always been in this creative mood. Indeed, sex is art.
I was sitting on my own today, once again, flipping through my song collection. Then I got to Linkin park's 'Easier to run'. I don't know about you, but the song with it's clashing vocals was enough to rouse something latent in me...even to throw me into near tears. I don't really understand how, but writing things with a certain depth always throws me into such an emotional state, I am close to weeping.
Once I wrote something that actually threw me into a sobbing fit. It was about people's attitude towards sex...imagine!*shrug*
Today though, I think I know what started the fit. What I think, despite my subconcious trying its hardesT to hide it from me, is all about a girl. I wanted to call her and I think I needed a song to put myself into the mood and 'Easier to run', threw me into this.
I've known her for years...in my head. There have been times when I doubt her reality, when she seems like something I cooked up..from dream or fantasy. What is she? Who is this princess that fulfils all my desires?
Even as I type now, my mind wanders and it is her smiling face as I last saw it that resides behind my eyes. The keys of my phonepad blur together and all I see are flashing colours and the eyes which always threaten to engulf me...to take up my entire being into a happiness I'll happily surrender to. Who is she?
I have wondered sometimes if she is some silver wraith sent from somewhere below the underworld, a place more beautiful than Paradise, to tempt me and force me to succumb to her charms and lure until I destroy and explode in a cataclysm of bliss. But I know that is just my over-active imagination. She is a goddess. A special being, created by God to satisfy every desire I may contemplate upon. Created specially for me.
Sometimes I wonder if, like the Golden Fleece and Jason, I am worthy to have her. She seems like a jewel to pretty to be touched by my many times tainted hands. But who knows...she might be my chance for redemption?
Sounds are still banging in my head, now it's 'Jesus of Surburbia' and Green Day smashing that tune out. I love this particular song because of it's unpredictable changeability, it sometimes reminda me of my own soul and mind which switches tracks too often and sometimes with almost no seam of connection. I wonder...
I have almost forgotten her, but can I...she dwells within my heart, I can't leave her, no matter how hard I try. I am alive, perhaps I love?
I have had fleeting moments of passion over the past few years, some lasting weeks, others days, some months and some hours. I have been shocked and jumped, but I have never been broken, not again. Perhaps my artistic heart has decided to break for her. Maybe that is what this is...maybe this is another one of those fleeting pursuits. Maybe...
Monday, July 18, 2011
Ali...the reintroduction
A couple of months ago, at the beginning of the year, I posted a series of short stories about a very disturbed young man, and his journey through the straits of what life had to offer him. I stopped the series after a while and in fact deleted it entirely from my blog because of certain issues at the time, including questions alluding to my sharing an identity with my character, Ali.
Things have changed now, and i feel like putting up Ali's life for display once again. But first, a couple of things.
1. I am not Ali. We bear almost no resemblance. Any resemblance also to any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental as this series is a work of pure fiction.
2. The series are not the product of a thoroughly atheistic and pagan mind. I'm a christian, though liberal on most issues.
3. Those under 18 should not follow the Ali story.
I think that's all...read on at your peril
Things have changed now, and i feel like putting up Ali's life for display once again. But first, a couple of things.
1. I am not Ali. We bear almost no resemblance. Any resemblance also to any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental as this series is a work of pure fiction.
2. The series are not the product of a thoroughly atheistic and pagan mind. I'm a christian, though liberal on most issues.
3. Those under 18 should not follow the Ali story.
I think that's all...read on at your peril
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Superheroes in Naija
You know, in those days, when you watch any movie or you read any novel or comic, you always hear lots of talk about the heroes, the Superheroes. Especially if the comic or movie is American, In fact, the created the very term.
and when it comes to flying, Ijapa has raced to the heavens and back with large birds and he always came back first! 
And now, I wonder, how about over here in Africa, where are our Superheroes?
The Superhero of the American cinema or folklore is a man or woman of exceeding power and potential, either physically or otherwise, but most definitely supernaturally, [hence the term]. Apparently, even before the advent of Television and paper, stories about these heroes were constantly told to the young and young at heart.
Therein lies the rub, what then can be said of the African man and his own heroes? I have sat with friends back in secondary school [or high school for the Americans], and we have debated, [quite seriously for that matter] on the simple question of if we could have Superheroes in Nigeria. The final consensus was reached when someone said that even if Superheroes could dwell amongst us here in Nigeria, they would nevertheless be confined to the areas in cities where the presence of sky scrapers are in abundance. I can remember hanging my head in shame as Benin City where I lived could not boast of one single skyscraper. In other words, the ultimatum was that if ever the god of Superhero land decided to dispatch one of his subordinates to Nigeria, he’ll most probably be confined only to Abuja or Lagos. It was a sad moment believe me.
Therein lies the rub, what then can be said of the African man and his own heroes? I have sat with friends back in secondary school [or high school for the Americans], and we have debated, [quite seriously for that matter] on the simple question of if we could have Superheroes in Nigeria. The final consensus was reached when someone said that even if Superheroes could dwell amongst us here in Nigeria, they would nevertheless be confined to the areas in cities where the presence of sky scrapers are in abundance. I can remember hanging my head in shame as Benin City where I lived could not boast of one single skyscraper. In other words, the ultimatum was that if ever the god of Superhero land decided to dispatch one of his subordinates to Nigeria, he’ll most probably be confined only to Abuja or Lagos. It was a sad moment believe me.
But such things are below me now.
What is a Superhero? Is he this guy?
What does it entail to be a Superhero? A cape, giant arms, wide chest and the power of three trains?
Have you ever heard of Ijapa? Yes, Ijapa! In the Yoruba language of the people of Nigeria, Ijapa is the tortoise. He is the smart, extremely cunning and obligately trickish animal who rules the kingdom of the Animals, but not from the throne, [such things are beneath him]. Ijapa is a hero of the African folklore. And he rules a government further reaching than anyone can truly fathom, and he uses his powers for the good of...himself.
Faster than a speeding bullet? Yes, Ijapa ran a race against all the animals in the kingdom and he was first without even breaking a sweat
Stronger than the most powerful whatever..? Yes, Ijapa won a tug of war against three elephants in a row. And the elephants looked surprisingly like this...
I'm sorry I couldn't get a picture of Ijapa in mid-flight, but you see, he was going too fast for the camera...*smile*
Don't get me wrong though, asides from Ijapa, there are other heroes in the African comic [there should be something like that], such as Amansewah or Anansi the Ghanaian spider, and even a couple of Ugandan heroes.
When it comes to the whole Superhero thing however, Ijapa stands a whole head above them all, after all...he is the Naija Superhero isn't he?
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Study with the dirty and un-informed...
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Friday, April 15, 2011
Blog and smile
I feel extremely happy tonight, or should i call it morning? it sounds wrong calling this time, the morning seeing as I've not slept a wink since the night. Morning, night, what's the difference actually?
Anyway, I started typing this, this...morning, to sort of celebrate my new found sense of exhiliration. Exhiliration or exhilaration? Which is it? I keep on forgetting, or maybe it is that i refused to learn in the first place, but then who knows.
A million and one things have happened to me this week and to a warped and twisted mind, they would be normal. My week was normal. That is asides from two near death experiences and a fiasco last night [yes, this time around it was night], when some boys tried to make fun, (they succeeded), at me.
I was walking with a friend of mine, just strolling, two young handsome boys, down the dark, half-empty streets. I wanted a bit of a time off so I was going to spend the night at his relatively luxurious apartment. I wanted to buy a yoghurt (it's my favorite drink, next to coke), and so we decided to take a little detour. That was our mistake.
In the village besides my campus where I stay, there are hoodlums and various other forms of nefarious associates. Originally, they would be known as fraternities, but over here, they are very little more that primary schoolyard bullies who have the benefits of small-arms and the fear of the populace as their major weapons. Over time, (I have resided here for over three years), I have pitted my head and wits and obvious superior intellect against them, and each and every time I have triumphed without a scratch and ahead of it all. There is a saying of, "everyday for the thief and..." okay, bad analogy.
Last night, (it's 4:58am here in Nigeria), they called I and my friend over. They were six or seven of them, [I beg your pardon, but honestly i cannot recall, for reasons you will get to understand], and they were already cloud eleven high on cheap whisky and marijuana. Suffice to say, normally i would have engaged them in some sort of debate which might have either resulted in us going unscathed and scot-free, or rather badly with us ending up very scathed and like imprisoned Irish. I mean no offence. Nevertheless, today or rather yesterday was not going to be like that. We were flying heavy. That is, we were carrying alot of valuables.
There was to be no struggle today. Or we would surely lose out. At least that was what was in our minds till, we got closer and they identified us.
I would say no more on the subject asides from the fact that, despite the obvious annoyance which should be bugging my heart now today, I am instead, joyous and happy even! The embarrassment has worn off now, maybe that is why, but then have you ever had something like this placed at your head?
But set asides all thoughts of violence, I only serve to please. I am alive! Do I need to show you holes in my hands too?
My hands have grown weak and sleep calls. I will sleep all day tomorrow. I enjoyed this, Blogging and smiling.
Anyway, I started typing this, this...morning, to sort of celebrate my new found sense of exhiliration. Exhiliration or exhilaration? Which is it? I keep on forgetting, or maybe it is that i refused to learn in the first place, but then who knows.
A million and one things have happened to me this week and to a warped and twisted mind, they would be normal. My week was normal. That is asides from two near death experiences and a fiasco last night [yes, this time around it was night], when some boys tried to make fun, (they succeeded), at me.
I was walking with a friend of mine, just strolling, two young handsome boys, down the dark, half-empty streets. I wanted a bit of a time off so I was going to spend the night at his relatively luxurious apartment. I wanted to buy a yoghurt (it's my favorite drink, next to coke), and so we decided to take a little detour. That was our mistake.
In the village besides my campus where I stay, there are hoodlums and various other forms of nefarious associates. Originally, they would be known as fraternities, but over here, they are very little more that primary schoolyard bullies who have the benefits of small-arms and the fear of the populace as their major weapons. Over time, (I have resided here for over three years), I have pitted my head and wits and obvious superior intellect against them, and each and every time I have triumphed without a scratch and ahead of it all. There is a saying of, "everyday for the thief and..." okay, bad analogy.
Last night, (it's 4:58am here in Nigeria), they called I and my friend over. They were six or seven of them, [I beg your pardon, but honestly i cannot recall, for reasons you will get to understand], and they were already cloud eleven high on cheap whisky and marijuana. Suffice to say, normally i would have engaged them in some sort of debate which might have either resulted in us going unscathed and scot-free, or rather badly with us ending up very scathed and like imprisoned Irish. I mean no offence. Nevertheless, today or rather yesterday was not going to be like that. We were flying heavy. That is, we were carrying alot of valuables.
There was to be no struggle today. Or we would surely lose out. At least that was what was in our minds till, we got closer and they identified us.
I would say no more on the subject asides from the fact that, despite the obvious annoyance which should be bugging my heart now today, I am instead, joyous and happy even! The embarrassment has worn off now, maybe that is why, but then have you ever had something like this placed at your head?
My hands have grown weak and sleep calls. I will sleep all day tomorrow. I enjoyed this, Blogging and smiling.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Victory!
I remember the first time i scored a real goal. I was in Pry 4 and it was us against Pry 5. Our seniors were bigger, they were faster and they were stronger. It looked like it was goin to be a David and Goliath thing. We were David.
The match started off as football matches usually do, with a whistle and a kick off, but this time around there was a difference. I was in the starting eleven playin No. 4. No soul was getting past me today.
The Pry 5 guys started with a flash. They whizzed down d pitch, as fast as ten year olds can go, passing ball from head to leg and back to leg and almost into the goalpost, but I was there to stop the onslaught. We struggled and fought, but they were just too good for us.
Just before the end of the 1st half, the ball flew off from the other end and tumbled into our side with three (Pry 5) strikers right behind. (I would like to state for information purposes that, they were not attackin on my wing). The strikers rolled the ball and did something zigzaggy and bam! the ball was in the net.
They started celebrating and dancing all around the field. The referee blew his whistle and we mounted our counter-attack. Just when, (it seems), that we were about to equalize, the referee blew again and we rested for halftime.
The Second half began with a vengeance, we were all playin forward now, (includin yours truly), and we were determined to score. It took a few more minutes but we did it, (i admit it was a fluke goal sha), and we settled into a tie. All we needed now was a winner. Who was going to come out tops?
The game was drawing to a close and the referee was consulting his watch quite frequently. It had to be now or never. A (Pry 5) striker rode into our patch, the ball at his feet. One of my team tackled him expertly and d ball sailed towards me. I started forward moving like greased lightening. I passed the ball at the midfield and was going to head back when it was sent back to me. Suddenly, it was a matter of one defender to beat and the goal was mine.
I dashed forward, my teeth grinding as i fought to keep myself under control, feinting to one side, i beat the defender and only the keeper stared at me.
It is at times like this that the world goes quiet. I could hear the spectators, i could hear my team mates and i could hear my opponents. Deep within, my heart thudded and lightening sparked across my eyes. The entire match flashed before my eyes in a second. Then everything cleared and i knew what i had to do.
Letting my leg back, i let loose with a shot and netted the ball at the right hand corner of the post. The shouts went up and the spectators poured into the pitch. Victory! I had scored the Golden Goal! For everyone knew there was no chance Pry 5 could equalize. The game was over.
And indeed in a few seconds, the game was finished. My name was on every lip and i was hero at that hour. I guess what i learned that day was the joy, nay! the exhiliration of victory!
The match started off as football matches usually do, with a whistle and a kick off, but this time around there was a difference. I was in the starting eleven playin No. 4. No soul was getting past me today.
The Pry 5 guys started with a flash. They whizzed down d pitch, as fast as ten year olds can go, passing ball from head to leg and back to leg and almost into the goalpost, but I was there to stop the onslaught. We struggled and fought, but they were just too good for us.
Just before the end of the 1st half, the ball flew off from the other end and tumbled into our side with three (Pry 5) strikers right behind. (I would like to state for information purposes that, they were not attackin on my wing). The strikers rolled the ball and did something zigzaggy and bam! the ball was in the net.
They started celebrating and dancing all around the field. The referee blew his whistle and we mounted our counter-attack. Just when, (it seems), that we were about to equalize, the referee blew again and we rested for halftime.
The Second half began with a vengeance, we were all playin forward now, (includin yours truly), and we were determined to score. It took a few more minutes but we did it, (i admit it was a fluke goal sha), and we settled into a tie. All we needed now was a winner. Who was going to come out tops?
The game was drawing to a close and the referee was consulting his watch quite frequently. It had to be now or never. A (Pry 5) striker rode into our patch, the ball at his feet. One of my team tackled him expertly and d ball sailed towards me. I started forward moving like greased lightening. I passed the ball at the midfield and was going to head back when it was sent back to me. Suddenly, it was a matter of one defender to beat and the goal was mine.
I dashed forward, my teeth grinding as i fought to keep myself under control, feinting to one side, i beat the defender and only the keeper stared at me.
It is at times like this that the world goes quiet. I could hear the spectators, i could hear my team mates and i could hear my opponents. Deep within, my heart thudded and lightening sparked across my eyes. The entire match flashed before my eyes in a second. Then everything cleared and i knew what i had to do.
Letting my leg back, i let loose with a shot and netted the ball at the right hand corner of the post. The shouts went up and the spectators poured into the pitch. Victory! I had scored the Golden Goal! For everyone knew there was no chance Pry 5 could equalize. The game was over.
And indeed in a few seconds, the game was finished. My name was on every lip and i was hero at that hour. I guess what i learned that day was the joy, nay! the exhiliration of victory!
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Things fall apart
Things Fall Apart.
The time to repair the roof is when the sun is shining.
John Fitzgerald Kennedy
It struck me – about the characteristics of any government agency in the Sovereign Republic of Nigeria, and I realised neglect was the order of the day.
I took a walk down to the PHCN regional office closest to my home. No sooner had I come within sight of the gate that I saw the first sample. I would call it ‘Exhibit A’, for indeed this is an indictment, an accusation stemmed from hurt and disappointment at the deplorable state of things.
‘Exhibit A’ was a truck; a black, 2004 model Toyota Hilux semi-truck. Boldly written across the sides were the initials: P.H.C.N. [The Power Holding Company of Nigeria]. Ironical, I thought, for there resting forlornly on its metal wheels, the rubber tyres long gone, the truck looked like all the power was gone out of it. Only one phrase was apt for that truck: “NEPA had taken its light.”
Matter upon matter, exhibit upon exhibit, and one wonders what happens to the billions spent on infrastructure every year. What happens to the million allocated for each project? Again and again, the ingenuous man on the street berates the contractor and says, “Bad management, bad work. I knew it’ll fail.” But is that right? Is that truly the answer? Is it the fault of the contractors that their work tends to fail after a period?
A smart lecturer at the ABU (Ahmadu Bello University), brings something to light. He stresses that in the planning of any project, a certain amount is usually postulated for maintenance of whatsoever is erected, for a contract-stipulated period of time. The problem is, in the Federal Republic of Nigeria, such things are beneath us. Infrastructure is put up and expected by hook, crook, miracle or juju, to stand firm and perform properly for as long as there is use for it.
Even Faith leaves no loop-hole for such stupidity!
Then, let us ask ourselves, why is it like this then? A poll of Nigerians states that, it is the ‘Nigerian mentality’, to treat government property just so, and without a trace of care. So let’s not blame the government, it’s the fault of the Nigerian people. But then, like some others insist, including [to some measure], our erudite lecturer: Are there measures set in place by the government to ensure the maintenance of the property of the state of Nigeria?
When a vehicle breaks down or a machine stops working in some government agency, does the manager in charge, drop his complaints register and pick up the requisitions form to order a NEW one?
Someone argues that perhaps the cost of repair outweighs purchase. But then the old sages were right: “A stitch in time does save nine” or sixteen or twenty! If a problem were taken care of early enough, even AIDS can’t fight back.
No argument can be considered valid against this testimony, and indeed I testify: “There needs to be set in place, definite measures and procedures whereby government and social property and amenities may be well maintained and taken care of.” It is the only way by which optimum satisfaction or utility may be derived of any product. It is a time-old lesson and a reasonable one; that value should always be gotten for money. What value may one ascribe to a product which is outlived by its use? Conversely, what value may be ascribed to a product which outlives its use even to the extent of being resold for profit?
Take the Federal roads for example. Six years ago, whilst plying the Benin-Lagos road, I was stuck in the middle of a terrible traffic jam at Ore. After waiting close to an hour at standstill, even my novel got boring and I became restless. It was whilst craning my neck out the window for an impossible glimpse of the cause of the hold-up, that I saw it. It was the date of the last day that portion of the road had received specialist engineering treatment. The year was ’85. This was close to two decades ago.
Let’s take a glance at local roads for a change. Whilst maintaining impartiality in the light of the present election period, I ask you dear reader, what to expect of a State capital, I am talking about Benin City in Edo State, whereby the roads are neglected for close to eight years? – Taking into account that the state is reputably the best in Nigeria when it comes to transportation network.
We – you and I, dear reader could go on and on listing the massive discrepancies of our government, however we would not. This piece is not for finger-pointing; rather it is a plea for change – with a few suggestions to boot.
In certain developed nations, certain measures, such as a waste management department are in effect. In a developing one such as ours, this must be implemented; indeed it is one of the first steps to development. However the waste management department that is sought is not that sort which we are used to: agencies which work once an annual quarter for half the pay. Indeed revenue should be pumped into that sector to ensure success. When waste is not handled properly, the circumstances are dire, and I should know, I’m a Microbiology Final year student.
Mismanagement of infrastructure and lack of maintenance are our greatest problems, ignore what the analysts say about the Niger Delta crisis. What started the crisis in the first place? Lack of maintenance principles! And you know the most annoying part, none of the contestants in this election, as far as i know, mentioned anything remotely relating to maintenance. And they want us to vote them? Mscheew...
In disseminating every sector of the economy - from Health and Banking, to Security and Agriculture, to suggest solutions for improvement of maintenance principles, I would only succeed in making this piece inexhaustibly long and boring. So in a remarkable example of maintenance (of the mood), I drop my pen and leave you dear reader with this: A country is like a shoe, you polish it and maintain it and it stays beautiful and does its job, but once neglected, it falls into disrepair so fast, that before you know it, it is worthless even for sale.
The time to repair the roof is when the sun is shining.
John Fitzgerald Kennedy
It struck me – about the characteristics of any government agency in the Sovereign Republic of Nigeria, and I realised neglect was the order of the day.
I took a walk down to the PHCN regional office closest to my home. No sooner had I come within sight of the gate that I saw the first sample. I would call it ‘Exhibit A’, for indeed this is an indictment, an accusation stemmed from hurt and disappointment at the deplorable state of things.
‘Exhibit A’ was a truck; a black, 2004 model Toyota Hilux semi-truck. Boldly written across the sides were the initials: P.H.C.N. [The Power Holding Company of Nigeria]. Ironical, I thought, for there resting forlornly on its metal wheels, the rubber tyres long gone, the truck looked like all the power was gone out of it. Only one phrase was apt for that truck: “NEPA had taken its light.”
Matter upon matter, exhibit upon exhibit, and one wonders what happens to the billions spent on infrastructure every year. What happens to the million allocated for each project? Again and again, the ingenuous man on the street berates the contractor and says, “Bad management, bad work. I knew it’ll fail.” But is that right? Is that truly the answer? Is it the fault of the contractors that their work tends to fail after a period?
A smart lecturer at the ABU (Ahmadu Bello University), brings something to light. He stresses that in the planning of any project, a certain amount is usually postulated for maintenance of whatsoever is erected, for a contract-stipulated period of time. The problem is, in the Federal Republic of Nigeria, such things are beneath us. Infrastructure is put up and expected by hook, crook, miracle or juju, to stand firm and perform properly for as long as there is use for it.
Even Faith leaves no loop-hole for such stupidity!
Then, let us ask ourselves, why is it like this then? A poll of Nigerians states that, it is the ‘Nigerian mentality’, to treat government property just so, and without a trace of care. So let’s not blame the government, it’s the fault of the Nigerian people. But then, like some others insist, including [to some measure], our erudite lecturer: Are there measures set in place by the government to ensure the maintenance of the property of the state of Nigeria?
When a vehicle breaks down or a machine stops working in some government agency, does the manager in charge, drop his complaints register and pick up the requisitions form to order a NEW one?
Someone argues that perhaps the cost of repair outweighs purchase. But then the old sages were right: “A stitch in time does save nine” or sixteen or twenty! If a problem were taken care of early enough, even AIDS can’t fight back.
No argument can be considered valid against this testimony, and indeed I testify: “There needs to be set in place, definite measures and procedures whereby government and social property and amenities may be well maintained and taken care of.” It is the only way by which optimum satisfaction or utility may be derived of any product. It is a time-old lesson and a reasonable one; that value should always be gotten for money. What value may one ascribe to a product which is outlived by its use? Conversely, what value may be ascribed to a product which outlives its use even to the extent of being resold for profit?
Take the Federal roads for example. Six years ago, whilst plying the Benin-Lagos road, I was stuck in the middle of a terrible traffic jam at Ore. After waiting close to an hour at standstill, even my novel got boring and I became restless. It was whilst craning my neck out the window for an impossible glimpse of the cause of the hold-up, that I saw it. It was the date of the last day that portion of the road had received specialist engineering treatment. The year was ’85. This was close to two decades ago.
Let’s take a glance at local roads for a change. Whilst maintaining impartiality in the light of the present election period, I ask you dear reader, what to expect of a State capital, I am talking about Benin City in Edo State, whereby the roads are neglected for close to eight years? – Taking into account that the state is reputably the best in Nigeria when it comes to transportation network.
We – you and I, dear reader could go on and on listing the massive discrepancies of our government, however we would not. This piece is not for finger-pointing; rather it is a plea for change – with a few suggestions to boot.
In certain developed nations, certain measures, such as a waste management department are in effect. In a developing one such as ours, this must be implemented; indeed it is one of the first steps to development. However the waste management department that is sought is not that sort which we are used to: agencies which work once an annual quarter for half the pay. Indeed revenue should be pumped into that sector to ensure success. When waste is not handled properly, the circumstances are dire, and I should know, I’m a Microbiology Final year student.
Mismanagement of infrastructure and lack of maintenance are our greatest problems, ignore what the analysts say about the Niger Delta crisis. What started the crisis in the first place? Lack of maintenance principles! And you know the most annoying part, none of the contestants in this election, as far as i know, mentioned anything remotely relating to maintenance. And they want us to vote them? Mscheew...
In disseminating every sector of the economy - from Health and Banking, to Security and Agriculture, to suggest solutions for improvement of maintenance principles, I would only succeed in making this piece inexhaustibly long and boring. So in a remarkable example of maintenance (of the mood), I drop my pen and leave you dear reader with this: A country is like a shoe, you polish it and maintain it and it stays beautiful and does its job, but once neglected, it falls into disrepair so fast, that before you know it, it is worthless even for sale.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Second Chance...
There is a God and as far as we can tel, he is mercifl, kind and beneficient. Also, he is gracious and willin (quite willin) to grant a couple of prayers from his humble servants and children. If ther b one prayer i earnestly implore d Lord grant me, it's d chance of another lifetym..a reincarnation of sorts.
It hurts to reason sometimes of all the joys that have been denied me by being born in this life time. It is not dat i regret being born now, nay! I do not! I do believe that there is a purpose which i serve to fulfil in the world i was born into. I understand that and i appreciate it. But it doesn't hurt to pray does it?
I pray i have the opportunity to watch the dinosaurs as they go about feeding and Evolution as it takes place or Adam with his naked wife reclining beneath the trees at Eden. I wonder sometimes if i would stop them from eatin the Cursed Fruit. I do not know. Perhaps i shall be more interested in determining the sort of fruit. I wonder if it shall be apple or pear or almond? *shrug*
Oh, but a chance to be there at the Birth of Jesus or even Mohammed. The greatest prophets the world has ever known. I shall seek Jesus' view as to Mohammed's birth or the Great prophet's view as to the death of the Messiah. I wonder...
To ride down the hills with the Roman Army as we conquer land and people, to crawl up mountains and cold steppes with Attila and his merry band of murderous Huns. What a thrill it would be. And to capture the world with the Greatest warrior there ever was, Alexander. Indeed i would hand him the very sword he would use to sever the mighty Gordian knot.
To stroll the sands of Alexandria with Plato and Socrates and all the other philosophers. We would sit beneath the pyramids together and say wise words in Greek and Latin and smile foolishly and nod our heads. ''Cogito ergo sum..''*grin*
The wars will come and go, WWI, WWII and so on, still i'l remain. Moving through the years experiencing all i can gathering knowledge. For i would be wise, as i have studied with Solomon and as he said i should ''..pursue understanding..'' In time, going through the ages, learning the timeless art of craftiness from Odesseus himself at the scene of the Trojan war. I shall gather military wisdom which shall be proficient in following every step of the Napoleonic wars.
I would be with Tsar Alexander as Napoleon invades from Prussia and with Napoleon as he strolls into Moscow. To understand the true secrets of what happened when Archduke Ferdinand was murdered and to experience the actual effects of a nuclear holocaust at Hiroshima.
There will be the good experiences too. To sail aboard the Titanic on her ill-fated voyage and watch lovers dance and smile and fall in love myself. To ride a Rolls Royce silver edition on the first day it rolls out of the workshop and to run in the American Olympics. To fall in love with Diana Ross and with Marilyn Munroe and with Mata Hari. To dance with the queen at a cocktail and to jockey race in the Cheltenham Races.
To play football at international level and to score golf against Tiger Woods. Oh, but for the experience of sailing with Christopher Columbus and shouting, ''It's land!'' as we hit upon the shores of America. To journey with Lewis and Clark as we map the States and fall in love with Sacagawea. To make love beneath the stars and in a spaceship. To invent rock music and dance to thrill and madness.
To taste crystal meth and keep long hair and jive like a true hippie. To meet the greatest writers and poets of all time, Shakespeare, Dickens, Tolstoy, Doestoyevsky, Ludlum, Wilde, Yeats, Chaucer and so on. To smile into portraits and have myself drawn and painted and sculpted by da Vinci, Michelangelo, Raphael, Donatelli, Bernini and so forth.
To live in the deep forests of the African tropics. To watch Nigeria as she evolved from a geographical area to a bound entity. To trade with the Eastern Igbos and the erudite Northerners, all this while my protection being assured with a bodyguard of loyal Yorubas commisioned to me by the Oba of the Binis.
Watching as the country was born and took shape and almost died. I would have the opportunity to see the ancient art of the people of Nigeria before everything is carted away across the ocean to the Western world. To touch what before i would have merely read, to feel and to understand a time and clime before my own fathers.
There will be time, i pray, to fly a jet and race the fastest cars of the highest cliffs and into the coldest waters. To sail the Artic seas and to laze on the warmest beaches. To invent flat screen television and satellite Tv and digital surround home-theatre systems. To ride a satellite to the moon and circumvent the world. To land on the moon and almost touch the stars.
I want to experience all this and much, much more. All these i ask through Jesus Christ my Lord, Amen.
It hurts to reason sometimes of all the joys that have been denied me by being born in this life time. It is not dat i regret being born now, nay! I do not! I do believe that there is a purpose which i serve to fulfil in the world i was born into. I understand that and i appreciate it. But it doesn't hurt to pray does it?
I pray i have the opportunity to watch the dinosaurs as they go about feeding and Evolution as it takes place or Adam with his naked wife reclining beneath the trees at Eden. I wonder sometimes if i would stop them from eatin the Cursed Fruit. I do not know. Perhaps i shall be more interested in determining the sort of fruit. I wonder if it shall be apple or pear or almond? *shrug*
Oh, but a chance to be there at the Birth of Jesus or even Mohammed. The greatest prophets the world has ever known. I shall seek Jesus' view as to Mohammed's birth or the Great prophet's view as to the death of the Messiah. I wonder...
To ride down the hills with the Roman Army as we conquer land and people, to crawl up mountains and cold steppes with Attila and his merry band of murderous Huns. What a thrill it would be. And to capture the world with the Greatest warrior there ever was, Alexander. Indeed i would hand him the very sword he would use to sever the mighty Gordian knot.
To stroll the sands of Alexandria with Plato and Socrates and all the other philosophers. We would sit beneath the pyramids together and say wise words in Greek and Latin and smile foolishly and nod our heads. ''Cogito ergo sum..''*grin*
The wars will come and go, WWI, WWII and so on, still i'l remain. Moving through the years experiencing all i can gathering knowledge. For i would be wise, as i have studied with Solomon and as he said i should ''..pursue understanding..'' In time, going through the ages, learning the timeless art of craftiness from Odesseus himself at the scene of the Trojan war. I shall gather military wisdom which shall be proficient in following every step of the Napoleonic wars.
I would be with Tsar Alexander as Napoleon invades from Prussia and with Napoleon as he strolls into Moscow. To understand the true secrets of what happened when Archduke Ferdinand was murdered and to experience the actual effects of a nuclear holocaust at Hiroshima.
There will be the good experiences too. To sail aboard the Titanic on her ill-fated voyage and watch lovers dance and smile and fall in love myself. To ride a Rolls Royce silver edition on the first day it rolls out of the workshop and to run in the American Olympics. To fall in love with Diana Ross and with Marilyn Munroe and with Mata Hari. To dance with the queen at a cocktail and to jockey race in the Cheltenham Races.
To play football at international level and to score golf against Tiger Woods. Oh, but for the experience of sailing with Christopher Columbus and shouting, ''It's land!'' as we hit upon the shores of America. To journey with Lewis and Clark as we map the States and fall in love with Sacagawea. To make love beneath the stars and in a spaceship. To invent rock music and dance to thrill and madness.
To taste crystal meth and keep long hair and jive like a true hippie. To meet the greatest writers and poets of all time, Shakespeare, Dickens, Tolstoy, Doestoyevsky, Ludlum, Wilde, Yeats, Chaucer and so on. To smile into portraits and have myself drawn and painted and sculpted by da Vinci, Michelangelo, Raphael, Donatelli, Bernini and so forth.
To live in the deep forests of the African tropics. To watch Nigeria as she evolved from a geographical area to a bound entity. To trade with the Eastern Igbos and the erudite Northerners, all this while my protection being assured with a bodyguard of loyal Yorubas commisioned to me by the Oba of the Binis.
Watching as the country was born and took shape and almost died. I would have the opportunity to see the ancient art of the people of Nigeria before everything is carted away across the ocean to the Western world. To touch what before i would have merely read, to feel and to understand a time and clime before my own fathers.
There will be time, i pray, to fly a jet and race the fastest cars of the highest cliffs and into the coldest waters. To sail the Artic seas and to laze on the warmest beaches. To invent flat screen television and satellite Tv and digital surround home-theatre systems. To ride a satellite to the moon and circumvent the world. To land on the moon and almost touch the stars.
I want to experience all this and much, much more. All these i ask through Jesus Christ my Lord, Amen.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Summaries of a drugged mind...
Do u ever fully comprehend d feelin of fallin in luv? Dyu eva undastnd it? What exactly is it? Wat compels u to do those stupid things whch u'll condemn and laff @ every oda day of d week? Wat indeed is it? I'v pondered dis qiestions till my head reachd burstin point and nw, a new one has arisen.
Is it possible to make urslf fall in luv with sm1?
Ask urslf a bit, wat exactly is d fallin in luv thingy? Isnt it just a feelin? Cant feelins be induced? Pple can make demslvs feel sad, angry, happy or horny. All dat matas is d ryt induction. So isnt it possible to induce luv?
U tel a grl today dat u luv her, and probably u dont, but it is as possible as bakin cake, to make urslf actuali fall in luv with her. The major question nw wld b hw u'ld fil afta falin fr her. Wld u stil harbor d same feelins whch induced u to try @ d onset or wld u hv outgrown dem?
Is it possible to make urslf fall in luv with sm1?
Ask urslf a bit, wat exactly is d fallin in luv thingy? Isnt it just a feelin? Cant feelins be induced? Pple can make demslvs feel sad, angry, happy or horny. All dat matas is d ryt induction. So isnt it possible to induce luv?
U tel a grl today dat u luv her, and probably u dont, but it is as possible as bakin cake, to make urslf actuali fall in luv with her. The major question nw wld b hw u'ld fil afta falin fr her. Wld u stil harbor d same feelins whch induced u to try @ d onset or wld u hv outgrown dem?
I am not a Romantic
The time has come as it usually does when i have to abide by the wishes of those close to heart and do what they want. This however does not mean i am not doing what i want. The important thing i think, is that i am doing what i am doing for people. For those close to my heart.
I have often kidded myself for a while that above all and sundry, i am a romantic at heart. This is an earnest lie! And everyone who has ever pled that sort of character is guilty of the same lie. There is no such thing as Romanticism. The ideal is as dead as a fish on land (or in the waters of the Niger Delta).
Right from the very conception, it has been a lie and the people who professed it and the people who claimed to live it are liars to the very core and Hell shall claim their bones. The very thought that a man would buy flowers for a girl, not because of some ulterior motive, but simply because it is in his nature to do so is absurd and foolish and false.
Men have always sought out ways to get the girls and they have always succeded...eventually. They did not simply do those stuff because they felt like, but they did because they had to. If they had not acted 'romantic' they would probably never had gotten those girls..even if they were rich!(Ok, not actually..)
This is where the quandry is. I have been ordered by friends of mine to confess as to my 'romanticism' and i have decided to do so. I am not a romentic.
I buy flowers for girls and i write little notes for them. I do the chocolate thing and guess what thwy are saying. I stay with them all night(yup!) and i listen to their talk. I pick 'em up after class and pay the cab fare. I send the little texts and call just to hear her voice. I send the little gifts and remember their favorite stuff. I lie the sweet lies and watch the movies i hate with them. I say you're beautiful, i love you, i can't live without you. I fight for them and dive in front of the bullets and moving trains. I catch the grenades but i don't pull pianoes(i don't play..lol). I act loving and kind, byt i am no romantic.
I do those things simply to make them like me. If u call that romantic, then good for you. Me, i call it style. So therefore, i have confessed. I have done the job. Enough.
I have often kidded myself for a while that above all and sundry, i am a romantic at heart. This is an earnest lie! And everyone who has ever pled that sort of character is guilty of the same lie. There is no such thing as Romanticism. The ideal is as dead as a fish on land (or in the waters of the Niger Delta).
Right from the very conception, it has been a lie and the people who professed it and the people who claimed to live it are liars to the very core and Hell shall claim their bones. The very thought that a man would buy flowers for a girl, not because of some ulterior motive, but simply because it is in his nature to do so is absurd and foolish and false.
Men have always sought out ways to get the girls and they have always succeded...eventually. They did not simply do those stuff because they felt like, but they did because they had to. If they had not acted 'romantic' they would probably never had gotten those girls..even if they were rich!(Ok, not actually..)
This is where the quandry is. I have been ordered by friends of mine to confess as to my 'romanticism' and i have decided to do so. I am not a romentic.
I buy flowers for girls and i write little notes for them. I do the chocolate thing and guess what thwy are saying. I stay with them all night(yup!) and i listen to their talk. I pick 'em up after class and pay the cab fare. I send the little texts and call just to hear her voice. I send the little gifts and remember their favorite stuff. I lie the sweet lies and watch the movies i hate with them. I say you're beautiful, i love you, i can't live without you. I fight for them and dive in front of the bullets and moving trains. I catch the grenades but i don't pull pianoes(i don't play..lol). I act loving and kind, byt i am no romantic.
I do those things simply to make them like me. If u call that romantic, then good for you. Me, i call it style. So therefore, i have confessed. I have done the job. Enough.
I Hate Being Alone..
Alone for me is not a matter of being the only person occupying an area. It actually entails being idle with nothing else to do. I can literally feel alone in the middle of a crowd. Most of the time i resort to thinking or writing. The thing is, i am a highly emotional person and the things i write sometimes, are not good for a man to dwell on. Not to talk of think about.
When i am alone, the Devil seeks to take control over my sensibilities and thus my good intentions are put to nought and the darker evil side of me, which i fight and struggle to subject everyday, is brought to the fore.
I am a man, i can not change that. I am prey to changes in emotion and countenance, i can not change that also. It is because of these things that the Devil may claim hold over me. But there is always a silver lining.
When i write i escape the norm. I reach above the stars and truly become a god. I create worlds and escape into my fantasies. I become Creator, Destroyer, Fate and Chance. I am Owner and Giver. I am god. Sometimes though, the result is not always rosy.
Sometimes, the words take control of me and my senses reel and take me on a plunge into the very darkness of hell itself. I balance at the precipice of sanity and stare down the ever yawning crevasse from which i would never clamber out. Sometimes, i reach the very depths of the pit and feel the long, icy fingers of Evil grasping for my soul. I taste the waters of death, but again and again, i have survived.
I hate being alone.
The cat has nine lives, i have one. But again and again, i have survived by the breadth of a hair. Will it happen again, or will i topple the next time into the fiery hell of madness and continous insanity from which i shall never rise?
I hate being alone...
When i am alone, the Devil seeks to take control over my sensibilities and thus my good intentions are put to nought and the darker evil side of me, which i fight and struggle to subject everyday, is brought to the fore.
I am a man, i can not change that. I am prey to changes in emotion and countenance, i can not change that also. It is because of these things that the Devil may claim hold over me. But there is always a silver lining.
When i write i escape the norm. I reach above the stars and truly become a god. I create worlds and escape into my fantasies. I become Creator, Destroyer, Fate and Chance. I am Owner and Giver. I am god. Sometimes though, the result is not always rosy.
Sometimes, the words take control of me and my senses reel and take me on a plunge into the very darkness of hell itself. I balance at the precipice of sanity and stare down the ever yawning crevasse from which i would never clamber out. Sometimes, i reach the very depths of the pit and feel the long, icy fingers of Evil grasping for my soul. I taste the waters of death, but again and again, i have survived.
I hate being alone.
The cat has nine lives, i have one. But again and again, i have survived by the breadth of a hair. Will it happen again, or will i topple the next time into the fiery hell of madness and continous insanity from which i shall never rise?
I hate being alone...
Monday, February 14, 2011
Love's broken song..
In days lng past i dreamt of solitude; a period of tym wit only me.
For a while nw it's nt been possible, and i thot it wldnt be.
Bt nw i lie al alone in my room, starin at d dark ceilings.
Image after image flash thru my brain, conscience pricks; them littl pins.
I could have had her, bt i let her go.
She cld hv bn here, had i let her know.
Bt i pretended; King of 'Solacy'.
Nw i pay my dues; paid in misery.
I try to cal her, wil she pick her phone?
Try to reach her; dest'nation unknown.
Nothing left for me, i must dey my lane.
Al alone, no one else to feel my pain.
- Janus
For a while nw it's nt been possible, and i thot it wldnt be.
Bt nw i lie al alone in my room, starin at d dark ceilings.
Image after image flash thru my brain, conscience pricks; them littl pins.
I could have had her, bt i let her go.
She cld hv bn here, had i let her know.
Bt i pretended; King of 'Solacy'.
Nw i pay my dues; paid in misery.
I try to cal her, wil she pick her phone?
Try to reach her; dest'nation unknown.
Nothing left for me, i must dey my lane.
Al alone, no one else to feel my pain.
- Janus
Monday, January 24, 2011
On d road to erin-ijesha...
It began like d chinese people say; 'Wit d bucklin of shoes...' on d contrary tho, i began dis journey wit d lacing of boots. As i stepped out of my lil' room at d University of Benin, lil' did i knw dat my trip 2day wld stretch for over 12hrs &span almost d entire S/Western Nigeria.
I woke 2d sounds of my alarm clock (my phone actuali), it was 6:00am. Jumpin up, i hurriedly performd my calisthenics, pulled some dumb-bells &jumpd into d bathroom. Soon i ws dressd and i plunged in2 d light rain. It ws Sunday mornin.
Joggin quickl, i moved to d bus-stop. 3 buses later, i ws at d motor park. The sign proclaimd it as d 'Uselu motor park'. Shouts tore d air as soon as i disembarkd as touts jostled wit each other, each wantin me 2 board his vehicl whilst nt concerned as 2wher i ws goin.
'Osogbo! Osogbo!' i heard in 1 corner. Makin my way over, i discoverd a dismal (for want of a 'good' term) lookin' white-colourd jalopy which in its long-gone better days wld hv bn calld a Peugeot 505 station wagon.
'How many una be?' asked d tout oblivious 2my discomfort.
'Two,' i replied, pointin at my friend Obagol.
Dis trip had bn Obagol's idea, and it had sounded good to me. He had said, 'Bro, let's go 2d erin-ijesa waterfalls, it's a national heritage site u know?' and so i had agreed.
Anyways, after finally pilin ourselvs; our seven selves into d Pijot (peugeot), we waitd for d driver while shouts of 'Baba! Baba!' rent d air. Finali 'Baba' appeard and my heart nearly sank for 'Baba' was indeed a baba! Wit scarcely a hair on his head, d wizened old man lookd like he could hardly push a trolley let alone drive dis 1984 piece of scrap metal. Nevertheless, Baba jumpd in2 d vehicle, all too game 2pilot us on dis ride. But no sooner had he settled behind d wheel dan he calld out to some of d touts, 'Oya, come push dis motor' Instantly, my hrt sank completely. The car, i mean vehicle, had to be pushd to start?!
But Baba was nt deterrd, soon d vehicle was runnin and we were underway. As we rumbled past d gates of the University of Benin, my spirits liftd and i settld; takin out a Robert Ludlum, ready to enjoy d trip. That ws whn i discoverd dis jalopy didnt posess anythin remotely related 2 a shock absorber. Every inch of d way, the car rumbled, shook and rattled and our teeth were very nearly shaken out of our skulls on d occasions whn d car hit a pot-hole. But in all dat Baba proved his mettle and slowly bt surely, d car ate up d miles to Osogbo. That is, until we got to Ore.
At Ore, d road was blockd. And dis was nt d blockd of which people refer whn dey mention three cars jammed together at an intersection. Rather d Benin-Ore/Ore-Lagos expressway ws clogged wit Two thousnd vehicles all forced to a standstil. People had bn sleepin on d road for days b4 we got ther and we were jst d newbies. As fear began to cloud my features and my mind raced for answers to dis dilemna, i forgot one essential thin: This was d time for Baba to show himslf. Shiftin gears in moves dat wld have weaknd a youger man; a far younger man, Baba found a way off the road and thru d forest and 2hrs later, we were bk on d highway none the worse for wear and wit no traffic jams dis tym. Whole we had bumped thru d bush road, over tiny bridges dat could scarcely hold a bicycle, d pple along d way stared incredulously at our run-down jalopy wit d wizened fellow clutchin at d wheel for dear life and cheered us on wit shouts of appreciation and congratulatn.
Once on d highway, it ws smooth sailing to Ile-Ife and dat ws jst all Baba's Pijot needed. The trusty old vehicl, after overheatin a coupl of tyms and almost losin a tyre, gathered speed and tore down d express to Osun state at 120kmph(dis is merely guesswrk as Baba's speedometer ws a wreck and permanently fixd at 100kmph).
Then we reachd Ife and disembarkd, waving a tired goodbye to our fellow travelers and d wizened gnome at d wheel.
In d city of Ife; home to d gods of d Yoruba; d kingdom in which Oduduwa lived and learned and taught; d centre of enlightenmnt, in dis city were we nearly stranded at 3:00pm in d year 2010 AD, a thousnd yrs after Obatele climbd down d chain to scatter sand upon d surface of d deep.
The money on our pocket ws nt sufficient to take us to erin-ijesa and bk 2benin city and dere ws nt a single ATM to be seen. D skies darkened; tym ws runnin out, dere ws no choice nw bt 2return 2Benin, such a lng journey wasted for nothin. But alas, the buses to benin had all bt lft and those remaining were nt willin to dare d jam at Ore. So we had no choice; we must go around and first visit Akure before findin a bus into Benin.
So we wnt, dis tym around on a bus filld wit almst 14 commuters, and dis ws after wranglin at d price wit an irate bus driver using an amazing combination of pidgin english and a smattering of Yoruba. The bus, rugged-lookin and dirty it may be, wit a chassis dat redefind wat d Americans mean by 'floor-boards', had a powerful engine albeit a crazy driver. Zoomin down d cock-screw bends, dey hv in Osun state, i ws surprisd d passengers didn't complain as i expected to hear d usual 'Ah! Oya were ni?!' dat we are all used to in Lagos. Instead, d passengers sat calmly, while some evn dozed. I and Obagol meanwhile clutchd at our seats and prayd for respite. It ws whn i saw crazier drivers overtakin us on evn more rickety vehicles, dat i realisd our driver ws evn too slow by Osun standards.
Soon, we were in Akure despite havin 2 detour thru d Ikeji-Arakeji community whn some trailers tried to box us in by blockin d road wit their trucks. Wat their game ws, we'll never kno, nt dat i wish to anyway.
This part of d journey ws easy and d lights of Akure soon greeted us as d clock beeped 6:00pn. Now we hd 2fix d problm of finding a bus bk 2 our city of Benin.
First we journeyed in one of d lil' blue and yellow cabs d Ondo pple favour 2 Aja-Oba or the Oba's mrkt, then to a lil' park on d outskirts of town known as Benin Garage. How joy resonated in our hrts as we discovered we were d final two to board. It ws tym to return home.
But nt yet.
The driver of dis bus, after d necessary debate on d fare, informed us dat we had to pick up d final passenger.
'Who?' queried a young man.
'A woman,' was d only reply.
And indeed it ws. It ws a large woman and ther ws no space for her. After some wrangling and squeezin and prodding, she got in right beside me! I had always thought i had bn thru all and experienced everythin, bt dat ws before she startd placing her goats very close to me. Oh yes, twelve goats in all did dat woman carry, and there i ws sandwichd in btw. I could nt help bt let out a bleat of my own.
But i did nt blame her. In d Nigeria we live today, d 'Police Officers' at each road checkpoint wld demand a fee from her for each goat she posessd and by d tym she sold dem off, the profit, if any, would be minuscle. So i held in my revulsion and settled for d night journey into Benin, d goats bleatin all d way. It ws 7:34pm.
The bus ws fairly new and d driver ws experiencd if timid, for he constantly jumpd whn he met checkpoints, and whn he 'dropped for' (bribed) them, he often nearly 'overpaid' d 'men of d law'. Nevertheless, withn an hr plus, we arrivd Edo State. Bt wit d dark rds (there wasnt a singl light in sight asides from d moon), i could nt read d signs. Bt i knew where we where as soon as we were stoppd at a chckpoint and d 'Police Officer' demanded fifty naira, rather dan d twenty naira 'egunge' their breed is accustomed to.
Oh Benin; land of the Obas, the city of bronze aquifers; the centre of African civilization; the heartbeat of Nigeria; land of witches and wizards.
The bus kept zooming, bt d roads were familiar nw and i felt at home. Whn d lights; oh, d beautifl lights of UniBen (University of Benin) appeared, my hrt leapt and i could sing for joy. Disembarkin, we waved cheery goodbyes and stumbled thru d gates, our legs in a cramp. It was 10:00pm.
'Wow, dat ws some trip.' said Obagol.
'Yeah,' i agreed. 'A tour of erin-ijesa.'
Then i remembered, we never actuali got there, did we?
I woke 2d sounds of my alarm clock (my phone actuali), it was 6:00am. Jumpin up, i hurriedly performd my calisthenics, pulled some dumb-bells &jumpd into d bathroom. Soon i ws dressd and i plunged in2 d light rain. It ws Sunday mornin.
Joggin quickl, i moved to d bus-stop. 3 buses later, i ws at d motor park. The sign proclaimd it as d 'Uselu motor park'. Shouts tore d air as soon as i disembarkd as touts jostled wit each other, each wantin me 2 board his vehicl whilst nt concerned as 2wher i ws goin.
'Osogbo! Osogbo!' i heard in 1 corner. Makin my way over, i discoverd a dismal (for want of a 'good' term) lookin' white-colourd jalopy which in its long-gone better days wld hv bn calld a Peugeot 505 station wagon.
'How many una be?' asked d tout oblivious 2my discomfort.
'Two,' i replied, pointin at my friend Obagol.
Dis trip had bn Obagol's idea, and it had sounded good to me. He had said, 'Bro, let's go 2d erin-ijesa waterfalls, it's a national heritage site u know?' and so i had agreed.
Anyways, after finally pilin ourselvs; our seven selves into d Pijot (peugeot), we waitd for d driver while shouts of 'Baba! Baba!' rent d air. Finali 'Baba' appeard and my heart nearly sank for 'Baba' was indeed a baba! Wit scarcely a hair on his head, d wizened old man lookd like he could hardly push a trolley let alone drive dis 1984 piece of scrap metal. Nevertheless, Baba jumpd in2 d vehicle, all too game 2pilot us on dis ride. But no sooner had he settled behind d wheel dan he calld out to some of d touts, 'Oya, come push dis motor' Instantly, my hrt sank completely. The car, i mean vehicle, had to be pushd to start?!
But Baba was nt deterrd, soon d vehicle was runnin and we were underway. As we rumbled past d gates of the University of Benin, my spirits liftd and i settld; takin out a Robert Ludlum, ready to enjoy d trip. That ws whn i discoverd dis jalopy didnt posess anythin remotely related 2 a shock absorber. Every inch of d way, the car rumbled, shook and rattled and our teeth were very nearly shaken out of our skulls on d occasions whn d car hit a pot-hole. But in all dat Baba proved his mettle and slowly bt surely, d car ate up d miles to Osogbo. That is, until we got to Ore.
At Ore, d road was blockd. And dis was nt d blockd of which people refer whn dey mention three cars jammed together at an intersection. Rather d Benin-Ore/Ore-Lagos expressway ws clogged wit Two thousnd vehicles all forced to a standstil. People had bn sleepin on d road for days b4 we got ther and we were jst d newbies. As fear began to cloud my features and my mind raced for answers to dis dilemna, i forgot one essential thin: This was d time for Baba to show himslf. Shiftin gears in moves dat wld have weaknd a youger man; a far younger man, Baba found a way off the road and thru d forest and 2hrs later, we were bk on d highway none the worse for wear and wit no traffic jams dis tym. Whole we had bumped thru d bush road, over tiny bridges dat could scarcely hold a bicycle, d pple along d way stared incredulously at our run-down jalopy wit d wizened fellow clutchin at d wheel for dear life and cheered us on wit shouts of appreciation and congratulatn.
Once on d highway, it ws smooth sailing to Ile-Ife and dat ws jst all Baba's Pijot needed. The trusty old vehicl, after overheatin a coupl of tyms and almost losin a tyre, gathered speed and tore down d express to Osun state at 120kmph(dis is merely guesswrk as Baba's speedometer ws a wreck and permanently fixd at 100kmph).
Then we reachd Ife and disembarkd, waving a tired goodbye to our fellow travelers and d wizened gnome at d wheel.
In d city of Ife; home to d gods of d Yoruba; d kingdom in which Oduduwa lived and learned and taught; d centre of enlightenmnt, in dis city were we nearly stranded at 3:00pm in d year 2010 AD, a thousnd yrs after Obatele climbd down d chain to scatter sand upon d surface of d deep.
The money on our pocket ws nt sufficient to take us to erin-ijesa and bk 2benin city and dere ws nt a single ATM to be seen. D skies darkened; tym ws runnin out, dere ws no choice nw bt 2return 2Benin, such a lng journey wasted for nothin. But alas, the buses to benin had all bt lft and those remaining were nt willin to dare d jam at Ore. So we had no choice; we must go around and first visit Akure before findin a bus into Benin.
So we wnt, dis tym around on a bus filld wit almst 14 commuters, and dis ws after wranglin at d price wit an irate bus driver using an amazing combination of pidgin english and a smattering of Yoruba. The bus, rugged-lookin and dirty it may be, wit a chassis dat redefind wat d Americans mean by 'floor-boards', had a powerful engine albeit a crazy driver. Zoomin down d cock-screw bends, dey hv in Osun state, i ws surprisd d passengers didn't complain as i expected to hear d usual 'Ah! Oya were ni?!' dat we are all used to in Lagos. Instead, d passengers sat calmly, while some evn dozed. I and Obagol meanwhile clutchd at our seats and prayd for respite. It ws whn i saw crazier drivers overtakin us on evn more rickety vehicles, dat i realisd our driver ws evn too slow by Osun standards.
Soon, we were in Akure despite havin 2 detour thru d Ikeji-Arakeji community whn some trailers tried to box us in by blockin d road wit their trucks. Wat their game ws, we'll never kno, nt dat i wish to anyway.
This part of d journey ws easy and d lights of Akure soon greeted us as d clock beeped 6:00pn. Now we hd 2fix d problm of finding a bus bk 2 our city of Benin.
First we journeyed in one of d lil' blue and yellow cabs d Ondo pple favour 2 Aja-Oba or the Oba's mrkt, then to a lil' park on d outskirts of town known as Benin Garage. How joy resonated in our hrts as we discovered we were d final two to board. It ws tym to return home.
But nt yet.
The driver of dis bus, after d necessary debate on d fare, informed us dat we had to pick up d final passenger.
'Who?' queried a young man.
'A woman,' was d only reply.
And indeed it ws. It ws a large woman and ther ws no space for her. After some wrangling and squeezin and prodding, she got in right beside me! I had always thought i had bn thru all and experienced everythin, bt dat ws before she startd placing her goats very close to me. Oh yes, twelve goats in all did dat woman carry, and there i ws sandwichd in btw. I could nt help bt let out a bleat of my own.
But i did nt blame her. In d Nigeria we live today, d 'Police Officers' at each road checkpoint wld demand a fee from her for each goat she posessd and by d tym she sold dem off, the profit, if any, would be minuscle. So i held in my revulsion and settled for d night journey into Benin, d goats bleatin all d way. It ws 7:34pm.
The bus ws fairly new and d driver ws experiencd if timid, for he constantly jumpd whn he met checkpoints, and whn he 'dropped for' (bribed) them, he often nearly 'overpaid' d 'men of d law'. Nevertheless, withn an hr plus, we arrivd Edo State. Bt wit d dark rds (there wasnt a singl light in sight asides from d moon), i could nt read d signs. Bt i knew where we where as soon as we were stoppd at a chckpoint and d 'Police Officer' demanded fifty naira, rather dan d twenty naira 'egunge' their breed is accustomed to.
Oh Benin; land of the Obas, the city of bronze aquifers; the centre of African civilization; the heartbeat of Nigeria; land of witches and wizards.
The bus kept zooming, bt d roads were familiar nw and i felt at home. Whn d lights; oh, d beautifl lights of UniBen (University of Benin) appeared, my hrt leapt and i could sing for joy. Disembarkin, we waved cheery goodbyes and stumbled thru d gates, our legs in a cramp. It was 10:00pm.
'Wow, dat ws some trip.' said Obagol.
'Yeah,' i agreed. 'A tour of erin-ijesa.'
Then i remembered, we never actuali got there, did we?
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