By Dafe Ivwurie
“I noticed that your neighbour has moved out of the house”
“You mean Peter? Is he not your neighbour, too? I only discovered that two days ago when I ran into him at the cinema. I was complaining to him about the light situation and he looked blank and couldn’t say much”
“There was no way he would have known if he had not been staying at home. I don’t know what man would abandon his wife.”
“Bimpe, the way you are sounding, it looks like someday your husband might abandon you for always jumping into conclusions. Who told you he abandoned his wife?”
“I will pretend I did not hear that remark.”
“It’s true now. You just think a man will get up and leave his home, his wife and his property and take refuge in a peaceful place for no reason at all? And certainly Peter doesn’t look like he is psychologically disturbed to me, well not until I saw him at the cinema; he looked disturbed.”
“Ehen! Really?”
“Something to the effect that his wife is driving him round the bend and he just decided to move out before something dangerous happens.”
“Haha, that is bad.”
“Well, I don’t have details to give you if that is what you are waiting for. But I seriously think it is a wise decision to take all necessary precautions.”
“Men and their game. Abeg talk another matter. Are you sure he has not found a new lover and moved in with her?”
“Then the women should begin to examine themselves on why a man would go AWOL after just six months of marriage and abandon you.”
“Tam, you seem to suggest that people should just pack up a marriage because there is a minor misunderstanding.”
“Did you say minor, Bimpe? What is minor about someone you call your wife, your partner threatening to ruin you or poison you over whatever? You know me Bimpe, when a relationship is not working and simple issues are turning into a shouting competition it is best one of the parties involved packs out before you have a case in your hand. I think this marriage thing is just overrated. The church, the society and family want you to sit in an abusive relationship and expect it to work somehow.”
“It cannot be that bad now that they are not able to resolve their differences in an amicable way and move on. The thing is that you men just want to dominate always. You want to dictate always forgetting that a woman has her own opinion about how things should be done.”
“That is even a small matter. A woman can have her way a million times for all I care. But can you imagine Debbie slapping Peter?”
“Wow! That is, err... I don’t know what to say”
“It is good to see you speechless sometimes. What if he decided to teach her a good lesson that a wife is not supposed to lay her hands on her husband other than in a loving way?”
“That will be barbaric now Tamuno.”
“Ohoo. Really it will be barbaric, abi?”
“It takes a real man to walk away from a woman when he has been abused.”
“I agree with you but I also wish that women could be taught some lessons too when they won’t gag their tongues and launch into verbal assaults and throw expletives like they are going to be banned in a second.”
“I guess, I will agree with you on this one; walk away. Peter has handled the matter better than that ambassador that beat his wife. How can a man with that kind of position stoop as low as to beating his wife? That is really crass.”
“Have you read the man’s response to the accusation? Apparently there has been some kind of history of violence on the part of the woman from Nigeria to Tokyo to London and now to Nairobi. The woman’s violent behaviour does not know borders or respect diplomatic decorum and etiquette.”
“Did you expect that the man would just sit idly by and not present a story? I read it and I blame the man for inviting the woman back to his post in Kenya.”
“He was only trying to help her”
“More like he was trying to make himself look good in the eyes of the world. Remember, he married another wife at a point and that marriage did not last. He wanted a woman to fulfil a role and hold the office of a wife. Typical of an African man; marriage makes you feel responsible even if you do not act responsible. So it was a case of the devil you know better than the angel you do not.”
“Well, I guess you never know the devil. Brings us back to my point, flee from every appearance of evil.”
“You men always think you can tame a woman.”
“And we certainly won’t be thinking of taming if their acts are not so wild.”
“But do you think the woman is a gold digger?”
“Bimpe, I think every woman is a gold digger. It just depends on the tool they are digging with. But that is a subject for another day. The matter now is that people should not think an abusive relationship would go away. Our man in Nairobi obviously thought that giving that woman a status of prestige would solve the problem. The woman too should have just respected herself and continue to enjoy the perks till they go for another posting.”
“A man will never know what a woman wants.”
“My friend, Wole Oguntokun, said that much in his play, The Anatomy of a Woman. But while they are busy scheming, they should be careful not to drag the name of the country in the mud. They whole matter just looks like the script of a Nollywood movie, which I hear is very popular in Kenya.”
http://www.inlng.com/DailyIndependent/Article.aspx?id=35703&print=1
Nigerian Music, popular culture and politics
Thursday, August 04, 2011
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Toast to Freedom Park
Dafe Ivwurie
Revellers smoking, clutching bottles of their preferred lager or soft drinks, even water and dancing to the heavy beats of the music of 9ice, Naeto C, D’banj, D Prince, Duncan Mighty and several other new age chart toppers from the club of musicians who refer to their music as Naija hip-hop. The young boys (and girls too) knew all the songs, they sang along, they danced rhythmically, the new age dance - the woman in front, the man holding her waist and both of them gyrating back and forth and sideways, sweat dripping down their faces.
No. It is not a club, neither is it one of those carnivals in Rio or Notting Hill. It is twenty-first century Ikoyi Prisons. And no, these were not prisoners. They were free people, fun seekers, partiers and merrymakers within the confines of what was once a notorious holding place for troublemakers, political prisoners and those awaiting the hangman’s noose.
Back track to the twentieth century, to the political history of Nigeria and the names that you would find behind those walls will read Obafemi Awolowo, Nnamdi Azikiwe, Herbert Macaulay, Michael Imoudu and Adeyemo Alakija, just to mention a few. They were either jailed for daring to ask for freedom from the colonialists or incarcerated for treasonable felony, for trying to “subvert the unity of Nigeria.” We may not go into a political discourse here as to whether the reasons these men were held as inmates in this place were justified, but we may draw a lesson or two on life and freedom and what they mean to different generations.
Sir Herbert Macaulay and Chief Michael Imoudu were among the first generation of Nigerians that began to ask for independence from the colonial masters. Their agitation and political activities were what landed them in the then dreaded Ikoyi Prisons. These were founding fathers of Nigerian democracy, of the rights that we now enjoy to organise political associations and organise ourselves into government that will benefit the people either on the long or short term.
For the men mentioned above, they probably never knew if their struggles would yield any tangible result. But for some of the characters in the scene described in the opening paragraph, they probably never knew the history that place holds or the history that these men wrote with their lives.
We have enjoyed 50 years of self rule and the journey has been long and hard for majority of Nigerians and it was proper that this once iconic landscape and piece of real estate of great notoriety be turned into something of value; a place where history can be learnt, a place where the human desire for freedom is perpetuated and given space and the wings to soar.
I am happy that this place was not sold to the banks, multi nationals and the money bags, who would have broken it down and built some money spinning high rise of no meaningful impact to the common man.
But greater kudos must go to Theo Lawson, that architect of impeccable reputation for conceptualising the idea of a Freedom Park out of the Old Ikoyi Prisons; of bringing out the beauty of modern Nigeria from the ashes of colonial and chequered history.
Since the commissioning by Babatunde Raji Fashola, governor of Lagos State, the Freedom Park has hosted dozens of cultural, dramatic and arts festival, the last being the CORA (Committee for Relevant Arts) stampede on Yeni Kuti at 50 and discourse of Nollywood as it is today.
Ten or 15 years ago, this same kind of event would have held in the premises of the Goethe Institute or the French Cultural Centre, which were the unofficial but de facto ministries of culture in Nigeria. The directors of these institutions would have sat at the head of the table to pontificate about us, our culture; our way of life, our music, our drama, our art, our being and point us in the direction to go. We had to defer to them because we did not have the venue or resources.
Today, Freedom Park provides that opportunity for big celebrations like the Black Heritage Festival where what used to be the hangman’s noose has been turned into a stage that hosted Ajantala Pinocchio by Bode Sowande; where the grounds that hold the invisible footprints of men once incarcerated now tremble under the feet of dancers stomping to the contemporary groove of Nigerian musicians.
Fashola hit the nail on the head and prophetically pronounced, “This is why we now christen it Freedom Park because it was a road to our freedom and we intend to keep it as a favoured destination to tourists and all those who seek freedom as a memorial in honour of all those eminent and illustrious nationalists who protested against and successfully ended colonial rule and dominion in Nigeria.”
The redeveloped site is now, indeed, the new destination on the Lagos social and tourism map.
On Broad Street, opposite Island Maternity, behind the tall archaic walls of an old prison there is rebirth and a cry for cultural freedom midwifed by Nigerians, for Nigerians; one that will make the founding fathers of a free Nigeria smile in their resting places and say “truly the labours...were not in vain.”
Revellers smoking, clutching bottles of their preferred lager or soft drinks, even water and dancing to the heavy beats of the music of 9ice, Naeto C, D’banj, D Prince, Duncan Mighty and several other new age chart toppers from the club of musicians who refer to their music as Naija hip-hop. The young boys (and girls too) knew all the songs, they sang along, they danced rhythmically, the new age dance - the woman in front, the man holding her waist and both of them gyrating back and forth and sideways, sweat dripping down their faces.
No. It is not a club, neither is it one of those carnivals in Rio or Notting Hill. It is twenty-first century Ikoyi Prisons. And no, these were not prisoners. They were free people, fun seekers, partiers and merrymakers within the confines of what was once a notorious holding place for troublemakers, political prisoners and those awaiting the hangman’s noose.
Back track to the twentieth century, to the political history of Nigeria and the names that you would find behind those walls will read Obafemi Awolowo, Nnamdi Azikiwe, Herbert Macaulay, Michael Imoudu and Adeyemo Alakija, just to mention a few. They were either jailed for daring to ask for freedom from the colonialists or incarcerated for treasonable felony, for trying to “subvert the unity of Nigeria.” We may not go into a political discourse here as to whether the reasons these men were held as inmates in this place were justified, but we may draw a lesson or two on life and freedom and what they mean to different generations.
Sir Herbert Macaulay and Chief Michael Imoudu were among the first generation of Nigerians that began to ask for independence from the colonial masters. Their agitation and political activities were what landed them in the then dreaded Ikoyi Prisons. These were founding fathers of Nigerian democracy, of the rights that we now enjoy to organise political associations and organise ourselves into government that will benefit the people either on the long or short term.
For the men mentioned above, they probably never knew if their struggles would yield any tangible result. But for some of the characters in the scene described in the opening paragraph, they probably never knew the history that place holds or the history that these men wrote with their lives.
We have enjoyed 50 years of self rule and the journey has been long and hard for majority of Nigerians and it was proper that this once iconic landscape and piece of real estate of great notoriety be turned into something of value; a place where history can be learnt, a place where the human desire for freedom is perpetuated and given space and the wings to soar.
I am happy that this place was not sold to the banks, multi nationals and the money bags, who would have broken it down and built some money spinning high rise of no meaningful impact to the common man.
But greater kudos must go to Theo Lawson, that architect of impeccable reputation for conceptualising the idea of a Freedom Park out of the Old Ikoyi Prisons; of bringing out the beauty of modern Nigeria from the ashes of colonial and chequered history.
Since the commissioning by Babatunde Raji Fashola, governor of Lagos State, the Freedom Park has hosted dozens of cultural, dramatic and arts festival, the last being the CORA (Committee for Relevant Arts) stampede on Yeni Kuti at 50 and discourse of Nollywood as it is today.
Ten or 15 years ago, this same kind of event would have held in the premises of the Goethe Institute or the French Cultural Centre, which were the unofficial but de facto ministries of culture in Nigeria. The directors of these institutions would have sat at the head of the table to pontificate about us, our culture; our way of life, our music, our drama, our art, our being and point us in the direction to go. We had to defer to them because we did not have the venue or resources.
Today, Freedom Park provides that opportunity for big celebrations like the Black Heritage Festival where what used to be the hangman’s noose has been turned into a stage that hosted Ajantala Pinocchio by Bode Sowande; where the grounds that hold the invisible footprints of men once incarcerated now tremble under the feet of dancers stomping to the contemporary groove of Nigerian musicians.
Fashola hit the nail on the head and prophetically pronounced, “This is why we now christen it Freedom Park because it was a road to our freedom and we intend to keep it as a favoured destination to tourists and all those who seek freedom as a memorial in honour of all those eminent and illustrious nationalists who protested against and successfully ended colonial rule and dominion in Nigeria.”
The redeveloped site is now, indeed, the new destination on the Lagos social and tourism map.
On Broad Street, opposite Island Maternity, behind the tall archaic walls of an old prison there is rebirth and a cry for cultural freedom midwifed by Nigerians, for Nigerians; one that will make the founding fathers of a free Nigeria smile in their resting places and say “truly the labours...were not in vain.”
Monday, May 09, 2011
Trending controversy
By Dafe Ivwurie
“Ol’ boy did you hear that Big Brother has started again?”
“Are you referring to America killing Osama bin Laden?”
“Who is talking about that? Do you not have time for softer issues? Must life always be about war, politics and where politicians are moving money to?”
“Well, I guess that is what defines our every day existence now; war, politics and thieving politicians. Are you not heartbroken by all the poverty, underdevelopment and gloom around you? There is more to life than a bunch of jobless children locked in a house full of booze and made to waste away in idleness while feeding the eyes of the entire world with their body parts. Since when did voyeurism become an African pastime? When I tell you that Africa is at the receiving end of the negative aspects of globalisation, you tell me that I refuse to see the bigger picture, that I am too negative in my analysis of situation.”
“I beg calm down jor. You over analyse issues. I agree that some of those boys and girls are dimwits but surely some of them have represented their countries, their families and themselves well. Besides, I think that the programme unites the youths of Africa; it makes us see how we are not so different from one another, how there can be a United States of Africa. Globalisation is not so bad because technology has brought us closer, you know the facebook, twitter and all the social networks on the worldwide web.”
“You miss the point, don’t you? United States of Africa? You know that will never happen; forget all that ranting by Ghaddafi. Did Africa not embark on unification before Europe? But today we have a more cohesive, more united and better organised Europe with the success of the EU. Technology is what the west has used to deceive you people just like they deceived your forefathers with looking glasses and religion in the past. How are your people taking advantage of the cyber space? Fraud, internet scam, that’s how.”
“Still you over analyse issues. We have contributed very positive things to the worldwide web than you ever give credit for; there are countless ezines and blogs pushing Nigerian contemporary culture to the fore on the Internet. Remember that the last election was largely successful because of effective real-time reporting by the youth of this country, many of them who have never voted before, got on the bandwagon and contributed their quota to ensuring that the elections were credible. So you see, it’s not all doom and gloom.”
“I hear you. But that still doesn’t make Big Brother a show for any responsible adult to watch when there are more important things like killing Osama happening in the news. I mean, don’t you just love the Americans; they waited 10 years to avenge the death of their citizens in the hands of those terrorists.”
“Yea, while their President was playing big brother watching the ‘movie’ real time. I find all that surreal...”
“My guy, forget surrealism. But if you must, what could be more surreal than a bunch of heartless fellows flying fully loaded commercial airplanes into high-rise buildings? You would agree with me that that changed the world as we know it. As for Obama watching the operation live, I thought it was a smart thing to do before people start coming up with all sorts of conspiracy theory. I hope you know some Americans do not believe that the guy is an American; they don’t believe that he was born in Hawaii.”
“Are you minding Donald Trump? He won’t get anywhere with all that. But I am happy for Obama. The guy told them that America had the capabilities of smoking Osama out of his hole. Right from the beginning he told them to wind down the war on Iraq and focus on finding America’s number one enemy. That is great insight for someone who has had no military or intelligence training. Just three years into his administration he has delivered on his most important campaign promise. I just hope that our politicians are watching and learning on how to deliver on campaign promises.”
“You are obviously smitten by that guy, Obama. Well, I offer you two Nigerians that you should show a lot of respect for at the moment.”
“Who are they?”
“Fashola and Amaechi.”
“I hope they can sustain the momentum in their second term and not get drawn in by complacency. But it is President Goodluck Jonathan that I want to see action from. He needs to deal with violence that is fast becoming a culture in this country.”
“On the Jonathan matter, me I’m not holding my breath. I want the guy to surprise me and it is not the violence that is his greatest challenge; I believe that violence should be tackled, but I beg the economic issues are more compelling these days. What really divides us in this country is the increasing gap between the poor and the rich, the haves and the have nots occasioned by the collapse of the industries and the entrenchment of corruption by the political and business class. Give people jobs, give them something to do and see whether the violence you are talking about will not end.”
“Much as you have a point, you have to realise that the Arab Revolution was spearheaded by professionals – doctors, lawyers and students – who were fed up with the way thing were going in their country. So it is not only enough to give the youth something to do, the government has to create an enabling environment. The same things that we were clamouring for 20 year ago are still the same issues today - power supply, good roads, qualitative education and water supply. It seems to me that rocket science is even easier to comprehend these days than how to provide basic amenities in this country. It’s a shame.”
“So what are you doing this weekend?”
“Soccer o, I’m watching the entire Premiership games, particularly the Manchester United and Chelsea game on Sunday. And I am hoping Chelsea shocks Man U. Their own don too much. I hope you know they can end up winning nothing this season.”
“Let’s wait and see.”
“Ol’ boy did you hear that Big Brother has started again?”
“Are you referring to America killing Osama bin Laden?”
“Who is talking about that? Do you not have time for softer issues? Must life always be about war, politics and where politicians are moving money to?”
“Well, I guess that is what defines our every day existence now; war, politics and thieving politicians. Are you not heartbroken by all the poverty, underdevelopment and gloom around you? There is more to life than a bunch of jobless children locked in a house full of booze and made to waste away in idleness while feeding the eyes of the entire world with their body parts. Since when did voyeurism become an African pastime? When I tell you that Africa is at the receiving end of the negative aspects of globalisation, you tell me that I refuse to see the bigger picture, that I am too negative in my analysis of situation.”
“I beg calm down jor. You over analyse issues. I agree that some of those boys and girls are dimwits but surely some of them have represented their countries, their families and themselves well. Besides, I think that the programme unites the youths of Africa; it makes us see how we are not so different from one another, how there can be a United States of Africa. Globalisation is not so bad because technology has brought us closer, you know the facebook, twitter and all the social networks on the worldwide web.”
“You miss the point, don’t you? United States of Africa? You know that will never happen; forget all that ranting by Ghaddafi. Did Africa not embark on unification before Europe? But today we have a more cohesive, more united and better organised Europe with the success of the EU. Technology is what the west has used to deceive you people just like they deceived your forefathers with looking glasses and religion in the past. How are your people taking advantage of the cyber space? Fraud, internet scam, that’s how.”
“Still you over analyse issues. We have contributed very positive things to the worldwide web than you ever give credit for; there are countless ezines and blogs pushing Nigerian contemporary culture to the fore on the Internet. Remember that the last election was largely successful because of effective real-time reporting by the youth of this country, many of them who have never voted before, got on the bandwagon and contributed their quota to ensuring that the elections were credible. So you see, it’s not all doom and gloom.”
“I hear you. But that still doesn’t make Big Brother a show for any responsible adult to watch when there are more important things like killing Osama happening in the news. I mean, don’t you just love the Americans; they waited 10 years to avenge the death of their citizens in the hands of those terrorists.”
“Yea, while their President was playing big brother watching the ‘movie’ real time. I find all that surreal...”
“My guy, forget surrealism. But if you must, what could be more surreal than a bunch of heartless fellows flying fully loaded commercial airplanes into high-rise buildings? You would agree with me that that changed the world as we know it. As for Obama watching the operation live, I thought it was a smart thing to do before people start coming up with all sorts of conspiracy theory. I hope you know some Americans do not believe that the guy is an American; they don’t believe that he was born in Hawaii.”
“Are you minding Donald Trump? He won’t get anywhere with all that. But I am happy for Obama. The guy told them that America had the capabilities of smoking Osama out of his hole. Right from the beginning he told them to wind down the war on Iraq and focus on finding America’s number one enemy. That is great insight for someone who has had no military or intelligence training. Just three years into his administration he has delivered on his most important campaign promise. I just hope that our politicians are watching and learning on how to deliver on campaign promises.”
“You are obviously smitten by that guy, Obama. Well, I offer you two Nigerians that you should show a lot of respect for at the moment.”
“Who are they?”
“Fashola and Amaechi.”
“I hope they can sustain the momentum in their second term and not get drawn in by complacency. But it is President Goodluck Jonathan that I want to see action from. He needs to deal with violence that is fast becoming a culture in this country.”
“On the Jonathan matter, me I’m not holding my breath. I want the guy to surprise me and it is not the violence that is his greatest challenge; I believe that violence should be tackled, but I beg the economic issues are more compelling these days. What really divides us in this country is the increasing gap between the poor and the rich, the haves and the have nots occasioned by the collapse of the industries and the entrenchment of corruption by the political and business class. Give people jobs, give them something to do and see whether the violence you are talking about will not end.”
“Much as you have a point, you have to realise that the Arab Revolution was spearheaded by professionals – doctors, lawyers and students – who were fed up with the way thing were going in their country. So it is not only enough to give the youth something to do, the government has to create an enabling environment. The same things that we were clamouring for 20 year ago are still the same issues today - power supply, good roads, qualitative education and water supply. It seems to me that rocket science is even easier to comprehend these days than how to provide basic amenities in this country. It’s a shame.”
“So what are you doing this weekend?”
“Soccer o, I’m watching the entire Premiership games, particularly the Manchester United and Chelsea game on Sunday. And I am hoping Chelsea shocks Man U. Their own don too much. I hope you know they can end up winning nothing this season.”
“Let’s wait and see.”
Monday, May 02, 2011
So Broadway brought Fela to Lagos
I never saw Fela Anikulapo Kuti perform live anywhere, not at the Shrine, his spiritual and musical enclave where fans, followers, protégés and wannabes congregated for what could be referred to as a convocation of the faithful, not at the countless places he performed before his demise.
I was cultured to be contented with his philosophy that blared from my father’s Grundig vinyl player and speakers that was amplified by a Kenwood amplifier. His words and ideas, which I came to know as Felasophy, his sound, big, loud, elaborate and delightfully long-winded made from a fusion of jazz, highlife and the big band combined to create what is now known all over the world as Afrobeat, was part of what I had to listen to every weekend when my father played DJ and was trying to impress us that he had an eclectic taste in music. He would also play Handel, Bach, Beethoven, Chopin, and Gustav Mahler amongst other classical greats.
I took to Fela quite easily probably because I could relate to the language and the issues that he sang about rather than for his musicianship; I was completely smitten by the latter after I started studying music and understanding the role of musical instruments and their arrangements in ensemble. Fela was a genius. He brilliantly brought the colour, energy and character of the musical instruments to life in one lively orchestra that lives in your head after the music’s last cadence.
That was what Fela in Lagos did.
Afrobeat may be about Fela, his idiosyncrasies and wild life of women, weed and war waged on him by the establishment and the ones that he also instituted against numerous oppressive military and civilian governments, the Broadway re-enactment made it all beautiful, classy and sassy. I guess it had to be to appeal to the politically correct taste of some people who were too scared, too prude and too fly to visit the shrine when the chief priest was alive and doing his crude non-conformist thing.
Sahr Ngaujah, the primo oumo, may not look like Fela; he however made up for it with the energy he brought to the stage and the good understanding of the character he was playing. Playing an energetic, iconic and revered character on stage or in a movie could be the most difficult venture any actor can ever embark upon, Sahr rose up to the occasion squarely just like Morgan Freeman ‘killed’ the Madiba role in ***Invictus***. If Sahr had any flaw it will be that he ate his words sometimes at end of some sentences betraying his true accent.
The trinity of Fela’s deity (I am not one of those who believe in that deity) were present on the night; I speak of the sound, the word and the energy. As with the Trinity of the Creator, the three are inseparable.
The whole movement was backed by Antibalas, the Brooklyn-based Afrobeat band modelled after Fela’s African 70 band. Fela’s music was replicated note for note, nuance for nuance, bringing you to a place of complete adoration and pride that something from Africa, nay Nigeria has crossed borders and influenced cultures. The intensity and stamina from the stage was reinforced by the dance routines, the multimedia application and the synergy between them.
The conversation has arisen on why it had to take America to bring Fela to Nigeria, to the world. The simple truth is that, as with almost everything in this country, a project dies at conception because of vested interest, lack of structure and unprofessionalism. I doubt if we would have been able to pull it off. Now, do not get me wrong, we have the personnel to do it; after all, Fela’s children and family are still alive to provide some perspective to his being, most members of the Egypt 80 band are also still very much around to help re-enact some of the sounds that they helped Fela to create, we also have some of the best trained theatre artistes around who can recreate the Fela story from the eyes of a Nigerian in a language that we can understand. The whole entertainment industry in Nigeria has a question to answer.
In Nigeria, we love imported things. Fela had a word for it, ‘colo mentality’.
In spite of his shortcomings, Fela’s image will always loom larger than the lives of the unknown soldiers and those who ordered them to rape defenceless women, maim and kill people who were only armed with music during that infamous Kalakuta raid. Not that I think that music is powerless, it is just that I shake my head in pity at the stupidity of those who think that they can kill a message by killing the messenger. No messenger is bigger than the message; Fela was certainly not bigger than the message, he took the message seriously at the risk of losing his life.
So Broadway may think that they brought Fela to Lagos; they only gave us the show, the razzmatazz and showed us how to celebrate legends, but the real experience belongs to us. I guess Broadway can only celebrate him, it is our turn to immortalise him.
I was cultured to be contented with his philosophy that blared from my father’s Grundig vinyl player and speakers that was amplified by a Kenwood amplifier. His words and ideas, which I came to know as Felasophy, his sound, big, loud, elaborate and delightfully long-winded made from a fusion of jazz, highlife and the big band combined to create what is now known all over the world as Afrobeat, was part of what I had to listen to every weekend when my father played DJ and was trying to impress us that he had an eclectic taste in music. He would also play Handel, Bach, Beethoven, Chopin, and Gustav Mahler amongst other classical greats.
I took to Fela quite easily probably because I could relate to the language and the issues that he sang about rather than for his musicianship; I was completely smitten by the latter after I started studying music and understanding the role of musical instruments and their arrangements in ensemble. Fela was a genius. He brilliantly brought the colour, energy and character of the musical instruments to life in one lively orchestra that lives in your head after the music’s last cadence.
That was what Fela in Lagos did.
Afrobeat may be about Fela, his idiosyncrasies and wild life of women, weed and war waged on him by the establishment and the ones that he also instituted against numerous oppressive military and civilian governments, the Broadway re-enactment made it all beautiful, classy and sassy. I guess it had to be to appeal to the politically correct taste of some people who were too scared, too prude and too fly to visit the shrine when the chief priest was alive and doing his crude non-conformist thing.
Sahr Ngaujah, the primo oumo, may not look like Fela; he however made up for it with the energy he brought to the stage and the good understanding of the character he was playing. Playing an energetic, iconic and revered character on stage or in a movie could be the most difficult venture any actor can ever embark upon, Sahr rose up to the occasion squarely just like Morgan Freeman ‘killed’ the Madiba role in ***Invictus***. If Sahr had any flaw it will be that he ate his words sometimes at end of some sentences betraying his true accent.
The trinity of Fela’s deity (I am not one of those who believe in that deity) were present on the night; I speak of the sound, the word and the energy. As with the Trinity of the Creator, the three are inseparable.
The whole movement was backed by Antibalas, the Brooklyn-based Afrobeat band modelled after Fela’s African 70 band. Fela’s music was replicated note for note, nuance for nuance, bringing you to a place of complete adoration and pride that something from Africa, nay Nigeria has crossed borders and influenced cultures. The intensity and stamina from the stage was reinforced by the dance routines, the multimedia application and the synergy between them.
The conversation has arisen on why it had to take America to bring Fela to Nigeria, to the world. The simple truth is that, as with almost everything in this country, a project dies at conception because of vested interest, lack of structure and unprofessionalism. I doubt if we would have been able to pull it off. Now, do not get me wrong, we have the personnel to do it; after all, Fela’s children and family are still alive to provide some perspective to his being, most members of the Egypt 80 band are also still very much around to help re-enact some of the sounds that they helped Fela to create, we also have some of the best trained theatre artistes around who can recreate the Fela story from the eyes of a Nigerian in a language that we can understand. The whole entertainment industry in Nigeria has a question to answer.
In Nigeria, we love imported things. Fela had a word for it, ‘colo mentality’.
In spite of his shortcomings, Fela’s image will always loom larger than the lives of the unknown soldiers and those who ordered them to rape defenceless women, maim and kill people who were only armed with music during that infamous Kalakuta raid. Not that I think that music is powerless, it is just that I shake my head in pity at the stupidity of those who think that they can kill a message by killing the messenger. No messenger is bigger than the message; Fela was certainly not bigger than the message, he took the message seriously at the risk of losing his life.
So Broadway may think that they brought Fela to Lagos; they only gave us the show, the razzmatazz and showed us how to celebrate legends, but the real experience belongs to us. I guess Broadway can only celebrate him, it is our turn to immortalise him.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Basketmouth's 'The Lord of the Ribs': My thoughts
By Dafe Ivwurie
Last Sunday, Bright Okpocha, the dreadlock-spotting popular comedian known as Basketmouth, staged a comedy show at the prestigious and newly built Expo Centre of the Eko Hotel and Suites, Lagos. The show tagged “The Lord of the Ribs” was to celebrate his 10th year on stage and it paraded top Nigerian comedy acts along with invited comedians from South Africa, America and the United Kingdom. By all accounts, it was an impressive show that lived up to all the hype and publicity it got from the print and electronic media.
Perhaps, the only comedian who has staged anything bigger than what Basketmouth did is the impresario himself, the Don of the comedy clan, Alibaba, when he celebrated his 20 years on stage as a comedian and master of ceremonies per excellence.
I will not attempt to analyse the performance of the men and woman who graced the stage, because they all gave very good account of themselves and justified why the host invited them. Comedy, like music, is a universal language. At every point in time in our lives, we all feel the need to laugh, to see the brighter side of life in spite of the whatever difficulty we go through. Sometimes, in the midst of all the chaos and uncertainties around us, we manage to bring out the funny side of life; and the comedians are adept at doing this.
The success of the show brings to the fore a number of issues – on a personal level for Bright, on a wider level, for the comedy industry and even much bigger level for Nigeria.
Basketmouth was doing a diploma at the University of Benin when Alibaba, the Delta State born pioneer of stand up comedy spotted him during a show he was anchoring in one of his visits to the Ugbowo campus of the university. Bright had been invited to perform as a rapper and in the middle of his rhymes and reason he would throw some banters and ‘yabbies’ at the audience. Alibaba thereafter invited and encouraged him to abandon being a rapper and embrace stand up comedy. That was in 2000. Today, the protégé has become a major force in the make-people-laugh venture, a testimony to talent, resilience, consistency and I must add, to Basketmouth’s humility and readiness to learn, take criticism and the ability to carve his own niche.
But the greater kudos goes to Alibaba, for being able to spot a talent and redirect the energy and the destiny of the young lad from music to comedy. It takes faith, courage, belief in oneself and chosen career to convince another to follow you. Alibaba had no mentor in the true sense of the word, just precursors and forerunners in the likes of, Babasala, Aluwe, Samanja and Jagua. Although names like John Chukwu and Muhammed Danjuma were fully entrenched in the entertainment circles, Alibaba made stand up comedy a profession and anybody who introduces himself as one need to give him that respect, if possible pay him tithes for taking the lead. Well, his colleagues already call him the Grand Comedian of the Federal Republic, GCFR. May be the federal government should begin to think of a national honour for him in recognition of his vision, pioneering work and entrepreneurial spirit in a field of endeavour that was not taken seriously.
The lord of the Ribs was a first of its kind event. It was the first time anybody would bring international comedy acts to Nigeria. What that signifies is that the entertainment industry in Nigeria is big. Entertainment as a cultural phenomenon has always had the power to cross borders, build bridges, cement relationships and create a platform for peace and unity. Nollywood, the Nigerian music scene and now the Nigerian comedy industry are the truly Nigerian exports that have defined us positively in the international community. Nigerians actors now collaborate with their counterparts in Europe and America with already released flick like ‘Ije’, which starred Genevieve Nnaji and Omotola Jalade-Ekeinde and the yet to be released ‘Anchor Baby’ by Omoni Oboli. If you watch Big Brother, the Mnet reality TV hit show, you would notice that seventy percent of the music played at intervals in the house is by Nigerian artistes and the interesting fact is that housemates from other African countries know these artistes and their music as if they come from the same country.
The most interesting performances of the night for me at the lord of the ribs show were that of Kevin J, the Peckham born British comedian and Ndumiso, the very intelligent Xhosa South African. Both of them literally tore down the borders, if you will, the walls, the way the Berlin walls that divided East and West Germany were crushed in that famous unification. There are hordes of Nigerians in Peckham, just like there are in Johannesburg and Nigerians, irrespective of whether you have visited those two cities, are quite familiar with the cross cultural linkages.
Comedy might very well be the new type of diplomacy; we poke fun and laugh at each other’s idiosyncrasies and come out not feeling insulted or feeling that our national pride has been violated. Kevin and Ndumiso did just that in their performances.
I am not sure how much money went into the planning of the very commendable event, but it is heart warming and noteworthy that international brands support this effort by a single Nigerian with a plan and a vision. The success is not Bright’s; the success is for the Nigerian spirit of determination and drive to succeed when the world does not give you a chance to.
I remember my first interview with Basketmouth about seven years ago and how he was filled with trepidation about starting ‘laffs and jamz’, his first shot at being a comedy impresario. It looked like a dream too big to achieve back then, but he pulled it off just like he pulled off ‘the lord of the ribs’.
By next year, the O2 arena is expected to play host to the UK edition. This is an opportunity for western media to celebrate Nigeria positively. A five minute news feature would do a lot of good for all the negativity that have been reported.
Last Sunday, Bright Okpocha, the dreadlock-spotting popular comedian known as Basketmouth, staged a comedy show at the prestigious and newly built Expo Centre of the Eko Hotel and Suites, Lagos. The show tagged “The Lord of the Ribs” was to celebrate his 10th year on stage and it paraded top Nigerian comedy acts along with invited comedians from South Africa, America and the United Kingdom. By all accounts, it was an impressive show that lived up to all the hype and publicity it got from the print and electronic media.
Perhaps, the only comedian who has staged anything bigger than what Basketmouth did is the impresario himself, the Don of the comedy clan, Alibaba, when he celebrated his 20 years on stage as a comedian and master of ceremonies per excellence.
I will not attempt to analyse the performance of the men and woman who graced the stage, because they all gave very good account of themselves and justified why the host invited them. Comedy, like music, is a universal language. At every point in time in our lives, we all feel the need to laugh, to see the brighter side of life in spite of the whatever difficulty we go through. Sometimes, in the midst of all the chaos and uncertainties around us, we manage to bring out the funny side of life; and the comedians are adept at doing this.
The success of the show brings to the fore a number of issues – on a personal level for Bright, on a wider level, for the comedy industry and even much bigger level for Nigeria.
Basketmouth was doing a diploma at the University of Benin when Alibaba, the Delta State born pioneer of stand up comedy spotted him during a show he was anchoring in one of his visits to the Ugbowo campus of the university. Bright had been invited to perform as a rapper and in the middle of his rhymes and reason he would throw some banters and ‘yabbies’ at the audience. Alibaba thereafter invited and encouraged him to abandon being a rapper and embrace stand up comedy. That was in 2000. Today, the protégé has become a major force in the make-people-laugh venture, a testimony to talent, resilience, consistency and I must add, to Basketmouth’s humility and readiness to learn, take criticism and the ability to carve his own niche.
But the greater kudos goes to Alibaba, for being able to spot a talent and redirect the energy and the destiny of the young lad from music to comedy. It takes faith, courage, belief in oneself and chosen career to convince another to follow you. Alibaba had no mentor in the true sense of the word, just precursors and forerunners in the likes of, Babasala, Aluwe, Samanja and Jagua. Although names like John Chukwu and Muhammed Danjuma were fully entrenched in the entertainment circles, Alibaba made stand up comedy a profession and anybody who introduces himself as one need to give him that respect, if possible pay him tithes for taking the lead. Well, his colleagues already call him the Grand Comedian of the Federal Republic, GCFR. May be the federal government should begin to think of a national honour for him in recognition of his vision, pioneering work and entrepreneurial spirit in a field of endeavour that was not taken seriously.
The lord of the Ribs was a first of its kind event. It was the first time anybody would bring international comedy acts to Nigeria. What that signifies is that the entertainment industry in Nigeria is big. Entertainment as a cultural phenomenon has always had the power to cross borders, build bridges, cement relationships and create a platform for peace and unity. Nollywood, the Nigerian music scene and now the Nigerian comedy industry are the truly Nigerian exports that have defined us positively in the international community. Nigerians actors now collaborate with their counterparts in Europe and America with already released flick like ‘Ije’, which starred Genevieve Nnaji and Omotola Jalade-Ekeinde and the yet to be released ‘Anchor Baby’ by Omoni Oboli. If you watch Big Brother, the Mnet reality TV hit show, you would notice that seventy percent of the music played at intervals in the house is by Nigerian artistes and the interesting fact is that housemates from other African countries know these artistes and their music as if they come from the same country.
The most interesting performances of the night for me at the lord of the ribs show were that of Kevin J, the Peckham born British comedian and Ndumiso, the very intelligent Xhosa South African. Both of them literally tore down the borders, if you will, the walls, the way the Berlin walls that divided East and West Germany were crushed in that famous unification. There are hordes of Nigerians in Peckham, just like there are in Johannesburg and Nigerians, irrespective of whether you have visited those two cities, are quite familiar with the cross cultural linkages.
Comedy might very well be the new type of diplomacy; we poke fun and laugh at each other’s idiosyncrasies and come out not feeling insulted or feeling that our national pride has been violated. Kevin and Ndumiso did just that in their performances.
I am not sure how much money went into the planning of the very commendable event, but it is heart warming and noteworthy that international brands support this effort by a single Nigerian with a plan and a vision. The success is not Bright’s; the success is for the Nigerian spirit of determination and drive to succeed when the world does not give you a chance to.
I remember my first interview with Basketmouth about seven years ago and how he was filled with trepidation about starting ‘laffs and jamz’, his first shot at being a comedy impresario. It looked like a dream too big to achieve back then, but he pulled it off just like he pulled off ‘the lord of the ribs’.
By next year, the O2 arena is expected to play host to the UK edition. This is an opportunity for western media to celebrate Nigeria positively. A five minute news feature would do a lot of good for all the negativity that have been reported.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Duke’s Assignment For Jega’s INEC
By Dafe Ivwurie
Donald Duke does not cut the look of a typical Nigerian politician and certainly does not speak like one.
We may not go into his mien, panache and graciousness, which in truth, make you look upon him with a sense of admiration and trust. However, it is his recent moves and utterances that should come under sharp focus.
Well, it is no news to those who follow Nigerian politics that elections are rigged in this country and I guess we can fathom in our minds the extent to which politicians go to win elections. Fathom no more, because Mr. Duke has just put flesh on all the figments of your imaginations of how elections are rigged in Nigeria.
Donald Duke is someone who should know, having been governor of Cross River State for two terms from 1999 to 2007. In a recent extempore speech to pro democracy Save Nigeria Group, in Abuja, the former governor delivered a candour’s niche remark of how governors rig elections in Nigeria.
It is important for you, like they say, to hear it from the horses mouth: “This is what happens; the resident electoral commissioner (REC) is usually from another state. The electoral officers, they move around. They are usually from that state, but for the conduct of elections itself, you would probably move from Cross River to Akwa Ibom or to Abia, but these musical chairs don’t mean anything.
“When the resident electoral commissioner comes before the elections are conducted, of course, when he comes to the state, usually, he has no accommodation; monies have not been released for the running or conduct of the elections and all that because we always start late. He pays a courtesy call on the governor. It’s usually a televised event you know, and of course he says all the right things.
“Your Excellency, I am here to ensure that we have free and fair elections and I will require your support.”
Mr. Duke went into some details of how a governor can ‘support’ a REC, including providing comfortable accommodation, cars, funds and even personnel as a run up to ensuring that he discharges his duty of delivering free and fair elections in the state.
I personally do not think that this is an indictment on any governor or any political party. Politicians are by nature meant to take advantage of any situation that would favour them. It is, instead, an indictment on the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) and the whole electoral system of Nigeria.
I think Donald Duke’s revelation buttresses the argument for a truly autonomous electoral body in terms of funding and modus operandi. Why should the INEC wait for the National Assembly before it can get funding? Why should REC go to a state without being adequately officially catered for? Why should a REC ask for personnel from a state governor and also the resources to train them?
In a not so surprising response to Duke’s remarks, Prof. Attahiru Jega, the chairman of INEC has read the ‘riot act’ to RECs, who would be working with him not to ask for or receive any assistance or support from state governors. That, in fact, they should get clearance from the headquarters before receiving any support. According to Jega, his directive to the RECs is necessary in order to maintain the independence of INEC, saying, “you will agree with me that such measures are essential in ensuring public confidence in your work.”
Granted that this is a good sound bite coming from Jega, his directive to his men may well be just about a quarter of the solution needed to make INEC truly independent.
What about this other issue raised by Mr. Duke: “On the day of elections, each polling booth has no more than 500 ballot papers; that is the standard. There is not a polling booth that is more than 500. So only 200 people appear here, 300, 100 there, 50 there, 400 there, at the end of election what happens? The presiding officer sits down and calls a few guys and says, “hey, there are a few hundred papers here, let’s thumbprint. This is the real election. Well, this is not a PDP thing. I am not here to castigate the PDP; it’s a Nigerian thing. This process may sound comical and jovial; it happens throughout the country, whether it is Action Congress (AC) or APGA (All Progressives Grand Alliance), it’s the same thing. We are all the same. They start thumb-printing, some are overzealous. So at the end of the day you find some voting more than the number of people that were registered to vote.”
You see, all that talk about RECs getting support from the state governors is just a prelude to the above quoted remark by Mr. Duke and that is where the activist umpire, Prof. Jega, has his work cut out for him. This is what will make or mar his tenure as INEC chairman and his reputation as an activist and thoroughbred intellectual. It will be interesting if he will be looking in the way of Option A4, which was highly successful under Humphrey Nwosu or will he be relying on technology knowing the illiteracy level of those in the rural areas or a hybrid of both.
I once had an interview with Justice Victor Ovie-Whiskey, former FEDECO boss and the old man told me that “Nigerians are master riggers”. I think Mr. Duke has just given Prof. Jega a blueprint on rigging in Nigeria, the ball is now in the INEC chairman’s court to provide Nigerians with a blueprint on delivering credible elections not only in 2011 but beyond.
Donald Duke does not cut the look of a typical Nigerian politician and certainly does not speak like one.
We may not go into his mien, panache and graciousness, which in truth, make you look upon him with a sense of admiration and trust. However, it is his recent moves and utterances that should come under sharp focus.
Well, it is no news to those who follow Nigerian politics that elections are rigged in this country and I guess we can fathom in our minds the extent to which politicians go to win elections. Fathom no more, because Mr. Duke has just put flesh on all the figments of your imaginations of how elections are rigged in Nigeria.
Donald Duke is someone who should know, having been governor of Cross River State for two terms from 1999 to 2007. In a recent extempore speech to pro democracy Save Nigeria Group, in Abuja, the former governor delivered a candour’s niche remark of how governors rig elections in Nigeria.
It is important for you, like they say, to hear it from the horses mouth: “This is what happens; the resident electoral commissioner (REC) is usually from another state. The electoral officers, they move around. They are usually from that state, but for the conduct of elections itself, you would probably move from Cross River to Akwa Ibom or to Abia, but these musical chairs don’t mean anything.
“When the resident electoral commissioner comes before the elections are conducted, of course, when he comes to the state, usually, he has no accommodation; monies have not been released for the running or conduct of the elections and all that because we always start late. He pays a courtesy call on the governor. It’s usually a televised event you know, and of course he says all the right things.
“Your Excellency, I am here to ensure that we have free and fair elections and I will require your support.”
Mr. Duke went into some details of how a governor can ‘support’ a REC, including providing comfortable accommodation, cars, funds and even personnel as a run up to ensuring that he discharges his duty of delivering free and fair elections in the state.
I personally do not think that this is an indictment on any governor or any political party. Politicians are by nature meant to take advantage of any situation that would favour them. It is, instead, an indictment on the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) and the whole electoral system of Nigeria.
I think Donald Duke’s revelation buttresses the argument for a truly autonomous electoral body in terms of funding and modus operandi. Why should the INEC wait for the National Assembly before it can get funding? Why should REC go to a state without being adequately officially catered for? Why should a REC ask for personnel from a state governor and also the resources to train them?
In a not so surprising response to Duke’s remarks, Prof. Attahiru Jega, the chairman of INEC has read the ‘riot act’ to RECs, who would be working with him not to ask for or receive any assistance or support from state governors. That, in fact, they should get clearance from the headquarters before receiving any support. According to Jega, his directive to the RECs is necessary in order to maintain the independence of INEC, saying, “you will agree with me that such measures are essential in ensuring public confidence in your work.”
Granted that this is a good sound bite coming from Jega, his directive to his men may well be just about a quarter of the solution needed to make INEC truly independent.
What about this other issue raised by Mr. Duke: “On the day of elections, each polling booth has no more than 500 ballot papers; that is the standard. There is not a polling booth that is more than 500. So only 200 people appear here, 300, 100 there, 50 there, 400 there, at the end of election what happens? The presiding officer sits down and calls a few guys and says, “hey, there are a few hundred papers here, let’s thumbprint. This is the real election. Well, this is not a PDP thing. I am not here to castigate the PDP; it’s a Nigerian thing. This process may sound comical and jovial; it happens throughout the country, whether it is Action Congress (AC) or APGA (All Progressives Grand Alliance), it’s the same thing. We are all the same. They start thumb-printing, some are overzealous. So at the end of the day you find some voting more than the number of people that were registered to vote.”
You see, all that talk about RECs getting support from the state governors is just a prelude to the above quoted remark by Mr. Duke and that is where the activist umpire, Prof. Jega, has his work cut out for him. This is what will make or mar his tenure as INEC chairman and his reputation as an activist and thoroughbred intellectual. It will be interesting if he will be looking in the way of Option A4, which was highly successful under Humphrey Nwosu or will he be relying on technology knowing the illiteracy level of those in the rural areas or a hybrid of both.
I once had an interview with Justice Victor Ovie-Whiskey, former FEDECO boss and the old man told me that “Nigerians are master riggers”. I think Mr. Duke has just given Prof. Jega a blueprint on rigging in Nigeria, the ball is now in the INEC chairman’s court to provide Nigerians with a blueprint on delivering credible elections not only in 2011 but beyond.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
IBB Is Following Me!
By Dafe Ivwurie
I was stepping out of my house, heading to the pub to see the final match of the just concluded FIFA World Cup, when my Blackberry beeped. The message simply said “Ibrahim Babangida is now following you…”
The first thing that came out of my mouth was “Oh my God!” as I looked downstairs to be sure that there was nobody lurking around in the compound. Then I looked at my phone again to be sure that I had not been in a trance. I read the message again, this time around to the end and it read “Ibrahim Babangida is now following you on Twitter.” I heaved a heavy sigh of relief and became intrigued about the guy’s seriousness to contest the 2011 presidential election and engaging Nigerians, especially the youth on the World Wide Web. I was particularly taken in by the fact that his ego is actually not larger than the World Wide Web and he can condescend to the realms of mere mortals and the platform of the talakawas; quite impressive, indeed.
IBB is not the type of leader (and I use the term ‘leader’ loosely in reference to the fact that he has led this nation before not necessarily because he has espoused any democratic or developmental ideology) that we expect to show up on Twitter and Facebook or any other serious social networking site. IBB, has over the years, been presented as a man, in and out of uniform, who is larger than life and can get whatever he wants in Nigeria. So it should come as a surprise that he intends to use the Internet to prosecute his much talked about presidential bid.
It is interesting that quite a number of politicians have imbibed the Barack Obama strategy to solicit support for whatever office they are gunning for in the coming elections. The Obama inspiration on politicians and the political landscape is huge and should be studied by sociologists, political scientists and historians. A certain writer had described Obama as the mythical cipher to all mans aspiration and dreams.
But shall we return to our man IBB. I am not impressed by the fact that IBB has chosen to follow me on Twitter. If anything, I am the one who should be inspired by him for me to follow. If we must follow the Obama example, I am not sure how many people Barack Obama follows on Twitter. People follow Barack Obama. I follow him, too. That is because the first Black American President has become a big inspiration for ethnic minorities, for hard work, for self-belief and for the demise of impossibilities to every man who believes. Those are credentials that you don’t buy in the market place. You earn it. IBB should show me, nay Nigerians, your credentials to command any serious following.
On the first day of Goodluck Jonathan opening his Facebook account, the page registered about 23,000 fans. Now three weeks old, the fan base has increased to about 114,000. Not that I consider Goodluck Jonathan a leader other than he is the President of my country, I think the fact that he became President under divine and extraordinary circumstances make people look up to him. But he himself is about to go the way every privileged Nigerian leader has gone in the last 30 years that I can recall; they get there achieve nothing and want to sit tight.
I hear a lot of people talk about the quality of followers that we have in Nigeria, how they expect government to do everything for them, how they are perennially pecuniary in thinking and how they cannot take initiative or take their destiny in their hands. My answer is let’s go back to the leaders and how they have deliberately made this impossible.
Politics in Nigeria up to the late 60s when I was born, as I read, was vibrant and based on ideologies with an eye for developing the region even though there were a lot of ethnic and regional undertones. I doubt if there is any Nigerian my age or older than me who does not know what Obafemi Awolowo or Nnamdi Azikiwe or Ahmadu Bello stood for. Historians even coined words like Awoism and Zikism. People were eager to listen to and follow these men to the ends of the earth because they were compelling and persuasive. I am sure that we still have a few politicians of the Awoist and Zikist schools of thought. Some of the ideas they espoused may be archaic to present day realities, but can someone show me a contemporary Nigerian leader with fresh thoughts, fresh ideas, persuasive thinking, compelling ideologies and commanding charisma to match.
Rather than following me on Twitter and asking me to be your fan on Facebook, can we please meet in a town hall meeting where we can put your democratic ideals to the test? And this also goes for all politicians seeking elective offices in the coming elections.
Okay, IBB you can follow me, but I am sorry, I will not follow you.
I was stepping out of my house, heading to the pub to see the final match of the just concluded FIFA World Cup, when my Blackberry beeped. The message simply said “Ibrahim Babangida is now following you…”
The first thing that came out of my mouth was “Oh my God!” as I looked downstairs to be sure that there was nobody lurking around in the compound. Then I looked at my phone again to be sure that I had not been in a trance. I read the message again, this time around to the end and it read “Ibrahim Babangida is now following you on Twitter.” I heaved a heavy sigh of relief and became intrigued about the guy’s seriousness to contest the 2011 presidential election and engaging Nigerians, especially the youth on the World Wide Web. I was particularly taken in by the fact that his ego is actually not larger than the World Wide Web and he can condescend to the realms of mere mortals and the platform of the talakawas; quite impressive, indeed.
IBB is not the type of leader (and I use the term ‘leader’ loosely in reference to the fact that he has led this nation before not necessarily because he has espoused any democratic or developmental ideology) that we expect to show up on Twitter and Facebook or any other serious social networking site. IBB, has over the years, been presented as a man, in and out of uniform, who is larger than life and can get whatever he wants in Nigeria. So it should come as a surprise that he intends to use the Internet to prosecute his much talked about presidential bid.
It is interesting that quite a number of politicians have imbibed the Barack Obama strategy to solicit support for whatever office they are gunning for in the coming elections. The Obama inspiration on politicians and the political landscape is huge and should be studied by sociologists, political scientists and historians. A certain writer had described Obama as the mythical cipher to all mans aspiration and dreams.
But shall we return to our man IBB. I am not impressed by the fact that IBB has chosen to follow me on Twitter. If anything, I am the one who should be inspired by him for me to follow. If we must follow the Obama example, I am not sure how many people Barack Obama follows on Twitter. People follow Barack Obama. I follow him, too. That is because the first Black American President has become a big inspiration for ethnic minorities, for hard work, for self-belief and for the demise of impossibilities to every man who believes. Those are credentials that you don’t buy in the market place. You earn it. IBB should show me, nay Nigerians, your credentials to command any serious following.
On the first day of Goodluck Jonathan opening his Facebook account, the page registered about 23,000 fans. Now three weeks old, the fan base has increased to about 114,000. Not that I consider Goodluck Jonathan a leader other than he is the President of my country, I think the fact that he became President under divine and extraordinary circumstances make people look up to him. But he himself is about to go the way every privileged Nigerian leader has gone in the last 30 years that I can recall; they get there achieve nothing and want to sit tight.
I hear a lot of people talk about the quality of followers that we have in Nigeria, how they expect government to do everything for them, how they are perennially pecuniary in thinking and how they cannot take initiative or take their destiny in their hands. My answer is let’s go back to the leaders and how they have deliberately made this impossible.
Politics in Nigeria up to the late 60s when I was born, as I read, was vibrant and based on ideologies with an eye for developing the region even though there were a lot of ethnic and regional undertones. I doubt if there is any Nigerian my age or older than me who does not know what Obafemi Awolowo or Nnamdi Azikiwe or Ahmadu Bello stood for. Historians even coined words like Awoism and Zikism. People were eager to listen to and follow these men to the ends of the earth because they were compelling and persuasive. I am sure that we still have a few politicians of the Awoist and Zikist schools of thought. Some of the ideas they espoused may be archaic to present day realities, but can someone show me a contemporary Nigerian leader with fresh thoughts, fresh ideas, persuasive thinking, compelling ideologies and commanding charisma to match.
Rather than following me on Twitter and asking me to be your fan on Facebook, can we please meet in a town hall meeting where we can put your democratic ideals to the test? And this also goes for all politicians seeking elective offices in the coming elections.
Okay, IBB you can follow me, but I am sorry, I will not follow you.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Mr.President, We Need Jobs
By Dafe Ivwurie
Dear Mr. President, I have this funny feeling that you will not get to read this, because I am not Reuben Abati, or Simon Kolawole or any of those big-men-editors and commentators who write on the back and opinion pages of the newspapers in Nigeria. Perhaps you do not even read Nigerian newspapers, except for their comic relief, like the man who handed over to you and your late boss, Umaru Yar’Adua, whose position God has so chosen that you occupy today.
But sir, if your media aides let you read this, I wish to inform you that young Nigerians need jobs. I will suppose that the message is simple and clear enough, but just to make you understand the full import of this no job dilemma, may I ask you to please patiently read the story of someone I met recently and see if this will spur you to help countless youths that get out of Nigerian universities yearly and find it easier to get water in a desert than get a job in the country that you are so fortunate to lead.
Peter walked up to me at the place that I call my favourite spot in the world, the Lagos Bar Beach. I usually go there in the evening since the former Lagos State governor, Bola Tinubu, upgraded it to what it is now. I go there to watch people come and go, lovers hold hands and play pranks in the sand, to watch the waves and the ships coming from distant places, to observe the ‘area boys’, able-bodied men hustling to sell you fake parking tickets and also offer different services including choko (choko is the street slang for marijuana) to people like me who have come to bask in the serene space.
Pardon my digression, Sir. Peter came to sell me a wristwatch. It was a Tag Heuer. I am sure the President knows that name. He offered it to me at N10,000, to which I said “no thanks”. He persisted, reassuring me of its quality and the fact that I was getting it at a give away price. Not really interested, I beat the price down to N1,000 and after much haggling he told me to pay. I knew we would come to that. So I said to him, “you know this watch is either fake or stolen from a ship at the wharf and I do not buy fake or stolen items.”
His reply to me was direct and straight to the point, this time dropping the Pidgin English. “My guy” he said.
“You know very well that this country is hard and I am just trying to make ends meet. I’d rather do this than steal. Stealing is not an option but it is becoming enticing these days. So even if you are not buying, please find something for me make I take chop, anything at all will do.”
I didn’t know what to read in his voice or in his eyes. But for the first time in our almost 10 minutes encounter, I looked at his face; his mien was confident and his eyes were not dimmed or bloodshot like countless other vendors that I’d encountered on the beach almost on a daily basis.
“How am I sure that you won’t go and do gbana when I give you some money?” I said deliberately. By the way, Mr. President, gbana is a term for getting high on marijuana.
He smiled and said: “Somehow I trust that you’d know if I have been smoking weed.”
I ignored him and asked him to follow me. We sat at a table under an umbrella by the seashore and I asked him to order food and drink. His order was modest. I cracked a few jokes to make him fill comfortable; I wanted to hear his story. Not that I was sure he had a story, but it turned out that he had one.
His mother died of malaria. His father couldn’t raise enough money to buy drugs at the hospital. Peter himself had gone out to hustle for daily bread. The only person who had money to spare was his 24-year-old younger sister.
“Why didn’t she pay the bills?” I asked
“My parents didn’t want her money and I understand why.”
“Why?” I probed.
“She does runs.”
“Prostitution,” I said.
He was quiet. So I said to him, “you sound educated; what level of education did you get?”
“I have a degree in business administration,” he said as he fumbled into a bag that he had across his shoulder to show me his certificate. There was no reason to doubt him because I didn’t think that he knew that from just introducing a fake wristwatch to me we were going to have this long conversation about his background.
“Why are you not working?”
“I was. I lost my job as a security man in one of the banks some months back. I got the job as soon as I finished NYSC (National Youth Service Corps) and was hoping to get something better from there; I was there for just two years. Oga, you know there is no job in this country. I have a lot of friends who have very good degrees from Nigerian universities who still have not got a job even after five years of graduation,” he said.
I listened to him and I felt helpless, wishing there was something I could do to help. I told him that I lost my job too in the bank but was lucky because I was a journalist before going into banking.
“Ha, so you are a press man? I enjoy reading Reuben Abati and Simon Kolawole. You journalists have access to government; you should tell them some of these things happening in the country. As far as I am concerned, we youths we don’t care what these politicians do, we just want them to create jobs for us so that we can earn a living,” he said.
He told me that he is sure that his sister would leave what she is doing if she gets a good job.
Eventually, I gave him some money. I think he appreciated it. He thanked me profusely. He didn’t ask for my name or my phone number, he just said, “please tell the President to create jobs for youths, otherwise”, by this time we were by my car. I smiled and told him to stay out of trouble promising him that I will write and hope that the President will read it.
There, Mr. President, is a message from a young Nigerian.
Dear Mr. President, I have this funny feeling that you will not get to read this, because I am not Reuben Abati, or Simon Kolawole or any of those big-men-editors and commentators who write on the back and opinion pages of the newspapers in Nigeria. Perhaps you do not even read Nigerian newspapers, except for their comic relief, like the man who handed over to you and your late boss, Umaru Yar’Adua, whose position God has so chosen that you occupy today.
But sir, if your media aides let you read this, I wish to inform you that young Nigerians need jobs. I will suppose that the message is simple and clear enough, but just to make you understand the full import of this no job dilemma, may I ask you to please patiently read the story of someone I met recently and see if this will spur you to help countless youths that get out of Nigerian universities yearly and find it easier to get water in a desert than get a job in the country that you are so fortunate to lead.
Peter walked up to me at the place that I call my favourite spot in the world, the Lagos Bar Beach. I usually go there in the evening since the former Lagos State governor, Bola Tinubu, upgraded it to what it is now. I go there to watch people come and go, lovers hold hands and play pranks in the sand, to watch the waves and the ships coming from distant places, to observe the ‘area boys’, able-bodied men hustling to sell you fake parking tickets and also offer different services including choko (choko is the street slang for marijuana) to people like me who have come to bask in the serene space.
Pardon my digression, Sir. Peter came to sell me a wristwatch. It was a Tag Heuer. I am sure the President knows that name. He offered it to me at N10,000, to which I said “no thanks”. He persisted, reassuring me of its quality and the fact that I was getting it at a give away price. Not really interested, I beat the price down to N1,000 and after much haggling he told me to pay. I knew we would come to that. So I said to him, “you know this watch is either fake or stolen from a ship at the wharf and I do not buy fake or stolen items.”
His reply to me was direct and straight to the point, this time dropping the Pidgin English. “My guy” he said.
“You know very well that this country is hard and I am just trying to make ends meet. I’d rather do this than steal. Stealing is not an option but it is becoming enticing these days. So even if you are not buying, please find something for me make I take chop, anything at all will do.”
I didn’t know what to read in his voice or in his eyes. But for the first time in our almost 10 minutes encounter, I looked at his face; his mien was confident and his eyes were not dimmed or bloodshot like countless other vendors that I’d encountered on the beach almost on a daily basis.
“How am I sure that you won’t go and do gbana when I give you some money?” I said deliberately. By the way, Mr. President, gbana is a term for getting high on marijuana.
He smiled and said: “Somehow I trust that you’d know if I have been smoking weed.”
I ignored him and asked him to follow me. We sat at a table under an umbrella by the seashore and I asked him to order food and drink. His order was modest. I cracked a few jokes to make him fill comfortable; I wanted to hear his story. Not that I was sure he had a story, but it turned out that he had one.
His mother died of malaria. His father couldn’t raise enough money to buy drugs at the hospital. Peter himself had gone out to hustle for daily bread. The only person who had money to spare was his 24-year-old younger sister.
“Why didn’t she pay the bills?” I asked
“My parents didn’t want her money and I understand why.”
“Why?” I probed.
“She does runs.”
“Prostitution,” I said.
He was quiet. So I said to him, “you sound educated; what level of education did you get?”
“I have a degree in business administration,” he said as he fumbled into a bag that he had across his shoulder to show me his certificate. There was no reason to doubt him because I didn’t think that he knew that from just introducing a fake wristwatch to me we were going to have this long conversation about his background.
“Why are you not working?”
“I was. I lost my job as a security man in one of the banks some months back. I got the job as soon as I finished NYSC (National Youth Service Corps) and was hoping to get something better from there; I was there for just two years. Oga, you know there is no job in this country. I have a lot of friends who have very good degrees from Nigerian universities who still have not got a job even after five years of graduation,” he said.
I listened to him and I felt helpless, wishing there was something I could do to help. I told him that I lost my job too in the bank but was lucky because I was a journalist before going into banking.
“Ha, so you are a press man? I enjoy reading Reuben Abati and Simon Kolawole. You journalists have access to government; you should tell them some of these things happening in the country. As far as I am concerned, we youths we don’t care what these politicians do, we just want them to create jobs for us so that we can earn a living,” he said.
He told me that he is sure that his sister would leave what she is doing if she gets a good job.
Eventually, I gave him some money. I think he appreciated it. He thanked me profusely. He didn’t ask for my name or my phone number, he just said, “please tell the President to create jobs for youths, otherwise”, by this time we were by my car. I smiled and told him to stay out of trouble promising him that I will write and hope that the President will read it.
There, Mr. President, is a message from a young Nigerian.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Jibola And His Daughter
By Dafe Ivwurie
Jibola rushed into the pub to catch up with one of the games of the just concluded English Premiership League. It was one of the high profile matches between two of the biggest teams in England. The pub was full with an eclectic mix of men – the bankers, the oil workers, the telecommunications guys, the neighbourhood lads, mobile policemen and security guards, who left their duty posts, artisans and of course some ladies to ensure that soccer is not gender biased and if you like, to keep the guys going.
The smell of cigarette and the smoke thereof was pervasive, almost choking. The white silky plume was sailing in the now musky air entangled with human perspiration; it was coming from every direction. What was also coming from every direction were all the swear words, the F words and the S words and the new inventions of suggestive words that seemed to define moments in the game in an uncanny way. Men (and women, too) say all sorts when they are under the influence, more so, when the influences are alcohol and the adrenalin that comes from such high octane and passionate encounter between rival teams.
Jibola did not come alone. He came with his daughter. She should be about 10; pretty young thing with very inquisitive eyes. She came dressed like her father in the colours of one of the teams, which her father supports, obviously. Suddenly, all eyes that noticed their entrance turned away from the television screens positioned strategically around the bar, to the direction of the father and daughter.
In no time the ladies in the pub and some of the men stampeded and yelled Jibola out of the bar for his wrong judgment and lack of discretion and circumspection. A silly looking guy, who I could not tell whether he was drunk or excited over nothing, actually quoted a Bible passage: “Train up a child in the way that she should go and when she grows up she will not depart from it.” His argument was that Jibola was teaching his daughter to be a supporter. A few voices and heads mumbled and nodded in agreement. I was shocked. I was scandalised on their behalf.
Since when has a pub filled with misbehaving men become a playground for a 10-year-old impressionable girl? Alas, Jibola did not see the point, until someone told him that the only places you can take a girl to at such tender age is the church, the bookshop, a family picnic and her friend’s birthday party, not a booze parlour filled with people who have come to vent in the most offensive language you can imagine.
I am not a father and may not understand the relationship between parents and children, but I had a father who, by all means, I refer to as a role model in some things, that I still find it hard to engage in certain things just because I think the old man will turn in his grave when he sees me engaging in them. But trust me, I’d rather not be a chip off the old block when I look back at some of the things he did, too.
There is something in your subconscious that holds on to things you picked while growing up at home, in church, in school, in the hood, from your parents. This does not explain why some children of pastors and imams are far away from what their religious parents teach. The mind of a child naturally explores possibilities; so the opportunities we expose them to provide veritable grounds to imagine scenarios as they grow up.
I was unfortunate to have seen drugs at a very early age in secondary school. I mean, addictive drugs like cocaine, marijuana and one that they called Chinese capsule. If you must know, I only saw, I did not take. I did not take for a very simple reason; because my father told me that “if you take it, you will go mad” and gave me countless examples of so-called role models of my days who were messed up by drugs. The option of being mentally deranged was not appealing to me, but I doubt if it was my strong will that saw me through the excitement, attractive and adventurous escapades of my peers. I got drunk once out of curiosity on a mixture of palm wine and stout at the age of 15. My siblings and cousins had to lock me up in a room in the BQ till I got sober. The feeling was bad and nasty and I still wonder why anybody would want to live permanently on the edge with a hangover. I think I prefer my red wine, which the doctors say is good for the heart (and the bones, too?).
I wonder what story Jibola must have told his daughter if she asked “daddy, why did they ask us to leave?” or “daddy is that place a bad place?” as they left the pub. I wonder where they may have gone to that afternoon. I wonder what impression about good judgment and fatherly love may have been etched on the girl’s mind. I am positive that the girl must have some mind boggling interminable whys which she may not even ask but which she may explore in the fullness of time.
Perhaps, we did a good thing for Jibola and for his daughter, because I guess that the impression of men belching beer and swear words and making suggestive and lewd remarks would be heavy on the poor girl’s mind. Who knows what images her inquisitive mind would have painted thereafter? We may never know.
Today’s children know too many words at 12, which I am ashamed to say I did not know when I was 15 and I thought I was hip. How did the words French kiss, wet kiss, lap dance and threesome get into the vocabulary of teenagers or am I getting old?
Jibola rushed into the pub to catch up with one of the games of the just concluded English Premiership League. It was one of the high profile matches between two of the biggest teams in England. The pub was full with an eclectic mix of men – the bankers, the oil workers, the telecommunications guys, the neighbourhood lads, mobile policemen and security guards, who left their duty posts, artisans and of course some ladies to ensure that soccer is not gender biased and if you like, to keep the guys going.
The smell of cigarette and the smoke thereof was pervasive, almost choking. The white silky plume was sailing in the now musky air entangled with human perspiration; it was coming from every direction. What was also coming from every direction were all the swear words, the F words and the S words and the new inventions of suggestive words that seemed to define moments in the game in an uncanny way. Men (and women, too) say all sorts when they are under the influence, more so, when the influences are alcohol and the adrenalin that comes from such high octane and passionate encounter between rival teams.
Jibola did not come alone. He came with his daughter. She should be about 10; pretty young thing with very inquisitive eyes. She came dressed like her father in the colours of one of the teams, which her father supports, obviously. Suddenly, all eyes that noticed their entrance turned away from the television screens positioned strategically around the bar, to the direction of the father and daughter.
In no time the ladies in the pub and some of the men stampeded and yelled Jibola out of the bar for his wrong judgment and lack of discretion and circumspection. A silly looking guy, who I could not tell whether he was drunk or excited over nothing, actually quoted a Bible passage: “Train up a child in the way that she should go and when she grows up she will not depart from it.” His argument was that Jibola was teaching his daughter to be a supporter. A few voices and heads mumbled and nodded in agreement. I was shocked. I was scandalised on their behalf.
Since when has a pub filled with misbehaving men become a playground for a 10-year-old impressionable girl? Alas, Jibola did not see the point, until someone told him that the only places you can take a girl to at such tender age is the church, the bookshop, a family picnic and her friend’s birthday party, not a booze parlour filled with people who have come to vent in the most offensive language you can imagine.
I am not a father and may not understand the relationship between parents and children, but I had a father who, by all means, I refer to as a role model in some things, that I still find it hard to engage in certain things just because I think the old man will turn in his grave when he sees me engaging in them. But trust me, I’d rather not be a chip off the old block when I look back at some of the things he did, too.
There is something in your subconscious that holds on to things you picked while growing up at home, in church, in school, in the hood, from your parents. This does not explain why some children of pastors and imams are far away from what their religious parents teach. The mind of a child naturally explores possibilities; so the opportunities we expose them to provide veritable grounds to imagine scenarios as they grow up.
I was unfortunate to have seen drugs at a very early age in secondary school. I mean, addictive drugs like cocaine, marijuana and one that they called Chinese capsule. If you must know, I only saw, I did not take. I did not take for a very simple reason; because my father told me that “if you take it, you will go mad” and gave me countless examples of so-called role models of my days who were messed up by drugs. The option of being mentally deranged was not appealing to me, but I doubt if it was my strong will that saw me through the excitement, attractive and adventurous escapades of my peers. I got drunk once out of curiosity on a mixture of palm wine and stout at the age of 15. My siblings and cousins had to lock me up in a room in the BQ till I got sober. The feeling was bad and nasty and I still wonder why anybody would want to live permanently on the edge with a hangover. I think I prefer my red wine, which the doctors say is good for the heart (and the bones, too?).
I wonder what story Jibola must have told his daughter if she asked “daddy, why did they ask us to leave?” or “daddy is that place a bad place?” as they left the pub. I wonder where they may have gone to that afternoon. I wonder what impression about good judgment and fatherly love may have been etched on the girl’s mind. I am positive that the girl must have some mind boggling interminable whys which she may not even ask but which she may explore in the fullness of time.
Perhaps, we did a good thing for Jibola and for his daughter, because I guess that the impression of men belching beer and swear words and making suggestive and lewd remarks would be heavy on the poor girl’s mind. Who knows what images her inquisitive mind would have painted thereafter? We may never know.
Today’s children know too many words at 12, which I am ashamed to say I did not know when I was 15 and I thought I was hip. How did the words French kiss, wet kiss, lap dance and threesome get into the vocabulary of teenagers or am I getting old?
Monday, June 07, 2010
Wishing the Super Eagles Good Luck
By Dafe Ivwurie
Will it be right to say that we are in a season of good luck? If we are, I think it is in order to wish our own super Eagles of Nigeria luck as they participate in this year’s FIFA World Cup tournament taking place for the first time on the African continent.
I must confess that I am particularly not expecting anything spectacular from the men and boys that Lars Lagerback has drafted to the team. There is, to say the truth, no discovery in the team to cause any excitement, the kind that the merciless Messi of Argentina, the ruthless Rooney of England, the ageless Ribery of France, the calculating Kaka of Brazil and of course the capricious Ronaldo of Portugal would cause any back line.
But it is not that bad. The name of our president is Goodluck and we can just hope that the cosmic powers will use that to our favour. I do not expect that we will beat Argetina in our first outing. But with some good fortune, we can expect that after trailing 0-3 fifteen minutes to the end of the game, Maradona’s team will lose focus and capitulate forcing them to make errors like own goal, handling the ball in the 18 yard box and under a lucky, cheeky one from the never-say-die Kanu Nwakwo.
I predict that the only team that we will beat fair and square will be the Republic of Korea by one goal. I expect us to draw with Greece. That will leave us with five points from the possible nine. That should take us through behind Argetina who will have 7 points. Once we qualify, we would need the services of Baba Eleran of IICC fame (is Baba still alive) or at least get someone who has learnt his trade of balubalu. Or we go to Warri to seek Rev. Gbejero, the pastor and emergency sports analyst who insists that the mere fact that he is invited to analyse matches means good luck and victory for Nigeria. See, we need all the good luck in the world.
I suspect that we might play England either in semi finals or the finals. I know this will annoy my friends who are Manchester United and Chelsea fans, but I am sorry to say that it is likely that Rooney’s injury might resurface and John Terry marital wahala might take a new twist that will force him to pull out of the competition. We will qualify for the final play either England or Brazil. Once we do, President, Goodluck Jonathan will lead a powerful delegation of men in government and eminent Nigerians to go and see and give the players moral support as well as to impart some goodluck anointing to them. We will win by a 'hand of God' goal which the referee will not see of course and bring the trophy home to Nigeria and to Africa for the first time.
Please be informed that this analysis is not based on any informed knowledge or understanding of the game, only on the fact that I choose to guard my heart against anything that will cause undue palpitations. I just want to enjoy this World Cup and I hope you do, too.
Will it be right to say that we are in a season of good luck? If we are, I think it is in order to wish our own super Eagles of Nigeria luck as they participate in this year’s FIFA World Cup tournament taking place for the first time on the African continent.
I must confess that I am particularly not expecting anything spectacular from the men and boys that Lars Lagerback has drafted to the team. There is, to say the truth, no discovery in the team to cause any excitement, the kind that the merciless Messi of Argentina, the ruthless Rooney of England, the ageless Ribery of France, the calculating Kaka of Brazil and of course the capricious Ronaldo of Portugal would cause any back line.
But it is not that bad. The name of our president is Goodluck and we can just hope that the cosmic powers will use that to our favour. I do not expect that we will beat Argetina in our first outing. But with some good fortune, we can expect that after trailing 0-3 fifteen minutes to the end of the game, Maradona’s team will lose focus and capitulate forcing them to make errors like own goal, handling the ball in the 18 yard box and under a lucky, cheeky one from the never-say-die Kanu Nwakwo.
I predict that the only team that we will beat fair and square will be the Republic of Korea by one goal. I expect us to draw with Greece. That will leave us with five points from the possible nine. That should take us through behind Argetina who will have 7 points. Once we qualify, we would need the services of Baba Eleran of IICC fame (is Baba still alive) or at least get someone who has learnt his trade of balubalu. Or we go to Warri to seek Rev. Gbejero, the pastor and emergency sports analyst who insists that the mere fact that he is invited to analyse matches means good luck and victory for Nigeria. See, we need all the good luck in the world.
I suspect that we might play England either in semi finals or the finals. I know this will annoy my friends who are Manchester United and Chelsea fans, but I am sorry to say that it is likely that Rooney’s injury might resurface and John Terry marital wahala might take a new twist that will force him to pull out of the competition. We will qualify for the final play either England or Brazil. Once we do, President, Goodluck Jonathan will lead a powerful delegation of men in government and eminent Nigerians to go and see and give the players moral support as well as to impart some goodluck anointing to them. We will win by a 'hand of God' goal which the referee will not see of course and bring the trophy home to Nigeria and to Africa for the first time.
Please be informed that this analysis is not based on any informed knowledge or understanding of the game, only on the fact that I choose to guard my heart against anything that will cause undue palpitations. I just want to enjoy this World Cup and I hope you do, too.
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