Unsung Heroes: Mai Ruwa
Due to a failure of government to meet basic infrastructural necessities like constant power supply, running water, good health care and quality education for its citizens, many people are constantly having to provide these necessities for themselves. In fact, it has become quite normal for households to provide their own water and electricity and pay exorbitant fees for quality education and healthcare for themselves and their families. Personally, I can’t remember when we had water flowing from the tap from the water board. If I could put a time to it, I would have to say when I was an early teen. I remember this because for the longest time, we used to fetch water at our neighbors’ wells to fill the big drums that most big families had. And when these neighbors didn’t have water or there was short supply during the dry season, we were always prevented from fetching water. This continued until we dug our own well and became kings. Soon enough, many families started to bore holes in their houses and rig a system that stores and distributes water to them. It has become common place to see each house with its own ‘GP Tank’; typical case of a brand name replacing the generic name. As it is right now, the skyline of many houses are dotted with these water storage tanks. Drilling boreholes is not cheap. It costs anywhere from ₦150,000 to ₦2 million. In a country where 64% of the populace lives below the poverty line and is expected to take over from India as the poverty capital capital of the world (United Nations: Nigeria’s Common Country Analysis, 2016), where general unemployment rate is at a whopping 18.8% (Nigeria Bureau of Statistics, 2017 Q3 Report) and where the average person struggles daily, access to clean, safe water is an ever-constant issue. This means that though all households need water, not all families can afford to have boreholes installed in their homes. ‘GP Tanks’ for storing water pumped from a borehole. Image: Premium Times Nigeria This is where the Mai Ruwa comes in. The Mai Ruwa is a Hausa term which translates to ‘water seller’. The term can be used for a person who has a borehole and sells water to people who go to them to fetch or to one who takes water in 20-litre jerrycans to people’s houses to sell. In most cases, it refers to the latter. A typical Mai Ruwa starter pack is a trolley (or truck as they are popularly called), 12 to 14 jerrycans and an able bodied man with the simplest of clothes and worn out shoes. Unfortunately, I haven’t ever seen a female Mai Ruwa. Or should I say, fortunately. So this is one of those jobs that is strictly an all men affair. The job requires pushing a truck carrying around 300 litres of water from street to street calling out people to buy. In poorer neighborhood, they don’t need to scream as much; there will always be people willing to buy. But in richer neighborhoods – and by richer I mean middle class neighborhoods because no one in the upper class bothers about these kinds of problems – it is an uphill task selling water there. Most people in these types of neighborhood only buy water when they have gone days or even weeks without power supply to pump water. Or, if the pumping machine for the boreholes are bad. Which was what happened to me last me last week. I recently moved from a core ghetto to a slightly better neighborhood. The house was still getting some work done so there was barely any water in house. I knew I had to get a Mai Ruwa to supply me water until the problem was fixed. When I was in the ghetto, all I needed to do was walk out of my gate and find someone selling water. But in this new neighborhood, that wasn’t the case. Everyone in the neighborhood had their own boreholes and didn’t need the services of a Mai Ruwa. I had to walk a long distance to find out. By this time, I was already tired and sweating profusely. But I found one! When I told him where we were going, he said each jerrycan cost ₦30. I told him I only wanted 7. He agreed and we set off for the long journey to my house. Mai Ruwa pushing his truck down a hill. Unlike my Mai Ruwa, this seems much easier even though it is still a lot of work. Image: Wikimedia Commons Now here is what I didn’t tell you. My house is atop a small hill and the entire road leading to the house is rugged, uneven and bumpy. Walking up the hill is a chore. Now imagine what pushing a truck with 300-litres of water means. As the Mai Ruwa started climbing the hill, I knew it was going to be an uphill task. (You know I did that on purpose, right?). He pushed the truck in one direction and was shocked when the truck rolled back and nearly toppled over. He used all his strength to keep the truck aright and paused to assess the road. I could see the wheels of his mind working as he considered what path to take that would offer the least resistance. He took off his shoes and started again. The truck kept swerving and the contents nearly spilling. He had done this like five or seven times when I saw he was almost quitting. I knew I had to do something. If he quit, it meant I wouldn’t get any water. If I was to get water, I had to help out. So I offered. Again, I could see him contemplating. I can almost swear he was wondering what kind of help I could offer since I am a woman. But he was already sweating and puffing. You could tell that the work had taken a toll on him.
Wedding Messages Have to Change
Image: Yen I was at a wedding recently and as usual, was frustrated with the wife-centred message that came from most of the preachers at the event. A couple of things stuck out like thumbs dipped in palm oil and I knew I just had to talk about it. First, one of the preachers – someone you can tell is old fashioned – spoke a lot about the role a wife should play, which, if you attend many weddings, is submissive. I was not surprised by his message; I had heard it one too many times. What surprised me was a statement he made as he rounded up his message. ‘When you come to town, don’t go to your father’s house oh. Go straight to your in-laws’ house. That is your new home.’ I was shook! Before I delve into every emotion and thought I had when I heard this, I should mention the second thing that got me all hot and bothered. Another preacher, this time a more modern, cosmopolitan one, came up to deliver his message to the couple. He focused on what men and women need in a relationship. He said women needed; 1. Public Display of Attention; 2. Love; 3. Care…among others. For men however, he described their needs as; 1. Sexual satisfaction;2. Loyalty; 3. Peace…among others. I was piqued at his categories. Was he suggesting that men and women had differentneeds, especially when these broad categories were the differentiating qualities? I know there are exceptions to the rule but is there anyone that doesn’t need love, care, peace, loyalty? The public display of attention was iffy but only men need sexual satisfaction? I waited to have him balance out his message, to have him say that all these were human needs and not specific to gender. It didn’t come. I must say…I was disappointed with that. Maybe I expected too much but I hoped a more urban preacher would highlight on sexual satisfaction for women. You almost never hear any preacher talk about it. Female sexuality is not something that is brought up often in church settings. It doesn’t take much to see that many people assume female sexuality is a perversion; that women shouldn’t like, want or need sex; that sex should be something that women givemen and not something that should be mutually enjoyable and satisfying. This should be shocking in light of more biological information but damn! These thoughts don’t seem to be going away. Here is the kicker though! Women are sexual beings just as men are! Let me go and bit further. Women wantsex! And before your pulmonary vein bursts or an embolism occurs, I have to say this. Women. Need. Sex! Women want to be caressed, kissed, taken to sexual heights un-imagined, pleasured and satisfied as much as men do. And this is not just something that happens when women are ovulating or just because they want babies. I think that the way female sexuality has been portrayed as (best) an aberration and (worse) promiscuity, has made many women curb their needs to fit into the larger normative behavior of society. This has led to one too many sexually frustrated women who just lay there and go through the motions because it is respectable to be a wife and producer of the only end product of sex approved for the female gender; children. This is a problem in our society. It is so bad that I heard a story of a young couple who so loved God and each other that, though they dated for many years, didn’t have sex until their wedding night. The sex was horrible as the husband described it. He tried everything to spice things up. They even talked about it. But the girl had been so used to hearing that sex was a duty that she did just that. It was a chore to her and she wondered why her husband kept insistingon sexual satisfaction for her when only men needed that. In a marriage that is barely three years, the husband has already given up on sex except when she wants to make babies; which she isn’t ready for. If this woman had been taught that sex and female sexuality were as real as male sexuality and satisfaction, she would have been riding her husband and screaming like a banshee when he went down on her because it was okay to do that now that they were married; for those who subscribe to the sex-only-for-marriage ideal. I wanted the preacher to talk about these things. To mention how couples should make it a point of duty to please each other, satisfy each other, be adventurous with their lovemaking, give and receive head, role play, and in the rap artist Wale’s voice, have sex on the bed, floor, couch, more, more, more. I understand that the wedding banquet may not the place for in depth details of sex but just as it was easy to mention male sexual satisfaction, it should have been as easy to do the same for female satisfaction. Anyway, I was really disappointed that the message didn’t touch on that. However, that wasn’t as disappointing as the message on her in-laws’ house being her new home. To me, it seemed like they were trying to isolate her from her family just because she was adding a new one. I know that there is a possibility that it wasn’t the intention of the preacher but that is how it sounded. I am worried about such statements because a lot of factors could make going to her in-laws’ house bothersome. She may not like them or they may not like her or she may prefer the home she has known all her life rather than the one she is just getting. Even if she loves her in-laws and they absolutely adore her, she may not always want to be around them. And why should she ignore her family because she is
The Hopes of a Magazine…the Reality of a Blog.
I always wanted to own a magazine. I grew up reading Hints and Hearts until I was introduced to Reader’s Digest and Vogue. Who am I kidding? I used to read every magazine I came across; whether it was Sports Illustrated, Time, Watch Tower(yes! I read that!) or something really obscure. I spent time looking at the cover, the design, the layout before I even looked at the stories. And when I got to the stories, I would take just as much time to digest them and imagine my life in them. It was my desire to own a magazine. And a TV Station. And a film company. All while being a neurosurgeon and working with the United Nations to save lives. (I know! Overambitious!) My desire was so great that in my teens, I joined a gospel group – Crystals Family – where I was soon made the director of Da’scribes. Da’Scribes were the writers in the group. It wasn’t long before I was planning a launch of a magazine. I got people to send in pictures, stories, poems, song lyrics, jokes, puzzles and more in my quest to get content for the magazine. I spent hours on end designing prototypes of the magazine and even went further to interview people for our signature edition. It was all love and passion until it was time to produce. We realized that we were just a bunch of poor kids with big dreams. And bring dreams didn’t happen without money. We couldn’t afford to raise…was it ₦50,000 then… to get our copies out. Our inability to raise the money, plus our raging teenage hormones, got us easily burned out. The dream started to die; for many. Not for me though. That was my baby. So I kept the files, checking up on them every once in a while to remind myself that it could still happen. It was so bad that whenever I wanted to travel, I went with those files, believing that as soon as I ‘blew’, the magazine was going to go up. I am slightly ashamed to say that as I write now, those same files are right now in a bag on my wardrobe; beaten by time, slight mold and crushed dreams. By 2010, I knew the magazine business, especially the production of hard copies, was a dying trade. The quick uptake of the internet (read social media) meant that producing hard copies of readable material was like dancing in quicksand; you were going to drown in debt. I remember the first day I saw a Kindle with my friend Wuese. I was fascinated! What was this sorcery?! I could read a whole book from a device?! I was shocked. And then I wasn’t. Technology was taking over everything! And true to form, the magazines began to go online. Bellanaija was leading the pack in Nigeria for lifestyle. Linda Ikeji was replacing City People and all the other salacious magazines we used to turn to for gossip. Even the big names – Vogue, Elle, Ebony, O! – were all using teasers online to get people to buy their magazines. Newspapers? They followed suit! New York Times, Washington Post, even our Guardian, Thisday, Leadershipall knew that if they remained hardcopy issues, they were going to lose relevance and go bankrupt. I knew my dreams of owning a magazine, especially hard copy, had passed. So I joined the bandwagon and thought more about the online space than the paperback one. I started writing on Facebook until my friend Charles said, ‘Girl, you need to put your thoughts in a blog’. And that was how Shades of Us was birthed. The magazine was finally going to happen; but in a different format. I started out writing pieces about my frustration with how women and children were treated. Then I remembered how I used to write fiction during my boring classes to pass the time. And I thought to myself, why the hell not?! The first fictional story I wrote was corny for days. I wrote about love at a time when I wasn’t even into the love thing. And it was a hit! People connected to the story and shared their thoughts with me. They were surprised that a person who was so anti-mush could write something so mushy. It was funny because I knew I wasn’t feeling those emotions so I tried to live vicariously through my characters. As more people liked it, I knew that I was going to be doing fiction often. Anybody who has read my work can tell I have three voices; logical, eccentric and angry. That is because I write based on my personalities; Remimah, who prides herself on being a class act and always wants to be in charge of stuff; Ramat, who is deliberately fun and crazy and weird and all that nonsense and; Ada, who is the angry black woman. So when you see me use ‘we’ in a post, I actually mean me, myself and I. It is all fun and games until keeping up with the Joneses (I am talking to you Uche Pedro) leads to massive burn out. This is why I decided to open the blog. My friends Abraham, Kendo and Toks and my cousin Babiotos have all contributed to the blog. Like Olivia Twist, I want more! The goal is to post new content every day at 9:10am. It seems like a lofty goal but I know it is doable. So if you are interested in issues affecting black people anywhere in the world and want to share your perspective either in a story, article, news, rant, or whatever, please click here to submit an entry or send us a mail at shadesofusafrica@gmail.com. I think it is about time that Shades of Us really becomes ‘us’ away from just me, myself and I. Don’t you think so? And if you just want to read our stories, check out our various pages at 9:10am every day!
Unveiling the New Shades of Us
SZA with the moodCredit: Giphy Hello You! Let me formally introduce Shades of Us. I cannot believe that it has been almost four years since I started blogging and I never described in any post why Shades of Us exists. I have said it in a million and one ways but never formally said, ‘Oi! This baby girl is here and this is why she was conceived!’ But…that is about to change right now! Stay with me. (In Sam Smith’s voice.) Shades of Us is a media company discussing social issues affecting Africa, Africans and people of African descent, with a view to facilitating open, honest, unfiltered and unbiased conversations that leads to proper introspection, acceptance of strengths and weaknesses and change of perspective towards the greater goal of a new, refined, and stronger black continent and people. Shades of Us was founded on April 28, 2014, by Ramatu Ada Ochekliye (whoot whoot! That is my name!), to address dysfunctional social issues peculiar to black people living in Africa or descendants of migrants who may have voluntarily moved to other continents or who may have been forced, through human trafficking and slavery, to leave. Originally, Shades of Us was called Shades of Brown, with ‘…brown’ representing the convergent color of black skin tone and the earth’s richness. After much reflection, I knew the name had to be changed. First, because Shades of Brown was already popular in many countries and for varying products and services and secondly, getting my brand to stick out from that number was going to be nearly impossible. I discussed with my sisters and friends and we were at the point where using my name for was the most favored option. The reason was a no brainer; I was the only person in the whole world with my name, promoting the brand would be promoting myself and it would have just been easier to get the recognition I wanted. We had almost finally decided on this when I took a step and analyzed the name. I love my name to the moon and back but I wanted to create something that was bigger than me. I wanted something that could grow into a shared vision with the people who felt connected to my stories. So we brainstormed again and came up with Shades of Us. The founding principle of Shades of Us is the belief that all human beings are equal, have the same basic human rights and should be afforded the same respect and opportunities that guarantees the growth and development of each individual. Based on this founding principle, Shades of Us is subscribed to all thirty articles of the Universal Declaration of human rights and works towards promoting these rights for every human being but especially for every black person. Beyond the human rights declaration however, Shades of Us has adopted nine of the seventeen Sustainable Development Goals as focal points of the change to implement. These goals include no poverty, zero hunger, good health and wellbeing, quality education, gender equality, clean water and sanitation, reduced inequalities, peace, justice and strong institutions and being open for partnership for the goals. These goals translate to Goals 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 10, 16 and 17 of the sustainable development goals, which we believe should be the bible of development for all peoples of the world. Of these goals, we extol the virtues of gender equality and reduced inequalities more because we believe that they are springboards to achieving all the other goals we have adopted. We are especially biased towards the issues that affect women and children. This is because we believe that globally, black and brown women and children have been the most disenfranchised in all indices of human development and so, we believe that speaking and acting against societal norms and ills that predominantly affect women and children would redress years of inequality and the drawbacks associated with it. Phew! The last three paragraphs were so serious, right?! I almost felt like I was talking to the United Nations in a bid to get funding for the project. That is in the offing by the way. We have so much work to do! Anyway, you may have noticed I described Shades of Us as a company, right? Well…because it finally is! Whoot whoot! Dancing the gwara gwara! Our registration came through this month after months of debating whether this was the route we wanted to take or not. But…we cannot continue to put out all this original content and hope to get that paper if we are not serious! So… we knew we had to become a business so that we can grow. Even one of the religious scriptures talks about moving from milk to solid food in a parable about maturity. And a great prophet once said, ‘Jungle don mature’. We are that jungle! So our business is open! The question you may ask is, ‘what do you offer?’ The answer is simple. Storytelling. We tell stories for Africa. We mean this literally and as a pidgin statement of exaggeration. Of course we have various methods of disseminating our stories to engender discussion. 1. Blog:Primarily started as a site to air personal grievances, Shades of Us has grown to a magazine of articles, in-depth interviews, news and fictional stories from our writers – and again, that is me, myself and I with each personalities that has a mind of their own – and other writers. 2. Podcast: The Shades of Us podcast is called The Review. We discuss music and movies put out by black people and share our thought on whether they are great, good, subpar or horrible. 3. Video log: This is very personal because it is where we, as Africans say, ‘show ourselves’. And because we are expanding this year, we are introducing new aspects to the company. They include; 1. Films:
Long Distance (The Finale)
Two people in a long distance relationship are trying to find each other. An unexpected turn of events tear them apart when they finally do. And it keeps pulling them apart until…they find themselves here. This is the final story. There were three others before this. (Read here, here and here to understand the story…or continue on here 👇) Adon Kato heard the loud voices as she gradually slipped out of consciousness. Where was she? And why were they yelling? ‘You were my best friend! Why on earth would you ever think this is okay?!’ ‘Oh! So it is okay for you to leave her and be with someone else and I can’t be with her? In fact…what the hell are you doing here? Why are you here?!’ Adon could tell Isaac Okiemute’s voice, but who was the other person? Then the memories flooded in. Jason. Jason had been at her door. Jason had come to her. Jason was here! The pain followed. She moaned. Both men stopped shouting. She opened her eyes fully and saw that Jason was driving; pretty fast if her spinning head was anything to go by. If Isaac wasn’t holding her, she was sure she would fall; many times. ‘Are you okay? Are you in pains?’ Jason asked, a trace of uncertainty in his voice. ‘You don’t get to speak to her you bastard! It is your fault that she is here anyway!’ Isaac shouted. Adon caressed his hand. ‘It is okay. We will deal with…’ She couldn’t finish her sentence. Her face scrunched up in pain, and was followed through with a tortured moan. Adon clasped her belly hard and Jason turned in time to see her eyes roll back as she lost consciousness; again. *** Jason was scared! He pressed harder on the accelerator and prayed he didn’t get into an accident. He tried to ignore the fact that Isaac kept saying, ‘Stay with me baby. Stay with me.’ However, he couldn’t ignore the knot in his stomach. When was the last time he felt this much pain? He felt like dying every time he thought of his best friend with his girlfriend. Were they married? Of course they were; they were having a baby! And who was he kidding? He and Isaac had not been friends for a little over a year and the last time he had seen Adon was when she walked out of the hospital in Jos. His girlfriend? He wished! ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Isaac shouted, bringing him out of his musings. He realized he had passed the gate of the hospital. He pressed hard on his brake and watched the pandemonium that ensued as two cars tried to avoid him. By some sheer act of fate, none of the cars collided and he heaved a sigh of relief as he began to reverse. He didn’t care that the drivers of both cars hurled insults at him or that Isaac punctuated all their insults with choice words of his own. Jason focused on getting the car to the emergency unit and as soon as he got there, jumped out to help. Isaac pushed him out of the way as the paramedics rushed to handle the situation. Isaac followed the paramedics as Adon was wheeled into the nearest ward, explaining how they got there in the first place. Jason followed and tried to enter the ward but was shoved out by Isaac. ‘Nobody wants you here. Fucking leave!’ ‘I am not going anywhere. Unless Adon tells me herself that she wants me gone.’ Jason said, calmly. Isaac shoved again. And again. ‘Oh you want to act tough now?! You want to be Mr. Macho?! It is because of you that she is here in the first place! If you don’t leave this instant, we may just get into it.’ And pushed Jason again. ‘Don’t touch me again. I may respect you by keeping my hands to myself but I am not above getting into it. So…don’t. Fucking. Touch. Me. Again.’Jason growled; menacing, angry, ready to pop. Isaac smirked…and pushed him again. This time, Jason threw a punch that connected with Isaac’s jaw. Before anyone could intervene, they were engaged in fisticuffs. The hospital orderlies got between them and kept them apart just as a petite doctor walked in. She gave them the worst stink look they had ever seen in their lives. ‘First off, I will not have a bunch of grown men acting a fool in my unit! I haven’t slept in two days and I am just about to explode! So if you want to fight, go right ahead. But be warned, I will only permit that after Mijah and Umar here have tossed you out of this hospital. I do not have the time to deal with this nonsense, so which is it going to be? Fight club or a sense of maturity?’ Jason wiped the blood seeping towards his eye from the cut on his eyebrow and sat down. Isaac pulled out a handkerchief to stem the blood flow from his split lip. He went to the closest wall and leaned on it. Both men didn’t look at each other but it was clear that they were done fighting. ‘Okay then. For your sakes, I am glad you decided to borrow some sense. Now that I have your attention, we can proceed. I am Dr. Ameera Mas’ud. Which of you is Adon’s husband?’ ‘I am her fiancé.’ Isaac responded, giving Jason a pointed look and daring him to say anything. Jason looked away, willing the tears that formed in his eyes to go away. ‘Okay then. While I would normally have asked for a family member like a parent or sibling, you will have to do for now because we have an emergency on our hands. Due to the trauma of her shock and subsequent fall, there is fetal distress and we have to deliver the baby immediately. Thankfully, she is already
Running With a Purpose 2017
We are excited to announce that we will be attending the second Running With a Purpose Conference organized by Save our Women (SOW) Foundation in Zaria, Kaduna State, Nigeria. Running With a Purpose Conference is an annual forum designed to inspire school age girls to be the best version of themselves and aspire to contribute to national development. These girls are inspired by young women who work in various sector of economy, with an underlying message that ‘If she can do it, I can aspire to do same and better.’ This is one of the projects of SOW Foundation, a non-governmental organization that seeks to educate, enlighten and empower women. Victoria Kumekor, founder of SOW Foundation, sent this message out announcing Running With a Purpose 2017. Hello Friend, We must say thank you for your utmost support towards project 1GIRL 1PAD early this year. Running With a Purpose (RWAP) 2017 is here again and we are excited. RWAP is a yearly conference by SOW Foundation and this time, we are reaching out to 15 girls from 20 secondary schools across Zaria, Kaduna State, Nigeria. The beautiful thing is we need you to do this. Transforming society by empowering the girl-child to be the best version of herself is a key part that requires the unflinching support of people who desire a better world. This is why we seek your support to make this a reality. For more info, partnership, and support please contact me as we help a girl child be the best version of herself. Victoria Kumekor – +2348031126314 I hope to hear from you soon. Thank you for your continued support. We can’t wait for RWAP 2017! Thank you. We are excited about this year’s conference and we are proud of all the women at SOW Foundation. If you are Kaduna, support the movement.See poster below for more details.
Unsung Heroes: Trash Collectors
A while back, I wrote a series of tweets addressed to the Nigerian Federal Ministry of Environment about a refuse dump at a community in Abuja called Karu. The dump site served as the collection point for the communities surrounding it. If the dump site was located anywhere else, I probably wouldn’t have noticed enough to make an issue an about it. But…it was right there on a major road and in between houses, shops, schools, religious centers and banks. Most people have to pass that road to get from Nyanya to Jikwoyi, Kpeyigi, Kurudu and other areas beyond. And because these areas are some of the most populated areas in Abuja, thousands of people ply that road every day and see the refuse dump that kept getting bigger and bigger. Then the dump spilled beyond its boundaries and into the roads. The dirt and decaying substances were everywhere. And because the rains came in, puddles of really dirty water formed mini-lakes on the road. It was an eyesore. But beyond that, it stank to high heavens. Every time I had to pass through that spot, I had to breathe in as much clean air as I could, hold my breath and pray to God the driver of whatever I was in/on sped past as fast as he could. One time, we were caught in a traffic jam right at that spot. We were there for roughly ten minutes. I couldn’t hold my breath for that long. The first time the smell hit my lungs, I couldn’t be more repulsed. I wanted to puke! Desperately! But if I did, it would mean opening my mouth to the foulness that was the stench of that place. When I got home that day, I had to take a long bath to scrub the smell off my body. Yes, the smell was mostly in my head but having been there for so long, I felt like I had a cloak of the disgusting smell all over me. So I wrote a series of tweets asking the Federal Ministry of Environment and the Abuja Council to save us from that nastiness. About a week later, I was off to work when I saw large trucks at the spot with men clearing the refuse dump. I was so elated I forgot to breathe in the clean air I would need to pass through the spot. Because the men were clearing the refuse in batches, the smell was especially ripe that day. I drew in a nasty smell of rot and decay…and gagged. As I quickly covered my nostrils, I noticed that some of the men working at the site didn’t have their noses covered. How the hell were they comfortably breathing in that mass of horridness?! But more than that, why?! It got me thinking of a lot of the trash collectors I have seen in the many places I have been to. These men (and women) have to deal with some of the worst things in people’s garbage bags and cans. From rotten food to improperly disposed sanitary towels, these people come in contact with a lot of disgusting things when they collect trash. And because we don’t separate our trash into biodegradable and non-biodegradable, these people have to sift through all our trash to dispose of them. Most of these people usually have no face masks on when they work. And where they do, it is the flimsy faux surgical masks they use. Those masks in particular may be good for preventing dust particles from going to your lungs but it doesn’t prevent any smell from doing same. So technically, it makes no difference whether they wear a mask or not. Even more deplorable is the state of the local trash collectors who are not employed by the government or trash collection agencies. These are everyday people too poor to do anything else. So they get a wheel barrow or a mini-truck and go from house to house asking people to bring out their trash. These men have no protective uniforms or boots. They don’t have masks or hand gloves. All they have are their dirty clothes and even dirtier slippers. And because they mostly work in the ghettoes and poorer neighborhoods, the kinds of trash they have to deal with is even so much worse. To make matters worse, these trash collectors only earn minimum wage if they work for the government and not much better when they work for private corporations. Those of them who work in the ghettoes collect between ₦10 and ₦50 per house. So not only do they have to do a shitty job, they don’t get enough money to make it worthwhile. They also expose themselves to grave harm from the micro-organism found in and around trash. These micro-organisms can be disease causing or not. They stand in the trash, breathe it in, pick them up with their bare hands, and barely clean up properly before taking in food or water. I remember once when the trash in my house piled up because these guys weren’t working. The trash was an eyesore and the smell, horrible. My housemate and I would wait out for the collectors and even walk as far as our junction to find them. And when for a week we couldn’t have our trash emptied, we were disgusted by the sight that greeted us whenever we got back home from work. The day we finally saw a trash collector, we almost danced in celebration. We paid him way more than was necessary because we were reminded that they were an integral part of our sanitation and sanity. For the most part, we really don’t see these people. As long as we get our trash taken out, we barely recognize that these are people with needs, wants, aspirations, problems and what not. We get so engrossed in our lives that we do not see the danger these people put themselves in to ensure we
Quick Sand on a Plateau
She always knew she wanted to be rich and famous; she wanted the world to know her name, girls to aspire to be her and boys to want to marry her. She wanted to leave a legacy of strength, ambition, love, change, power and wisdom. She knew it was conceited but she wanted people across the globe to know her name…for her principles, her drive and her humanity. She didn’t want to die without having left a mark in the sands of time. And best of all, she didn’t want the want the fame or money for just herself; she wanted it for everyone she knew. She was 12 when she realized what she wanted. She took a book and wrote it all down. At 25, she was going to be a millionaire. At 35, she would set up her foundation. At 55, she would have helped at least 50,000 people in one way or the other. When she died at 80, people would troop to her burial and hold vigils in their countries to celebrate the icon that she was. She knew where she was headed and nothing was going to deter her. She worked hard in school and always came up on top. She was going to be the greatest actor there ever was. She knew it all had to start in high school and she needed to get those grades in good shape for the choice schools she wanted to go to. And she went a little further. She joined every drama team in her small town, ensuring she played every possible role that was open to her. She was preparing for her domination on the world stage. She needed to be ready. As soon as she was done with her education, she pieced together her show reel, packed a suitcase, counted the money she had hidden in her underwear drawer and left home. She knew her parents would understand. Or not. But she hoped her letter would reassure them that she was doing what was best for her. There was only so much she could do in their small town. And she wasn’t going to waste more time going through the motions. She jumped on a bus and headed to the big city; a city of lights, camera and action. She knew she was going to be a star! Then she could make money to help people from and in dysfunctional homes. When she got to the big city, the first thing that hit her wasn’t the beauty of the town or the exotic people. It was the fact that there was so many people who were like her; searching for the spotlight. She wasn’t fazed though. She knew that she was special and people would see her light. So she worked; hard. Everywhere she heard there was an audition, she went and performed her favorite monologue. The Plateau The first time she got a role in film, she was excited. She jumped and danced and laughed. She called home, ecstatic about her role in a crowd scene. It was small; and she knew that. But nothing could contain her excitement. Well…almost nothing. ‘It is just a small role. Why are you so excited? You could be staring in bigger productions here at home.’ Her mother said as soon as she blurted out her ‘good news’. Nothing turned sour quicker. She went through the motions of listening to her mother (and father) and as soon as she could, she hung up. She forced her spirit to seek its light and prepared for the role. That was the beginning. Every time she walked into an audition, she walked out with a role. They were always small; guaranteeing her 6 seconds of time in the shadow of a star. But she took them all with excitement. She knew that if she kept at it, she would become big and famous and rich. Soon acting wasn’t enough. Directors were asking that actors sing, dance, play an instrument, juggle, and be proficient with card tricks or whatever tickled their fancy. Not to be left out, she enrolled in all sorts of classes. She took burlesque, magic, singing, martial arts classes and whatever new thing was the rave of the moment. She even took jobs as a gaffer to ensure she was always in the know of film world happenings. She worked hard, slept little, rehearsed a lot, and attended lots of auditions. While these ensured she always got a role, it didn’t improve her straits. Directors only cast her in small roles with even smaller pay. Soon, the Ferris wheel began to take its toll. She started to reflect about her life. Why didn’t directors cast her in bigger roles? Was there something she wasn’t doing right? Was she giving off a bad vibe? Was her talent not good enough? Was. She. In. Any. Way. Special? Reality began to set in. Of course she wasn’t special. If anything, she was…average. There were millions of average people like her and directors saw that every day. She didn’t stand out in a crowd; she fit right in. She called home, hoping for reassurance from her parents. Her parents were understanding, but they reminded her that she should never have left. She had the world at her feet in their small town, and would have always been a legend. She could always come back home and start again; the town hadn’t forgotten her yet. She hung up with one resolve; she was never going to call her parents. They didn’t understand that she didn’t want to be queen of a small town. She wanted to be queen of the world! She wanted people from all continents knowing her name. And even if took forever, she was going to achieve that! Her resolve didn’t force the universe’s hand. Or cause her to get any big roles. And soon her excitement wavered…and like the hamster, she got burned out. She was 20 when she
How Meeting Attah Samson Igoche Inspired Me
Attah Igoche at his Office As my taxi rolled to a stop in front of the building that housed Aiivon Innovation hub, I was a bit nervous. I was supposed to be meeting – for the first time – someone I had been chatting with on Facebook. I wondered what first impression I would be giving and more than that, what impression I would be getting. I was also nervous because I hadn’t done an interview in a long time and I hoped I still had my wits about me. As I entered the building, I was awed by the sheer beauty of the place. My inhibitions began to ebb away as excitement swept over me. I suddenly became my old, fun and bubbly self. I was twirling around, taking selfies and being generally being goofy. I forgot that I was supposed to be professional and well put together. In my excitement, I didn’t know he had come up behind me. My only clue was the look his front desk officer sent past me. I turned and there he was. Attah Samson Igoche. Dressed in dark jeans, a black shirt emblazoned with ‘Aiivon’and a navy blue blazer, he was the picture of calm sophistication. I smiled, my nervousness returning. He propelled me to follow him and we went into his office. Again, I was blown away. The floor-to-ceiling wallpaper that graced the reception and other areas of the office was replicated in his office. I had to ask. ‘Did you get these wallpapers like this?’ He smiled. Satisfied. ‘We designed it.’ I was tempted to think he was showing off but his matter-of-fact tone showed he wasn’t; just stating the fact. I asked that he give me a tour and he obliged. I was ‘oohh’ing and ‘aahh’ing as we went from offices spaces for prospective clients to conference rooms for hackathons/tech brainstorming sessions to private spaces for quieter work. Everything seemed so well put together! Even the game corner and selfie wall had me feeling like home. It was the perfect nerd pad! I could imagine getting major ideas just because of the ambience, playing World of Warcraft when I was tired – though I am more of a word game person – and generally being around creatives like myself. To cover it in one sentence, I was impressed! I turned my attention to the man behind the idea; or in front. I wanted to know what he was like beneath the veneer of sophistication, the choices that led him to being the man he is today and what plans he had for the future of his business. We returned to his office and I switched personalities. It was time to be professional and serious. He offered me a nice cupcake and a drink. I smiled. I knew I was going to like this interview. The answer I got when I asked about his family threw me off. I totally didn’t expect to have tears in my eyes as he relayed his childhood. And it all started with his mother discovering that her pregnancy was high risk and could cost her life. ‘My mum kinda knew that she may not make it. She had complications three months into the pregnancy and had the choice of aborting me. Thing is, she was told the abortion may result in her never having another child. The pregnancy on the other hand presented a 50-50 chance of survival. She died on the day she gave birth to me. She chose to keep me, knowing that she was not assured of life if she carried me to term. So she wrote me a letter that I got to read a couple of years later and it showed me, even though I never got to meet her, the kind of person she was and everything that she stood for. The day I read the letter was one of the most emotional days for me. She is one reason I respect ladies a lot. I don’t know which man would do that.’ He should have had the teary eyes but he was calm about it. I on the other was about to disgrace my family. I breathed deeply, blinked back a couple of times and got myself together. Then I asked about his father. ‘I was with my grandma until my father died. I was fifteen at the time and in Senior Secondary School (SSS) 1. I had truly become an orphan.’ And things went south for Igoche after that. He knew that he had to take the direction of his life into his own hands if he was survive. Getting school fees had become a problem and even though his aunties were willing to step in and take care of his fees, Igoche knew things could get harder eventually. So, he wrote his General Certificate of Secondary Education (GCSE) examinations. ‘I finished my secondary school in Special Science, Makurdi though I was there for just one year. For some reason, I wrote my GSCE in SS1 and the results were good so I had to bust the rest of secondary school. The results came out in SS2 first term and when I saw it was good, I knew I was done with school. I felt like, going to school was no longer necessary. Dad and Mum were dead and having to go about looking for school fees was not something I wanted to do. So when I saw that the result was good, I decided there was no point to it.’ For someone who was fifteen, it must have taken a lot of courage to make that decision. And a lot of pride too. The death of his parents quickly matured him. A bit too soon I would say. Turned out that plan was not properly thought out. ‘I didn’t write the Joint Admissions and Matriculation Board (JAMB) then.
Tonia Orevba Roberts: Dropping Her Pretty
Tonia Orevba Image: Facebook I woke up thinking of Tonia Orevba Roberts. Tonia is a beautiful actor cum model whom I met in 2016 at the Royal Arts Academy, Lagos. I had gone to brush up my directing skills and she had come in as an acting student. The first thing I noticed about her was that she was so well put together; her hair was so perfectly groomed, her face perfectly made up, he nails perfectly painted and her outfit? Yes! Perfectly selected. I knew this was a girl that loved to make a statement with her look. Though we were polar opposites in terms of our style, we became friends. Soon, we were going home together and sharing ideas. When it was time to do our class project – a collaborative short film by all script writers, directors, actors and editors in our set – Tonia was cast in a supporting role; something I stood firmly against. I didn’t think she was fit for role or could deliver well. She was just too pretty and too put together to deliver the kind of acting I wanted. To keep the peace, I accepted the casting and kept quiet. On the day of the shoot, I was apprehensive. I am a perfectionist and it was important that my first attempt at a film goes well. I needed it to be just right. The entire cast and crew had slept in the school the night before and while it was a bonding experience, it served to increase my fears about Tonia. She didn’t do much of a rehearsal and when she did, it was always playful. I mentally prepared myself for a long day. We got the actors in makeup and I told the artist, ‘Bad makeup for Tonia. She needs to look like a poor girl who has no money to buy good makeup products but tries to make do with what she has. Make Tonia’s makeup look ratchet.’ That was not in the script…or my original plan. But I wanted to see if she would let go of her ‘pretty’. As expected, Tonia rebelled. ‘Ha ahn! No oh! I cannot do that. I am going to look good. You can’t spoil my market?’ I was mad. She was my friend and all but I felt like it would be hard working with her. ‘Tonia, I am not saying poor girls cannot be fine. I am saying that I want to portray you as a girl who loves to look good but who doesn’t know how to.’ She protested some more and soon enough, I was visibly angry. I left the room to cool off. Most people didn’t know how mad I was because I didn’t lose my cool. I decided I would be better off at the location than overseeing makeup. I didn’t see Tonia until it was call time. I was shocked! Not only was Tonia poorly dressed, her makeup was so hideous I couldn’t help but laugh. And she was laughing herself. ‘No mind this Ramat. She wan spoil my market.’ Even though she had accepted to wear horrible makeup, I kept my fingers crossed to see how she would act. I blocked the scenes and we did a dry run. Boy was I shocked! I wished I had recorded the dry run. That was how good Tonia was! Not only did she drop her pretty, she became the ratchet character she was supposed to be. Turned out that while we slept, Tonia worked hard at trying to get her lines and in character. Never had I been so impressed with a character portrayal than I was with Tonia’s delivery in that moment. It wasn’t an Oscar-worthy performance but it could have been for how excited I was. I love to see an actor morph into a character and Tonia did that for me. Tonia was a delight to work with and all the other directors I worked with on the project said the same thing about her. That moment, and her performance of one of Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu’s speeches, forever endeared her to me as a performer. One of the hardest things a pretty woman can do is ‘drop her pretty’. To agree to become someone else, at the cost of changing the perception people had about her – and all this in the era of memes – is something I admire about Tonia. She showed me that when push came to shove, she wouldn’t let her pretty get in the way of getting the job done. Many women can learn from this. I think we spend too much time worrying about how we look. There are times when we have to get down and dirty to achieve certain goals. If we worry too much about how we look – and as a result, how people perceive us – we stand a greater chance of losing out on so many things in life. A pretty woman is just that; pretty. But a pretty woman with an intelligent mind and drive is just… wow! That performance opened some doors for Tonia. She has gone on to star in many other films in the past year and she is sure to rise to the peak she desires. I don’t know if she hears this a lot but I want to tell Tonia Orevba this; ‘You are a beautiful actor. Keep honing your art and soon, you will be where you want to be. Thank you for inspiring me’. For this, Tonia darling, you are my #WomanCrush. Contact her on Instagram @toniao_roberts. Though my first foray into film making was barely average, I am so proud to have been a part of the making of Blurred. If you haven’t seen it, do so 👇. PS: Don’t laugh oh! This is my start! I promise to make even better movies.
