Buhari, Now That You Have Finally Settled Into Aso Rock II
(To get acquainted with the first part of this piece, click here) President Muhammadu Buhari in his office. Dear Mr. President, the first part of my advice may have packed quite a punch but I hope you can look beyond that and see the issues raised within. I am calling this part of the advice the second phase. This requires that you meet with technocrats and stellar business minds to see what can be done to make this a reality. They are not less important than the first phase. If anything, they are equally important. 3. Make Proper Education a Priority You cannot overhaul the economy without proper formal education…and yes, I said formal education. In this sense, education is allowing the mind to be free and open to think up innovative ideas and not filling it with supposed outdated knowledge. I got this definition from Innocent Usar of Innocent Minds. You should consider working with him. We need a school system that encourages innovation rather than one which celebrates certificates. Certificates should only be as good as they can be translated to solving everyday societal issues. With proper education, a door to infinity will be opened in the minds of the recipients. Let me tell you a story. My younger sister who is a mechanical engineer passed by a mango tree. She stopped abruptly and turned back. She stared at that tree for a bit and came back home. When I asked why she acted that way, she in turn asked what I noticed about the tree. I told her I noticed it was a mango tree with lots of rotten fruit beneath. Then she asked me if I have ever had vodka. I was surprised because she knows that I am a teetotaler. She laughed and said abstinence was no reason to pass up a chance to make money. Yes…like you, I had a stupid look on my face. She smiled and asked me which country drank vodka more. I said Russia or Germany…wasn’t too sure. Then she said, ‘Do you know vodka can be processed from rotten fruit?’ Then it hit me! My Biochemistry came back to me in that instance. She said we can export rotten fruit to Russia for their vodka and make some money out it. Talk about waste-to-wealth! Only the illumination that comes from proper formal education would have made her open her mind to the possibilities that was beyond what she saw. If schools are properly furnished and equipped, have teachers who know their onion and are willing to not just teach but learn and students are made to understand how important their collective visions are to the country, then research and development will shoot at tangential velocity until as a nation, we become a force to be reckoned with. 4. Revamp the Military As a former military general, it shouldn’t be hard to realize that our military needs a touch-up. Get the military to look inward. Let them design weapons, machinery, and strategies that prepare them for unplanned circumstances. I’m talking tactical knowledge that can rival Jack Bauer in 24, or Sherlock Holmes in the BBC series, Sherlock. The military should be so elite that physical strength is not the only criteria to get in. I want to see a military that can hold its own without having to beg other nations for help. New and innovative maneuvers and tactics should be common place. You need to bring the glory and pride back to the Nigerian military. You can do this by flushing out redundant military top brass and propagating fairness in recruiting and admitting military personnel. As you prepare towards that, buy advanced arsenal and train and retrain our military personnel for the uphill task they have ahead, a task that will ensure that Nigeria is as safe from foreign invasions and attacks as is humanly possible. 5. Make Security a Prerogative Security was not my first point because I know that when the things I have mentioned above are in place, especially regarding our military, security will naturally fall into place. But, you can still go further on the issue of security. You have to make do on your promise to end the insurgency that brought this nation to her knees. While doing so, you also have to make sure the military, police and other paramilitary agencies are prepared for another form of terrorism that may or may not spring up from the South-South region of the country, or anywhere else for that matter. Security agencies, especially the police and paramilitary outfits, need to be trained on intelligence gathering, quick response and the ability to nip crime in the bud because in truth, many of these personnel are not proactive in carrying out their jobs. Get security personnel to curb armed robbery and kidnappings so that foreign investors and citizens can go about their duties without fear for their lives. Urge the police to respect the basic human rights of anyone they address and/or arrest. Nigerians need to trust the police and other security agencies to be able to effectively carry out their jobs. 6. Ensure that there is Proper Healthcare This especially has to start from you. You need to use your veto power to prevent ALL public office holders from going abroad for treatment, even if abroad is our neighbor Ghana. This will mean that our lawmakers will ensure proper legislation for the health care sector. This is how you can do this. · Ensure that all Federal hospitals are well equipped with state-of-the-art facilities and well trained and empathetic personnel. Many people do not go to Federal hospitals because, even though it is cheaper than most private hospitals, the staff can be completely apathetic to the plights of patients. I have two examples. My mum had a car accident sometime in 2012 and was taken to National Hospital, Abuja. After stitching her up, they discharged her that same day. I was shocked because she had head wounds. In my view of what standard procedure
Buhari, Now That You Have Finally Settled Into Aso Rock
President Muhammadu Buhari of the Federal Republic of Nigeria.Image: The Guardian Mr. President – finally, I get to call you that – I would like to congratulate you for winning the elections and becoming the president of this nation. Congratulations again. That being said, I want to get something out there; I really don’t like you. I don’t like some of your beliefs, some of your utterances and some of your (in)actions. This started just before the 2011 general elections and it didn’t get better afterwards. Quite frankly, before your campaign in Zaria, Kaduna, I was quite indifferent about you. Your campaign posters, jingles and TV adverts on the platform of the Congress for Progressive Change (CPC) just didn’t connect to me and the moment you spoke, I was not moved by you’re the quality of your speech (or the lack of it). You see, for me, those were the things that mattered in a campaign. Based on the strength of your campaign, I concluded that I didn’t want you as my president. All that changed though when you came to Zaria. I was in school and heard that ‘Buhari is in town. Buhari ya shigo gari.’ I really didn’t care until someone told me there was some crisis on the Zaria-Kaduna Bridge. When I asked what the crisis was about, I was told that party supporters of the People’s Democratic Party (PDP) were being attacked by supporters of the CPC. Their windscreens were broken and they were roughened a bit. So drivers had to show loyalty to you to avoid attack on themselves and their vehicles. Though I was worried about this development, I felt you must not have known about it, so it wasn’t your fault. Few hours later when I was heading out of school, my view changed. There in front of North Gate, Ahmadu Bello University was a mammoth crowd heralding you and your then running mate, Pastor Tunde Bakare. The crowd put the fear of GOD in my head. They were carrying all sorts of weapons, from curved wooden batons called ‘Gora’ to swords, knives and sticks. One sword particularly had me pretty jumpy. From what I hear, it is called a ‘langa langa’. It is slim, long and very flexible. I was on an Okada and almost wet my pants when I spotted the campaign bus carrying you. You were exalted above the people, waving, smiling and generally doing what prospective leaders do. I remember that though I literally had my heart in my mouth, I couldn’t help but be disappointed that you, from your vantage point and seeing the weapons your supporters were wielding, weren’t doing anything to stop their hunger for blood…because to me, that is what it was. When I finally got home, I had to lock myself and my sister in our room and stay quiet until everything became quiet. Even at that, I didn’t venture into the streets. At that point, I called my sister and brother and told them that we would not stay in Zaria for the elections no matter the circumstance. And true to script, Nigeria erupted in violence when you did not win the 2011 elections. Kaduna especially –which is my home town – was in such chaos that all anyone needed to do was go out of their houses and see the smoke covering everywhere. My brother had gone for I.N.E.C duty and when we heard how corps members, students and anyone who was different were brutally killed, I feared for my brother’s life. You see, he is my only brother and we had lied to our father that he had an exam to write. I imagined him being butchered for being different or worse, for just been there. It quickly degenerated into a religious fight – as usual – and we were all tense, waiting for news of our brother and others whom we knew were stuck somewhere in the hot zones. In that time frame, I kept listening to the radio and watching the television for any news calling for peace. Surprisingly, the then Nigeria Electric Power Authority (NEPA) ensured we had roughly 24-hours supply of electricity. You can imagine my angst when your response didn’t come until two days later on Radio Kaduna. For two whole days, you had been silent as Nigerians were killed, butchered, maimed, raped and other such horrible acts. For two whole days, you didn’t call your supporters, who started the crisis because of your loss, to shun violence as the same Nigerians you wanted to rule were annihilated on the basis of party and/or religious affiliations. When you finally made a call, it was too late; too late for the 800 people (as reported by the Human Rights Watch) who lost their lives in the ensuing crisis; too late for the number of people who were injured, battered, bruised and maimed and definitely too late for the peaceful existence between Muslims and Christians in states like Kaduna, Kano, Bauchi, Gombe and Katsina. To me, your silence was worth more than the inciting comments you were accredited with and in that moment, I wrote you off completely. Now that you have finally succeeded in becoming President, I really want to believe that you, as your campaign promised, are a changed man; a man who cares about the plight of Nigeria and Nigerians, a man who will not sit back and watch citizens butchered on the basis of religion or tribe, a man who is now a progressive. So President Muhammadu Buhari, now that you have settled into Aso Rock and have started carrying out your duties, here is my own piece of advice. I may not like you but your policies will affect my life, my business, my plans and my dreams. Therefore, I need you to work. 1. Destroy Sentiment As one who is alleged to have contributed in dividing Nigeria along sentimental lines, you need to set a road map to fix this divide. Before you jump down my
To Hell With Saying ‘I Do’
Loulette Bride. Image: April + Galina Potography As soon as Biola clocked thirty, the pressure on her to get married reached fever pitch. She was an extremely hardworking TV personality with the leading entertainment channel in Nigeria. She had over N50 million in her account and ten plots of land. She drove her own Sedan and rented her own house in an upscale part of Abuja. In her view, she had everything and that was why she was constantly tired of the prodding urging her to ‘settle down’, ‘start a family’, and to ‘become responsible’. She couldn’t go anywhere without people reminding her that she was ‘advancing in age’ and should be worried about ‘what people will say.’ Though she had lived almost all her life in Ibadan, she didn’t hesitate to move to Abuja when work opportunity came. In her view, she had freedom; what blissful freedom. Or so she thought. ••• Her aunt – Aunty Folake – called her once a week to remind her that she needed to get married. She laughed and usually responded by telling her that she would. ‘Biola mi, you are thirty. Time will not wait for you oh! Your mother might not be worried but the rest of the family is. Ha ahn! When will you have children? Do you want to be old before you give birth? As a nurse who has worked for 25 years, I can categorically tell you that pregnancies of women advanced in age are usually trouble pregnancies and the risk factors for the child are high oh! Is that what you want? Ehn?!’ To which Biola would always respond, ‘Aunty mi, I will get married soon. Don’t worry.’ After which she would look for the slightest excuse to end the call. She was surprised at her Aunty Folake’s insistence that she marry. Her aunt had been married twice before deciding to settle down with her current husband. She still got angry when she talked about her ex-husbands, especially husband number one. He had deceived her into thinking he was comfortable enough to take care of her. It wasn’t until they were married that she realized he was poor. He had a mat, two plates and one spoon. He spent all his money trying to live a lie and something as basic as feeding had been a struggle for them. When he had any money, it quickly disappeared in the gambling pits in town. She had hated him because she suffered real poverty with him. It wasn’t until she got a job that things got better; better being that she filed for divorce and left him. Her second husband had been the worst. She had come home one day to see him sexually abusing her adolescent daughter. She nearly killed him with a knife. The only reason she didn’t was that the neighbors stepped in and stopped the fight. He spent some hours in the police cell but was released because he was an aspiring politician who had a lot of money to bribe the police officials. Her current husband was nothing more than a Muppet in the hands of Biola’s aunt. He had no say in the house and visibly resented his powerlessness but Aunty Folake would have it no other way. ••• Evelyn Oshoeke, her hair and makeup stylist was another person putting pressure on her. ‘Biola, there is this man that wants to meet you. Girrrl, he is loaded! He is a commissioner and men! He has money!’ she blurted as soon as Biola came in for a touch-up. ‘Evelyn, drop it all ready. Like I’ve said over and over again, I will not get married.’ Biola said defiantly. ‘You are a beautiful woman. You don’t even need this make up. You are successful and loaded. Why then won’t you want to be complete? Girl, you know I will keep asking until you tell me the reason.’ she said as she tried to contour Biola’s cheek. Biola shifted angrily and huffed! ‘You want to know why I don’t want to get married?! Simple! I will not have any man try to limit me to kitchen and bedroom duty when I have so much to do in this life. I intend to leave my name in the sands of time and trust me; I will not put my goals on hold to please any man!’ Evelyn looked at her and frowned. ‘First, you just messed up my work and I’m none too pleased. So keep your face in one place so I can do my job.’ Biola eyed her a bit but obeyed. Evelyn started working again. ‘Second, a man doesn’t have to limit you. He can be your greatest supporter. Take my husband for example; he is helping me achieve my dreams and so much more. When I was just plaiting my friends’ hair, he pushed me to go to take a course in beauty regimen and when I was done, opened this big shop for me. He is my biggest support and you could get someone like that too’. She continued talking but Biola wasn’t listening. She remembered when Evelyn had come to the shop with a swollen red eye which she had tried to hide with her makeup. Upon further investigation, Biola found out that Evelyn’s husband, “her biggest support”, beat her up for the slightest infraction and that she had been beaten badly on so many occasion that she lost three babies as a result. A day after she returned home from giving birth to her first child, her husband had slapped her for being too slow in bringing his food. And here she was, gushing about her husband and using him as an example for why Biola should get married. Biola let her talk and when she was done, she left more resolute not to marry. ••• Mrs. Kayla Griffin was an affluent branch manager of a telecommunication company in Abuja. She was a beautiful, well educated, cosmopolitan woman. Her company was one of the sponsors of Biola’s
Hustle! Hard!
African man arranging his tomatoes to sell.Image: The Fiscal Times. I am really irritated with able-bodied people who are lazy. Let me start by telling you a story of someone I am going to call Ahmad. I went out to get some eggs one evening. The shop which I usually get provisions from was out of eggs and I was directed to the nearest Mai Shayi. When I got there, I saw a line of men waiting to be served. The speed with which the noodles and eggs were prepared was a testament to constant practice. The Mai Shayi had all four of his stoves on, plus a firewood fire for the huge pot of tea. It was a study in efficiency. I am sure Ahmed must have thought I was waiting for dinner like the rest of the men. He didn’t speak to me immediately but I was fine with it. It was an opportunity to watch him and how he ran his business, how he interacted with his customers, how he timed his meals, and how he served said meals. I watched him for about 15 minutes before he saw me. He asked what I wanted. I said eggs. He asked if I wanted pepper with my eggs. I said I just wanted raw eggs. He said they were N35 each. At this point, I smiled. Even though most people sold eggs for N30 apiece, I told him to give me two. As soon as he had answered me, he completely deleted me from the framework of his mind. This was at 9:20pm. I went home quite impressed. He had shown a good degree of management in running his small business. I wished more young people were like him, eager to work hard and make that money. On another day, this time in the morning, I went out in search of a place to charge my phone. You see, we had not had power for days and though my Nokia battery was faithful, it had given up on me. As I walked down my street, I took my time to search for a phone shop. It wasn’t long before I got to Ahmed’s shop. He was already busy at his shop. As usual, he had a line of people waiting for him. As I registered the fact that this guy worked for at least 12 hours every day, I caught sight of a charging joint, which was a surprise to me because it was just adjacent to Ahmed’s shop. I quickly went there and realized that the shop belonged Usman; who turned out to be Ahmed’s brother. I felt really inspired by these two brothers. They ran businesses for at least 12 hours per day and they seemed to be doing well. What was really interesting to me was how obvious it was that they were not formally educated yet so industrious. On the flip side, many young people are unproductive because they feel they are graduates and should be paid at least six figures in a plush company with heavy benefits and vacation in Fiji before they should work. I must say I was quite impressed with Ahmad and his brother. Another thing I saw that really inspired me was a Mai Ruwa who was physically challenged. Now, for many people who do not understand the concept of a Mai Ruwa, let me explain it a bit. A Mai Ruwa is a person who pushes an Amalanke (a mini truck or maxi-wheelbarrow as the case may be) with about fourteen or sixteen 50-liter jerry-cans of water. It requires large upper-body strength to push the Amalanke uphill (as most Northern towns are). Most Mai Ruwa are lean, lithe and very strong. Back to my story. The Mai Ruwa, like I said, was physically challenged. He has just one hand. Looking at him, I could tell that it was a lot of hard work pushing his Amalenke to his customers, balancing it when he needed to stop, maneuvering it when it got stuck in sand or a collection of gravel and generally, transporting each jerry-can to the homes of his customers. Yet, with all these limitations, he still gets up every day, heads out to where he fetches the water, transports his goods and sells them. If that is not inspiring, I don’t know what is! One of the secretaries in my former office whose name is Mary is a very industrious and wonderful lady. I don’t know anything about her academic background but I know that she can hustle! Her 8-4 as a secretary is quite stressful but it doesn’t deter from going to her shop to sew clothes for people as soon as she closes. She seems to make lots of money from that venture – or so I assume – because most ladies in the office use her services for their African dresses. And to add to that, she bakes! And girl can bake! Her cakes are great; they might not stand a chance against Cake Boss’ but they are okay. And when she is free, she also plaits women’s hair. In essence, she is an enterprising young woman who knows how to get her hustle on. Why am I inspired by these people? It is quite simple. In a country where many youth are 25 and lazy, depending on the government to provide jobs, refusing to be innovative and what not, these people are shining examples of productivity. Nigerian youth are content with hand-me-downs instead of maximizing their exuberance. Quite frankly, it really is telling on our economy. I have to give it to the Igbo people though; they know how to hustle hard! They begin to groom their kids from about age ten in business and enterprise. Before they are eighten, these kids begin to branch out with their own side hustle and though I have never been to Aba or Onitsha, I know that great goods which could boost our economy are created there. Already, we have made-in-Nigeria cars by the Innoson group. Add that to the vast human
The Plight Of The Displaced
Credit: The Guardian Nigeria Terror struck the morning of Sunday, 7th August 2014, when members of the insurgent sect – Boko Haram – took over Michika town in Adamawa State. Many people were not aware of the news until they began to see huge influxes of people into Yola, the State capital. People were on trailers and lorries, and jam-packed in other smaller vehicles. The fear factor reached fever pitch when news spread that the military had closed the gates of Mubi, keeping the fleeing residents trapped in the town. I was in the office, totally oblivious of what was happening, when I got snapped out of my false sense of security. One of my colleagues came in and said he had seen over seventeen army trucks lined up in town and many fleeing refugees with nowhere to go. When I went outside, it was to see other colleagues in a state of frenzy. I walked slowly, hoping to find out what was happening and telling myself over and again that getting scared wouldn’t help me. I realized that many people were making speculations and no one really knew what was happening. At that point, I was tired of the rush of emotions I was feeling and just wanted to go home. The company driver said he couldn’t head out because the roads were clogged. At that pronouncement, staff members – including those who had their own cars – decided to head out on foot. I followed them. I asked my program partner to join us and she was adamant because she didn’t know what we were going to be walking into. I was sure we would be safe but she needed some convincing. After a few minutes of cajoling and threatening to leave without her, she finally budged and then we set off. We took a short cut and came out on the main road after walking for about ten minutes. It wouldn’t have taken a magician to know that something was really amiss. The cars were lined up as far as one could see and at each other’s bumpers. All the cars were full, and in fact, over loaded with people, bags, properties and what not. Adamawa had become the latest to suffer at the hands of the insurgents. Months after that first major attack, there have been many more, which has prompted more and more people to flee into the state capital: Internally Displaced People or IDPs for short. They were talked about in the news, among traders and drivers and even among the elite. To many, they are nothing but statistics and numbers. But today, they were real to us. One of my colleagues decided to spend his birthday with these displaced people. He called on friends and family to support him by bringing clothes, food, toiletries and other necessities for the IDPs. The response was massive. People went all out to help in whatever way they could. On his birthday, we all headed out to the Bajabure IDP camp in Adamawa. There was a convoy of cars filled with materials for the people. When we got to the camp, I must say that we were a bit surprised. The camp was an estate built by Vice Admiral Murtala Nyako on the Numan road. The area is a bit far from town and the houses were largely empty. As a result of the overwhelming influx of people into town, the estate was turned to a camp for the IDPs. So you can imagine our surprise when we got there and saw a row of nice houses. When we got to the gate, the security man made a fuss about our visit and only let us in when the celebrant called the camp director or someone like that. As soon as we got in, people started trickling out to see the visitors. It wasn’t long before the word spread; visitors had come and they came bearing gifts! Soon enough, people started coming out in droves. We were suddenly surrounded by a sea of people. I must admit, I never knew they were that many. They couldn’t wait until the address from the celebrant was done. All they cared about was the piece of the bounty they were going to get from us. Some of the women and children moved closer to where I stood. Their murmuring drew my friends and I even closer. We asked what the problem was and they told us that we had to stay for the distribution of the items. When we asked why we needed to wait, they were quick to tell us that certain individuals had crowned themselves bosses and were hoarding relief materials for their personal gain. My friend and I shared a look. We proceeded to ask more people if these statements were true. It turned out that they were in fact true. A few people were using the pain these people were facing to dominate them and accrue more materials to their selfish selves. I spoke to a boy whom I’m going to call Kwaji. He sounded very intelligent, somehow knowing my Hausa was stilted and proceeding to speak in English. He didn’t speak the Queen’s English but he wasn’t far off. His tenses were correct and his grammar sound. I asked if he was a student and he said, quite clearly I might say, that he had been in Junior Secondary School 3 (JSS 3). My next question would have been what he wanted to be in life but looking at his condition at that moment, I couldn’t bring myself to do that. I kept repeating that it would be well, not sure whether or not he believed me. As soon as the distribution started, any dignity of their person fled. They crowded the distributors like ant to sugar. I was shocked at the desperation I was seeing. It was no surprise that a fight broke out and got out of control. People started clawing their way to get the items. I must admit
Children Should Not Hustle!
Young girl hawking sachet water.Image: The Guardian The little girl ran up to me, somehow balancing the crate of boiled eggs on her head and trying to keep her falling wrapper in place. Her feet were clad with slippers that were well worn and designed with holes. She couldn’t have been more than eight years old and as she reached me, the smell of her unwashed body repulsed me more than she could have imagined. As she raised her head to ask if I wanted the eggs, I had a full view of her face. She was made up, with a haphazard line taking center stage on her brows. Her eye pencil was dripping, making her lower lid look heavy. Her powder was in patches, with more shades of grey on her dark skin than there was on a wiped chalkboard. Her pouty lips were made more so with the red lipstick she wore and the very black liner she used to line her lips. She was wearing a torn Hijab made of a print material. The Hijab was bunched at her shoulders as she held the tray that held the crate. Her skirt was a different print from her top though they were similar in one way; they were both threadbare, dirty and reflected just how poor she was. I took all these in as she advertised her eggs. The makeup, dirty clothes, torn slippers and the over coat of unwashed funk all reflected one thing: poverty. In one glance, I could tell that this young girl was forced into child labor. It didn’t take Einstein to figure out that this little girl was doing this to make money for her family. She was probably going to walk up and down the town in her quest to sell the eggs. The more eggs she sold, the more likely her chances of eating something that night. If she returned the eggs home, she was most likely going to sleep hungry. As I continued to look at her, imaginations of how hungry she might be kept flicking through my mind. Though her smell repulsed me, I was drawn to her in a way that was against my personal principle. I was torn. A common sight in many African communities if the presence of child hawkers who are working to sustain their families.Image: Signal You see, when I was in primary school, I had a teacher called Mrs. Williams. She died. But before she did, she had imparted so much in me that I owe some of my life’s principles to her. She urged us always to be the best and always had little quips that stayed with us; with me. On one of such occasions, after a field trip to the airport, she said something that stayed with me till this very moment. As the school bus slowed at a traffic jam, some children ran up to it to display their wares. From candy popularly called ‘alewa’ to groundnuts and what not, these kids had enough to attract our attention. Many kids started pulling out their lunch money to get things and only refrained when Mrs. Williams bellowed. Thankfully, the traffic jam lessened and we got going. That was not before we saw the disappointed looks on the faces of the children as they saw us go. We had been their hope for some money but Mrs. Williams crushed that hope. I was, for the first time in my young life, furious at her. When we got to school, I was still furious. As we settled into our seats in class, Mrs. Williams demanded our attention. When she got it, she started teaching us about child labor and abuse. She told us it was wrong to send kids to the streets to hawk. She asked how we felt knowing our mates were hawking on the streets and highways when we were in class, learning and getting an education. In truth, we didn’t understand what she was saying – we were just in primary three – but the passion with which she spoke hit me. The message I got that day was that children shouldn’t work when they should be in school. As little as I was, I felt bad that I could afford to be in school while others were out there fending for themselves and their families. I really cannot remember if that was when I made the choice to never buy something from a kid but I know that as I grew up, my resolve strengthened. My ideology was that, as long as we buy things from kids, we were also promoting child labor. I felt that if children went home every night without selling anything, then their parents would be wise about sending them to the streets. At that time, all of these made great sense to me. As I grew older, I realized that the ideology I had was hard to keep, especially as child labor came closer to home. A close friend of mine, whom I will call Williams, had to work to make ends meet. Williams came from a comfortable family. He had two brothers and one sister. They had most of what they wanted. They ate right, dressed well and even went to good private schools. The fairy bubble burst when his father lost his job after the Kaduna textiles closed down. They were tiding over until they just couldn’t keep up the pretext anymore. They had to move to a much smaller house and even sell most of their stuff. After a while, his father travelled to find work and was not heard from for months. They had absolutely no idea where he was or even if he was alive. His mum had to pick up the mantle of leadership to keep the family going. She got a job working as a cleaner in a school where the pay was barely enough to cover utility bills. Gradually, they had to be pulled
Here Comes The Bride!
Marriage Ameera was shaking. The lavish wedding ceremony was over. She was finally married to Alhaji Aminu Dahiru, a longtime friend and business partner of her father. She was brought to her husband’s house by her mother and her friends. They met a number of the groom’s relatives who told everyone but her mum to leave. These relatives were there to collect the sheets after the first sexual communion. They wanted to be sure Alhaji married a ‘good girl’. Though Ameera’s parents had furnished the house to her specifications, the purple and gold royal interior decor didn’t calm her raging nerves. Her mother took her to the bedroom, watched as her small figure changed from the wedding attire, showered and donned her very sexy night slip. She pretended the air conditioner was what was giving her the chills, but her mum was not fooled. Her anxiety was clear to anyone looking. Her mum rubbed her back, reassuring her in her own little way. The door creaked open as her husband entered. Her mother eased out of the room, quietly keeping her eyes on the floor so she didn’t have to see the look of absolute smug satisfaction on Alhaji Aminu’s face. As the door closed, and Alhaji Aminu drew close to Ameera, the bulge in his trousers was very obvious. He slowly took off his clothes, a feral smile on his face as he watched his wife. When he was finally naked, Ameera’s gaze widened at the sheer size of her husband. He was huge! Her fear seemed to be turning him on more and his smile got even more feral. She didn’t know if it was her fear that seemed to make him bigger or if he really was getting bigger. All she knew was that, she felt like she could faint just by looking at it. He walked to her and pushed her on the bed. Alhaji Aminu was no seasoned lover, and he sure wasn’t going to learn how to be with his fourth wife. With no further ado, he pushed her legs open and thrust in…or at least, tried to. Her vaginal opening was so tiny that he almost couldn’t penetrate. Like all men who felt that their pleasure was paramount, Alhaji Aminu forced his way in. Ameera screamed. She had not felt this much pain in her entire life. Her vagina seemed to have been torn all the way through and it felt like a thousand razors were tearing her still. Her vagina was on fire and she just couldn’t handle it anymore. She screamed again. Alhaji Aminu slapped her, shocked that she responded to his fervent lovemaking by screaming. ‘Had her mother not prepared her?‘ he wondered. Well, if she was not prepped, he was not going to be her teacher. He slapped her again and this time she got quiet…really quiet. Alhaji Aminu was not bothered that she was unusually still. His pleasure heightened as he increased the pace of his thrusts. He was soon in cloud nine and ejaculating his masculine essence into his new bride. After his grunts had subsided and his breathing normalized, he eased out of her and readied himself for sleep. He only took one minute to pull out the sheets from under Ameera and toss it out the door to his waiting audience before he came back and fell into a very satisfied sleep. It didn’t bother him that Ameera’s head was lying at an awkward angle and her little face was already bruising. He got a new wife and that was all that mattered. He went to sleep with the satisfaction that his new wife would ensure his business investments with Alhaji Musa Kaltungo – her father – was solidified and expanded further. Ameera woke up when her mother shook her vigorously. The sun was streaming into the bedroom. It was morning already. ‘Wake up foolish girl! Do you want your husband to think we did not train you well? Get up now, get cleaned up and prepare his bath water. When you are done, get his breakfast ready’. Ameera couldn’t think past the shrill tone of her mother. She was still disoriented. She didn’t recall what had happened. She tried to get up and saw that her legs were spread. ‘Why was her legs open for all to see?‘ she thought. Mortified that her mum had seen her ‘private part’, she quickly tried to close them. As she tried, she regained all consciousness when a very sharp pain traveled up the walls of her vagina, prompting fresh drip of blood to flow. Then she remembered! She couldn’t close her legs. She just couldn’t! Her mother finally realized that her daughter was in pain when she saw the blood dripping and the tears on her face. ‘Don’t worry my daughter, it will get better’ was all she kept saying. Alhaji Aminu entered the room and bellowed at his wife. ‘Are you still in bed? Are you crazy? Who will prepare my bath water and breakfast? Who will take care of the house? Get up you lazy girl! Nonsense!’ He turned to her mother. ‘Hajiya, what kind of a bride did you give me? Still asleep at 7 am?! Is this the type of nonsense I should expect in my house? Better do something about it because I can assure you that even though Alhaji is my friend, I will not hesitate to take my koboko to her naked skin! So, get her in order!’ He said as he marched out of the room. Ameera’s mother helped Ameera up, struggling to get her to stand up straight. Ameera wobbled into the bathroom, wincing at each step taken and taking care to keep her legs apart as she walked. Her mother left her to herself when she got into the bathroom. She knew peeing would increase her pain, but she had to obey her bodily functions. As the pee slowly descended, she wanted to cry out again, but she stilled herself by biting her lips. The taste
They Don’t Care About Us
The impact of the long trek Huzaifa had just had was beginning to show in her carriage. Her refusal to buckle was entirely due to sheer will…and the fact that her babies would suffer in her fall. She had been carrying Aisha on her back and Musa on her neck. It was hard work but at least she got these two out. The whereabouts of Jamilu, Hassan and Hussaina was something she didn’t want to dwell on. All she could focus on was ensuring she got as far away from Mubi as possible. Her bare feet were chaffed and had blisters running from her toe nails to her heels but she couldn’t let the pain sink into her thoughts. The weight of Musa on her neck had given her a hard knot around her shoulder and if she so much as moved her current position, she was sure that the muscle would snap. When she finally got to the Hayin Gada Bridge, all she could think of was crossing the bridge. ‘She would be safe in Yola’, she thought to herself. She just needed to hold on until she got to Yola. Huzaifa was not the only one fleeing Mubi. She was one of the thousands who had fled when the insurgent group, popularly called Boko Haram, invaded (and captured) Mubi, the second largest city and most viable economic epicenter in Adamawa state in October, 2014. John was another. He had run from home as soon as he had heard the tata tata ta of guns firing. He left his wife and four kids, taking with him only his phone, his wallet and the clothes he was wearing. John had thought through his predicament and realized that being a man, and a young one at that, his fate was either to join the insurgents or a certain death. He didn’t want to be a part of a group of men whose ideals meant that they could kill, pillage and destroy communities at whim and he sure didn’t want to die. As he ran, he hoped his children would be safe though, the fate of his wife was a sure thing if she was captured; young and beautiful as she was. He dulled the thought of his wife and kids as he zigzagged his way in the bushes. After two days in the bush and his endurance of a major heat stroke, he finally found a taxi, albeit an expensive one, heading to Yola. He needed to get to Yola. Once he got there, he would think of the family he had left behind. These examples (and many more) are the stories coming out of Mubi. Whether it is students running into Cameroun or people piled on each other on tricycles, motorcycles, cars, or trailers, the main issue is that the story coming out of Mubi is horrible. And worse, there were no Christians, no Muslims and no atheists. All there was were Nigerians running away from a common enemy. Heck, even the soldiers were running away in the face of the heavy artillery wielded by the insurgents. The insurgents behind the escapees were not their only problems. As they ran through bushes, in the stifling heat that is characteristic of Adamawa, many of these people were without food or water, resulting in massive hunger. Now, the adrenaline pumping through their veins may have pushed the thought of food out of their minds but running without water in a hot (hot) place is akin to embarking on a suicide mission. Many people were reported to have drunk water from sources as filthy as gutters or roadside puddles. These were not the worst of their problems though. As people strove to get away from Mubi, imagine their relief when they saw cars lined up, also fleeing from the insurgents. Many ran to such vehicles, pleading to be taken along. The drivers, while running for their lives, didn’t let the opportunity to make a quick buck pass them by. Transport fares from Yola to Mubi was usually around N1,500 but, as soon as the drivers saw the fleeing citizens, fares went as high as N7, 000. And boy! Did people pay! If you didn’t have any money, then ‘GOD save you’ was the meted response. People had to trek from Mubi to as far as Hong. In the end, the governor, Barrister Bala James Ngilari, had to send, (as released by the press secretary) a total of seventy-seven buses to fetch those on the road. One would think that getting to Yola would mean some form of respite for the displaced people but it wasn’t. The NAPEP riders in Yola also hiked their transport fares, collecting one hundred naira (N100) instead of the stipulated fifty naira (N50). People would have paid two hundred naira if possible but the vehicles just weren’t there. The buses had been just enough for the residents of the Yola metropolis but with the massive influx of people into town, buses were scarce. People literally had to jump on moving vehicles and be packed like sardines. Buses that normally carried about 10 passengers with the driver and conductor making it 12, were carrying as many as 15 and in some cases, up to 18 or 20 people. It was not a pleasant sight at all. At a point, people just gave up on waiting for the buses or NAPEP and took to walking long distances within the town to get to where they were going to. And trust the security men to become active after there has been an incident. The checkpoints that were a common site in Jimeta and Yola soon doubled. The traffic gridlocks soon became unbearable. It wasn’t as if any checks were being done, but the security personnel had to look busy. The only people credit had to be given to, were the men from the Federal Road Safety Commission, who worked tirelessly to ensure that the gridlock was broken and traffic was relatively smooth. Apart from that, the Police as usual set up checkpoints close to where the Army had
Family Planning For Sustainable Development
I woke up one morning and realized that my neighbors had used up all the water in the house and had not called the Mai Ruwa to refill the containers. I usually don’t go out myself to call him but since I was the only one preparing to go out at that time, I put on my slip and went out in search of him. The Mai Ruwa lived just opposite my house, so I didn’t have to walk far to find him. Because it was quite early, there were few people on the street, so I didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing my messy hair (which is almost always messy) or my oversized slip. As I crossed the street, I saw that the gate to the Mai Ruwa‘s house was open. When I reached the gate, I raised my hand to knock when this little Fulani boy – who bore a striking resemblance to the Mai Ruwa – came to the gate. ‘Ina Mai Ruwa?‘ I asked in Hausa. The boy just looked at me and pointed to the security guard’s corner of the house. I didn’t know that the Mai Ruwa doubled up as the security guard of the house; though, I should have known a Mai Ruwa couldn’t own such a prime piece of property. I walked towards the small apartment and saw the Mai Ruwa emerge from the room. As he approached me, I couldn’t help but notice that there were kids lying on the floor, almost like the arrangement of fish in sardine packages, with the youngest closest to the mother. From my count, there were four children in that tiny room. Add that to the little boy I just saw outside, and it meant that the Mai Ruwa had five children. Maybe the Mai Ruwa saw my prying eyes, because he quickly pulled his curtains down. I straighten and asked that he brings water to our house. He told me he would be there as soon as he could. As I returned to my house, I wondered how a man who doubled up as a Mai Ruwa and a security guard could have five children and have all of them living in one tiny room. This was a shock to me because I had done an in depth radio show on family planning in Adamawa, with resource persons from the Society for Family Health who explained the necessity for planning. I thought the issue was more rural but here I was, right at my door steps, in a very urban area, faced with an unplanned family. I consoled myself with the thought that the Mai Ruwa already had his children before my program so, maybe he wouldn’t have a sixth child. I went there a couple more times and realized that the spacing of the Mai Ruwa‘s children couldn’t have been more than one year between each child. They were literally just following themselves. In Northern Nigeria, many families are like the Mai Ruwa‘s; poor, not gainfully employed and surprisingly large. The issue of family planning – or the absence of it – is a big problem in this region. The problem is eating deep into the fabric of society. In the Northern part of the country, there are particular reasons why people have an aversion to planned families. 1. Religion: Nothing is a bigger determining factor than religion on the issue of family. Many people are of the belief that God is the one who gives children and as such, are totally against ‘planning’ a family. This phenomenon cuts across the two major religions in Nigeria. The Bible’s stance on family planning is almost non-existent; I used the term ‘almost’ because many people use the story of Onan and Tamar as a point to ‘prove’ God is against family planning. In Genesis 38:6-10 (better understanding will come if one starts from verse one), Onan kept pulling out of Tamar (that is, the withdrawal method) just so he wouldn’t perform his legal duties to his late brother Er as stipulated in Deuteronomy 25:5-6. While this Bible passage may seem to be against family planning, I don’t think it is. If you take a holistic view of the story, you will see that God was angry at Onan not necessarily for withdrawing during sex, but because he did that with the evil intention of not wanting to share his inheritance with any child Tamar bore; a child who would have been the true heir of their father Judah’s estates. In essence, the Bible’s view on family planning is relatively mute. So why are many Christians against planning their families? I believe it is because many of them are uneducated or not properly educated on the tenets of the Bible, which makes them accept any and every thing their leaders tell them. So when a preacher is against family planning, all he has to do is rally against it from his pulpit and his followers will accept it. And for those who take out the time to study, many do not understand the nuances that are in each scripture and that each scripture is inherently connected to others and thus, the whole Bible. They just latch onto one verse and solidify their opinions rather than take each verse as a small part of a whole. So anyone reading about Onan and Tamar would say, God is against planned families. Similarly, many Muslims say that it is against Allah’s will to plan their families, seeing it as a western idea postulated to pull people away from the ethics of Islam. That been said, I tried to research what the Qur’an says about the concept, but there seemed to be no direct verses about family planning. There are however verses on killing children (Qur’an 6:151, 17:51). I read an article by Jamal Zarabozo titled ‘Is Family Planning Allowed In Islam?’ on Islam Women and he said research has been done by Islamic scholars and they have come to the conclusion that spacing children is allowed if the parents have mutually found a reason that is Islamically acceptable to space them. He went further to explain that
Copy Copy
Copy Button.Image: Free Images Live Okay…Nigerians are technically, the most effective ‘copiers’ in the world. The Chinese used to be the ones adept at replicating whatever they saw, but Nigerians have really taken over from them. Now, this needs to be clarified. This is not replicating advancing technology, or improving strides in medicine or stuff like that. It definitely isn’t that. What this type of imitation does is copy the things that are unimportant and in some cases, just plain wrong and stupid! It seems like copying became mainstream when Blackberry phones came into Nigeria. People were buying the phones like their lives depended on them. Some women were trading sex for a Blackberry. The movie ‘Blackberry Babes‘ seemed to show a clear picture of just how far women went in order to own the latest Blackberries. Men who couldn’t trade sex for a Blackberry were doing all manner of criminal deeds to earn money for them. As the phone gained more acceptance, the Blackberry Internet Services (BIS) subscription also followed suit; after all, what was a Blackberry without subscription? Telecommunication companies made it easier and easier by reducing the subscription fee until it became very affordable. Even at that, many people had to starve themselves to subscribe. Many women who were serious snobs all month, would suddenly become cute and cuddly when they run out of subscription or were about to run out of it. I remember in school when male friends used to lie to their parents to get money for handouts and upkeep, only to subscribe for BIS as soon as the money came in. Let us also not forget the parties that were done with certain Blackberries as the pass or ticket; today a Bold 2, tomorrow a Bold 4. It got to an all-time high when, on meeting someone, one of the first questions asked was, ‘What is your pin?’ Oh! Woe betides you that you say you didn’t have one; the look you would get could melt a lesser person. Where did the craze come from? And why did we feel the need to copy? The first time I heard about the Blackberry phones was in a fiction novel, one whose name I cannot remember now. In that book, the lead character had an everyday phone for personal contacts and a Blackberry for his business deals. My first view of the phone was a device that could help business people connect and transact business. When Nigerians copied the United States and some of Europe, it wasn’t to foster business deals but to oppress one another. This oppression was so much that Blackberry officially announced its Nigerian market as one of the most thriving markets in Africa. It must have enacted a lot of laughs among the top brass of the company when their Nigerian users were notably unhappy about the sale of the BBM app to android phones. In spite of the entire online petition by Nigerians to maintain the exclusivity, BBM was still introduced to android phones. This should have been a clear warning to us that copying doesn’t help us in anyway and it sure doesn’t give us the right to change corporate decisions. When the Apple products came into the country, the same frenzy was seen; only much worse. People could do all types of crazy stuff to own an iPhone, iPad or a MacBook. The craze is still on! Reflect back to when the iPhone 6 came out? Ha! Crazy stuff! Another glaring way our people copy things is shown in our art; from music videos to movies to our fashion and more. We have seen cases where music artists have copied already existing videos when making theirs. This is a case clearly shown in the ‘Skelewu’ video of music artist, Davido; the one directed by Moe Musa is the one I’m talking about. It was an obvious rip-off of the ‘Party Rock‘ video by LMFAO and the movie ‘28 Days Later‘. The question that comes to mind is, ‘Do foreign music artists copy stuff?‘ The answer is yes! But do they do this as blatantly as Nigerian artists do? I wouldn’t be so sure. The same trend is seen with Nigerian movies that are just poor replicas of Hollywood and Bollywood movies. This is especially sad because our talents are now being exported to the world. What message are we sending?! Other ways where copying stuff has been glaring are with social media, and most predominantly, Twitter. A while ago, #FollowFridays was the rave. Timelines were flooded with people who were all too eager to jump on the follow wagon. Then came the #FollowBack wagon and then #TwitFights. Like candy given to children, the twit fights became so popular. The fights ranged from amateur to downright mean and dirty and it even had some people permanently deleting their twitter accounts. Protesters demand a return of the Chibok Girls who were abducted from their school on April 14, 2014.Image: Ayiba Magazine All of this was good and dandy until the abduction of the girls from Chibok took place and became an international issue. Many Nigerians were as unconcerned about those girls, as the President was. When human rights agencies brought it up and began talking about it, social media imploded. That was when Nigerians showed an iota of care. As soon as people saw Americans, Asians, Europeans and even Arabs holding up placards with the hashtag #BringBackOurGirls, Nigerians began to care. Or should we say, Nigerians love a good trending topic to jump on and they got one. It wasn’t long before trendsetters (or more appropriately, trend followers) put up pictures of themselves wearing somber expressions while carrying placards with #BringBackOurGirls boldly written on it. It also was no surprise that as soon as the international media got bored with 240 missing African (and worse, Nigerian) girls, we also copied their apathy. We followed through by forgetting the girls because it just wasn’t trending anymore. This attitude told other countries two things: as a nation, we were not bothered with what happened
