What Donald Trump’s Victory Should Mean for Africa
Donald Trump,President of The United States of America.Picture Credit: TIME As the world reels from the news that Donald Trump is the President of the United States of America, we need to take a look back at what the win, combined with the proposed British exit – Brexit – from the European Union means for Africa, Africans and black people in general. Like the push for Brexit, Donald Trump’s campaign was riddled with fear mongering, describing a world where minorities are supposedly overwhelming the (predominantly white) population of these countries. The purview of these two world powers hold is that by ‘letting’ more ‘minorities’ into their nation, the people indigenous to these countries are being pushed out; from leadership positions, jobs, opportunities and other benefits of being a citizen. To the majority of Americans and Brexit voters, these foreigners are making them less than they are supposed to be and they need to take their power back. In plain speak, keep the bloody foreigners out! While this is being touted as nationalistic for those who hold these views, we cannot help but see the underlying (in the case of Britain) and most times, glaringly obvious (Trump couldn’t be clearer) tones of racism, bigotry and hate. It is shocking to note that these two countries that pride themselves on being progressive and the most tolerant of the world powers have massively voted to stop acting like they consider all human life equal. George Orwell couldn’t have been more accurate. The United States of America and the United Kingdom have voted to stop pretending that there aren’t racist undertones in their country. They have also voted to stop pretending that they care about ALL human life. Why is this a historical time for Africa particularly? The answer lies in the fact that Africans and black people keep going to these countries for one reason or the other. Before I look at the Black people from these countries, I will discuss those of us from Africa. The data collated by NOI Polls and Pew Research Center show that rate of emigration of Africans to the US and UK has increased. This is especially explained by Monica Anderson in her article, ‘African Immigrant Population in U.S. Steadily Climbs’ posted on Fact Tank, Pew Research Center on November 2, 2015. Of particular interest to me are these paragraphs: “There were 1.8 million African immigrants living in the U.S. in 2013, up from 881,000 in 2000 and a substantial increase from 1970, when the U.S. was home to only 80,000 foreign-born Africans. They accounted for 4.4% of the immigrant population in 2013, up from 0.8% in 1970. The growth is evident among recently arrived immigrants. When compared with other major groups who arrived in the U.S. in the past five years, Africans had the fastest growth rate from 2000 to 2013, increasing by 41% during that period. (Africans are also a rapidly growing segment of the black immigrant population in the U.S., increasing by 137% from 2000 to 2013.) One factor behind this recent wave can be traced to the Refugee Act of 1980, which made it easier for those fleeing conflict-ridden areas, such as Somalia and Ethiopia, to resettle in the U.S. Back then, less than 1% of all refugee arrivals were from Africa, compared with 32% today, according to figures from the U.S. State Department’s Refugee Processing Center. Statistics from the Yearbook of Immigration Statistics confirm this point. Among refugee arrivals in 2013, five of the top 10 countries of nationality were in Africa: Somalia, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Sudan, Eritrea and Ethiopia.” But more than a desire to flee war-torn countries is an emigration for proper (and more advanced) health care, better education, more effectively working systems’, tourism or just having a go at ‘greener pastures’. Each of these by themselves is not too much of a problem but when put together, we see the problem as clearly as day; Africa is a failing continent. It breaks my heart to say this because of my optimism about Africa but it is imperative that we accept that we are failing; and woefully so! The rest of the world took pity on us for centuries and allowed some of our excesses. Of course they did this for their selfish gains but we are more to blame for this than they are. We cannot continue to funnel our resources, wealth, revenue or intellect towards improving these countries when ours, and hence our continent, continues to suffer and bleed out. We cannot continue to continue to perpetuate the ‘white savior’ complex and expect more developed countries to solve our problems. And now, even if we want to, these countries are not having it anymore! They are sick and tired of our neediness and constant dependence. They are done with us! So what can we do? 1. First, we need to wake the hell up! These countries see us as nothing more than pests and leeches and what do you do to these? I will let you figure it out. Before that time comes, we need to borrow ourselves some sense and wake up; 2. We need to stop believing in the ‘white savior’ ruse because guess what? They have not saved us from anything! In case you don’t know, South Sudanese people are still dying. So are Somalians. Many African countries are still dirt poor. Aid after aid after elaborate event to raise more aid and the problems we have are still very glaring. No country will save us as long as they need us to remain dependent. We have to save ourselves! The black race has to save herself! 3. There is no better time to strengthen our institutions than at this very moment. We need to start investing – heavily – in our educational and health sectors, our military, government systems, infrastructure, landmarks, power, communications and best of all, our human capital and resources; 4. The bloody brain drain has to stop! We cannot continue to take so much money
Ramat: The Angry Black Woman
Hey guys. So two, maybe three, weeks ago, I decided to switch my style of presentation and become more demure. This is because my presentation role models – Oprah, Ellen DeGeneres, Angie Martinez and Toolz – are these super calm women who seem to be making so much impact and getting so much paper. Also, someone told me that I sounded like I was ‘always angry’. I didn’t want to come off as petty and angry as Wendy does (in my opinion) and I didn’t want to be known as ‘Ramat the angry black woman’. So…I switched my style. I did this video where I was uber calm, where I counted my words, tried to enunciate better and basically, was a complete opposite of my normal self. I was excited about the video and couldn’t wait to get it up. The first thing that happened was the feedback. I was told I ‘looked tired and bored’, didn’t ‘have energy’, ‘acted like I was being forced to do it’ and other such statements. In essence, the video I was excited about was boring at best, or just plain horrible! I was shocked! Here was a video I so proud of but was one almost everyone didn’t like. To say I was burnt is the understatement of the century. I sulked a bit, refused to talk to some of my biggest supporters and generally felt like quitting. After the requisite time of unhappiness, I went back to the video and watched it again. And again. And one more time. I removed myself from the work I had done and watched it like a stranger. When I was done, I came to the same conclusion; the video sucked! I told my sisters why I switched my style and they said something that jolted me back to reality. They said, ‘Ramat, angry black woman works for you. Why do you want to stop being that?’ So I thought about it. I had a pretty important topic to discuss and I tried to sound like other people when being myself would have been awesome. Yes! I am a bit of a talker. I have plenty (if not too much) energy and my voice is a bit high pitched (whom am I kidding? My voice is very high pitched!) Some people think I am shouting when I talk but that is what comes naturally to me. I am a super excited person and when I feel anything, I feel it with all of me! And yes! I am angry about many things! It is that anger that pushed me to give my voice to many injustices of society. I realized that as different as I am from my role models (and other women in broadcast media), we all had our audience and each a space in this life. People may think Wendy is petty but there are so many other people who worship the ground she walks on. I remember when someone said Oprah was boring and after I took quick breaths to calm down, I realized that it was valid thought for that person. We all like what we like and that is what makes the world a diverse place. So today, I am back! The real Ramat, with the ‘loud’ voice, crazy body gesticulations, hyperactive persona and plenty ginger (who uses that anymore Ramat? Rolling my eyes) is back! There is nothing wrong in learning from others as you try to be the person you were created to be. What is wrong is trying to be like other people when you are awesome just being you. Different isn’t wrong. Find what makes you tick and follow your own path! So darlings, what are you going to do? Follow the herd or chart your own course?
Shayo Tinuoye: The Global Citizen
Shayo Tinuoye Oluwashayo Tinuoye – or Shayo as most people call her – is a young Nigerian lady who has traveled to thirty four countries in her quest for knowledge and an opportunity to impact lives. And she isn’t done yet. She intends to visit as many countries as possible before she is too old to travel. But where did it all start from? To understand her will, we may have to go way back. Shayo was born into a blended family, the daughter of a Reverend who lives in Kaduna and a retired teacher who lives in Ibadan. She is the first child of her father and the last of her mother. She has eight siblings in total, four from her dad and four from her mum. It’s a large family with Shayo as the middle child. I asked how she was able to cope with the drama that was likely to come with such family dynamics. “Growing up, it was more challenging having to deal with separated parents and being caught up in the heat sometimes. But it is way better now.” She had to balance her relationship with her family by spending time in Kaduna when school was in session and in Ibadan during the holidays. Despite the family issues she was facing, she always maintained her happy-go-lucky personality. In high school, she was ribbed a lot for being a tall girl – she was 5’7 at the time of graduation – and she found a way to tease back, making her a favorite among many of her classmates. Nothing, it seemed, could dampen the bubble of happiness that was Shayo. Shayo knew she always wanted to travel but apart from shuttling between Ibadan and Kaduna, she didn’t really think much about it. It wasn’t until she got to the university that an opportunity similar to the start of a cheesy love story presented itself. “So I was sitting on the walkway after a boring lecture one glorious day back in 100 level and a couple of cute boys walked up to me and my friends. And they were like, ‘What’s your passion?’.We couldn’t answer in a way that was convincing. “So they told us about this amazing organization that helps people explore their leadership potential blah blah blah… But what I took out of all the mumbo jumbo they said was the fact that I could travel to work on a social issue. And I was very passionate about HIV/AIDS. So I was like ‘Why not? After all, na plant we dey study!’.” At a Temple in Guangzhou, China You see, Shayo had written JAMB three times because she wanted to study medicine. When university admission was not forthcoming and she absolutely needed to leave home, she agreed to study Plant Biology at the University of Ilorin. This was a course she didn’t have any interest in, so her stay in the university was just to pass time. Cue cute boys to change the narrative. The organisation they were raving about? AIESEC. When Shayo found AIESEC, her university days finally became interesting. She was glad to have found something that was practical and she gave it a greater portion of her energy. She was not really clear on the objectives of the organisation until, at the 200 level break, she went to Ghana. “I went to Kumasi, Ghana, for an internship where I worked on a project called ASK (Answers and Solutions around HIV/AIDS). It was mainly creating awareness in high schools. So I worked on this project alongside other interns from about 10 counties. We partnered with a couple of organisations focusing on similar issues in Kumasi. After I got back, I had more clarity on what AIESEC was about. So I became a super active member.” Getting clarity came with a price. The internship was self-funded and unpaid, as all the participants were volunteers. I became very curious about how a 21-year old girl managed to travel abroad to work with little funds. How did her parents react? “Haha! My parents were in full support, although my dad became skeptical at some point. And he was like, ‘What are you going there to do… blah blah blah…’ But I managed to go, being a stubborn head. Plus, mum was in full support. She paid for my transportation. So I went via ABC – longest trip of my life! And she also gave me pocket money. My dad also gave me some cash, plus I saved a little. So I managed.” From that moment, the travel bug bit Shayo and she couldn’t be cured. Even though most of her trips have been for work, she has used every opportunity to enjoy the people and cultures of each country she has been to. So far, that number has been thirty-four. You begin to wonder how many times she travels a year. “It’s hard to take an average – the reason being that my trips were totally dependent on my role. For example, when I was Director for Talent Management in Ghana, I traveled only twice. When I became Country Director, I traveled more and then when I became Director for Africa, I had to visit even more countries. So those visits were almost always work related.” Shayo’s plate is clearly full, when it comes to travelling for work. I wondered if she had any time at all for personal vacations and leisurely trips. “Yes I do. Every year. Two years ago I spent my entire vacation exploring Italy. Last year, Malta Island and Cambodia. Okay… let me answer your question. On an average, I travel thrice a year, at least.” Isn’t she living the life?! Shayo’s job is certainly interesting because of the opportunities it provides, but don’t be fooled – it’s not an endless vacation. She worked incredibly hard to build herself from a young volunteer into the organisation’s Director for Africa. She talked me through her journey, and emphasised the importance of seizing opportunities
The Woman He Lost
Picture Culled From: MARSHABLE’s ‘Black Armor’Written By: David Yi When Ebo Kofi met Iminathi Thato, he and Farhanah Ekow were checking themselves out. For a minute there, he thought he was in love with Farhanah but all that flew out of the window when Iminathi spoke to him. He and Farhanah worked at the premiere advertising agency in Kumasi, an agency where he was a bit of a celebrity. Iminathi did some work for the agency and during one of her presentations, they met. He was impressed with the quality of her creativity. He wished she did more work with the company so he could see her often, but wishes weren’t horses. Whenever she was around though, he watched her from afar as she did her job. She kept to herself a lot, making her irresistible to men and women alike. There were many days Ebo wished he and Iminathi were friends but he kept his distance too, maintaining his faux mysterious aura so people thought there was more to him than he portrayed. And then she sent him a message. She was sick and wondered if he would do a major presentation for her. The client was the biggest telecommunications company in Ghana and the account was going to be big for their firm. He agreed to do the presentation and asked her to send her work. When the time came, he delivered a flawless performance and got the account. He made sure to tell the company that he was making the presentation for Iminathi, who was unavoidably absent. The commission was written in her name. When he told Iminathi everything that had happened, she was so grateful. She shared the commission equally with him and that day, they became friends. They started texting each other and somehow, he knew he was falling in love with her. She on the other hand, seemed to just be having fun. It was obvious that she was attracted to him but he wasn’t sure if her emotions were invested in their attraction dance. Farhanah on the other hand, was transferred to the Nigerian bureau and Ebo was glad she was out of the way. He could now focus on getting the girl of his dreams. From texting, they started sexting and he knew that they would invariable be together. While he couldn’t wait to be with her physically, he also wanted to connect with her emotionally. But he was scared; she was a fully functional girl with big dreams. She had even bigger dreams than he had ever had. She wanted to own the world; or a huge slice of it. That was a bigger motivation for her than any other thing OR person. He wondered if he would be in competition with her career and if that would be okay with him. He could see that she was clearly different from Farhanah, who was content with him as her prize. He however believed that if he could get her, he could change her. And so, he put on the charm. Soon enough, he was in Iminathi’s head. He knew this because whenever she saw him, she burst out the biggest smile. He could be in a group of people and she would walk up to him, say hi, and walk away. Soon enough, he was the envy of the guys in the office. Everyone wondered how he got THE Iminathi to like him. And finally, Iminathi invited him to her home. They had quality dinner and even better conversation and soon enough, they were wrapped around each other. Ebo knew that it was a glorious night for him and he hoped it was equally so for Iminathi. When he got up to leave, she smiled and him…and shattered his world. ‘Now that this attraction has been sated, we can get on with our work. No more distractions for me.’ Ebo was shocked; Iminathi didn’t want a relationship with him. It had just been a one-night-stand for her. This was usually what men did but for the first time in his life, a woman had done it…and to him! He was beyond shocked. But he hid his disappointment and said, ‘You are my girlfriend now and I am going to make you the happiest woman in the world.’ Iminathi laughed and said, ‘Darling, I am happy already. My happiness is not dependent on you, or anyone for that matter. No beef, but I am good. And no, I am not your girlfriend.’ He laughed – painfully – as she saw him out of her house. As he walked to his car, he promised he was going to make her fall in love with him; if it was the last thing he did. Ebo layered the charm and pursued Iminathi like his life depended on it. He was suave, charming, and peppered his speech and actions with enough romance to make Mills & Boons look like child’s play. And soon enough, Iminathi fell in love with him. It was the start of a beautiful love story. Or was it? Ebo noticed that Iminathi didn’t become less interested in her career. If anything, she was more dogged about what she wanted to achieve with her life. He knew she loved him but he also knew that if she was to choose, she would choose her career over him. He wanted to be her all, to be the reason she was happy and somehow, he felt that if he offered her marriage, that would happen. In less than six months, he started dropping hints about wanting to spend the rest of his life with her. One night after an intense love making session, he cuddled her and said, ‘I love you so much. I am happiest with you around and I think I could do this forever. What do you think?’ Iminathi squirmed and broke out of the cuddle. ‘You know there is no ‘forever’ for us, right?’ Ebo sat up. ‘Why would you say that?’ ‘Well, I am not
The World’s Worst Fathers
Image: LA Progressive My mind keeps flitting to this year’s Father’s Day and an incident that happened on Twitter. While most people were praising their fathers, this girl (whom I won’t mention) shared a thread about her abusive father and how he isn’t, for lack of a better word, shit. She wished her mother a happy father’s day for being both father and mother to her and her siblings and prayed her father rots in hell. People were angry that she deigned to say such things about her father. One guy in particular was so mad, he started a thread of his own. The crux of his thread was that he didn’t want to hear about her father being horrible, that she should have kept it to herself and worse, that she was a useless child for airing those things about her father. I was livid at the guy (and other people like him) for bashing the girl. I wondered why it was okay for them to praise their fathers on their own timelines but it wasn’t okay for the girl to call out her father on her timeline. I remember tweeting along those lines and saying that everyone had a right to whatever emotion they had and it was wrong to shut people down because they do not look or think like us. Today however, the incident has me thinking about the reasons why that girl spoke about her father like that. I played all the scenarios of fathers I have met and been told about and I couldn’t help but conclude that there are some really horrible fathers out there. So…here is my list of the world’s worst fathers; 1. THE ‘BREAD LOSER’: If the bread winner is one who takes care of the family, the ‘bread loser’ is my word for one who doesn’t. People know that in many homes, the mother is the breadwinner of the family. She works or trades to ensure the family is catered for while maintaining the ruse that the father provides the money. Now, I am not hammering on men who cannot take care of their families – probably from illness, disability or recent job loss – but men who won’t take care of their families. There was this time in film school when we were doing emotional exercises and one of the acting students shared her experience. In her words, she was glad her father was dead. Many people balked at that statement but I wanted to know why. Thing is, her father had been a deadbeat father. He never provided for any of their basic necessities, choosing to spend whatever he made on himself. It was so bad that at his death, they had nothing! They were forced out of their house and their properties reclaimed to settle his debts. They had to live in an uncompleted building for months until someone took pity on them. Hearing her talk was about the hardest thing I could do. The pain was so raw that there wasn’t a dry eye in that room. And though some of our course mates said she should never have said something like that, I understood. You cannot imagine how horrible it is to have a father who lets you go hungry while being the man-about-town in bars and clubs or who makes you suffer the shame of being driven from school every term for school fees; or having a father who spends money on clothes and cars but doesn’t care that you are wearing rags; or even having a father who spends money eating grilled fish with cronies every night while the family eats Miyan Kuka every day. These kinds of fathers deserve to be on the list of the world’s worst fathers. 2. THE CASANOVA; These are the fathers who chase and date anything in skirts; or trousers. Everyone knows they are philanderers, flirts, womanizers or just plain licentious. Their wives and children bare the shame for these men who seem to have no shame. These are the ones who bring in their side pieces into their matrimonial homes and beds when the wife takes a simple two-day trip. They are the ones who dishonor their children with their unabashed lack of restraint and strength of character. There is this friend of mine whose father is a professor. Each new academic year brought him a bevy of fresh undergrads for his taking. When the guy was in 300L, he met a girl who, coincidentally, was one of his father’s side pieces. After the initial anger, he and the girl became friends. I was shocked when he told me that. I wondered at his decision until he explained. ‘My father doesn’t care two-bits about us. He gives us a basic allowance and when something new comes up and we need more money, he tells us he has done his part. I know he spends a lot of money on his girls; they even brag about it. So when I became friends with the girl, I told her how he treats us. She came up with the idea that whenever I need something, I could pass it unto her and she would get the money from my father. And true to her word, when asking for her allowance from my father, she would add the amount I needed and that was how I got by in school.’ Horrible, right? No! This guy needed to get basics for school; basics that his father wouldn’t give him but would give a girl he was fucking seeing. No wonder he had to do what he could to get some money. Some of these men may not openly disrespect their families but they are still Casanovas. How do I know? I have been propositioned by men whom I knew were married and whose children could be my age and even older. I have hung out with friends at bars where obviously married men were
INTERNATIONAL DAY FOR THE GIRL CHILD
Carefree Girls: What we aspire for ever girl in the world.Image: Unsplash. Today, SHADES OF US joins the world in commemorating the INTERNATIONAL DAY OF THE GIRL! We believe EVERY GIRL deserves the following; 1. Equal Access To Basic Human Rights; 2. Equal Access To Education; 3. Equal Access To Proper Health Care; 4. Equal Pay For Same Quality Or Quantity Of Work/Job; 5. Equal Right To Vote And Be Vote For And To Be In Leadership Positions Without Intimidation; 6. Equal Access To Opportunities; 7. Equal Access To Inheritance; 8. Right To Choose Whom To Marry And if/when To Marry; 9. Protection From Rape, Pedophilia, Domestic Violence Or Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Patriarchy And Misogyny; 10. Protection From Harmful Cultural And Religious Practices Like Female Genital Mutilation, Public Flogging For Perceived Wrongs Etc; 11. Equal Access to Digital Rights and Protection from Digital Gender Based Violence. With this in mind, we agree with this year’s theme for the International Day of the Girl Child as put out by the United Nations. If girls progress in all the spheres mentioned above, the sustainable development goals will progress and we will enjoy a better world. Add your voice today! What can YOU do to make girls progress? Credit: ESAU DILIS BLOG
Dealing With Body Shaming
Hi. So let us talk about my weight gain, shall we? In the past few months, I have put on more of those pounds in some areas I like (wink) and in some I don’t. At the beginning of the year, I was a size 14 and now, I am a size 16. This has meant getting bigger clothes, worrying about not being able to tuck in my belly anymore and generally feeling out of sorts with them Christian mother upper arms. That is where the rosy stuff ends. Imagine that this is what I call rosy. Few weeks ago, I went out to get something for breakfast and this okada rider whom I have known for a while was passing by. I said hello and continued on my way. The man stopped his okada and said hello. I saw that he wanted to tell me something so I went back to hear him out. I assumed what he wanted to tell me must be pretty important because he was willing to waste the time of his customer to talk to me. He looked at me and said, ‘Do you know that you have multiplied? You are so fat now oh! E be like say this Buhari regime no dey affect you. This fatness too much na!’ I was shocked beyond words. My eyes flitted to the passenger, who looked as embarrassed as I was. The woman started pinching him to get him to go his way (or maybe shut up) but he remained put. I turned back to him and said, I knew. I started walking away again when he spoke; and this time, a little louder. ‘But you dey exercise bah?’ I laughed about it and asked why I should. The man didn’t understand that the laughter was forced and my embarrassment great. He tried to say something else but this time, I turned and walked away. I was, in all honesty, ashamed of what I had gone through. This man, who is just a face I know, whom I have never had a conversation with beyond cursory greetings, felt he had the right to tell me that I had multiplied. I was so hurt that I stewed for days about the incident. I kept telling myself that he was unimportant and didn’t deserve the time I spent thinking about his affront but the gall of it all kept me bothered. When I finally stopped thinking of the man, I got an even more annoying treatment. I went to an evening service in church about a month ago. For the first time in months, I wore a short sleeved dress. At the end of service, two church ‘friends’ cornered me, one on my right and the other on my left. I was between rows so I was totally cornered. While one was asking what I was eating that was making me so fat, the other wrapped her palms around my upper arms, showing me that her two palms couldn’t go all the way around my Christian mother hands. She went further to shake my hand so she could see that flabby skin jiggle. For the first time in my life, anger wasn’t my go-to emotion; shame was. Tears gathered in my eyes and I faked a laugh to cover up my hurt. Recently, I put up a picture – the one above – on Instagram and someone wrote, ‘Ha ahn! You have put on so much weight’ and sealed the statement with sad smiley faces. After about a minute, the person deleted the post, probably realizing how they sounded and feeling contrite. The thing is, though the comment was deleted, I had seen it! I couldn’t un-see the comment and un-feel the hurt that came from reading the person’s disappointment at my weight gain. Couple that with the numerous comments on Facebook from ‘friends’ who feel they need to remind me that ‘you were more beautiful when you were slimmer. Better watch your weight oh!’ and I finally broke. My self confidence level dropped. Who am I kidding? It was in free fall! And though I know I am a size 16, which is only slightly bigger than what goes for ‘normal’ in our society, the fat shaming left me wondering if my weight was that repulsive. Thing is, I used to always be a confident girl. I was never one to bow to pressure and do what everyone expects. I always love to do me and be me and live as I want. That being said, the last few months have chipped off some of that confidence. I may be strong and portray the sticks-and-stones persona but I am admitting that fat shaming words have hurt me. Let me tell you how bad it got. Since 2012, I have been more of a recluse than a bubbly socialite. I started enjoying my own company better than hangouts with people so I kept to myself more. As my confidence level dropped, I became an even bigger recluse. I could stay at home for an entire week without so much as stepping to the gate. I didn’t want people to constantly tell me that I am so fat and blah. And because my confidence level dropped, my stuttering increased. Yes, I bet you didn’t know I stutter. This means that when I am out in public, I keep wondering if people are looking at me wondering about my weight. And because I was thinking of it, I remained silent instead of the good talker that I used to be. This made the depression I was feeling from being out of work even more profound. I could go on and on but I will stop here. I don’t want to lose my street cred. Why am I doing this? It is quite simple. When I did a similar post on my body being your problem, many people sent me mails telling me how I inspired them to deal with body shaming. They told me my confidence
The Foreign Certificate Syndrome
Picture From: The Evolllution Have you noticed that many companies in Nigeria today ask that prospective employees have at least a Masters Degree from a foreign institution? This has led many Nigerians to do all they canto go abroad and get a certificate. This means that Nigeria currently spends over $2 billion (N400 billion) annually as capital flight on education abroad as revealed by The Chairman, Senate Committee on Tertiary Institution and Tertiary Education Trust Fund, TETFund, Senator Binta Masi. (Vanguard Nigeria Newspaper, February 10, 2016) Is it fair that Nigerians who school in the country are discriminated against based on the type of certificate they have? What needs to be done to solve this problem? Watch more in the link below. THE FOREIGN CERTIFICATE SYNDROME Subscribe to my YouTube channel for more videos on burning African issues.
Here Comes the Bride 4
Picture from: THE FEMINIST WIRE Bimbo Omotosho woke up wanting to pee. She went into her bathroom and when she returned, sat on her bed and stared at the night light. She wasn’t sure she could fall right back to sleep. ‘Maybe a glass of milk would help’, she said too herself. She looked at her bedside clock and saw that it was 2am. Her mother always snapped about having late night snacks and Bimbo really didn’t listen. When she was hungry, she ate. She had a stash under her bed which helped her cravings. Bimbo bent down to pull her goodie bag and was shocked to see it empty. There was a note from her mother saying, ‘I was born way before you and I know all the tricks you can possibly pull young lady. No more unplanned snacks!’ Bimbo was mad! Why did she always do that?! Well then, she had to find another way. Bimbo knew her mother slept like she was in a coma but like most people in a coma, you never knew what would make her start. So Bimbo opened her door as gently as she could and, thanking God for the plush carpets that lined most of the house, tip-toed past her parents’ room and downstairs. She prayed her father didn’t wake up but knew that even if he did, he would most likely help her get her milk and share a cookie. When she got to the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of milk – the real stuff and not the 2% milk her mother always insisted she drank – and took out one cookie from the jar. Her best bet was to eat it in her room. As she closed the fridge door, she could have sworn she heard a moan. She shrugged it off as a figment of her imagination and set out to her room. As she passed her maid’s room, she heard the moan again. This time, coming in slightly louder. She was scared but curious and in the end, curiosity won. She kept her milk on the floor and oh so gently turned the doorknob. With his back to her, her father was naked and kissing their maid; who was also naked. They were running their hands all over each other but what was more disturbing was the fact that a similar scene was playing on the television. Bimbo stood there, cookie in hand, transfixed as she watched her father, their maid and the actors they were copying. She may be eight years old but she knew what she was seeing was wrong. However, she couldn’t avert her eyes. She was so transfixed that she didn’t hear her mother walk up to her, gently pull the door close and point upstairs. Bimbo didn’t need to be told to go to her room. She ran to her room, locked her door and laid on the bed. The screams began, followed by the crash of glassware. Bimbo buried her head under her pillow and soon enough, fell asleep; cookie in hand. The glass of milk remained where Bimbo dropped it, unbothered by the destruction that went on for hours. *** The divorce was quick. Turns out Bimbo’s mum took a couple of pictures that could ruin her husband, the very respectable Pastor Biodun Omotosho, senior pastor, Live Church, with a congregation of over ten thousand people. After her crazy tantrum, she piped down and made her demands. She would keep Bimbo, the house, two cars and a steady allowance to continue living as she was used to. In return, she would not publish the pictures to his loving flock. She would also pretend she was the one who got tired of the rigors of marriage to a ‘man of God’ so his impeccable reputation remained untainted. He jumped at the offer, promising to do all she asked. In less than a week, a joint statement was released and as expected, Bimbo’s mum was labelled the bitch! She wasn’t worried because in truth, she married Biodun for his money and wasn’t into all that religious stuff anyway. To ride out the drama, she took her daughter and went off to Canada. In all these, no one spoke to Bimbo about what she had seen that night. Even when she tried to bring it up, her mother shut her down by saying, ‘You did not see anything! And next time, when I say don’t do something, you better obey me! In fact, this is all your fault! If you had obeyed me, I wouldn’t have known…just forget it. You did not see anything.’ But how could bimbo forget it when every night she went to bed, she kept seeing the actors doing things to each other? *** As Bimbo grew, she realized what she had seen her father do that day was have sex and what was playing on the television in her maid’s room was porn. As she became more internet savvy, she spent time finding and watching porn, and erasing her internet activities. It wasn’t as if anyone cared. Her mother was too busy dating rich men to be bothered about what her daughter was doing online. Bimbo started craving sex like she wanted food. As soon as she became a teenager, she wanted to practice what she had been watching for four years so she could find out if all the feelings she got from watching porn could be felt in reality. She began to make moves with the boys in school but they were all so scared. They kept acting like she would eat them. Bimbo knew that if she was to satisfy her urges, she had to aim higher; older. It was no wonder that the moment she saw Ricardo Esteban, her mum’s newest boyfriend, she knew he was the one she wanted. Ricardo was a tall, ripped bodied, dark-olive skinned hunk of a Columbian millionaire and it wasn’t surprising that her mother was dating him. She told
Long Distance 3
Picture: Tarringo T. Vaughan Don’t know where the story started from? Catch up here!Adon Kato was beginning to get really angry. For the past two weeks, she had been caring for her boyfriend – Jason Ogbeche – and she didn’t need any heightened sense of perception to know that Jason wasn’t connecting with her. He always seemed to be brooding and if Adon didn’t know better, she could have sworn he was angry at her. He had to have two other surgeries when his kidney became infected and they almost lost him. The injured kidney was finally removed and he was doing better now. Adon stayed at his side all through. Dr. Anwar had to send her home many times to shower and eat. She took her bath in the hospital and ate hospital meals to get the doctors off her back. As soon as she was done with basic necessities, she would rush back to Jason’s bed side. Jason said very little to her. He only spoke when he needed his pain medications or was hungry. Adon would have understood if he was that way with everyone. He spoke to his parents about how he was really feeling and even laughed with them. What was more was that whenever Doctor Amara came into the room, he lit up and became a chatterbox. Adon watched the development and gradually grew depressed. She wanted to start a conversation (again) when Drs. Anwar and Amara, Jason’s parents and two nurses came in. Adon felt her chest constrict and deep down, she knew it was more from jealousy than worry at what the doctors had to say. Doctor Anwar started speaking. ‘I wanted to talk to all of you at the same time. Jason, how are you feeling?’ ‘I feel horrible.’ Jason said as he laughed. ‘Well…I am glad you can laugh about this. You are doing better and if not for that relapse last week, you could be on your way home this week. Your ribs are healing nicely and for now, your body is adjusting to having one kidney. Most of the other injuries have healed well and there is no more internal bleeding. On paper, you look good. But the human body acts as it wants for each individual. If you continue at this rate, we could have you home by the end of next week, with scheduled weekly checkup until the pins in your ribs are removed. That been said, I want to suggest that you see a psychologist and just talk. When you have near-fatal accidents like this, you could have post-traumatic stress disorder, leading to a warped perception of reality. One of it may be a heightened fear of driving and another may be attachment to certain individuals…’ Adon was piqued. Did the doctor notice what was happening? Was he trying to tell her something? Her eyes darted to Dr. Amara and to Jason and she saw them share a look. ‘….so, he should be home next week if everything goes well. I have drawn up a regimen to help you help him and you need to follow it to the latter. You can rotate between three of you so it is not…’ Jason’s mum interrupted. ‘I accepted to allow her stay here because you demanded that. But she will no longer be required when he comes home. We can take care of him ourselves. She is not welcome in our home.’ She punctuated her bile with the most vicious look. Adon looked at Mrs. Ogbeche and turned to look at Jason. He didn’t say anything. Adon open her mouth, but the words didn’t come. Jason looked away. ‘Jason, do you want me to stay or is your mother speaking for you?’ Adon asked huskily. The tears were threatening to fall. Jason said nothing. Dr. Amara started talking. ‘I don’t think this is the time or place…’ ‘Shut up! Just shut up!’ Adon exploded. ‘Don’t speak to her that way!’ Jason shouted right back at Adon. The silence in the room was deafening. Adon’s embarrassment was palpable. Adon looked at Jason, got up from the chair, gathered her things and walked out of the room. ‘Adon…wait..’ ‘Let her go Jason. She is bad news.’ Mrs. Ogbeche said. *** Adon sat in her car, crying her soul out. All the frustration that came from her inability to contact Jason that sorry day he left, to being in the hospital and the immense betrayal completely broke her spirit. She wanted to die; such was the pain in her chest. As the tears gradually piped down, it finally dawned on her that a figure had been by her window almost as long as she had been crying. She looked up from the blue scrubs to the gentle face of Dr. Anwar. She wound down her windshield. ‘I…I..am..s..ss…o..sorry Dr. A.nwa…r. I di…dn’t see you there.’ Adon said as she tried to control the spasms running through her body. ‘Don’t ever be sorry for being in pain. Now, scoot over. I will drive you to your hotel.’ ‘I..I..do..n’t…have…o..one.’ It dawned on Dr. Anwar just how much she had sacrificed for the man she loved. ‘I will take you to one. You are in no state to drive now. Don’t worry, it will be fine.’ *** ‘So you mean there is nothing I can do?’ Adon asked resignedly. ‘No, there isn’t. Sometimes, these things last for a week and sometimes, it lasts forever. The only thing that can change it is if his brain rewires itself, for lack of a better word. We cannot force the brain to do that.’ Adon started pacing as she contemplated what she had just heard. The doctor had noticed the fixation of Jason on Dr. Amara as he questioned him about his accident. He told her earlier on. ‘The accident was near fatal. If the ambulance had been as much as an hour (or even 30 minutes) late, he would have died. She was the last face he saw before he passed out and in his brain, she
