HARDHEADEDNESS: SYMPTOM OF SOMETHING MORE

This may sound like a catharsis of sorts. Don’t see it as such. It’s more or less a growing experience or inexperience of a young man. A very young man. I like the sound the thought of being young makes in my head. Like it can be literally true and I can return to my years of childhood indifference to life.

In that vein of young experiences, life has dealt me several blows. You can stop sighing now. Or yawning if that’s what you do. Of course, I know that’s a clichéd expression. Even I have heard it one too many times for it to hold water anymore in any rational discourse.

Along this line of thought therefore, I’m not going to hoodwink you with some boring rendition of how life can be difficult and all those “be sorry for me” stories. In fact, I think life has been fair to me save some hiccups. At least, I’m yet to lose a dad, mum, brother or sister.

You see, I have always regarded myself as gangster so I doubt if I’d shed any tear in the event of loss of a loved one. But then, we don’t fully know who we are until something brings it out.

I remember a particular situation in which I had lost a not too close relative staying with us while I was at my cousins. The other cousin who broke the news to me thought I’d be so sad with teary eyes. He sat there really trying to console me. I remember I had to fake some tears. I was only 14 at the time.

I only remember shedding tears just on one occasion in my adult years. So yes, life has been fair. Moreover, I’m not terminally ill yet. But I can’t assure you that there is no cancer lying morbid somewhere waiting to inflict life’s terror on my enemy. LMAO.I love sarcasm. It works wonders especially where personal experiences and constructs abound.  

In that vein of personal experiences, drama in my life seems almost unbounded as much as I try to stay away. To be honest, I secretly relish dramas that make me laugh. You see, I’m not exactly your naturally happy person so I need a dose of occasional  drama to keep my laughter juices flowing.

In fact, sometimes I tap into other people’s drama just to stay entertained. I like office drama most especially. At a distance of course, I never get involved. They are the best comic relief ever. Nothing can be as entertaining as a group of about ten people jostling for the same position and not one of them clinching it.The strategizing, the politicking, the ass kissing. I sometimes just don’t get it.

Let me save you one trouble. You see, I’m not married yet although I look as married as Baba Risi. It gets worse when I wear a traditional buba and sokoto. I wear that more now just to make people bend their heads in reverence. It’s happened a few times and I loved the feeling. Don’t blame me.

I had once been harassed by an interviewer who thought I looked old enough to have at least two kids. I quickly reiterated my age and how unmarried I was. Fast forward three more interviews and I got the job. Yeye man questioning my young-man-liness.

However, I figured that drama in my life might get worse when I do get married. What with several mothers- and fathers-in-law to deal with, drama is bound to happen. If you are a Yoruba person, you would know that your husband’s mother isn’t the only mother-in-law you have. “Iya Oko mi” and “Ana mi” things.

There should be a law somewhere to protect newlyweds from this kind of wahala. This is the type of laws our stupid lawmakers should enact. Lol. And not pseudo-probing Stella Oduah for purchasing bullet proof BMW cars to save herself from her own bullets.

Forget the title to this post. I just needed a title to make you read it. But truth be said, I am hardheaded and I seem to always attract the same quality in the women I date. And believe me, in recent times, I have met my match(es).

Merry Christmas in advance. Personally, I really want a beautiful Christmas. I hope we all get one.

Foye.

​

ON DEATH AND OTHER ISSUES II

There exists your truth, there is my truth and there is – the Truth

-

Tierno Bokar (Sage of Bandiagara of Mali)

 

Honestly, I think dying could be fun if the conversation I had with God on the last sequel to this blog is anything to go by. It could be a hilarious and comical exchange for those of us who feel more than think as that saying renders. I know someone who wouldn’t agree that I feel more than I think. Her mind is bliss.

Since the last conversation with the maker, I had built up enough bravado to continue the conversation where we left off having had issues bordering on religion and the relative goodness of the world and its people.

One finds that religion might be biggest problem currently facing humanity. As posited by Wole Soyinka in his bookClimate of Fear, religion is the biggest problem of the 21stcentury society. Soyinka says: “The issue of the twenty-first century is clearly that of religion, whose cynical manipulations contribute in no small measure to our current climate of fear”.

This issue of religion, however, has always been looming with its ever escalating temerity. It hastily became more palpableafter the issue of race and slave trade has had some sort of closure if could ever be called that. But the “Tree of forgetfulness” that the fore slaves ritually danced around constantly reminds us of this symbolic era.

Today, religion is the main source of the fanatic mind and its associated implosive inclination and insurgency. In a multi ethnic society like Nigeria, it becomes worse and more sensitivewhen clearly political issues are turned into that of religion.

As Wole Soyinka succinctly puts it “The world would of course be a simpler space to contend with if only religion kept within the domain of the spiritual”.

In the midst of all these, my conversation with God continued where we left off:

*jolts up from reverie*

*transcendental light and music singing his praises*

*Alas, I was really in His immaculate and resplendent presence*

God: “Foye, you look like you just saw a ghost. Are you alright?”

*of course I just saw a ghost. I’m in God’s presence. Does this mean I’m dead? Yepa!!!!*

Me:  “I’ll be better Lord if I sit on your laps, Lord.”

God: “But, of course. Come sit. Let me show you a higher level of grace”

Me: “Thank you Biodun Lord.”

God: “So you finally declared unequivocally that you believed in me.”

         “But you still have a problem with religion and my pastors.”

Me: “Yes Lord. You are on point.” *Ori yin wan be* I almost said

God: “So what are these problems?"

Me: “Thank you Lord. Let me start with Pastor BiodunFatoyinbo”.

        “I have a problem with him for not coming out with a robust reply since naa.”

        “It’s been almost two months since Ese Walter spilled the beans o.”

        “Hasn’t he consulted you yet on the matter? “

 

*thinking out loud: I wonder why he messed with a Warri girl, a real WARRI girl. Why not a Yoruba girl or even Ibo girl. Those ones still get shame naa.*

God: “Hmmmmmmm” *rubs chin and signals me to continue*

Me: “I have a problem with Pastor Ayo Oritsejafor, the current CAN President.”

       “He’s bludgeoned the revered Christian Association of Nigeria into right wing politics of GEJ”

       “He is a typical example of oil subsidy pastor, Lord.”

       “If you don’t believe me, ask that small man that wrote#TheAccidentalPublicServant.”

       “What’s his name again o.” *scratches head* “Ehen, his name is El Rufai.”

God: “Hmmmmmmmmm, go on.”

Me: “Lastly, Lord, I don’t have a billion naira to donate for a new 3km by 3km church auditorium.”

       “That’s a lot of money and space Lord (about 2700 acres or 16,200 plots of land).”

       “Does that mean I won’t receive a higher level of grace or access to you?”

       “These are the questions bothering my mind Lord.”

God: “Foye, you have spoken well but have you ever heard theexpression “Touch not my anointed”?

Me: “Yes, I have Lord.”

God: “Then leave my anointed pastors alone.”

On that note, God dismissed me to attend to more pressing matters in the cosmic realm.

Of Long Held Conspiracies.....

You have this image in your head. It’s a vague image and it’s been hovering around in your head for a while. Truth is you have a little reservation about the shape of your head. You thought it was a tad bigger than usual. But then, the shape of the head isn’t political. Unlike the hair.

Hair is very political. So political as to attract Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie to engage in an intellectual spat with her boy, Elnathan. Their debate about natural hair caused a ruckus in literary circles a while back.

All this culminated in a cheap publicity for Elnathan, a writer who was recently shortlisted for the just concluded 2013 Caine prize in African writing. He didn’t win. The gods of the sometimes conceiting Adichie didn’t allow. Even though, he was her boy. And she was his cocoyam.

You blame your over thinking tendencies for this illusory image in your head. You are not much of an egg head or so you think. But then too much reading of Wole Soyinka and social media rants can result in over thinking. The recent Femi Fani-Kayode’s debacle on deportation of Ibo’s is a case in stride.

You couldn’t exonerate the Americans for this image in your head. Infact, they started and stared in it. The image in your head started in 2005 when the same Americans (CIA) released a report tagged “Mapping the Global future” predicting the breakup of Nigeria by the year 2015. A report that now saunters along a path of credence in the present day Nigeria.

The report said “While currently Nigeria’s leaders are locked in a bad marriage that all dislike but dare not leave, there are possibilities that could disrupt the precarious equilibrium in Abuja”. However, the Americans (CIA) were quick to disown the prediction after some vitriolic outbursts. But then, you know the Americans and conspiracy theories.

But you like the Americans. You like their British friends even more. They are the biggest co-conspirators ever on this part of the Atlantic ocean. Scratch that. This part of the world. And for what? Economic supremacy? Political dominance? Or simply keeping the world safe?

You had read so many disjointed but specious essays on the amalgamation of Nigeria and how it arrived at this critical path. You even went in search of a good book on Nigeria’s mostly unwritten history. You had heard of Obasanjo’s version of Nigeria’s war history in his My command book.

Critics say it’s a faulted book. They want to rubbish Baba’s legacy. God forbid Obasanjo must have spat. But you were surprised to find that same Obasanjo had written a religious book with a foreword written by a Rev. Kukah.

No doubt, the Nigerian conspiracy predates the 1914 amalgamation of Northern and Southern Nigeria. You knew better than to even state that. But you are going somewhere. Fast-forward a century later. And present day chaotic Nigeria glares at you.

Various schools of thought believe that 2014 culminates into the termination of the said amalgamation to which all parts of the fractured whole can go on their own. This is the pedestal on which the 2005 prediction by the Americans is presumed to rest on.

This presumption opened the door for an interesting discussion on the subject with your egg head friends in academia. This finally put form to the image in your head.

Truth is Nigeria may never remain the same after 2014/15. The drums of secession are being beaten in close quarters to the threat of the entity Nigeria.

And the loudest drum appears to be from the dubbed Niger Delta of the Edwin Clark’s and Asari Dokubo’s of this world. The Niger delta Republic is speculated to be amassing arms and ammunitions from the spoils of oil theft in the region in preparation of a failed Jonathan re election in 2015 or possible secession. This is unconfirmed.

But statistics show that oil theft in the dubbed Niger delta Republic has been on the increase since 2010. Coincidentally, this is the same year Jonathan assumed presidency. However, the Joint Task Force in Niger Delta differs claiming about 84% reduction in oil theft in the region in the last two years.

The Yoruba’s are quietly building an empire and a hegemonic plan in preparation for a possible secession. The Yoruba may never come out straight like the Ojukwu’s Biafra or Dokubo’s Niger Delta to declare secession. But if it happens, they will be ready.

Conspiracy theories or not, Nigeria remains a whole. For now.

You have stopped believing in “One Nigeria”.

Foye.

Ps. So I lost a close friend family to the oyinbo land. Brain drain. I had always known Diran would emigrate since our under grad days in Ife. It was just a matter of time. I’m going to miss him. As hard as that is for me to say.

Of Attractions

The attraction was instant; the fascination magical. Enter a moment of rare decision. You vacillated whether to stop in your tracks or not. A decision that soon changed your world. Your love world.

She looked exactly the way you’d always dreamt of your dream girl. Even her earrings looked like your dream girls’. They were pearl. Pearl earrings speak to you in magical languages.

You couldn’t resist the magic. You approached with your best gait and smile. She was on her way to school for her graduation ceremony. You were on your way to work.

You had left home late that morning. It was one of those days you woke up so tired and felt like damning the world. You were lucky. Your boss wasn’t around and you didn’t have much to do that day.

A fictitious name, a right number and a month later, you were seated in her mum’s apartment staring at her in admiration. She was as amazing as you remembered. Pearl earrings again. This must be a sign. You are not superstitious or anything like that but your mind couldn’t but wonder.

That thing they say about you knowing if you’d date a woman immediately you meet her didn’t work. You only spoke to her for two minutes on the day you met her. This second time, the aphorism seems to be working like one of those local tiiro charm some baba alawo would make. You were in soup. And you knew it. Literally.

First date. Disaster. You had to leave in her in the cinema in the middle of a movie. You had to run back to school to see your project supervisor. That was what you told her. But you ran back to see a female friend who needed help and then your supervisor in that order of importance. She doesn’t know this.

First fight. Further disaster. She didn’t talk to you for three days. You had wronged her and you deserved it. She had read an implicating text message on your phone. You begged and apologized till she forgave you. That’s one thing you didn’t find hard doing. Saying sorry when you are wrong. And sometimes when you are not wrong. What do they call that again?? Maturity?? No??

In fact, you quietly agree that you deserve whatever she does to you for you are notorious in wronging her. For you know you are full of yourself and she still stuck with you.

***This is dedicated to the women who stand by their men through thick and thin. They are the “patient” ones who truly make the world go round***

Foye.

Ps 1. The other day, I met an old female friend at Whitehouse, Yaba. After exchanging pleasantries, she not-so-pleasantly told me about reading my “rants” on foye’s blog. She didn’t like the blog, I concluded. Lol.

Ps 2. It was with intense interest I read the various debates on the ongoing burning issue of #ChildNotBride over the weekend. And it seems like the country is divided along cultural lines on this issue. For me, this is a reflection of all the things that is wrong with the Nigerian society. Let’s hope all the signed petitions against it will have an impact. You can sign one here

OF NAIJA’S HARDSHIPS

Ok hold on a bit before you get wallowed up into that spurious presumption that usually follows a blog title like this. It’s no novel title. In fact, it’s cliché to assert that Naija hard. What with about 70% of Nigerians living below one dollar a day according to the National Bureau of Statistics¹. So yes, Naija hard.

This post, however, isn’t necessarily about the fact that Naija hard. We already established that. This post is about the percentage of Nigerians who Naija is actually hard to; those who may not have access to read this post by any means.

Let’s face it. If you are reading this blog post, Naija isn’t that hard to you. If you are reading this, you either own a java enabled smart phone as the techy’s call it, an Ipad or any of those other numerous hand held gadgets that abound at lower cost. At worse, an internet enabled laptop which you have to pay a premium on to maintain the shitty poor service that our telecommunication service providers give to us.

As erroneous as it may seem to assume that because you own a smart phone then you are not poor. However, it is unlikely that you live on less than a dollar per day if you do own an internet enabled smart phone. What with internet penetration in Nigeria at 26.5%² and poverty level at about 70%. Do the maths.

So, yes. This post isn’t about your class of people. This post is about the other 70% of Nigerians that you are not likely to be among. That is the class of people living below #160 naira a day to feed themselves, their families and also maintain body and soul.

The unfortunate truth is that one can never truly understand what people are going through until one walks in their shoes. And this is the part reason for the absolute disparity between the political class and the abject citizenry of this country. The ruling class doesn’t feel the pangs of hardship being experienced day in day out by the poor citizenry who may actually have no shoes. I never did buy into the cool story that touches the heart about Jonathan’s shoelessness. That’s a gist for another day.

Frankly, one can’t be living in opulence and understand what the real state the other 70% of Nigerians below the dollar a day mark is actually living in. I absolutely do not live in opulence but I had almost forgotten how hard it is to take public transport/okada in the early afternoon scorching sun until I had to drop the car at a service center recently. And yes, I couldn’t wait to run back to the comfy of the car just after a few hours.

Now, if small me could feel this way, how then are the hordes of other Nigerians feeling? And how possible is it for the ruling class to get a feel of this or even understand it? And from it make people oriented policies. This is where the problem lies. The gap between the poor and the rich in our dear country is growing at an alarming rate. At this pace, what lower middle class remains may soon join the lower class of the 70% of poor Nigerians.

In other news, the drama with Amaechi continues while Femi Fani-Kayode joins APC and Sanusi Lamido Sanusi is labeled a nepotist amidst other sexual accusations directed at him. I find the SLS sexual accusation totally ludicrous given that there is no evidence to proof the allegations yet. It’s kind of difficult to say anything tangible about FFK so I’ll let it pass.

Enter Opon Imo. The revolutionary well not so revolutionary educational tablet issued out to about 150,000 secondary schools students in Osun State. I must say I’m more than impressed at the launching of the Opon Imo by the Ogbeni Rauf Aregbesola Adminstration. It’s no mean stride by all standards.

Let’s be honest. We are living in hard and rare times. And altruism isn’t what we, as human beings, are naturally born with. It then becomes a feat for someone to see the other human being living in hardship and find absolute ways to help him and his kind. Especially, if he – the helper - lives in exactly opposite conditions. But then, that’s what our leaders signed up to do. And that’s what we should demand from them.

Foye.

Ps.  So last two weeks I registered on the social network site Badoo. Yes, the same Badoo. Don’t ask. Out of boredom mostly. If you ask me, it’s a corporate sex world in there full of all kinds of shenanigans. But that’s if you ask me sha.

On Badoo, you either get propositioned or you proposition someone and the usual conversation may go somewhat like this:

*views pictures of SugarHoneyBerryDame1 and clicks chat*

(And yes, the names are usually that long and complicated)

Me: hey wats up dear

SugarHoneyBerryDame1: hi love *yaaay, she’s calling me love already; feels like a jackpot*

Me: how are you?

SugarHoneyBerryDame1: Fine

Me: kk. Here’s the thing, I’m in town for a few days and will wanna hook up with you.

SugarHoneyBerryDame1: what do you do? *checks my mostly empty profile*

Me: I’m a blogger pharmacist

SugarHoneyBerryDame1: So what do you want? *I could picture her chewing her gum irritatingly as she asks this question*

Me: As I said, I’m in town for a few days

SugarHoneyBerryDame1: Do you want three days or a week? *meaning do I want her to stay with me for three days or a week* A whole week?? My mouth dropped

Me: three days *I mananged to squeeze on my keypad*

And you can guess how the rest of the conversation went. Yes, she proposed a price and my jaws dropped again. I have since deleted my account on Badoo. It’s not for someone like me.

NOUGHT OF NOWHERE

                                        “In droves they drift,

  In thousands they trudge,

 Across the Rubicon of existence,

The abysmal depth of nothingness”.

                                        ˜Foye 2012.

Staring unabatedly through the peephole of nothingness is never appealing, never enticing. Vagueness was creeping up on me in extremities and bland nothingness suddenly seemed normal. I felt helpless. Life had a way of disappointing someone; I thought, churning out one of those really long and heavy sighs that last longer than a minute.

I had been the favoured one but here I was in a mid life crisis. Here I am staring into nothingness, into obscurity, into a vista of a supposed puritanical mess called world. It wasn’t working out; at least not the way I had anticipated.

At the beginning, it had been an exciting expedition into a new life in the ageless city of awe and aurora. My first time here, I was mesmerized beyond words could augur; I was excited beyond exhaustion, poignant beyond reticence.  For here I was in the city where people were born, dreams dreamed and reality realised.

It’s been more than a light year since my audacious arrival in the capricious city. However, the verity of what lay before me was astounding in small places, beleaguering in bigger places. The world I thought I knew was a melange of contradiction, cataclysm and bland nothingness. It couldn’t be any worse.

On this morning, I had woken up with a heavy heart laden with the troubles of a septic city and fastidious living. Not just my own troubles but more of the troubles, tribulations and privations of people I see around me to which I could hardly do anything.

All I can see are hordes of disillusioned souls trudging the city. On their faces lay frustration laced with weariness. Their stride saddled with an unrelenting hunger for meaning and solace is unmistakable. All seems dark and gloomy in the present madness of the world.

In the midst of it all, one questions if there is really a meaning to life? Yes, one should find personal meaning to life as if often encouraged. But this soon becomes a shifty illusion one loses track of in the face of hassles and privation. And that’s the utter reality.

One questions further: Is there really an order to which events are supposed to happen in this world? Is there is an order to life itself? Will “consistent inconsistency” as Aristotle puts it suffice as a form of order in our world?

Or would the infinite goodness of God as St. Thomas Aquinas puts it in his Proof’s of God’s Existence suffice as a pedestal for His (God) allowance of existence of evil and then from it produce good. Would this be sufficient to posit a meaning or an order to life?  

Frankly, I do not understand the world. I don’t think anybody really does. Maybe it doesn’t exist for us to understand. Maybe that’s the puzzle: Exist but do not understand. Don’t even try to understand. Just live in the Nought of Nowhere, the bane of human existence.

Foye.

Ps. I commiserate deeply with a very close friend, Foluso, who just lost his mum recently. May Her gentle soul rest in peace. And may Foluso be comforted by the fact that she lived a good life.

THE DRAMA NEVER ENDS………………

The drama never truly ends. Not when the battle of the sexes continues to go on. But then, the world itself is all about the drama. Be it in love, relationships, flings, family, marriage, work, politics, literature or even social media. Honestly, the drama on social media is immensely hilarious. If you doubt me, ask #MyOgaAtTheTop. *points upwards*

Frankly, the #OgaAtTheTop issue has been over flogged and I’m not about to add to the retinue of “floggers”. I do feel a small pity for Commander Shem however. He probably will never forget that interview for a long time. An #InterviewOfLife that it was.

Unfortunately, life has a way of throwing unexpected baggage of drama at our ways. Drama like a screenplay out of the Ade-Williams’ #Tinsel, Olivia Pope’s #Scandal or even Hank Moody’s #Californication.

Honestly, the Hank Moody Character in #Californication is a typical example of mid life crisis gone totally wrong; a typical drama personified. So when two very close friends would render that I actually loved drama, I repudiated it vehemently with all the strength I could muster. Of course I love watching drama, but drama in my life?? That’s a no no. I was no Hank Moody.

But then, it has been an interesting past few years of myriad experiences with the truly wonderful opposite sex. Unfortunately, a little drama cannot be avoided in these instances. Frankly, it’s nothing out of the ordinary; I’ve just had a fair share of experiences. Some I have shared on this blog pages and some are suitable for a whole season of #Californication. But that’s on a lighter note. Lol. No pun is intended.

I would think that I had become immune to drama for I have been mostly sane and stable so far in the year. No episodes of banal exchange of attention; a well suited euphemism for stalking. No escapade of misplaced nuptials. No cacophony of miscarried pregnancy. No epiphany of long lost lover. No baby mama drama. No pre-midlife crisis. Honestly, I am and I have been sane.

Enter DT.

A doctor by training, a pretty face by default but a mummy’s girl at best. Lines blur, times change, earth rotates but a mummy’s girl will always be a mummy’s girl.

Her first coming presaged her second coming only in regard. In actuality, I was shocked to receive a text message full of apologies of her conduct in her first coming. That will be several months after her first coming was laid to rest.

Her second coming, fraught of superfluous attention and antics, did not deceive me. I knew what she wanted; she spelt it out in clear actions. I was almost tempted, for want of a pound of flesh, to give in to her wants in subterfuge. But then, I didn’t want the drama. I walked away.

But still the drama never ends. The show must go on.

The literary world recently witnessed a loss of one of its best ever, the iconic Chinua Achebe. His passing seem to ensue more drama and debate than would be were he to still be alive.

Achebe’s parting gift, his controversial memoir “There Was a Country: A Personal History of Biafra”, seemed a perfect parting gift for the debates on it are yet to cease in their numbers. Unfortunately, I’m yet to read the book; the pirated copy sold to me in Lagos traffic didn’t help matters. It was unreadable.

Tatalo Alamu (Snooper) of The Nation newspaper would write about Achebe that; “In the end, it is clear that Chinua Achebe was haunted by a transcendental homelessness in which exile became a type of home and home became a place of exiles, strange otherworldly characters and the putrid posturing”. I want to disagree.

But my usual pedantic self returned to ground zero to be reconfigured. A lot of things are happening at the same time. Hearty cheers to the world’s theatre full of drama.

Foye.

Ps. A big congrats once again to #MyogaAtTheTop, Diran, on his gracious wedding ceremony.