LOVE LOST

I lost my appetite for love

So I sent its fruit-laden jar tumbling

And ate its raw bitterness

Word Eaters

Be kind with words, mildly eat

Not with oil of the furnace's fury

For then, the tongue shall burn sore

Neither from cold's slumber, dab

It's sludge would give you away

But in thought and gentle caress

Eat them, well cooked

TWENTY-ONE KUSALA DAM DAYS: 2nd Sun Down

I was stupid enough to have a fill of laughter in camp today. Adults were behaving like children during the inauguration parade, and at some point, I was wondering whether I was the stupid one to find their acts funny, or they were really the stupid ones. It's 10:42pm on the 7th of July, and as I reflect and write on the activities of the day, I can't but help a couple of laughs, abstract enough to make the people around me think something could be wrong with my mental state. But overall, I did have a fulfilling day, if my expectations were to be considered. The height of it all, was when I met a bunch of guys from the Federal University of Technology, Minna. A lively bunch of dudes they were, and each one had a dose of laughter to dole. Not sure if I'd ever had a fill of sit-coms all my life as I did today.

I woke at 6:40am, ignoring the early morning bugle, summoning us to the parade ground, as I wasn't confirmed registered yet. I brushed in the open with other people staring, quite how odd it felt. I had Masa for breakfast from the mammy market, and finally got some place to take my bath. Atleast, I was getting acquainted with the geography of the camp ground. Then the bugle sounded, for us to gather and file for the swearing of oaths ceremony. I had managed to collect my khaki the night before, and still wondered what was going through their minds, when they were piecing together the apparels. Nothing wasn't left oversized and out of shape. Even the tailors who tried to make them bespoke, couldn't get them around to fit me.

At the parade ground, I made my first friend - Hosea Gana, a graduate of Physics. His friend Jey was from Jos, and was excited when I told him I had schooled in his native Jos. There was alot of protocols with the oath swearing parade, with the soldiers making a big deal of it, us, bothered more with the picture taking. You could see it from the faces of alot, that this was more of a milestone in their lives, than a new experience, in another part of their country. We then dispersed for lunch - mashed beans, on which I spread some garri to make a nice mix although the beans begged for a little more salt. Surprisingly, I ate with much gusto and was glad I didn't tell them to reduce the ration on the line.

Evening parade was at 4pm till 6, after which we were addressed by our Platoon Officer, talking about monetary contributions for inter-platoon competition and we taking it very serious. There was this selected Deputy Platoon Leader - Vicky, from Zuru who was getting in to my "likes" book. I quickly left the parade ground, and set off for an audition with the OBS -  Orientation Broadcasting Service. I was auditioning to be on the editorial and reporting department. Bumped in to a couple of lovely ladies from Lagos, who were no finding the sun here in Kano funny. Then I met a couple of Jossites, and wanted to scream out loud for finding 'kindred'. Gift talked with me more, probably finding fascination with my stories. She'd had a couple of laughs anyways. Her friend looked on, her mind focused more on something outside the camp than in it. I was already liking Gift's smiles though. They were always from ear to ear. I sent Egbo an sms, and she replied complaining of lack of sleep and all. I got a call from Jos, to learn that Ugo was finally getting back with her boyfriend after a few days of standoff. I wanted her to hold off for a few more days, but I guess she didn't have enough resolve either. I concluded, they both were just feeble hearted kids in love.

Lights went out at 11:42pm, just before I finished writing this. I had used phone calls and Carlos all the way in Liberia to strike a deal, which had me happy before going off to bed

TWENTY – ONE KUSALA DAM DAYS: 1st Sun Down

Having wild romance at midnight with a lady you had just met the afternoon before, and refusing to call it a one-night stand, would be bizarre. Well, after the club at Nomansland disappointed, we managed to psyche a bike to ride us all the way to Danbare, the students’ neighbourhood opposite the new site of Bayero University, Kano. We had the room to ourselves, and my blood got hot. If Sika had anticipated this all evening, she must be having her wishes played out before her. We were clear-eyed; a bit tired, and cursed the searing heat. I lay beside her, tucked my left arm round her, resting it on the voluptuous breast. I was satisfied with the sigh she gave. Rhythmically, I began roving over her trunk while the tempo of her sighs continued to heighten. Then I jumped on her, and began kissing, caressing and undressing her simultaneously. She reached for my loins, and undid my belt. My maleness had come to terms with the air in the room, while I reached for my bag. The oil and latex were always in my bag. Together with my toothbrush and paste, Jasmine – my laptop, and some fragrance, I always made sure I was always ready for the moment.

It was 1:30am, and I had just put a call through to Ugo. I was still naked; Sika had switched off to sleep within moments after my climax coincided with her fourth – she’d had too much. Ugo was having relationship issues, and while we had constantly made love in her hostel room back in Jos, we still kept our relationships, and called the other, friend. Yes, we were friends with benefits. Her lame boyfriend as I’d seen him was at being childish again. She was pissed, and was ignoring him for the umpteenth time. The last time she had cried in her room, I had consoled her, wiped her eyes, hugged and kissed her, and then we made some good, good love. She had cursed me that night for not doing enough to snatch her from her boyfriend. Tonight, she was narrating how he kept bugging her with calls and messages, and how tempting they have been for her to resist. She likes him, but his immaturity bored her to death. She was learning, and sought motivation to continue at her course from me. Then she'd bribe me with sex.

It was July 6^th; I’d just woken up still drowsy and terribly in need of a massage. My host was long gone to school, and no one was in the compound either. I trudged off in to BUK new site with Sika, got some breakfast, and wandered around in vain, looking for internet. You wonder why it is so difficult to find public cafes in and around students’ neighbourhoods. In anger, I returned home, and packed. I enjoyed just my third tricycle ride to Kikabuga, and got a cab going to Karaye. Passangers mused about the distance, the heat and what to expect at Karaye, but after about two hours, a high-walled compound stood before me. I went through routine security checks, and walked in to the compound. My first sight flashed back imaginary scenes from Kalu Okpi’s “Biafra Testament”. Orders barked out in confusing staccato, and the field was a sea of white. More enquiries sent me further in to the belly of the compound. In thirty minutes, call-up letter was verified, platoon assigned, but the accommodation officer was nowhere around. You could see frustration on the faces of youth who had turned up from all across the country, tired, hungry, weary and fearful of the land which they would call home for the next one year, and in for which I became the 2292^nd person to report to camp with primary assignment in Kano State.

Egbo had not said a word all day, and even though I find myself cheating on her, I still DEARLY love and yearned daily for her. A bugle sounded, and we were all gathered. I promptly stood in line, and waited for over an hour, before we were addressed by the Camp Coordinator, a large Gwari woman with a deep voice, evidence of how she had systematically solved stress with tobacco. I lined at the rear, within close proximity of the military instructors. One was wearing a blue United Nations shirt, with UNMIL inscribed on it. I knew what it meant, and they were bemused that I did. We talked about the Nigerian contingent to the United Nations Mission in Liberia, and some shared stories of their expnce in Liberia, Sierra Leone and most recently, Sudan. I had fried yams for dinner at the mammy market, where some girls were already selling their wares for that hour come. I scoured my environs and began adapting to the crowd gathered in the hall, waiting till 11:30pm to get a mattress. I had not been allocated to any room still, and I knew I was going to spend the night in the "open"; but the anger was doused by a call from Egbo after I had sent her an sms. Mummy also called to know how I have fared and cope with the new culture, and having eased 5,000 NGN extra above budget from my account, I knew I needed to act financially sustainable to be able to adapt here.

It’s 12:11am, the morning of the 7^th of July, and am  about to doze off to sleep with thoughts of Egbo on my mind.

EGUNJE

Of corrupt politicians and technocrats, egunje is the order of the day. Bureaucracy has an increased tenancy, and the governance system has suffered. The polity have been on the receiving side, still craving for the dividends of democracy to trickle down to them to the grassroots. Oh how, we claim that our colonial masters did sow the seed of corruption right in the fabric of a budding nation. Today, I wonder if Nigerians, were not born with corruption running in our DNA. We are wont for synonyms for it - nepotism, favoritism, self-aggrandisement. But the average Nigerian is corrupt. I am not an exception either. But for our nation to forge ahead and awake from its slumber, the sleeping giant must rid itself of this canker worm.

To this effect, #EgunjeInfo was born. It's made its rave on twitter, and for once, when people say Nigeria's youth are only keen to engage good governance online and hide their faces when the real action beckons, we are taking the step of showing up with our faces with a zeal to fight corruption. Ladi Kwali Hall at the Shehu Musa Yar'Adua Conference Centre it is by 3pm today, and #EgunjeInfo comes to town - alive. While there has been an online campaign with hashtag, poetry, essay and photography competitions, we are taking it to the next level. And I would be in the number, wanting to rid my country of corruption. I liken corruption this though:

The priest in rhythmic vociferity chants

e'gun je... e'gun je... e'gun je

Scary, how my cowries vanish in a rush

NIGERIA

The ensign be tattered

Gloss taken off your egg-white

When your green be faked

Of 419 reasons you should split

We miss merry days of yore

When bangers spice Christmas, Eid

Now, its insomnia sucks your life

But Nigeria, we hail thee

The Giant in Nigeria

I find myself walking down Randall Street, trying to connect to Broad Street via Mechlin Street. The Ministries of Finance and Education sit right by the corners respectively, as you hit Monrovia’s biggest street. I am heading home after work closed early, and there are boys on the street, dancing to “Away”, a dancehall hit song by Ghanaian sensation, VIP as it purred from the giant speakers mounted by one of the musical stores selling music and movies. Their dance steps were new to Liberia, and it looked odd. They would raise one leg, freeze it, bounce and drop, then do the same to the other leg rhythmically. Though it blended with the sound beat, it was still odd in Liberia as it was not American. Gosh, this society can be dope on American culture sometimes. This was in 2010.

Fast-forward, September 2012, and that same dance step which was abhorred, is called Itigi, a now world renown dance step of Ghanaian origin, modified, prefabricated and well promoted by Nigerians, thanks to their better advancement in music entertainment across the West coast. And you won’t wonder much, why it had to get to Nigeria to get popular. Talk of Azonto and Alanta, and you have other dance brands which have gained acclaim on the shores of Nigeria. Every weekend, a popular night club in Monrovia, off the Old Road junction by President Sirleaf’s residence, hosts a Nigerian artiste – musician, movie act, or entertainment star. The streets in Monrovia and surprisingly, in Ganta and even Fishtown, are awash by Nigerian entrepreneurs, seeking that proverbial land of milk and honey. A vast majority of them are Igbo, but Nigerian is the common name. Even the hardly accessible border and port town of Harper, is home to some Nigerian businessman.

The Ghanaian educational system is now popular, and touted to be the best in West and Central Africa. Well, this happened, only after parents from Idi-Roko eastwards in Nigeria got frustrated by the educational system and sought succour for their children in a more politically stable Ghana. The number of Nigerians studying in Ghana today is reportedly in excess of 71,000. Young Nigerians now dream of leaving high school and going abroad to Accra to pursue university education, one which though comes at an economic cost in excess of 160 billion NGN, is efficient, devoid of industrial strikes which has become a major feature of academic calendars in Nigerian universities – bar private universities.

In August, the Gambia executed nine Nigerians, convicted on murder charges, but there are also imprisonments for drug trafficking. I won’t be surprised, if the murder charges are connected to drug peddling deals. The trade route goes through Guinea, the Gambia, Cape Verde and then to Europe. It is no longer news, that hundreds of Nigerians served in the late Col. Muamar Ghadaffi’s well armed mercenary unit. Although most of them who had used Tripoli as a route – in trying to get to the golden fleece said to be harboured in Europe, would end up in prisons in Tripoli and in the deserts, those who were somewhat fortunate to make it to the armed unit, were said to be some of the best men in that band.

Every day, millions of Nigerians wake to the hope of having a better day. Once said to be the most religious people on earth, one in every six persons on the continent is Nigerian, and this adds to the intense competition to survive. No wonder, words like hustle, struggle and “make am” have found their way to the very popular Pidgin English lexicon. This Monday, Nigeria celebrates fifty-two years since it gained independence from Great Britain, but it has been marred by the flooding crisis which has overwhelmed the government.

Celebrations would largely be low-keyed no doubt, but I will find a reason to celebrate and be proud to be Nigerian, all the same. While attending a twitter-preneurship seminar in Abuja recently, Dayo Benjamins Laniyi, entrepreneur and owner of outdoor entertainment giants, DOXA, reiterated the stance of patriotism, by proclaiming that Nigeria is not finished yet, even though there has been predictions of Nigeria breaking apart. But like she stated, the marriage between the Northern and Southern divides in 1914, was for a reason, and it was high time, love was the key to building a “happy home”.

Something to cheer about, are the increase in power generation output, an uplift of our imae in international circles, better trade relations amongst others. There’s no doubt, the influence of Nigeria in West Africa, and still to some extent, Africa. Only, there’s a need to put our hearths right. That is when others would see the real giant in us. Today, I proclaim my belief in the Nigerian dream project, and as a party, I shall contribute my quota to nation building. Happy 52^nd Independence Anniversary, the Federal Republic of Nigeria.

Stories of the Future

Our world is becoming smaller and ever more disintegrated interdependent; and while so many people have so much in common, never before have the things that divide them been so obvious. Humanity’s question – who are we, remains plausible in an age where flags count, and so do buntings and other symbols of identity, including crosses, crescents, even facial hair and head coverings; because culture counts and cultural identity is what is most meaningful to most people. Stories form a great aspect of culture – shaping business, governance and the world order – and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie reminds us of the power in stories, of how they shape our world, and how they seem to give a definition of what and whom we are, in her TED presentation, “The Danger of a Single Story”.

Digital media revolution has grown exponentially, and it is changing the way we fight wars do business; the media and youth continue to look closely in to organizations’ responsible behaviors; and corporations are harnessing youth innovation for future-proofing their brands. While conventional media had in the past, propagated only a coordinated message about a topic or issue, social media now provides a wide stream of gossips stories regards the same topics or issues, providing a multi-dimensional approach to the panorama. With the sudden explosion of digital media content and access devices, we have also seen the economic potential of social media in its ability to reduce inefficient marketing and middlemen. Because social media enables open conversations, these open, often multilateral conversations are critical for internal and external communication. Thus, we need to (stop and) understand the sphere of our influence as social media users; and as leaders, begin to act as middlemen for positive stories which affects development and humankind’s potential. 

Social media has influenced the way companies do business today, and it is also challenging them on how they would do business tomorrow. Future-proofing brands have moved to the top of the agenda for companies, and they are looking to youth innovation, and current trends exciting youth, to predict growth paths for their brand. They are quite aware of the influence of youth on their products and services, and more than ever before, they are bringing their culture closer to young people. They are asking questions like; how their products or services would be perceived in 5 – 10 years time, and what new experiences people would be looking for in their brands. Young people need to stop worrying about innovation, and concentrate on creativity, as there are worries from wide quarters, that today’s schools kill creativity. The lack of originality in product development, enhancement or innovation, could kill a brand’s vision, than its positioning.

Of the 250 multinational corporations in 2010, only 64% published their CSR reports. This means that in taking decisions and actions that enhance societal welfare, managerial discretions require the capacity to consider constraints, interdependencies and multiple demands of various stakeholders. Whilst, individual characteristics (cognition, identity/integrity, values and emotions) are likely to encourage as well as be encouraged by socially responsible behaviors, virtue and practice are also critical. Companies need to (stop and) resist quick solutions, and wok on long term goals which incorporates host communities in their quest to portray themselves as socially responsible. This way, they allow outsiders the chance to experience their ‘culture’, which is why they are involved in CSR in the first place. 
 

The Reverend Martin Luther King once said, “Human progress never rolls in on wheels of inevitability. It comes through tireless efforts and persistent work… Without this hard work, time itself becomes an ally of the forces of social stagnation.” We are making tomorrow’s stories today – of how youth innovation creativity would be a key resource; how today’s schools are killing that creativity; and why companies need to future-proof their brands, it is paramount that we make the most of these stories.