ABUJA (1)

Abuja's wet; 

But I'm sweating. 

While she just lay there, I plough.

POISONED CHALICE

Poisoned chalice, scion of the

Family tree. Barren, devoid of good.

Ukamaka and Ugonna ate of it

Camwood and oil palm sold aplenty

After bouts of swollen stomachs

Left a desolate lair of imbeciles

For the curse rings forth still

Harbinger hung at the front porch

A NOTE FROM JANET

Precisely on my table

She left for me a note

Written in decipherable codes

Of which I thought was a fable

The note had got a ‘Dear Kenneth’

Of which I thought to write was hard

But she concluded and said I was bad

All the night we were at the banquet

She accused me of being a fool

To think she never saw us

As we groaned and cursed

On the balcony at moon’s full

That was how it ended

A story I’ve got left

Of how am now bereft

With a love that can’t be mended.

BUARI

Comets don your crests - dragon’s vomit!
Fists of Herod, fists of Xerxes.
You are yesterday’s May twenty-ninth, just before cun personified
Solitude consumed at will until they became Lagos.
Cairo, but I insist Lagos
Octopuses rained on the cells and drought cremated the grains
Sphinx of your doom parched the leeways to our bellies
When necessity became your first concubine

Hate of your communion begets doom
Franchise and King makers score in your court
But love visits them - the frog prince and the lair
They pluck chaos from glue, the white elephant
When Eze goes to school

DEAR GOODLUCK

Worshipful stars heard
Your reverence, your tongues
For you missed our boat
And you were not behind
When you left and became god

The deaf heard your prayer
Musketeers sang it vivid
Blunt crochets and lamp holders
To the tomb, away at sentry
When savannah caught up
And torched our welcome

Our boat had rocks
As it burned through
The long night to midgets
When Sango sent alien boys
His anger under the water hearth
After you became god

BIDA

Bida the Fulani tent,
Dendo’s first test at cun -
Jewel in the trough

Fulani’s torch billows forth...
The Etsu of heaven.
Puppet from the west

Market place of Wuzhizhi
Land of fertile long grain rice
Of Ndaduma’s blessings at Manko

Ndadungurugi with fishes
At hide and seek, housed sparkles of
Luggard, Zik and Royal Niger to same fate

Your cousin, Gwandu
Of purple trinkets
Seeks to overthrow, birthright

Your in-law, the Minna
Shelters cun, reincarnate
The warrior of starred crests

Bida of three play houses
Where blood and sand is god
That glorified puppet’s stool

HABIBI AND A DOZEN SMILES

He peeps from the hole between his seat and the window, smiles at me, and then automatically expects a response. I touch the cape of my hat, smile back and ask his name.

“Habibi.”

Habibi, four (as he said he were), is probably not flying for the first time (if you also factor in the number of times, he’s ran around the neighborhood, mimicking a bird in flight). I rambled around at him about what I was doing when I was four – playing ball, flying kites, 'riding tyres', learning Hausa, counting planes and swans that fly past above. “Your generation is quite blessed”, I murmured to Habibi; and he replies in Hausa.

“inna jin tsoro.”

He’s scared. The plane begins lift off. That's the part you feel your eye rolling, and pressure building in your ears. My friend, who’s buckled besides me, knows that feeling so much. She complains of not bringing her pair of earpiece along.

Habibi closes his eyes and smiles.

As the plane has stabilizes in flight, he opens his eyes and looks out the window. 1, 2, 3…10, 12; Habibi is counting the cars he can see down below. He smiles, and tells me in Hausa; “ga motochi.”  He points at cars he can see from nigh. When asked how many he could count, he smiles and replies:

“one hund-i-red.”

Habibi’s family is headed to Owerri. From appearance, you know they are of North-Eastern descent. I didn’t find time to count how many they were, as my attention was divided between my friend and the book I was attempting to read. I bumped into her, a little before I boarded the plane. She just won’t stop asking what I was going to Owerri to do, and my response of “I’m going to tweet” was not satisfactory.

I kept comparing a four year old me, and Habibi. His meekness spread a smile across my face, and told myself, my generation is blessed too.

Habibi keeps peering through the window, and each time he did, I followed suite, not out of curiosity, but for the fact that each time I have the luxury of flying, I learn again, the concepts of Geography.

An ardent student from primary school, it wasn’t any mistake when my Geography teacher in secondary school said in class, that I was going to study Geography at the university. What transpired between him and I in my fist of anger, is a story for another day.

Today, I’m a trained geographer, no professional certifications, no work experience in the field, but every time, I’m amazed by the depth of learning I get when I go high up in the skies –flying or mountaineering . Today, I was opportuned to peek out just when we were flying above Lokoja. I could see in the background, the slow winding River Niger, it’s ox-bow lakes and the small islands formed here and there within it.

I’m always left amazed by the power of nature every time, whether it’s the desert formations in Niger, Mali, Libya or Tunisia; the River Sasandra or San Pedro in Cote d'Ivoire, the River Niger or the thick forests of central West Africa; I’m more than amazed by the power of nature, the creation of God, and by the level of learning I get when I behold.

Flashes of classroom instruction overcome me, and then I see myself going through my Gho, Cho &; Leong textbook, which formed the foundation upon which all of my understanding of geography is built.

As the cumulus clouds thicken and our view is obstructed, Habibi shuts his window, and returns to life in the plane. My ears are giving way to the pressure in the cabin, and I quickly dive in to my pocket for my earpiece, archiving that experience for another day in a bid to try and enjoy the flight to Owerri.

We got to Owerri in time, and Habibi remained my companion as we approached the arrival lobby. Habibi was dragging his luggage on wheels, and offered to carry my strap-on bag, which weighed almost double his weight. He said it in a way that humored me, and I erupted in laughter. His guardian looked our way, and smiled. Habibi must be the Sanguine of the lot, and his guardian must have thought, “Habibi has met his type.”

Fates had to separate us as he had to wait for the rest of the family to get their luggage, and I had to catch my taxi taking me to Owerri.

I murmured to him a prayer, “God bless thee child”, and he just characteristically smiled on!

INSECURITY IN NIGERIA AND HOW I ALMOST BECAME A MILITANT!

My life as a recent graduate, done with my national youth service year, and now waiting to get that dream job, can be tasking a bit. I’m young and savvy; I like to move around a lot, not bogged down at one point for too long. There’s this volatility about this phase of life for most young people. The irony is, security is the most pressing issue for my country at this given time, and I have to be cautious of where I go, and when I’m on the move. I have heard of stories of young men, full of life, gunned down by militant fire, or by the Nigerian military, mistaken for the “enemy”.

 

It got to its height, when I went clubbing one fateful Friday evening. At a checkpoint, the policemen asked for my ID. My only valid one was my International Passport, which I do not carry around often, and didn’t have on me that night; and that was the beginning of a long night for me, which ended in me not leaving that post, till around 2:30am. I was angst, spoke all the English I knew, but they were not going to let me move an inch, without confirming my identity, else, they threatened that they will call in the SARS, and have me whisked away for interrogation as a suspected militant.

In the end, I got away with it, albeit late in the night, because I ended up begging them and parting with some money (against my will), but the next day, I went to the NIMC office in Jos to get registered for my National Identity Card.

Well, this could happen to you as regards identity or any other records someday, and to stop it from happening means you should get registered for your National Identification Number (NIN). This is issued by the National Identity Management Commission under the Ministry of Interior. The NIN collates your vital records and stores it up in one unified database which can then be used subsequently by federal authorities.

The National Identification Number (NIN) is a set of numbers assigned to an individual upon successful enrollment. Enrollment consists of the recording of an individual’s demographic data and capture of the ten (10) fingerprints, head-to-shoulder facial picture and digital signature, which are all used to cross-check existing data in the National Identity Database to confirm that there is no previous entry of the same data. Once this (de-duplication) process is completed the data is then stored with a unique NIN that was assigned to it. The NIN once issued to a person cannot be used again, (that is, it cannot be issued to another person even if the previous person is dead). It is the NIN that helps to tie all records about a person in the database and is used to check the identity verified.

Its importance can’t be overemphasized in this age of identity theft and fraud. It is to this light that the NIMC has rolled out a nationwide campaign for citizens to get registered. To encourage this, Nigerians especially the young and upwardly mobile folks would be earning gifts over the course of one month, for registering and showing evidence that they have truly registered. This would be ongoing on Facebook and twitter, where citizens would also be engaged in sensitization and educating campaigns, to stimulate civil indulgence and participation in the exercise.

Click on www.nimc.gov.ng for all you need to know about the National Identification Number (NIN) issued by National Identity Management Commission.

We can deepen the #NIMCnin conversation on Facebook. Click www.facebook.com/nimc.ng
We can deepen the #NIMCnin conversation on Twitter. Click www.twitter.com/nimc_ng

Click www.ninenrol.gov.ng to be welcomed to the National Identification Number (NIN) pre-registration portal of National Identity Management Commission.

At a glance, click www.nimc.gov.ng/reports/enrolment_process.pdf to view the National Identity Number enrolment process workflow.

You can join my conversation on facebook regards #NIMCnin. Click www.facebook.com/KoloKennethK and like

You  can join my conversation on twitter regards #NIMCnin. Click www.twitter.com/KoloKennethK and follow

A PENNY FOR AN EYE

It’s a wet, cold Friday afternoon for me in Abuja, but no matter what the weather is in Lagos, it won’t matter to young Samuel Adedigba. He feels nothing, but pains, hurt and discomfort. This is because someone, a representative of the underworld, tried to pluck Samuel’s eye, with his mouthful of teeth.

Sometime in February, Samuel was the only pupil in his school bus, about to drop him off at home in Ikorodu. However, his bus was hijacked by kidnappers (working for a ritualist ring), who then tried to make away with him on a bike. While being trailed, they tried to remove their priced item from Samuel – his left eye. This, they tried to do with their mouth, as the bike was still on the move.

This short movie scene, as it seems on your mind, is true, and has left Samuel in this state:

After surgery at the Lagos University Teaching Hospital, the wound got infected, and doctors are scared of touching the eye, so as not to lose it. Now, he has to get plastic surgery to fix the lid, and correct some nerves that has stop working.

Samuel Adedigba just turned 6 in June, and as at 10:25am when I called his uncle, the eye was already secreting fluid, and they couldn’t access specialists, as doctors were reportedly on strike.

Samuel needs N5,000,000 (5 million naira only) for plastic surgery in the United States of America. The parents have been able to offset the bills for his initial surgery at LUTH via extended family. However, they are out of sorts regards raising the money for the plastic surgery.

 Please find below, the doctor's report:

The family and I thus, pleading on well-meaning Nigerians to support Samuel to save his eye, by donating your widow’s mite to cover for the cost of his surgery. Kindly pay your few hundreds, thousands and tens of thousands to his mother’s (current) account:

Adedigba, Adeyinka Modupe, Guaranty Trust Bank - 0130159185

If you will like to speak with the mother, and offer moral support too:

08178101276 | 08055354578 | 07092277438

He’s not been able to see doctors at LUTH today and the mother is a bundle of tears already. While they try to get attention to get the eye cleaned, and fluid removed, kindly put him in your prayers too, even as you dip in to your little and plenty, to support the family in saving Samuel’s eye.

Samuel cannot thank you well enough. The parents are too emotional to say anything, and I’m too angst at the ritualists, to be able to thank you well. But our deepest prayers, are that God in his infinite mercies, would continue to bless you, and replenish you bountifully.

A Letter To My Father

Dear Dad,

I know you are doing very well.

Lois Kolo loves the fact that she sees you more often now, not like those days when work took you away from us for longer.

Sadly, it's not husband's day today, but Father's Day. To compound issues, I'm not home, so we can't play FIFA 2012 on my laptop, watch FIFA Confederations Cup together, or throw banters at our football teams (I hate it that you left Liverpool for Arsenal).

You've tried to be a very good father in our lives, but all we ever wanted was a father. A figure who's life reflects upon our paths as we grow. How can I forget the forced siestas, and the 10pm curfew, so that we don't stay out late, even though I was the only one breaking the rule.

You made our house Kolo, Kolo & Co., like a drama/comedy ensemble. Don't worry, even though I feel you gagged me in some of my poetry, you did a good job, and I love you all the way.

I couldn't have asked for more of a father, except that I turned out an Oliver Twist. Thus, like you always TOLD us to be our best always, I'd arrogantly throw the challenge back at you daddy, to be the best father you can be, to us. We dissipate a lot of energy loving you, and all we want back, is your love. Nothing more.

Today, we Evelyn Fatima Kolo, Kolo Kenneth Kadiri, Jesse Kolo and Rachel Kolo celebrate you. And lest you forget, Kolo Gloria is the extra you asked for. We love you, and pray that you stay around for longer and see all your grandchildren.

Happy Father's Day!