Much against the stereotype of analogies that have been made, I fancy myself as one of the few from the male-folk who can combine more than one activity successfully! As a result of this 'talent', it is not difficult for me to answer or make a phone call while driving a car, without any thing about my driving being changed by my engagement in the phone call. It took a while of study for me to arrive at this conclusion, and so I am very confident of this. And before you think I break the law at will, I try (*wink*) to ensure that I answer phone calls with my hands-free kit while driving, and I discourage a few other people whom I do not think handle the two activities well (e.g my Jewel) from doing so.
Given the background above, you will understand my shock on Friday afternoon while I was making a turn off Ozumba Mbadiwe road. I had been on a call for about eight minutes but I was entirely focused on the road too. I was driving on the third lane had just engaged the trafficator to indicate my intention to turn to the right, and then this commercial bus decided to overtake everyone else on the fourth lane. He was coming so fast I had to stay on the third lane to let him go first. As if he had not done enough wrong, he went past me and gave me the 'open-palm' sign, which some people refer to as 'waka' in these parts. I convinced myself to disregard his folly and move on. Then came this bike going at top speed, riding so close to the bus that had just gone past me that he could not have been aware of anything else happening on the other lanes of the highway. Of course, he had to turn off the road to avoid hitting the raised culvert just ahead of him. It turned out that he was a military man - he was wearing the army uniform - and thought to exert his authority. The first thing he asked me is, "Why you know use trafficator?". Of course, I was taken aback, and then I rationalised that my trafficator bulb must have been burnt, so I apologised and stated this. After trying unsuccessfully to create a scene, he went his way.
It was only at this point that I could respond to the friend on the other end of my telephone conversation who was worried that I had been in an accident. All the time I was talking to the military guy and his passenger, I had obeyed the rule of the male stereotype - focused on just on thing - where the phone call was concerned, at least.
So, I parked the car, left the trafficator on and came out of the car to check the status of the lights that had failed me only to discover that it was working fine. What is it then that the arrogant military guy was talking about? It was he after all that was riding on the 'blind spot' of a busy road and was oblivious to the fact that he was a danger to other road-users.
How often do we suffer in the hands of uniformed people in our country? They abuse the citizens of our country at will and at no consequence. Not long ago, the world got wind of this ill when the phone coverage of a lady's abuse by military men on a popular street on Victoria Island was sent by a passer-by to CNN's I-Report platform.
Help! We need to be saved from the Uniformed Madness in our nation!
Sunday, November 06, 2011
Tuesday, November 01, 2011
Oil subsidy & The Plight of a Young Nigerian
About the time I was trying to get my mind off the humiliating story of the birthday bash of Mrs Goodluck Jonathan which was held in Australia at our nation's expense, I got some more sad news: A young intern at a bank in Lagos, Nigeria who had been missing for about two (2) days was found abandoned in a hospital. It emerged later that he was rescued from a near-death situation at the ever-busy Obalende (under-bridge) bus-stop.
Young Olumide (not real name) is a National Diploma holder from one of Nigeria's Polytechnics and he got a well sought-after spot in a leading bank as a teller. In order to meet up with the demands of his job, Olumide had to leave his Ikorodu home not later than 4.30am, only to return as late as 10pm sometimes. With the floods that have taken over the part of Lagos where he resides, this young chap has had to leave home as early as 3am in order to beat the early morning traffic. Luckily for him, the firm he works with arranged buses for staff pick-up, so he did not have to worry much about transportation till he got to Obalende. The only problem is that the staff bus got to Obalende as early 4.00am on certain mornings and he had to take a 20minute walk on deserted roads to his office where he would wait till about 6.30am before any of his colleagues arrived. Why would a twenty-something year old boy allow himself to go through such stress, you may ask. Well, this only child of a single mother provided financial support to his mom from the savings he could put together after the cost of transportation had been taken out.
Like any other day, Olumide set out for work this fateful Wednesday morning and no word was heard from or about him till his Aunt got a curious phone call from his place of work the following morning. His colleagues were worried that he had not reported for work since the day before and had not been reachable on phone either. They had thus begun a campaign to reach his family members through his personnel file to ascertain his safety. It was shortly after this worrisome call that Olumide's aunt's phone rang again, this time from Lagos Island General Hospital, with information that her nephew was there.
It is still unclear what happened, as Olumide still has temporary amnesia (the last thing he remembers before that Thursday, are the events of the previous Monday). However, the story goes that he got off the staff bus on Wednesday morning and was hit by a car soon after. What is curious however is that the only piece of clothing found on him at the time he was dropped off in the hospital by an ambulance was a torn pair of boxer shorts.
The earliest callers to the hospital from Olumide's place of work got to a total shocker when they found their colleagues on the floor of the hospital ward with swollen eyes and lips on a head that had become twice its original size. In fact, the only reason they took closer looks that confirmed Olumide's identity to them is that the nurses on duty confirmed that the person they were looking at was the only casualty brought in to the hospital the previous day. The boy looked absolutely disfigured! To make matters worse, he had not received any attention since he was dropped off there. As a matter of fact, the bandage on his face was given by the ambulance service that brought him to the hospital. More disheartening is that fact that the nurses told the visitors that if no one had showed up for him, he would have been left on the floor till it was time to "pass him along" to the morgue! Behold our health system in Nigeria!!
As is the case many other areas of the Nigerian service sector, money had to exchange hands before the nurses eventually gave Olumide a bed in the ward. When the prescribed intravenous drip was bought, the hospital staff simply told Olumide's friends to place the items under his bed, and they took their time to administer the items - in fact, they practically had to be begged to do their jobs of healthcare. It took tips and the use of "connections" to get half of the required medical attention to Olumide. It goes without saying that many victims of accidents and less-privileged citizens of our dear country are dumped in our government-owned hospitals on a daily basis, and a good number of these people lose their lives to the unwritten codes of government healthcare "service providers" who would not touch them with a pole until money changes hands. Meanwhile, the cheapest of private hospitals in these parts proves to be beyond the reach many Nigerians.
I cannot help but wonder how the intellectual arguments of economists in support of our government's planned removal of oil subsidy would bring any benefits to people like Olumide's mother who neither has any savings nor can make any sales in order to raise money for her son's hospital bills. How would the removal of oil subsidy affect the labourer who prefers to walk several kilometers daily to allow him save money to feed his family and send his children to school? What does the street-hawker stand to gain other than the increased cost of logistics that is sure to follow?
In a society where the priority of leaders is service and the provision of amenities that make life easier for their followers, the planned oil subsidy removal would probably make sense. But in our society, almost everyone who gets into political office plans to stash away more than enough cash to live lavishly on for the rest of his/her life. It appears that the subsidy on petroleum products is the only benefit many Nigerians get from their government. Little attention is being paid to anything that does not bring immediate benefit to our politicians and that position is not likely to change when the oil subsidy is removed. If anything, certain businesses would attain a position of power and a few more selfish individuals would seek more opulence. The fate of the common man? Nobody really cares!
Young Olumide (not real name) is a National Diploma holder from one of Nigeria's Polytechnics and he got a well sought-after spot in a leading bank as a teller. In order to meet up with the demands of his job, Olumide had to leave his Ikorodu home not later than 4.30am, only to return as late as 10pm sometimes. With the floods that have taken over the part of Lagos where he resides, this young chap has had to leave home as early as 3am in order to beat the early morning traffic. Luckily for him, the firm he works with arranged buses for staff pick-up, so he did not have to worry much about transportation till he got to Obalende. The only problem is that the staff bus got to Obalende as early 4.00am on certain mornings and he had to take a 20minute walk on deserted roads to his office where he would wait till about 6.30am before any of his colleagues arrived. Why would a twenty-something year old boy allow himself to go through such stress, you may ask. Well, this only child of a single mother provided financial support to his mom from the savings he could put together after the cost of transportation had been taken out.
Like any other day, Olumide set out for work this fateful Wednesday morning and no word was heard from or about him till his Aunt got a curious phone call from his place of work the following morning. His colleagues were worried that he had not reported for work since the day before and had not been reachable on phone either. They had thus begun a campaign to reach his family members through his personnel file to ascertain his safety. It was shortly after this worrisome call that Olumide's aunt's phone rang again, this time from Lagos Island General Hospital, with information that her nephew was there.
It is still unclear what happened, as Olumide still has temporary amnesia (the last thing he remembers before that Thursday, are the events of the previous Monday). However, the story goes that he got off the staff bus on Wednesday morning and was hit by a car soon after. What is curious however is that the only piece of clothing found on him at the time he was dropped off in the hospital by an ambulance was a torn pair of boxer shorts.
The earliest callers to the hospital from Olumide's place of work got to a total shocker when they found their colleagues on the floor of the hospital ward with swollen eyes and lips on a head that had become twice its original size. In fact, the only reason they took closer looks that confirmed Olumide's identity to them is that the nurses on duty confirmed that the person they were looking at was the only casualty brought in to the hospital the previous day. The boy looked absolutely disfigured! To make matters worse, he had not received any attention since he was dropped off there. As a matter of fact, the bandage on his face was given by the ambulance service that brought him to the hospital. More disheartening is that fact that the nurses told the visitors that if no one had showed up for him, he would have been left on the floor till it was time to "pass him along" to the morgue! Behold our health system in Nigeria!!
As is the case many other areas of the Nigerian service sector, money had to exchange hands before the nurses eventually gave Olumide a bed in the ward. When the prescribed intravenous drip was bought, the hospital staff simply told Olumide's friends to place the items under his bed, and they took their time to administer the items - in fact, they practically had to be begged to do their jobs of healthcare. It took tips and the use of "connections" to get half of the required medical attention to Olumide. It goes without saying that many victims of accidents and less-privileged citizens of our dear country are dumped in our government-owned hospitals on a daily basis, and a good number of these people lose their lives to the unwritten codes of government healthcare "service providers" who would not touch them with a pole until money changes hands. Meanwhile, the cheapest of private hospitals in these parts proves to be beyond the reach many Nigerians.
I cannot help but wonder how the intellectual arguments of economists in support of our government's planned removal of oil subsidy would bring any benefits to people like Olumide's mother who neither has any savings nor can make any sales in order to raise money for her son's hospital bills. How would the removal of oil subsidy affect the labourer who prefers to walk several kilometers daily to allow him save money to feed his family and send his children to school? What does the street-hawker stand to gain other than the increased cost of logistics that is sure to follow?
In a society where the priority of leaders is service and the provision of amenities that make life easier for their followers, the planned oil subsidy removal would probably make sense. But in our society, almost everyone who gets into political office plans to stash away more than enough cash to live lavishly on for the rest of his/her life. It appears that the subsidy on petroleum products is the only benefit many Nigerians get from their government. Little attention is being paid to anything that does not bring immediate benefit to our politicians and that position is not likely to change when the oil subsidy is removed. If anything, certain businesses would attain a position of power and a few more selfish individuals would seek more opulence. The fate of the common man? Nobody really cares!
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Under His Shadow: 365 Days & Counting...
I met this unusual beauty in the course of work: the mandatory service year of the NYSC had compelled me to move out of the city of Lagos, and live in the ancient city of Ibadan. There, I had found a job that I would not have applied for; but I enjoyed it all the same. Working a bank job had me closing late - later than my self-induced workaholic tendencies' nudgings - but it was interesting still.
And then came this beauty, along with her friend, who had come to ask a favour from my department - my table is the one she approached. Of course, I was only too glad to oblige her, and give her a feedback a few days later . . . and create a communication channel with this fun 'Ijebu dazzle'.
We started out on a very interesting friendship journey, and quite naturally progressed to courtship stage. Wasn't it quite interesting how my Father's birthday in August 2008 witnessed the presence of a guest known to me alone! My father was thrilled; it was the first time I was introducing him to a girlfriend. And this wasn't just any girl; he liked this one already!
Our love relationship only got sweeter, and then, one fine day in a November, on our way to Abeokuta for a close couple's wedding, I asked her to reach for a package I had left in the glove-compartment of the car. She got the package, produced the engagement ring within it, and there I proposed to her. Our keener gaze on the altar thus began on the 24th of November, 2009.
The deal was sealed on Saturday, July 24, 2010 when we exchanged vows and became a spiritually & lawfully wedded couple. Already our count of days of bliss has reached the year meter, and today, I stand proudly as the husband of the amazing and thoroughly beautiful Queen of the Abayomi-Sosan clan. It has been a fun journey and I have totally enjoyed marriage with a companion I am hardly worthy of; it has almost been a fairy tale! Being married to my jewel has been a life of exposure to new levels of love, and I cannot help but look to the decades ahead with an assurance of more from this God-made life of 'a bed of roses'!!
And then came this beauty, along with her friend, who had come to ask a favour from my department - my table is the one she approached. Of course, I was only too glad to oblige her, and give her a feedback a few days later . . . and create a communication channel with this fun 'Ijebu dazzle'.We started out on a very interesting friendship journey, and quite naturally progressed to courtship stage. Wasn't it quite interesting how my Father's birthday in August 2008 witnessed the presence of a guest known to me alone! My father was thrilled; it was the first time I was introducing him to a girlfriend. And this wasn't just any girl; he liked this one already!
Our love relationship only got sweeter, and then, one fine day in a November, on our way to Abeokuta for a close couple's wedding, I asked her to reach for a package I had left in the glove-compartment of the car. She got the package, produced the engagement ring within it, and there I proposed to her. Our keener gaze on the altar thus began on the 24th of November, 2009.
The deal was sealed on Saturday, July 24, 2010 when we exchanged vows and became a spiritually & lawfully wedded couple. Already our count of days of bliss has reached the year meter, and today, I stand proudly as the husband of the amazing and thoroughly beautiful Queen of the Abayomi-Sosan clan. It has been a fun journey and I have totally enjoyed marriage with a companion I am hardly worthy of; it has almost been a fairy tale! Being married to my jewel has been a life of exposure to new levels of love, and I cannot help but look to the decades ahead with an assurance of more from this God-made life of 'a bed of roses'!!
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Security, NYSC 5 & The Presidency
It is no news that security (the lack of it) is a major issue in Nigeria, and has been for a very long time. Government after government has paid lip-service to curing this head-ache. To our politicians, security is only another parameter, like electricity and employment, which when managed properly in speech can win elections for them. And when these elections are won, they begin their long-conceived tasks of looting the nation's treasury. The poor (and dead) minds of these mostly perverse set of people is generally so lacking in value that they achieve nothing but the acquisition of priceless physical assets for themselves at the expense of the nation they so blatantly steal from. Consequently, 51 years after being "independent", Nigeria can only wish to boast of good roads, regular electric power supply, jobs, food and education to its citizens. So much for democracy!
Security is a different kettle of fish. To speak of security, you would need to genuinely care - feel concern or interest; attach importance to something. Care is extremely alien to our country; a country where (almost) everyone aspires to rise to a place where he can get his own selfish share of some national cake; where ritual killings remain the bane of a good chunk of its societies; where one person will always scheme to outshine others; where rogues and robbers are honoured, and truth is mocked; where power-brokers shamelessly declare their dealings and profits in the shady affairs that steadily set the country on a downward course. If there is anything Nigeria can boast of, it is insensitivity and lawlessness in high places. The average Nigerian lacks care for self, let alone any good feeling whatsoever for others.
Another concept that lacks meaning in our society is that of leadership. One who carries the title of leader in these parts is the one who commands the service(s) of others and lords it over them. Leadership here has nothing to do with bettering the lots of the people who look up to you, or taking responsibility for their well-being.
The intense dearth of true leadership and security combined with the absence of any plan to provide any such thing then reigns supreme in the affairs of the Nigerian government, and people! What else would justify the payment of salaries to wild, mindless people because they act and fit the role of "militants"? Let President Jonathan's camp not even think of distancing itself from that decision as it would be utter irresponsibility to do so! It was convenient to blame the massacre in the North after the April 2011 elections on political rivals - it all happened in the violent north anyway!
Now that the opportunity of a lifetime has presented itself on a platter to the "Transformation 2011" President to show just a tiny, little bit of care for the citizens of the country he claims to lead, and he has blown it! Many days have passed since five members of the National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) scheme were kidnapped in Rivers State while working on a Community Development (CD) project. One statement from the Presidency might not have done more than save face for the government, or showed concern from Aso rock, or given some comfort to the families of the kidnapped youths, but no, it was not even considered appropriate. Only a few weeks ago, just about when the mass funeral of slain corps members was being conducted, Mr. President had announced to the nation that the NYSC scheme would not be scrapped. Why is he keeping mute now? Could it be because he is busy trying to cover his tracks on corruption lines, or because he is involved in self-enrichment intrigues, like the band-wagon of Nigerian politicians. Perhaps that fact that the kidnapped youths are neither "rich" nor children of the "powerful" makes them unimportant, and a paltry N5million would be sufficient for their parents in the event that anything happens to them (God forbid)!
If GEJ is truly worthy of his leadership position, his actions/inactions in this matter (and not mere words) would prove him.
Security is a different kettle of fish. To speak of security, you would need to genuinely care - feel concern or interest; attach importance to something. Care is extremely alien to our country; a country where (almost) everyone aspires to rise to a place where he can get his own selfish share of some national cake; where ritual killings remain the bane of a good chunk of its societies; where one person will always scheme to outshine others; where rogues and robbers are honoured, and truth is mocked; where power-brokers shamelessly declare their dealings and profits in the shady affairs that steadily set the country on a downward course. If there is anything Nigeria can boast of, it is insensitivity and lawlessness in high places. The average Nigerian lacks care for self, let alone any good feeling whatsoever for others.
Another concept that lacks meaning in our society is that of leadership. One who carries the title of leader in these parts is the one who commands the service(s) of others and lords it over them. Leadership here has nothing to do with bettering the lots of the people who look up to you, or taking responsibility for their well-being.
The intense dearth of true leadership and security combined with the absence of any plan to provide any such thing then reigns supreme in the affairs of the Nigerian government, and people! What else would justify the payment of salaries to wild, mindless people because they act and fit the role of "militants"? Let President Jonathan's camp not even think of distancing itself from that decision as it would be utter irresponsibility to do so! It was convenient to blame the massacre in the North after the April 2011 elections on political rivals - it all happened in the violent north anyway!
Now that the opportunity of a lifetime has presented itself on a platter to the "Transformation 2011" President to show just a tiny, little bit of care for the citizens of the country he claims to lead, and he has blown it! Many days have passed since five members of the National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) scheme were kidnapped in Rivers State while working on a Community Development (CD) project. One statement from the Presidency might not have done more than save face for the government, or showed concern from Aso rock, or given some comfort to the families of the kidnapped youths, but no, it was not even considered appropriate. Only a few weeks ago, just about when the mass funeral of slain corps members was being conducted, Mr. President had announced to the nation that the NYSC scheme would not be scrapped. Why is he keeping mute now? Could it be because he is busy trying to cover his tracks on corruption lines, or because he is involved in self-enrichment intrigues, like the band-wagon of Nigerian politicians. Perhaps that fact that the kidnapped youths are neither "rich" nor children of the "powerful" makes them unimportant, and a paltry N5million would be sufficient for their parents in the event that anything happens to them (God forbid)!
If GEJ is truly worthy of his leadership position, his actions/inactions in this matter (and not mere words) would prove him.
Saturday, June 04, 2011
A Different Culture - A Different People
Life is definitely the best habitat in which man can fully express his humanness! That would appear as an unrealistic statement given the fact that life is perhaps all that most people have ever experienced. I mean, where else has man been? How else could he be expected to express himself? If a man is not alive (in life), he is dead anyway, so what's the fuss?
I have often pondered on the words of Jesus, as He declared to mankind that His purpose is to bring abundance (and even more abundance) into the Life that we live (John 10:10). Was He insinuating that everyone in that time had lived lives that had not been lavish enough, and was He promising a never-before-experienced form of copiousness? That issue is still open to a lot of debate in our world. Some schools of thought have however pointed out the fact that the Master was talking about a higher quality of life - life in a way that had never been lived before. I agree with those quarters to the degree of the statement of that fact, but not in the further explanations given by some of them. As we tend to do with all scripture, our interpretation of John 10:10 is usually aimed to suit our purposes - per time. How could we possibly relate and limit that great message of the Master to the acquisition of things for ourselves?
This brings me quite quickly to the meaning I have adopted for the term human. I know it is sometimes used to describe the kind and sensitive qualities people surprisingly tend to display (once in a while), but it is more often seen in our error-proneness which, by the way, has become acceptable, even to be expected. Such that a man in some place of authority (or seeming better position) talks down - rudely and spitefully - at lower-placed individuals, and political office (and other privileged posts) must be exploited financially (and in every other way possible), and men must generally be incorrigible, because it is only human [sic]?! Errors do not even get the opportunity of a correction any more since it is assumed impossible to be perfect anyway. But that has got to be the starting point of the experience Jesus was talking about. In any case, He went about all of Judah preaching the gospel of repentance - that change is possible and must be undertaken to usher in newness. Then comes the next step.
Leviticus 18 tells the story of God’s message to a people in transition - a people whom He has saved, and had given a promise to bring into a new place. The place He had taken them from had its traditions, which they (the Israelites) had knowledge of for over four hundred years. Of course, they had their own ways, but some of the customs of Egypt had to have filtered into their midst. There was also Canaan, which had it own people (the original inhabitants) and like all peoples, they had their own culture too. And here, God started to instruct Israel to take up neither the customs of Egypt nor those of Canaan, but be an entirely different people. As His plan had been for a long time (and still was when Jesus came), He was creating a new order. This new order required a prepared people for a prepared place, and a completely different manner for the living of life. He was definitely clearing ground that He would be “God” of a certain set of people who would in turn be “His people” - a relationship which He did not have with everybody. So, as Christ later came to proclaim, God offered a higher quality of life - beyond the limits of humanness - for man to express an extension of Him (God). He went on further in the book of Hebrews to say that He was writing His laws in the hearts of “His people”.
So, for a people in transition - leaving the old form of life by repentance, and moving on with life as a different people in the old corrupt systems of the world - God gives a call to service; asking them to take up the responsibilities of living life like God. He was asking the people who are called by His name not to live by the standards they had seen in the past, nor according to the customs that lay ahead of them, rather He wanted this people to hear His voice in their hearts and act according to what He told them to do. His call was for His people to truncate the practice of their education (teachings of the community from which they were taken) and embrace His revelation (new knowledge from Him). These people, though from the lot whose ways God rejected, were called to be an entirely different set. It was to be a re-orientation of sorts; a movement from the norm to a place of dissimilar, in fact opposite, set of values. These people would be a new breed even if only carved from those already in existence.
And that is what the born again experience is all about - the hewing of new creatures from the old. I submit that the more abundant life which Jesus preached about is premised on this - a transformation from humanness to God-likeness which pervades all aspects of human life. Yes, it is culture-shock at first, but ultimately, it is the only meaningful way of (or, to living) life.
I have often pondered on the words of Jesus, as He declared to mankind that His purpose is to bring abundance (and even more abundance) into the Life that we live (John 10:10). Was He insinuating that everyone in that time had lived lives that had not been lavish enough, and was He promising a never-before-experienced form of copiousness? That issue is still open to a lot of debate in our world. Some schools of thought have however pointed out the fact that the Master was talking about a higher quality of life - life in a way that had never been lived before. I agree with those quarters to the degree of the statement of that fact, but not in the further explanations given by some of them. As we tend to do with all scripture, our interpretation of John 10:10 is usually aimed to suit our purposes - per time. How could we possibly relate and limit that great message of the Master to the acquisition of things for ourselves?
This brings me quite quickly to the meaning I have adopted for the term human. I know it is sometimes used to describe the kind and sensitive qualities people surprisingly tend to display (once in a while), but it is more often seen in our error-proneness which, by the way, has become acceptable, even to be expected. Such that a man in some place of authority (or seeming better position) talks down - rudely and spitefully - at lower-placed individuals, and political office (and other privileged posts) must be exploited financially (and in every other way possible), and men must generally be incorrigible, because it is only human [sic]?! Errors do not even get the opportunity of a correction any more since it is assumed impossible to be perfect anyway. But that has got to be the starting point of the experience Jesus was talking about. In any case, He went about all of Judah preaching the gospel of repentance - that change is possible and must be undertaken to usher in newness. Then comes the next step.
Leviticus 18 tells the story of God’s message to a people in transition - a people whom He has saved, and had given a promise to bring into a new place. The place He had taken them from had its traditions, which they (the Israelites) had knowledge of for over four hundred years. Of course, they had their own ways, but some of the customs of Egypt had to have filtered into their midst. There was also Canaan, which had it own people (the original inhabitants) and like all peoples, they had their own culture too. And here, God started to instruct Israel to take up neither the customs of Egypt nor those of Canaan, but be an entirely different people. As His plan had been for a long time (and still was when Jesus came), He was creating a new order. This new order required a prepared people for a prepared place, and a completely different manner for the living of life. He was definitely clearing ground that He would be “God” of a certain set of people who would in turn be “His people” - a relationship which He did not have with everybody. So, as Christ later came to proclaim, God offered a higher quality of life - beyond the limits of humanness - for man to express an extension of Him (God). He went on further in the book of Hebrews to say that He was writing His laws in the hearts of “His people”.
So, for a people in transition - leaving the old form of life by repentance, and moving on with life as a different people in the old corrupt systems of the world - God gives a call to service; asking them to take up the responsibilities of living life like God. He was asking the people who are called by His name not to live by the standards they had seen in the past, nor according to the customs that lay ahead of them, rather He wanted this people to hear His voice in their hearts and act according to what He told them to do. His call was for His people to truncate the practice of their education (teachings of the community from which they were taken) and embrace His revelation (new knowledge from Him). These people, though from the lot whose ways God rejected, were called to be an entirely different set. It was to be a re-orientation of sorts; a movement from the norm to a place of dissimilar, in fact opposite, set of values. These people would be a new breed even if only carved from those already in existence.
And that is what the born again experience is all about - the hewing of new creatures from the old. I submit that the more abundant life which Jesus preached about is premised on this - a transformation from humanness to God-likeness which pervades all aspects of human life. Yes, it is culture-shock at first, but ultimately, it is the only meaningful way of (or, to living) life.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Inferior Superiority
With the Nigerian elections just round the corner, it is very easy to see - from all the scrambling - the stuff that most Nigerians are made of. Also, the 'lords' aspiring to get into political offices know the cards they need to play in order to get their hearts' desires. After all, it has worked so many times before, why should this time be any different! The 'fathers' have experimented and achieved so much with it, and they proved the methods to be true. Now, they would expect their 'sons' whom they have carefully trained to carry on in their stead while bringing in the 'spoils of war'.
This time-tested principle of theirs would fall apart if the people on whom it is being used would wake up, of course. But it has been revealed over time that they hardly ever do. And when they do, there are a number of options open to the players of the game; one of which is the use of a few of the 'loud mouths' among the people whose price they find. Oh yes! That is another point to bear in mind: These politicians know that almost everyone has a price, and usually the highest bidder owns the lot. Once you take a leader in the opposition camp away from the scene, you automatically reap a disoriented crowd. If that approach does not produce immediate results, the players have in their kitty; the distraction principle. They have come to know that the average Nigerian is easily carried away by 'hot gist'. A new thing - product, policy, news item - in this terrain would always sway the people, at least temporarily. A master of the game knows that once you can take the people's attention of a problem, you have bought yourself enough time to work such wonders that would ensure that the people would never view that problem the same way, and that is in the event that they remember it enough to take another look!
Why would certain people always seem to have the upper hand? Why would another group of people always bow their heads and knees to others? My answer to this question is arguably an age-long phenomenon: It is the issue of class! It is perhaps stronger in the Nigerian society than it is in any other black community (where it apparently flourishes most). Every man is in a race to prove himself superior to others; to be the one others look to for stipends - the one miscreants would hail as he drives by in his 'jeep'. This trait is manifested in the tendency of 'the man' to buy drinks for everyone at a bar even if they have no idea who he is. How about the desperate attempt to differentiate between himself and 'ordinary' people who work at service jobs? He orders them around as though they were kings deposed so they could become his personal servants. I guess that explains the revolt in the 'helpless' service workers who have turned service sectors, like the police force and civil service in government parastatals, to a nightmare for everyone who cannot afford to pay their price. This is what I call superior inferiority which was birthed by the inferior superiority of the political players - no one places any value on service, let alone consider it charitable.
It may be hard to trace the source of this problem, but it is certain that there is a paucity of self-worth in the land. This deficiency is the stuff most Nigerians have proven to be made from. People who have no self-worth would definitely be lacking in self-respect; and the lack of self-respect is underlying proof that there would be no respect for others. Since every man would subject himself to a force he considers greater than he, it is to be expected that he would have a price. That price would be determined by his sense of value, but since he does not have self-worth in the first place, his sense of value would be next to nothing!
As Nigeria goes to the polls in a matter of days, self-worth is an issue that would be called to the fore again - inferior superiority and superior inferiority are already sticking their heads out - and it would reflect greatly in the choice of her next leader.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Living this Life!
A few days ago, my brother & I were talking - generally and specifically - and the following thoughts were sowed. Please let me share them with you. I hope you can make some understanding out of it.
There are certain things we do, for which we must apologise; there are traits within us which must change - exposure to God's words & Person must see us conform to His image - and there is the voice of reason (more appropriately: the gentle usher from Father: the one & only Holy Spirit) giving us insight into our real being. As different as these three things are, there should not be any conflict at all in them; the practicality thereof. You have no reason to apologise for who you are, for it has pleased Father that you be so made! Everything else is subject to that - His will; and everything here would include choices, love and the totality of life itself.
Weeping may endure for a whole night before joy shows up, so can men dwell in darkness for (what may seem like) a lifetime before light begins to 'creep' into that darkness. But when light comes, it could hurt our eyes (the functional word being hurt), & generally change how we live. This may be a very difficult step though. What matters most is that we be found in the Light as we progress in this God-ordained journey called life!
There are certain things we do, for which we must apologise; there are traits within us which must change - exposure to God's words & Person must see us conform to His image - and there is the voice of reason (more appropriately: the gentle usher from Father: the one & only Holy Spirit) giving us insight into our real being. As different as these three things are, there should not be any conflict at all in them; the practicality thereof. You have no reason to apologise for who you are, for it has pleased Father that you be so made! Everything else is subject to that - His will; and everything here would include choices, love and the totality of life itself.
Weeping may endure for a whole night before joy shows up, so can men dwell in darkness for (what may seem like) a lifetime before light begins to 'creep' into that darkness. But when light comes, it could hurt our eyes (the functional word being hurt), & generally change how we live. This may be a very difficult step though. What matters most is that we be found in the Light as we progress in this God-ordained journey called life!
Sunday, February 13, 2011
The Feast of Love
So it is Valentine's day, and lots of people would offer differing, even warped, definitions of love. Here is a lesson in love I learnt recently. Enjoy!
Whether it is my assumed reasonability of their food prices, or the tourists’ appeal the place exudes, Eastern Food Bazaar attracts lots of people during the hours it is open (thirteen hours each day, it seems). And there are many possible reasons for this; one could be the fact that they have stands representing the traditional meals of about six parts of the world in addition to a contemporary stand for sweets. It was a big place, but not nearly big enough for the kind of crowd it pulled. You could almost always be certain to have difficulty finding a free table - and the free seat you scramble all the way across the room to claim might already have been taken! Yet, it is not unusual to find individuals, couples or groups of people walk into the place only to study the boards for several moments before making an attempt to decide what meal would create the most lasting impression of this extra-ordinary place on their minds. So on the whole, the place had almost the look of a small section of the old Tejuoso market in Lagos when you entered.
Here, I was in this strange place with my strange plate of food surrounded by an assortment of people of varying nationalities (strange, too), trying to enjoy my strange food which on the display board looked like the kind of breakfast that was based on fried eggs. On my plate though, it looked and tasted like some sort of pancake with onions and lettuce and very many other strange things. As if that was not enough to grapple with in my mind, this middle-aged man walks up and sits across the table from me. He was a little dark-skinned and had a texan-styled hat on and looked as though he were waiting for somebody; rather than sit facing me, as the convention of the table was, he sat with his side and was looking around the room somewhat frantically, yet with a measure of calmness. The picture of S-T-R-A-N-G-E was originally painted when he came to the sitting area without a tray or plate of food in hand.
A few minutes later, the seat in front of me was empty again and my mind soon went off the man (please bear in mind that I had a plate of food to contend with). I turned my head from the plate (for respite, I think) and I caught sight of the same man who, moments ago had just left my table, standing by a pillar just ahead of me. Then he moved again! This time I could not help but notice that he was going towards the table just beside me. The occupant had only just left and my former companion was coming to feast on the remnants in his tray. Not a few people looked at him with disgust. I? I was wary - my mind ran a few scenarios in which the man could make a move for my plate, so I was already on the defensive. And the man? He may not have noticed me at all because he got up rather quickly and made his way to another table that was being vacated in that moment.
It then crossed my mind that someone could - and should - call on the attention of the attendants and have the man taken outside, and save us the offensive sights. My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of laughter from the other side of the room (my right) where another company of “eaters” had been - there were two ladies and a man. By the time I turned, they had put together a plate of food (leftovers from their plates, I think, but it looked full) which they gave to an attendant who had just arrived and asked him to place it in front the man who had taken the attention of a number of people at this time. On getting the plate, he simply stood up and left the food court. It was then that I simmered down and thought for a few minutes: the man with the Texan hat could not afford a meal for himself, and rather than beg, he had come to take his fill from the plenty that more-privileged people had bought - some out of adventure - and had left to waste, and he was probably taking that plate “home” to a family in need of anything edible.
It was indeed food for thought for me. How often do we get so sophisticated and socially conscious that we become socially irresponsible? I could not help but bring to mind God’s instruction to old-testament Israel in times of harvest not to clear up everything their ground yielded, but leave enough for the poor and stranger to harvest from their lands too. That experience jerked me awake to the fact that we often live for ourselves alone as we harvest all and care about no one else, not even our own families! If you got into business, it was usually for your pocket; if it was school, then it had to be about getting the most knowledge in class so you could make the best grades. What about traffic? You simply had to be the first to break-free from the [mostly] unnecessary tussle. Could there be a better demonstration of selfishness?
Then came this sweeping revelation: citizens of the developed western world (whom many on this side castigate for their lack of culture and shame and tact, sometimes) are the ones who need the least prompting to take care of the less-privileged in their societies. They set up trusts to run homes for old people and homeless people; their governments give out regular welfare packages for the same cause; they adopt children from off the streets to raise them ‘normally’. It is therefore no surprise then that they continually reap the rewards - their better economies, systems that work, and last, and a higher percentage of socially balanced citizens. Our society’s reaction to that, we see them as ‘maga’, fit only to be dupes via all forms of scams! It would take a real awakening for us to realise the deep connection between benevolence, success and development. Perhaps then, we shall stand as a people for ‘feasts’ that would be served to everyone.
Happy Valentine's day!
Whether it is my assumed reasonability of their food prices, or the tourists’ appeal the place exudes, Eastern Food Bazaar attracts lots of people during the hours it is open (thirteen hours each day, it seems). And there are many possible reasons for this; one could be the fact that they have stands representing the traditional meals of about six parts of the world in addition to a contemporary stand for sweets. It was a big place, but not nearly big enough for the kind of crowd it pulled. You could almost always be certain to have difficulty finding a free table - and the free seat you scramble all the way across the room to claim might already have been taken! Yet, it is not unusual to find individuals, couples or groups of people walk into the place only to study the boards for several moments before making an attempt to decide what meal would create the most lasting impression of this extra-ordinary place on their minds. So on the whole, the place had almost the look of a small section of the old Tejuoso market in Lagos when you entered.
Here, I was in this strange place with my strange plate of food surrounded by an assortment of people of varying nationalities (strange, too), trying to enjoy my strange food which on the display board looked like the kind of breakfast that was based on fried eggs. On my plate though, it looked and tasted like some sort of pancake with onions and lettuce and very many other strange things. As if that was not enough to grapple with in my mind, this middle-aged man walks up and sits across the table from me. He was a little dark-skinned and had a texan-styled hat on and looked as though he were waiting for somebody; rather than sit facing me, as the convention of the table was, he sat with his side and was looking around the room somewhat frantically, yet with a measure of calmness. The picture of S-T-R-A-N-G-E was originally painted when he came to the sitting area without a tray or plate of food in hand.
A few minutes later, the seat in front of me was empty again and my mind soon went off the man (please bear in mind that I had a plate of food to contend with). I turned my head from the plate (for respite, I think) and I caught sight of the same man who, moments ago had just left my table, standing by a pillar just ahead of me. Then he moved again! This time I could not help but notice that he was going towards the table just beside me. The occupant had only just left and my former companion was coming to feast on the remnants in his tray. Not a few people looked at him with disgust. I? I was wary - my mind ran a few scenarios in which the man could make a move for my plate, so I was already on the defensive. And the man? He may not have noticed me at all because he got up rather quickly and made his way to another table that was being vacated in that moment.
It then crossed my mind that someone could - and should - call on the attention of the attendants and have the man taken outside, and save us the offensive sights. My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of laughter from the other side of the room (my right) where another company of “eaters” had been - there were two ladies and a man. By the time I turned, they had put together a plate of food (leftovers from their plates, I think, but it looked full) which they gave to an attendant who had just arrived and asked him to place it in front the man who had taken the attention of a number of people at this time. On getting the plate, he simply stood up and left the food court. It was then that I simmered down and thought for a few minutes: the man with the Texan hat could not afford a meal for himself, and rather than beg, he had come to take his fill from the plenty that more-privileged people had bought - some out of adventure - and had left to waste, and he was probably taking that plate “home” to a family in need of anything edible.
It was indeed food for thought for me. How often do we get so sophisticated and socially conscious that we become socially irresponsible? I could not help but bring to mind God’s instruction to old-testament Israel in times of harvest not to clear up everything their ground yielded, but leave enough for the poor and stranger to harvest from their lands too. That experience jerked me awake to the fact that we often live for ourselves alone as we harvest all and care about no one else, not even our own families! If you got into business, it was usually for your pocket; if it was school, then it had to be about getting the most knowledge in class so you could make the best grades. What about traffic? You simply had to be the first to break-free from the [mostly] unnecessary tussle. Could there be a better demonstration of selfishness?
Then came this sweeping revelation: citizens of the developed western world (whom many on this side castigate for their lack of culture and shame and tact, sometimes) are the ones who need the least prompting to take care of the less-privileged in their societies. They set up trusts to run homes for old people and homeless people; their governments give out regular welfare packages for the same cause; they adopt children from off the streets to raise them ‘normally’. It is therefore no surprise then that they continually reap the rewards - their better economies, systems that work, and last, and a higher percentage of socially balanced citizens. Our society’s reaction to that, we see them as ‘maga’, fit only to be dupes via all forms of scams! It would take a real awakening for us to realise the deep connection between benevolence, success and development. Perhaps then, we shall stand as a people for ‘feasts’ that would be served to everyone.
Happy Valentine's day!
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Father Me! (2)
Continued:
There was a season, during which my parents suffered a severe shortage of funds, but I did not know it, perhaps because it would have been difficult to understand. I must have known somehow though, because I loved to eat bread, and I went to the bakery twice a week to pick a loaf which I often ate alone (at least, 70% of it 90% of the time). As that season set in, I soon came to know to ask mother if my father was buoyant enough to give me money to cater for my little treat. Sometimes she encouraged me to ask, some other times she gave me money from her pocket and other times she asked me to hold on for a day or two. The times I went ahead to ask, it was either a quick reach for his wallet, or a steer into the distance that would still end up in him giving me the money. It was long after this season had passed that I realised how difficult it was for him: he could not afford to deny his son bread even in extreme financial difficulty! In spite of his financial difficulties at that time, priority was laid of food, school books and uniforms - oh yes, I eventually had up to five pairs as my father did not want me to bother to wash during the week.
At the time he died, I was ‘all grown’ and away from home – working and preparing for marriage – but I felt the blow strongly, because even then, my octogenarian father was yet a strong force in my life. I miss him and talk about him to people who keep wondering why seven months after; I still get drawn to tears thinking about him. Why not, I wonder. Well, I see how hundreds of people who have not had the benefit of prolific fatherhood turn out, and get thankful all over again.
Perhaps one of the greatest things my father did for his children is the fact that he set up an “altar” at home, creating a platform for us to know and relate with the living God and opening us up to the possibilities of a relationship with that God. The priority he gave to devotion was overwhelming at the time. In fact, as we grew older, the conduct of the sessions – from choosing the hymns and scriptures, to leading the prayers – became a responsibility we shared with Mummy and Daddy. And we did learn to pray, even in Yoruba!
Looking around today, I can tell that my generation is falling apart – as result of the dearth of real fathers. Our community is on a degeneration roller-coaster as the youth are being crushed under the weight of decisions that are ordinarily not theirs to make. I stand today (even if not perfectly) because I had a father who shielded me till I was ready to face the world’s stage. He was working overtime fathering me at a time I could not possibly have appreciated him, truly. His labour was however perfected when Christ found me and helped me relate to Him (the Holy One) as my ultimate coach.
The ills in our society continue to multiply as we come to terms with the fact that a screaming percentage of these foul deeds are propagated by/through the youth. Many young people carry bold faces around while deep within them they cry: silently yearning for role models, seeking the faces of father-figures and praying “Father me!” Yet, the older generation is busy; far too busy to understand its responsibility to its infant; wallowing in its corruption of society and selfish ambitions. All the while though, it looks on the youth with disdain, blames society’s decadence on it and gaily makes references to “the good old days”! What it fails to see however is the fact that the progeny is only an advanced image of its ancestor: the proclivities of the father would find expressions in his sons – and they would be far more creative. Little wonder gay marriages are being spoken off in Africa today, and profanity is the order of the day.
Society is only as strong as its constituents; therefore leadership begins with the tutoring of one! Many of the traits my father displayed in his lifetime are missing from our world today because many who had it did not live by example to their children. He did not have to coach with spoken words all the time; all he had to do was act right! How much better society would be if only everyone would shape up and act right! What better way can there be than for responsible “fathers” to train up their “children” and point them to God, for whom we all run the race of life.
There was a season, during which my parents suffered a severe shortage of funds, but I did not know it, perhaps because it would have been difficult to understand. I must have known somehow though, because I loved to eat bread, and I went to the bakery twice a week to pick a loaf which I often ate alone (at least, 70% of it 90% of the time). As that season set in, I soon came to know to ask mother if my father was buoyant enough to give me money to cater for my little treat. Sometimes she encouraged me to ask, some other times she gave me money from her pocket and other times she asked me to hold on for a day or two. The times I went ahead to ask, it was either a quick reach for his wallet, or a steer into the distance that would still end up in him giving me the money. It was long after this season had passed that I realised how difficult it was for him: he could not afford to deny his son bread even in extreme financial difficulty! In spite of his financial difficulties at that time, priority was laid of food, school books and uniforms - oh yes, I eventually had up to five pairs as my father did not want me to bother to wash during the week.
At the time he died, I was ‘all grown’ and away from home – working and preparing for marriage – but I felt the blow strongly, because even then, my octogenarian father was yet a strong force in my life. I miss him and talk about him to people who keep wondering why seven months after; I still get drawn to tears thinking about him. Why not, I wonder. Well, I see how hundreds of people who have not had the benefit of prolific fatherhood turn out, and get thankful all over again.
Perhaps one of the greatest things my father did for his children is the fact that he set up an “altar” at home, creating a platform for us to know and relate with the living God and opening us up to the possibilities of a relationship with that God. The priority he gave to devotion was overwhelming at the time. In fact, as we grew older, the conduct of the sessions – from choosing the hymns and scriptures, to leading the prayers – became a responsibility we shared with Mummy and Daddy. And we did learn to pray, even in Yoruba!
Looking around today, I can tell that my generation is falling apart – as result of the dearth of real fathers. Our community is on a degeneration roller-coaster as the youth are being crushed under the weight of decisions that are ordinarily not theirs to make. I stand today (even if not perfectly) because I had a father who shielded me till I was ready to face the world’s stage. He was working overtime fathering me at a time I could not possibly have appreciated him, truly. His labour was however perfected when Christ found me and helped me relate to Him (the Holy One) as my ultimate coach.
The ills in our society continue to multiply as we come to terms with the fact that a screaming percentage of these foul deeds are propagated by/through the youth. Many young people carry bold faces around while deep within them they cry: silently yearning for role models, seeking the faces of father-figures and praying “Father me!” Yet, the older generation is busy; far too busy to understand its responsibility to its infant; wallowing in its corruption of society and selfish ambitions. All the while though, it looks on the youth with disdain, blames society’s decadence on it and gaily makes references to “the good old days”! What it fails to see however is the fact that the progeny is only an advanced image of its ancestor: the proclivities of the father would find expressions in his sons – and they would be far more creative. Little wonder gay marriages are being spoken off in Africa today, and profanity is the order of the day.
Society is only as strong as its constituents; therefore leadership begins with the tutoring of one! Many of the traits my father displayed in his lifetime are missing from our world today because many who had it did not live by example to their children. He did not have to coach with spoken words all the time; all he had to do was act right! How much better society would be if only everyone would shape up and act right! What better way can there be than for responsible “fathers” to train up their “children” and point them to God, for whom we all run the race of life.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Father Me! (1)
I reminisce about the values and disciplines I got from the kind of fatherhood I enjoyed, and how the whole concept affects society. Please allow me to share my thoughts with you. The concluding part would be posted soon. Enjoy!
The first time I referred to my father as “the late”; I had to pause and think. I took time to ask myself if it was truly so, and if things would stay that way from that moment onwards. It was the middle of a prayer my Mother and I shared. She must have had the same experience I had at that moment because she was quiet for the period of my hiatus. The prayers soon continued, were concluded and we went about our businesses.
It was not the first time I was experiencing the loss of a loved one, no, but this is the closest it had ever come. For people who had been in those shoes, it is only normal. For me, the experience was far from normal – it was the sudden realization that someone whose presence in a location you had taken for granted was gone from there, never to return.
Commiserations came in from all angles; a good chunk of those featured the opinion that it was not such a loss since the departed one in this case had lived to an enviable “ripe, old age”. For me, it was by all means a loss. My old old man, whose demise I should have been prepared for, seeing that he had cheated death more than a few times since he turned seventy (and I was convinced that I was prepared) had finally taken his exit and I was caught unawares.
I pride myself as a teenager who did not give his parents trouble. Yes, boys would be boys, but some have the prefix “problematic” before that general term and I was not one of those. I was your unusual good boy, occasionally exhibiting characteristics that indicated that I was normal afterall. However, my father & I? Oh! We have a history: long and drawn battles over issues usually coming to a closing scene that would most likely reveal me, flat on my face and belly, supplication on my lips, pleading for forgiveness. Did we have verbal exchanges on issues? Hardly so – I was far too well-brought up to go that way – but I was not always repentant. And I am sure my father knew that. I was a very stubborn lad; I soon understood that there was no escape route from the apology scenes after issues came up, but I would delay “action” on them, and eventually only be observing the formalities of obedience and respect. My rebellion, you see, was subtle: as an observer you could very easily be deceived. But not Dad! I believe he must have gone through the exact same phase, because we stayed on that “lesson” long enough for me to be truly sorry, even if it was only in the interest of peace. It had to either be that he completely understood how to get the right results, or God chose to move beyond Dr. Sosan’s actions/inactions to produce the right results in me.
It is often said that you do not ascribe the full worth of a thing to it until you have lost it. I would not agree that I did not give substantial regard to my father in his lifetime. No! I believe I have learned understanding to some of the decisions he took that did not make sense back then; hind-sight gives me an opportunity that he acted more on divine inspiration than archaism; that an essential value of love and genuine interest in the things that concerned others, those lacking in our society today, was a force that drove him. I missed my father when he died about seven months ago, but I miss him more now because I realise that he was grossly under-valued, even by me!
I feel the importance he attached to quality time with family is a lesson he learned a hard way, but it is something he never defaulted on while I knew him as father. I was driven to school daily by father in his seventies. As a matter of fact, I started to write an examination that had me go across town, and my father insisted on being the chauffeur to make it all happen for me. And I knew to say “Thank you” properly, (several times over too) in my own interest. When I went away to the university and my father had been advised to go off driving, he still did not minding being driven two hours (one way) to drop off his son at school. Once we were in traffic for about five hours en route my school, only to have to turn round. Rather than complain, it was quality time again – what a beautiful reunion we had!
When our teachers went on strike sometime during my junior secondary school years, my father took on the role of holiday teacher to me. My life became even more regimented: he woke me up at 5.30am and practically gave me a time-table that took care of house chores, other errands and study, only after morning prayers, of course. There was no way he did not know what we did in school, because he had taken my textbooks and had started defining the path of progress in them for me. Oh, how I hated that period! And I am the better for it today, (even if my results did not immediately reflect it).
Timidity is one of those characteristics that you cannot associate with my late father. No matter what the consequences were, Dr. Sosan always spoke his mind – especially if he felt anyone was being oppressed. He took it upon himself to write and, in some cases, arrange meetings with political leaders so as to bring to their notice (or say to their faces) what things they had failed to do. He was loved and cheered by many for it, but he was disliked and/or feared by many more. He always stood by what was right and always exhibited care for others. If my father was worrying about you, you no longer had any reason to do it for yourself – he had all ends covered. And he always sought for ways of helping others, once he found it, he swung into action.
The first time I referred to my father as “the late”; I had to pause and think. I took time to ask myself if it was truly so, and if things would stay that way from that moment onwards. It was the middle of a prayer my Mother and I shared. She must have had the same experience I had at that moment because she was quiet for the period of my hiatus. The prayers soon continued, were concluded and we went about our businesses.
It was not the first time I was experiencing the loss of a loved one, no, but this is the closest it had ever come. For people who had been in those shoes, it is only normal. For me, the experience was far from normal – it was the sudden realization that someone whose presence in a location you had taken for granted was gone from there, never to return.
Commiserations came in from all angles; a good chunk of those featured the opinion that it was not such a loss since the departed one in this case had lived to an enviable “ripe, old age”. For me, it was by all means a loss. My old old man, whose demise I should have been prepared for, seeing that he had cheated death more than a few times since he turned seventy (and I was convinced that I was prepared) had finally taken his exit and I was caught unawares.
I pride myself as a teenager who did not give his parents trouble. Yes, boys would be boys, but some have the prefix “problematic” before that general term and I was not one of those. I was your unusual good boy, occasionally exhibiting characteristics that indicated that I was normal afterall. However, my father & I? Oh! We have a history: long and drawn battles over issues usually coming to a closing scene that would most likely reveal me, flat on my face and belly, supplication on my lips, pleading for forgiveness. Did we have verbal exchanges on issues? Hardly so – I was far too well-brought up to go that way – but I was not always repentant. And I am sure my father knew that. I was a very stubborn lad; I soon understood that there was no escape route from the apology scenes after issues came up, but I would delay “action” on them, and eventually only be observing the formalities of obedience and respect. My rebellion, you see, was subtle: as an observer you could very easily be deceived. But not Dad! I believe he must have gone through the exact same phase, because we stayed on that “lesson” long enough for me to be truly sorry, even if it was only in the interest of peace. It had to either be that he completely understood how to get the right results, or God chose to move beyond Dr. Sosan’s actions/inactions to produce the right results in me.
It is often said that you do not ascribe the full worth of a thing to it until you have lost it. I would not agree that I did not give substantial regard to my father in his lifetime. No! I believe I have learned understanding to some of the decisions he took that did not make sense back then; hind-sight gives me an opportunity that he acted more on divine inspiration than archaism; that an essential value of love and genuine interest in the things that concerned others, those lacking in our society today, was a force that drove him. I missed my father when he died about seven months ago, but I miss him more now because I realise that he was grossly under-valued, even by me!
I feel the importance he attached to quality time with family is a lesson he learned a hard way, but it is something he never defaulted on while I knew him as father. I was driven to school daily by father in his seventies. As a matter of fact, I started to write an examination that had me go across town, and my father insisted on being the chauffeur to make it all happen for me. And I knew to say “Thank you” properly, (several times over too) in my own interest. When I went away to the university and my father had been advised to go off driving, he still did not minding being driven two hours (one way) to drop off his son at school. Once we were in traffic for about five hours en route my school, only to have to turn round. Rather than complain, it was quality time again – what a beautiful reunion we had!
When our teachers went on strike sometime during my junior secondary school years, my father took on the role of holiday teacher to me. My life became even more regimented: he woke me up at 5.30am and practically gave me a time-table that took care of house chores, other errands and study, only after morning prayers, of course. There was no way he did not know what we did in school, because he had taken my textbooks and had started defining the path of progress in them for me. Oh, how I hated that period! And I am the better for it today, (even if my results did not immediately reflect it).
Timidity is one of those characteristics that you cannot associate with my late father. No matter what the consequences were, Dr. Sosan always spoke his mind – especially if he felt anyone was being oppressed. He took it upon himself to write and, in some cases, arrange meetings with political leaders so as to bring to their notice (or say to their faces) what things they had failed to do. He was loved and cheered by many for it, but he was disliked and/or feared by many more. He always stood by what was right and always exhibited care for others. If my father was worrying about you, you no longer had any reason to do it for yourself – he had all ends covered. And he always sought for ways of helping others, once he found it, he swung into action.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
The Exit of My Old Man
My father passed on the 8th of June, 2010. The following is the tribute I wrote to him (his memory) a few days later.
___________________________________________
There we were – my father and I sitting in the back seat of the truck – and it seemed just like old times. The major difference this time is that your body was lifeless. The last time we did this was before I ‘grew up’, while I was still a young student. Such were the times you had me sit with you while we went to buy me shoes or shirts and trousers (grey trousers were your favourite). This position is reminiscent also of those school report days when you picked me up from school and we analysed my report card on our way home. On the night of June 8 though, you were not speaking, and unlike those other times, it was I who was looking at you while you were not even looking. And were you not clean-shaven – a sign that you took your time to sit with your shaving stick and mirror just that morning? You were always concerned about putting up respectable appearances. This ride was most unusual too: it would be your last car ride in a sitting position – we were taking you to the mortuary!
My mind cannot but go back to those days at Okejigbo when you took on the role of my holiday lesson-teacher. You were the age of my contemporaries’ grandfathers but you would not act it. in fact, it took others to mention it a number of times before I realized the gulf between my father’s age and the ages of my friends’ fathers. If there was anything I lacked, it was not the presence of a father. You were always there; beyond my expectations on most counts too!
The ties we had – made stronger by those evenings we drove to musical events – drew us close to each other (this would be the first time I would admit this). In church I was known as “omo Baba” long before I understood what that meant. It was love, and that is something you gave. We may not have appreciated your form(s) of expression but you showered us with love all the same. You have set a standard of fatherhood for me (directly or indirectly), I cannot afford to fall short of that.
I remember the many quarrels we had too – over piano lessons and the tail shirts I refused to tuck in my trousers. Between you and Mother, I learnt through these quarrels how to apologise and be truly sorry. It took a long while, but you were never one to lose such battles.
Talking about battles, I saw you fight for life in my adult life. I remember how a regular trip to Lagos to be a part of a birthday ceremony led us through a banking hall to a hospital ward. We spent the night there because you had to be placed on a drip. By the following morning, however, we were on our way. Guess who took the driver’s seat when our driver missed his way and burst a tyre – my father! I am not sure I remember you sick for an extended period of time; other than when you had the surgeries, you were always on your feet by the third day at most. It took a long while for old age to convince you to take the back seat, and you had to skip church services. You fought so hard no one had the inkling your exit would come as early as it did. You took almost all of us by surprise!
Once I understood that the blessing of the times we already had enjoyed together is indeed unusual, I consciously began the process of trying to detach myself from you. Even though I had prepared myself over the years for this time (or so I thought), the sight of your lifeless body brought a rush of emotions. I was (still am) hit by that dart. I can say, without any doubt, that such ‘forced distance’ does not work! Various memories flash past in my mind, and you are no more to relive them with. I look around, and it is so easy to see your finger in practically every area of my life. You gave me support, far beyond any form of obligation. It is so hard to prepare for your funeral, worse still, tell people about it.
With tears in my eyes (flowing freely, actually), I am now at the point of using words my imagination never crafted: Adieu Papa!
___________________________________________
There we were – my father and I sitting in the back seat of the truck – and it seemed just like old times. The major difference this time is that your body was lifeless. The last time we did this was before I ‘grew up’, while I was still a young student. Such were the times you had me sit with you while we went to buy me shoes or shirts and trousers (grey trousers were your favourite). This position is reminiscent also of those school report days when you picked me up from school and we analysed my report card on our way home. On the night of June 8 though, you were not speaking, and unlike those other times, it was I who was looking at you while you were not even looking. And were you not clean-shaven – a sign that you took your time to sit with your shaving stick and mirror just that morning? You were always concerned about putting up respectable appearances. This ride was most unusual too: it would be your last car ride in a sitting position – we were taking you to the mortuary!
My mind cannot but go back to those days at Okejigbo when you took on the role of my holiday lesson-teacher. You were the age of my contemporaries’ grandfathers but you would not act it. in fact, it took others to mention it a number of times before I realized the gulf between my father’s age and the ages of my friends’ fathers. If there was anything I lacked, it was not the presence of a father. You were always there; beyond my expectations on most counts too!
The ties we had – made stronger by those evenings we drove to musical events – drew us close to each other (this would be the first time I would admit this). In church I was known as “omo Baba” long before I understood what that meant. It was love, and that is something you gave. We may not have appreciated your form(s) of expression but you showered us with love all the same. You have set a standard of fatherhood for me (directly or indirectly), I cannot afford to fall short of that.
I remember the many quarrels we had too – over piano lessons and the tail shirts I refused to tuck in my trousers. Between you and Mother, I learnt through these quarrels how to apologise and be truly sorry. It took a long while, but you were never one to lose such battles.
Talking about battles, I saw you fight for life in my adult life. I remember how a regular trip to Lagos to be a part of a birthday ceremony led us through a banking hall to a hospital ward. We spent the night there because you had to be placed on a drip. By the following morning, however, we were on our way. Guess who took the driver’s seat when our driver missed his way and burst a tyre – my father! I am not sure I remember you sick for an extended period of time; other than when you had the surgeries, you were always on your feet by the third day at most. It took a long while for old age to convince you to take the back seat, and you had to skip church services. You fought so hard no one had the inkling your exit would come as early as it did. You took almost all of us by surprise!
Once I understood that the blessing of the times we already had enjoyed together is indeed unusual, I consciously began the process of trying to detach myself from you. Even though I had prepared myself over the years for this time (or so I thought), the sight of your lifeless body brought a rush of emotions. I was (still am) hit by that dart. I can say, without any doubt, that such ‘forced distance’ does not work! Various memories flash past in my mind, and you are no more to relive them with. I look around, and it is so easy to see your finger in practically every area of my life. You gave me support, far beyond any form of obligation. It is so hard to prepare for your funeral, worse still, tell people about it.
With tears in my eyes (flowing freely, actually), I am now at the point of using words my imagination never crafted: Adieu Papa!
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