Twilight of a Being

In the twilight of the evening shadow, as I gazed with heavy eyes at the emerging stars, I became lost in deep contemplation; “what if there exist other life-forms on some planets surrounding any of the stars above?”. Hard as I tried at maintaining a course on my introspective sojourn, the weight of my heavy eyes cast a shadow on my mind. The veil of sleepiness succeeded in shutting the gates of my vision. My head came to rest lazily on the side wall; snooze. Zzzzzzz !!!

I found my self in a strange land with a set of strange people conducting a strange ceremony; a celebration of sorts. I looked around me and saw that the people were different in many ways, every feature of theirs was to me, positioned wrongly. But for some strange reason I felt unusually unafraid. I beckoned on one of them and asked “what is the celebration about?”. And he replied “this is the worship of death”.
I became astonished and probed further “Is death a deity?”
“No, it is a messenger of the gods”. He continued “It acts as a conveyor of souls from one life to another”,
“If it is just a conveyor, why worship death?” I asked again.
“Well, since we live in a world that is largely uncertain and unpredictable, we revere death because of its certainty. In fact, it is the only certainty we are sure of in our world” he said.

The other members of the congregation were by now milling around something that looked like a luminous spire. A pink beam pointing skywards emanated from the spire. There were successive rings of glowing red moving upwards that encircled the beam. The heat generated by the spire increasingly became unbearable but the people remained undisturbed. As they moved around the spire, a rattling sound was generated by the seemingly independent movements of their mid-sections. It was as if their midsections are bags filled with stones, it also seemed to have rebellious inclination . The midsections reluctantly went along with the rest of their body.

I wiped the bit of sweat that formed on my brow with the back of my right hand. “You all seem to be at ease, happy and excited” I said.
“This is one of the few occasions that gives us glimpses into what ultimate happiness is” he said.
“Where I come from, death does not necessarily portend happiness” I countered.
“Death is inevitable, and it is a serious event when someone dies. We use it as reminder to ourselves that one day we shall also return home” he said. He now started gyrating in synchronous movement with the rest of the pack. He continued “You see, Our life is a dream which we wake up from when we die”.
“You mean, this is not your main existence and the real one comes after dying” I queried.
“Yes. Here, we use death as a focus for our lives. Our interactions, relationships, aspirations and motivations are predicated on the notion that we shall surely transit from this plane of existence” he retorted.

The rattling suddenly stopped, each member of the congregation now assumed a sombre posture. A humming sound emanated from a tiny orifice that opened out from one of the things I will liken to a limb.
“Excuse me, I need to join in the supplication” he said. I stepped back a few metres, seizing the opportunity to take in the ambience surrounding the ceremony. The sky was mainly fiery yellow. This was intermittently disturbed by the splashing of differing colours against this sky background. The whole expanse as far as I could see appeared desolate. However I had this strong feeling there was life present in abundance. Here, the inanimate objects had a life or so it seemed. An unimaginable sense of contentment descended over me. I just remained standing in awe. I looked on into the endlessness, lost in my own thoughts.
“Do you know it is only on this occasions that we get to meet other members of our race” he said, interrupting my thoughts. “You mean you do not often see each other” I asked, needing clarification.
“No, we see each other all the time; but it is at this occasions our inner true feelings becomes revealed; no holds bar. And with this come the true sense of oneness” he said.
He seemed to grasp at something and continued “Not too long ago , our true gods came to a realisation that our being is essentially a hypocritical one; our outward appearance was in constant conflict with the inner self, this led to the general unhappiness in our world”.
He went on “Much of our societal norms, values and rules were an aggregation of ideas which to an individual member of our society, were innately untrue”.
He tried swathing at something I could not see and continued. “Our people became afflicted with various forms of madness, but we were not aware of these afflictions. Our collective and varied madness were manifested in diverse forms of worship of dissimilar gods.”
“Uh hu”, I heard myself saying.
“Unknown to us, these were invisible gods created by ourselves; by our fears. We ended up worshipping our creations”.
I assumed a crouching position with my chin rested on my palms and continued listening.
“We sought after fame and groped for security so that like our gods we could be in control; but we were mistaken. Fame and security were expanding universes”.
Stomping his what I will liken to a limb on the ground he resumed, “We became our own gods; gods driven by fear. For we had sold our passions”.

...........................
I felt a stick trying to push its way between my lips. I opened my eyes, it was Ladele, up to one of her usual pranks. The complete darkness of my neighbourhood descended on me. NEPA was at it again. The dream put me back on my path of introspective sojourning.

The great religions did recognise the significance of death in the lives of the living. Through death comes life. This might imply an upward progression in the larger realities of multifarious and seemingly infinite existence. If earthly existence is transient (and most of us agree it is), then maybe the man from the dream is right; “Life is a dream which you wake up from when you die”.

True realisation of the meaning and purpose of your existence suddenly dawns on you when you are dying (I sincerely hope not). You wake up and realise “I have failed again”. What are you here for?, For what purpose do you exist?.

The deepest question which confronts man, is “what purpose is his existence?” What meaning does his living portend?. In answering a related question “What is man?”, Samuel. L. Clemens (otherwise known as Mark Twain) reduced man to an automaton, a predictable animal, a pre-programmed machine. In many respects, judging by the behaviour exhibited by man, a dispassionate onlooker might be willing to agree with Twain’s assertion. However, the ingenious creativity in its illogic nature, sometimes exhibited by some members of the human congregation belittles this argument.

Since man became aware of his mortality, he has embraced different explanations in order to fulfil the yearning to know the unknown; the reason for life. But is the vast universal unknown that portrays the immensity of the effect of Godliness knowable ?. Is our ultimate search a futile exercise?. Are we really satisfied with the answers we outwardly embrace, but remain inwardly in turmoil? Or must we look within to find that which is without?. The wave of chaos that now pervades the planet (as seen through the eyes of CNN), somehow indicates acknowledgement in many, that the proffered explanations for existence’s purpose find no place in the hearts of men. Or is it that there is a nothingness of existence?

The immense unknowns humbles those that dare to search; the multitude of followers get shattered by the seeming absence of eternal truths. However, as humans we take solace in the notion that within boundaries that are defined for us, there can be workable truths which serves to useful limits imposed by the bounding conditions. No wonder Einstein came to the conclusion that “Whosoever undertakes to set himself up as a Judge of truth and knowledge is shipwrecked by the laughter of the gods”.

Each seemingly successful and truthful discovery opens up a new window of the Universe. A plethora of questions surges forth. It sometimes appear that “we live in an infinite continuum, in which the tiniest yet to be discovered unimaginable spec is a Universe; and the Universe a tiny spec. So we must continue on our sojourn, trying to conquer the immense unknown. The beauty of existence lying in the continuing discovery of the missing pieces of this great jig-saw puzzle called life.

Of villages of yore and our cities of today

……and one can only think if we have left our villages behind?


It seems we are somehow set, more or less, in our views of reality by the time we get to about the prime of childhood. Our perception of the nature of things informs the vision of what we hope to become, albeit oblivious of the platform which nature will thrust on our way in acting out our chosen mission.

The dominance exhibited by certain individuals in our enclave was one of the factors that unconsciously shaped our lives’ desires. Somehow, as children we looked up to and are drawn to those individuals who seem to have control and influence over others in our community. In our impressionable young minds these individuals had power over nature itself, issues of life and death were easily within their ambit and control.

Growing up in the rural backwaters, persons welding these seemingly inexhaustible powers, in addition to influence and control were gifted, to our young minds, with abilities to discern mysterious occurrences. This was our chief source of attraction, as we saw them as commanding reverence and fear from other members of our community. The village oracle priest was one such person. The oracle priest had this special relationship with divinity, or so we thought. When our villages became afflicted with one infirmity or the other, the oracle priest was consulted to find what or who was responsible, and to do what ever is necessary to stop the scourge. Curiously though, it usually turned out to be that it was someone rather than something that was responsible. Typically, by way of transgression of the law of the gods, which may be of uncommon knowledge except to the oracle priest and some few elders, or by defying the gods, a charge only the oracle priest could make owing to his proximity to these gods. In essence, our oracle priest had a way with the gods, deciphering or interpreting their actions or inactions.

The solutions for pacifying the gods so as to mitigate the effect of the scourge usually came in the form of sacrifices. Foodstuffs were made available to the gods via the oracle priest. As a child I had this unspoken thought, which stood stubbornly on mind any time these appeasements were being made. I would wonder if the gods were gluttonous greedy pigs that could only be satisfied by the choicest pork or beef from the most cherished pig or cow, not forgetting too that they usually ended up with the biggest tubers of yam. The gods were so held in awe that this thought never escaped my unsafe lips, lest I became a meal myself. Occasionally, there were stories that trickled to our hearing about how the crime an individual committed was so grave, that the only solution was for the culprit to be sacrificed to the gods. As to what the gods did to the body I could not be certain, but I had the nudging feeling they also ate the poor fellow. One just had to think about their large appetite to come to the same conclusion, at least this notion was a consolation of sorts to assuage my wandering mind. Women more than men were usually to be found guilty of such heinous charges. Why the disproportion? I could not phantom.

Some of us became so consumed by the divinity of the oracle priest that we will often end up in a reverie, fantasizing on what we shall do when we became the custodian of the village rituals, the pathways to the gods. Like all things, our fantasies faded with the passages of time, the children of yore became the adolescent urchins, other set of realities creeping into our consciousness. The need to struggle for your own survival in the mist of competing mouths, your hand trying to grapple a big one time mould from the common bowl, succeeding to outwit other hands briefly, momentarily. And you knew your life depended on your success at this endeavour, which we took as feeding. Of course mother’s attention was now consumed by another, clinging always to her breast as she goes robotically about her daily chores, the realization that you are on your own was unmistaken.

Apart from our village gods which the oracle priest had the sole privilege of consulting and deciphering the meaning of their silences, we were also aware of other gods, or more precisely one particular god who we were made to visit on Sundays, usually sporting our best apparels. Generally we were made to believe that this god was more accessible and less alienating. He was often thought to be superior as supplications to him were often made in the foreign tongue, which we considered more potent at delivering our messages than when prayers were conducted in our dialect, which we were sure the priest had to interpret for him to comprehend.

Eventually as children are wont to do, we grew and these childish notions were quickly repressed into depths of our subconscious. Schooling and its attendant regimentation had done the trick. The wandering urchins were effectively made into noble young men, with a future to look up to in circumnavigating the radial paths of our individual universes. Along these chosen paths, some of us that were completely taking in by the glitter of western values and accomplishments, had no recourse but to run from our traditions and values as fast and far as possible in order to inculcate these foreign norms without question. The “superior” religion of the westerners or more precisely Caucasians was also embraced with the hope that their god will grant us also the accomplishments that will cast us as their equals, after all their religion was codified into a book and ours was largely whimsical and superstitious, at least so we thought.

The stage had now been set for us to be engaged in the competition that must have been programmed unrecognisably into our subconscious. The desire to better our childhood mates was such a driving force that we failed to give a thought to what our acquiring education would mean in terms of where we are coming from, and to what purpose we shall put the education, towards serving the needs of our community. Frankly, to us this did not matter.

What did matter and what we saw as the purpose of education, simply put was, a means of acquisition of social status and the attendant material benefits. We learnt all the ‘hows’ in the institutions we traversed. By so doing we thought finally we would overcome the nudging innate feeling that we were inferior as far as humanity is concerned. So consumed were we with the passion for peripheral actualisation that we aped everything Caucasian, from casual manners through the cultivation of what we believed were superior etiquettes. The eating with knives and fork, setting tables to dine thus confirming that we were far removed from those days when we struggled with our siblings grovelling, hoping to get a mouthful through the dexterity of our fingers. How far had we come we thought. The ‘whys’ of things to us was unimportant, as long as we are successful at aping, what did it matter? At last we can do as the Caucasians do, successfully repressing the nudging that we are mere pretenders.

Through our live of unacknowledged pretence, we became what we thought was important, being “somebody”. Brandishing degrees (initially in the arts to become colonial administrators, but latter in the sciences as university dons and much latter professionals), preferably from one of the western institutions of higher learning, becoming one of the distinguished fellows of society having survived the vagaries of the uncertainties in radial paths of life while our fellow siblings failed.

To celebrate our survival in overcoming the obstacles, we had formed professional associations, not for promoting our profession, but avenue to frolic with fellow survivors. Recently, we formed associations such as those of PhD holders (an ultimate apery), emphasising affiliations as accomplishments, betraying any lack of concrete achievement particularly when it comes to the realms of ideas, original and purposeful ideas that is, which will be useful in elevating our villages. We just ran away from our people.

Finally, we recognised our folly, or so we thought, having been versed in the ‘how’ but not comprehending the ‘why’, our recourse was to pacify or bribe through our fervent worship, the source that makes the ‘why’ accessible to the Caucasians, their god. Those of us that thought we understood the epitome of the sciences but were limited to the ‘how’ questions, but unable to probe into the ’whys’, gave up and bowed our heads before the Caucasian god, hoping the secrets of the universe will be revealed to us only.

Our childhood motives and desires having coming full cycle. The longing to be the village oracle priest now being played out on a national arena with a global audience, our party had began. We had now achieved what we set out to achieve. That is being the most dominant on our chosen stage, by being the custodian of the convolution of our childhood regurgitations of village displays of the oracle priest with our embrace of the rituals associated with the worship of the Caucasian god. We thus became the ultimate recognisable professional, the Pastor with the Pentecostal hue… Evangelist, Apostle, Reverend, Bishop, Pastor, etc, and now, wait for it General Overseer. Our propensity to acquire titles, religious, temporal and otherwise betraying our inner emptiness and reinforcing our innate acceptance of being humanly inferior.
Where do we go from here?

Naija men and woe on to men

Why do we Naija men fool around?

One Afro-American comedian once pondered on this question during one of his stand-up acts whose title bears a semblance to the suffix of the one time new Warri "Waffy" car plate numbers (albeit in reverse). In that comedy strip he came to a very interesting, amusing but may be unconvincing conclusion on "Why men fool around". In trying to be civil, I would not recount his findings verbatim, but the essence of his argument was: If a man could get a woman....... to obey Newton's first law of motion to the point where Einstein's theory of relativity comes verily into play, and space and time dilation become a reality, then such a man could always get away with any wrong doing to his woman , even fooling around.

To some, such a conclusion may be agreeable, to others objectionable, but lets us tarry a while and really reflect on why men do what they do. Is it game, or is it a manifestation of a desire for a toy- thing, or a way of getting back at women. I know what you are already thinking; What does he mean by ......"getting back at women?". Let us recall what one "mad-man" named Chiwenzu (But remember "mad men are people gifted by God with a vision denied to others) once said “A man chases a woman until she decides to get caught”, you really wonder who then is doing the chasing. We also do realise that while it most often than not takes a man all he has (actual, potential and imagined) to get the woman his heart (or is it something else) desires, it takes the woman only her physical attributes to get the man she requires. Like the saying goes the beauty of a man lies in his pocket, and for a woman we all know where it is on(or where it lays). Enough of this digression.

Since the beginning of time, men have subconsciously distrusted women. There had always been an undeclared war of the sexes, while men appear to be winning in the physical, with all their aggressiveness; women seem to have the upper hand in the emotional realm, using their psychological chips (this by no means accounts for why more women than men attend spiritual enclaves- this will be subject of another discourse). This distrust had manifested in various forms in different cultures. If you would recall that in medieval ages in Europe, men caged their women in metal girdles before going to war. In the not recent past, in certain parts of this country, men guarded against any possibility of indiscretion by their wives through the use of remote control devices (do not ask me how these works). All such and many more actions on the part of men appear to be a subliminal recognition by men, of the superiority of the women in this game of life, despite men's outward brandish display of being in control. For most men, a public acknowledging of this fact and they will seize to be men. A chauvinistic desire to physically dominate the women gender arises from internal recognition of the foregoing.

Men have always outwardly displayed the "Certificate of Occupancy" of their women, they see their women as their ultimate property; but the truth is that it is the women that own men. The women folk see men as instruments for providing the necessities (both essentials and frivolous) for living. They exhort men to take any risks even if it means losing their lives, they also psychological prompt men into taking actions and decisions. Little wonder then, the truism in the popular adage behind every successful man there is a woman(the converse also holds true) or one can just say "The man is the figurehead, but the woman is that figure that turns the head". The sad part of the story is men inwardly acknowledge this fact, but they find it so difficult to accept.

In essence, the need for men to fool around when stripped of its subterfuge, is not really a lascivious desire, but an act of vengeance, a way of aggressively gaining what you lose psychologically. This sexual symptom is a manifestation of the lack of grasp of the everyday-street psychology which women had always exhibited since the dawn of civilisation. Like I always say when it comes to the crux of life, the best game a man can play with a woman is a draw. When men do fool around, they do so with a pseudo-intent of their woman knowing ultimately. Some even go to the extent of flaunting it on their women faces. If and when a woman decides to do same, it is always with a touch of class and very surreptitiously.

A mans desire to fool around also arises from the need to psychologically reassure himself that he is in control, he still possesses his freedom. It can also be seen as an attempt to reclaim the perceived lost ownership of oneself.

I guess men who do not fool around (at least in the widely accepted notion of the expression), would want to think by the foregoing that they are psychologically equipped to tackle women. Wait a minute, you also do fool around, through your sometimes over indulgence in games, sports, etc. some by their roving eyes and lingering thoughts on things that swaggers and winds, and for some the compulsive obsession with work and some an unending foray in outwardly spiritual charades devoid of any internal convictions.

All men have always realised: A man executes a coup, he succeeds, he becomes the president, he shares the attendant glory, fame and security with his woman. If he fails, he dies alone. Today in Nigeria, if he acquires she comes, if he looses off she goes.
So if you do fool around, ponder a while: Why do I fool around?. And for me ....I'll keep on being me. .

Cowards’ Paradise

“In our inherited milieu, individual fears regarding unknowns find expressions in the collective worship of the gods. However, it is our anxieties regarding uncertainties in getting daily needs of survival that influence our decisions most.” ....Al-fade

Let us begin on a cautionary note about opinions that will be encountered in the following paragraphs. “I would not be confident in every thing I say about the argument: but one thing I would fight for to the end, both in word or deed if I were able---- that if we believed we should try to find out what is not known, we should be better and braver and less idle than if we believed that what we do not know it is impossible to find out and that we need not even try” so says Socrates (THE MENO)

Now. The other day I was in heaven, God was seated in all his majesty. To his right seated the choir of angels which had a black-man with his saxophone in the front pew. I moved closer to the choir, only to discover it was our very own Fela doing his thing on the sax. What a relief this was. I was almost being led to believe by my “New-day-saints” acquaintances that this our “bastion of authenticity” was destined for hell. I spurn around, “ha ha”, there goes that “Evangelist”, he is up to his whispering antics again. “What is he trying to do?”, “Maybe trying to convince God to send Fela to hell”. I moved closer to listen in. I heard God Say “Fela lived his life, and what did you do with yours?”. The Evangelist replied “I won souls for you my lord”,
“For me “said God “Not for me my son, You won souls for your ego and your pocket”,
“How would you know that my lord?”
“Well, I’m God your lord. Your query shows you lack belief in me”
“No my lord, hem...hem...but being a Nigerian, it is so difficult been totally convinced about your existence. There are so much sources of doubt”
“But Fela did believe”
“I thought I believed too, I thought I heard you speak to me”
“You couldn’t have heard me. You never listened. You only heard what you wanted to hear”
“I’m so sorry my lord”
“What should we do to you my son?”
“Forgive me my lord”
“Hum....eh..hen, I know what we shall do, you shall go back to Nigeria”
“Thank you my Lord. ....Thank you....Thank you”
“Don’t thank me my son, Nigeria is hell”.

The engine of my time capsule was still running idle when got back to heavens garage (no reverse packing here), I got in and left heaven, I pushed the time-warp button, felt my self being sucked into a resonating ambience propelled at the speed of mind {(c 2 ) mind}, a softening thud on the ground, a landing in the pre-historic African jungle.

The earliest forms of hominids had ceased to exist, and homo-erectus straddled the African continent which gradually inched itself into a position of finality at a spatial centre on the globe. I discovered that our progenitors found themselves placed in the loftiest paradise on earth; this wetland jungle. Fruits bearing trees everywhere abound and rivers and streams leisurely cut the landscape. What better habitat could these pre-historic men desire. The pristine environment was just right for living, no incentive for discovering agriculture, he simply climbed the tree to pick fruits or dug the ground to uncover tubers. Game ran wild, and he followed in hot pursuit for the tendons which his jaw could hardly resist. Any wonder that bush-meat is still a delicacy to the 20th century Nigerian. His environment encouraged him to rely solely on his instincts, his cranial component mainly occupying space.

I retrieved my micro-plane from the time-capsule, shot a stream of growth-beam on it, “voila !!!” a normal size jet for one appeared. I got in and sped up north to the temperate regions. “Daam, how could anyone survive in the endless land of blinding white and intolerable chill”. I had arrived in a clime in which hail storms battled with unceasing rumblings from the outpouring of volcanic ash, one trying to outwit the other in the contest of de-survival of the humanoid. These shivering humanoids were a pitiable sight, with the rumbling earth beneath their feet and; endless cold and bitter snow threatening to immobilise their joints if they remained static. They could hardly do otherwise but to move. Movement in all its ramifications did they exhibit. “Getting a shelter and a fur, is a pre-occupation of their initial thought processes” I observed, “Over time I’m sure they will get used to thinking”.

Different strokes I guess for different pre-historic folks, I flew back to the time capsule, “enough of these pre-historic reverie”. It is time to go back to my chaotic 20th century.

Countless millenniums had by now gone past and things had changed, but the fatalism of the African ancestors remained with their descendants. Mountains roared, land moved, wild fires ravaged the land while lightening struck some person dead. “It must be the gods that are the cause”, they echoed. “The gods in heaven determine everything-those that should be born, those that shall live and those that will die”.

As I looked around, some thoughts from Lamarck re-echoed in my mind “each individual appears to inherit the traits of his progenitors; such individual is also affected by the environment he is placed and; the inherited traits modulated by the environment are passed on to his descendants”. Well I guess a lot of research still needs to be done in determining the proportionate contribution of genetic antecedents and environmental factors in an individuals psychological and physiological makeup. Nature vs. Nurture you will say.

Some will argue that “though the inherited genetic composition is crucial, an individual requires an enabling environment to actualise his innate tendencies”.

And if the above assertions hold true, it is easy to see why a sizeable proportion of inhabitants of this clime, are more giving into feelings and sentiments than thought; waiting than moving; gaping than reading; noise making than thinking; Miracles (read Magic) than work etc. But all hope is not yet lost, there appears to be a silver lining at the end of the rainbow (to borrow the popular refrain). What is thus required is the generation of an ambience which alters generally preferred tendencies. How we do this, honestly I don’t know, I guess my preferred inclination is to wait on miracles (After all, I have not checked out yet, I’m still a Nigerian).

Following my own advice, I again boarded the time-capsule on a continuing excursion of the pre-historic jungle, trying to uncover the origin of character of the Nigerian.

Returning to the caveman days, in which our hairy ancestor was the lord of the manor. Our over-lording creature had massive expanse of land to himself. His next door neighbour was light-years away. To him his neighbour might as well be on the mars.

I put the time-capsule in the travel-observe mode, trying to do a time-lapse mapping of the evolutionary traits of our ancestors. The pre-historic man word was law, I discovered, at least in his immediate environment. Procreation was his chief occupation. As I moved on, population gradually increased and the land entitlement per individual decreased. With this shrinking universe, laws of individuals were no longer adequate to protect individuals rights. “Heh hen” I have now arrived at an epoch where the laws of one man came in conflict with the laws of another. It is interesting seeing these cavemen slug it out. A thud on an antagonist’s head, the man still remains standing, a blow by the cudgel, the protagonist to the ground only to stand up in the twinkle of an eye (Amos omo Tutuola, I beg yu O, sofly cari my leg, ...I no wear...). This reminds me of our wrestlemania in the twentieth century (I’m sure we still crave for those primordial days).

As population spread, It is curious to note that during this era “Societal norms, values, laws which sought to protect rights of the individuals within a collective was thus born”. But I could still see a lot of disgruntled cavemen. To these early men “Societal norms, values, laws were an aggregation of ideas which the individual holds innately untrue”. Maybe here lies the origin of human hypocrisy; the duality imposed by the conflict of doing for the self on one hand and doing for the commune on the other.

Musing all alone on the capsule on my way back to 20th century Nigeria, “I belief, such societal laws are valid in so far they guaranteed the survival of the collective. Thus, laws are an integral part of human relationship. And these laws and norms are allowed to remain in place as long as there is enabling (read economic) environment that ensures survival of the majority”. But oftentimes, I suppose such enabling environments get suspended and people have no option but a recourse to their repressed primordial instincts (every man for himself, God be the adjudicator).


Maybe this explains why we are witnessing a renaissance of pre-historic times in the jungles of Africa, from Rwanda moving westward to Sierra-Leone and also gliding through our own beloved Nigeria. Now, behold the new era of video clips of atrocious brute force, in which the man that welds the cudgel carries the day. Since most of us have evolved leaving our caveman savageness behind (have we really?, the genocide in Rwanda I’m sure was an illusion) what alternatives are we left with!!. But to run back to our gods for divine explanation for that which we are witnesses. And we wait on our gods for torrents of miracles to shower and reverse that which we are the cause. Well, remember for most (at least in Nigeria), this is the preferred inclination to solving issues.


At the risk of sounding patronising, it appears that our spiritual abodes are keeping sanity of the jungle dwellers in check. This really makes up for the impossible numbers of psychiatrists that will be required to stem the contagious madness enveloping the jungle. The offering of hallucinatory concoction (that leads to mass amnesia) in the form of religious parables in exchange for cash, thus providing us the delusion of being active as against our actual collective lethargy. The jungle dwellers get born anew, with hearts completely filled with “love of God”, no space left for fellow men. In this era of the cultist, in which membership of a cult ensures the progress of an individual, we should not be surprised by the gravitation towards these pseudo-pious cult. In every path that traverses through the jungle Alleluia choruses now pierce our contemplative solitude.


Alleluia! Alleluia!
Heaven’s door and our voices ring.
Crocodile streams our eyes bring.
Ether, vacuous and honeyed,
heathen contagion fills.

Flux of fable, our souls’ bliss.
In lurid worship, convoluted souls.
Mutinous feet enraged in stomps, the floor pulls.
Symphony played by full moon,
swarms of gyrating torsos flow.
Filling our arcane and lewd appetite,
this chow.

Nigeria


Oblivious yell and ground roll,
Gods love, all hands scurry to pull.
Frenetic prayers to the altar,
fingers take to flight.
The others eye, a bequeathed plight.
And all these, Heaven’s pathway,
for all to take.

Nigeria

Magma of madness,
fury flows.
Scathing all, wrecking blows.
Deluge mass of surface affection,
To bread and butter,
hoggish devotion.
Awash the gutters way,
crumbs set sail.
To the muck,
vagrant forage for a meal,
wander and scurry at their feet,
limbs begging low.
This show,
voices of new-day saints bellow.

Nigeria


The other way,
our eyes set to turn.
On our way,
marauders set to burn.
Our pores,
ooze of fattened oil.
The marauder’s sight,
a pig to broil.

Beads of adornment,
our veil of gluttony.
Show for our enterprise we claim,
a tale so phony.
A pot of honey,
we flee to in hurry.
The trampled on our way,
we are all but sorry.
To this hollow,
Our voices howl.

Nigeria.


On our knees, to God,
a glut of plea.
Escape our gaol of pious pretence,
Egoism within to flee.
Mercy and miracles,
ourselves alone we seek.
Thy neighbours’ love,
all scramble to kick.
Within mist of stolen treasures,
our refuge lie.
The price of gold,
our wares we sell by a lie.

Nigeria


Nigeria

Random pickings,
the Snipers’ will.
The picked,
part of the bill.
All and all,
targets for guns so deprived.
Behind shackled doors,
hiding and grumbling.
“Heaven’s fault”,
muffled voices mumbling.

And God said to Evangelist “why are you so a hypocrite ?”and he answered “you made me with a free will so”.
“Fela had a free will too, but remained authentic”. I was roused from my dreamy reverie by a loud explosion (not that kind we are by now accustomed to) from a tyre blow out. Back on earth, the sung of the weird one now escapes through my neighbours window. I could clearly make out the words. And need I say more, these words ring true for this moment..



“my people sef fear too much
we fear for di tin we no see
we fear for di air around us

we fear to fight for freedom
we fear to fight for liberty
we fear to fight for justice
we fear to fight for happiness

we always get reason to fear
we no wan die
we no wan wound
we no wan quench
we no wan go
I get one child
mama dey for house
papa dey for house
I wan build house
I don build house
I no wan quench
I wan enjoy
I no wan go......

..so policeman go slap your face, you no go talk
army man go beat your yansh, you go dey look like donkey....”


In my mind’s eye, that sincere moment in which Patrick Henry addressed the first American Congress associated with the declaration of independence in 1776, cannot help but resurface, and this he said “Is life so dear or peace so sweet as to be purchased at the price of chains of slavery? For bid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may choose but, as for me, give me liberty or give me death.” And here we are, arms folded, waiting to go to heaven, and non of us is willing to die to get there. Even for the sake of the beautiful ones not yet born. Do I hear someone say “the man has died for us; and he shall visit thunder and brimstone on the captors of his flock”. Well if we continue to await the miracles from heaven, without having the courage to follow through with that Godly thought within us all, one day we shall wake up to find, there is not much left to live for.

If the heavens my “new day saints” exist, then I’m sure only one criteria will get anybody there, and that is being authentic. Talking of authenticity, remember, Saint of the Gutters, Mother Theresa.

On a final note, our fears are aptly captured by Lawrence LeShan in his book Alternate Realities and he wrote— “We have always known that there was something wrong. Behind our busyness, behind the working at and worrying about everyday life and our survival from year to year, were the questions: “What does it mean?” “Why are we here and where is here? “Why do we love, fear, hate, kill, protect ourselves, die? “What does being born mean? “What does dying mean? “What is love? “Is there more to the world we see?” Behind our constant activity and our concern about our activities and plans lies a dim unease about these questions and our lack of any answers of which we can be sure.” In our present milieu, I’m sure many will claim to have found definite answers to LeShan questions. The solutions found in the embrace of re-worked religions (or as it is now popularly called by the new adherents—Way of life). I hope they truly have. But I suspect as LeShan puts it “This I will act as if I believe. This I will give my life to, hoping it is the truth. This I will have faith in”
is the way we are. In this enclave religion has always being a tradition. Now, it is also becoming increasingly highly fashionable. The only thing that has changed really, is the level of attendant hypocrisy.
Now is our authentic moment. Let us all seize it, and do that which is right from within, so that our beautiful ones yet unborn would live in a beautiful Nigeria.