My people! If I tell una say I never sleep for the past one week, una no go believe me! Abeg, make una ask me why now, ehen, thank you. I go tell una. My people, na all these church people dem no dey allow person close eye for night. Na so oh, as evening just nak, dem go begin. Left oh, right oh, in front oh, behind oh, from all corners, dem go begin dey shout, dey disturb the whole neighborhood anyhow. Shuo! Na only una dey Warri? Special notice to all of una wey dey P.T.I road, Effurun. I swear, una go soon see my medical bill for una mail box. Hiss!
Now, it is not a problem if people decide to worship and sing praises to the Lord. It is a good thing, a very good thing. However, if you have decided to spend your night at church singing at the top of your voice, that is your prerogative, not mine nor the hundreds of people around in the neighborhood that have decided to spend their own nights on their beds sleeping. Honestly! Do we not have a law against public disturbance? I mean, a lot of people are hardworking people that have spent their hours working all day and all they need is a good night’s rest. For example, a doctor that has spent his whole day on his feet would need his sleep at night in order to perform a life saving operation the next day. Tomorrow na, if the poor man leave scissors for person belle una go begin dey make noise, but una don forget say una no allow am rest for night oh! How im wan take do im job properly ehn? Or another example, a long distance lorry driver falls asleep on the road, causing a major accident, wetin una go talk? Una go begin blame all the blood sucking demons for road, meanwhile, una don forget say na una no allow the man close eye for night!
Furthermore, it is not the fact that these churches have chosen to “broadcast” their prayers and praise singing through megaphones and horn speakers, that is the matter. It is the logic of the whole thing that is particularly disturbing. Now, I have always assumed that perhaps there was a crowd outside the churches that needed to follow the worship or whatever else was going on inside the church. Imagine my amazement to discover that there was nobody outside these churches at all! In some of them, there were only a handful of people inside the church and yet they had decided to broadcast their worship outside! For who? None of the church members were there, and there was no gathering outside for them to even assume that anybody else was interested in their worship proceedings. I am sure if anybody wanted to take part, they would have been there. Now, please, somebody, explain to me, where is the logic? How would people feel if I decide to blast reggae through megaphones through out the night, every night? After all, Rastafari is a religion too. I appeal to all the churches in Warri, to please remove those terrible megaphones and horn speakers hanging from the corners of their churches and let us sleep. Na God we dey take beg una.
Meanwhile, the thing wey dem dey blast for us self no get head or tail! Pastor go dey do im own incantations for there, some people go dey sing their own dey go, plus the music wey dem go dey play na another thing entirely! Haba! The thing reach to destroy ear drum, and then imagine the noise of all those generators on top. Na die be dat na!
P S: Una take style see that AMAA awards? Chei! Laugh wan kill me! Una see the stage? The thing be like say dey import am from one cheap Karaoke bar from Thailand! And na so everything just jaga jaga anyhow. Abeg, the people wey organize am, una no try at all oh! Chei! Shame catch me, I hope say all our African neighbours no watch that thing oh!
waffywaffarian@yahoo.com
Friday, May 16, 2008
Naija weddings!
My people, if I tell una say I don tire for all dis wedding business, una go think say I dey lie. I say, I don tire! Shuo, na only for Nigeria people dey do wedding? Haba! All these colours and themes wey person never hear before…abi na me be mumu? I say the kain colors wey Naija women go dey call, don dey trouble me. If you say blue abi na yellow, that one I know, but wey the thing reach all those kain “aqua”, “periwinkle” , “oatmeal” and co, I swear, I go begin get headache.
Anyway, for those of you that do not know, weddings have now become personal auditions for professional acting, I swear. Honestly the performances at these "shows" have now become Oscar worthy oh! In fact, forget about the "occasional" shedding of a tear or two, these days, one must weep when recalling the romantic moment when the soul mate (who by the way, was sent by God and guided by the holy spirit to that particular place at that particular time, since just that morning, the so called mate had just sent a powerful prayer to God which went like this : Oh God, you know my turn has come, I am asking you in Jesus name, to send him my way etc, etc) appeared by her side. Every single bride or groom knew "instantly" that they had met "the one". Na where dat one take happen? For “go-slow” abi na for Molue na im una begin sing Indian song?
Anyway...and when did Nigerian men become so creative about proposing? All sorts of stories! forget about good-old fashioned proposals, nowadays, one has to come up with elaborate stories on how the "d-day" went down. In fact, I am waiting for the Nigerian man that will drop down with parachute in the middle of the "soul-mate's" dinner where family and friends are surrounded for some unknown reason, take out the ring which all this while has been hanging by his teeth on a long yellow ribbon (the bride's color), recite a poem which has the "hidden proposal" somewhere within the lines and all this time "their" favorite music by Michael Bolton mysteriously starts playing in the background....
The way the whole thing is orchestrated, from beginning to end, with a wedding planner as the “maestro”, no be small thing. Forget about those days, when your mother and her friends (plus some village women) put firewood in the back yard and cooked and fried goat meat, forget about how you went to mama Chinwe, the neighborhood tailor, with a magazine under your armpit for serious descriptions, forget about scouring the markets under the heat for “lace” and other “satin like” materials for the flower girls and bridesmaids. I used to be a serious flower girl in the eighties, in fact, one could say, I was sort of a professional. I remember all sorts of weddings, the most memorable of course, were the ones done in village churches. I don’t know what it is about those churches, so cool inside, with the “choir” (anybody that can carry a tune) singing hymns from worn out hymn books, the bride and groom surrounded by mostly family and close friends. I found an old picture once, of myself as a flower girl. I had a toothy smile on my face, with a bunch of plastic flowers. I still remember that day because the groom kept trying to wipe his bride’s sweaty face with his handkerchief.
In my child’s mind, I was already convinced that that must be why she was marrying him. For the rest of their lives, he would wipe the sweat off her forehead. It’s been more than 25 years since that picture was taken, in a little village in Delta state without pomp and pageantry…..and all the rest hullabaloo today’s weddings are made of. They are still married, with adult children and they still have the pictures of that day, stored carefully away in an album.
So, una wey wan begin all those aisle waka, I advice una to seriously think of village church oh, cos e be like say the kain prayers wey those pastors dem dey use na serious “binding”, no small Sikiratu go fit destroy that kain prayer.
waffywaffarian@yahoo.com
Anyway, for those of you that do not know, weddings have now become personal auditions for professional acting, I swear. Honestly the performances at these "shows" have now become Oscar worthy oh! In fact, forget about the "occasional" shedding of a tear or two, these days, one must weep when recalling the romantic moment when the soul mate (who by the way, was sent by God and guided by the holy spirit to that particular place at that particular time, since just that morning, the so called mate had just sent a powerful prayer to God which went like this : Oh God, you know my turn has come, I am asking you in Jesus name, to send him my way etc, etc) appeared by her side. Every single bride or groom knew "instantly" that they had met "the one". Na where dat one take happen? For “go-slow” abi na for Molue na im una begin sing Indian song?
Anyway...and when did Nigerian men become so creative about proposing? All sorts of stories! forget about good-old fashioned proposals, nowadays, one has to come up with elaborate stories on how the "d-day" went down. In fact, I am waiting for the Nigerian man that will drop down with parachute in the middle of the "soul-mate's" dinner where family and friends are surrounded for some unknown reason, take out the ring which all this while has been hanging by his teeth on a long yellow ribbon (the bride's color), recite a poem which has the "hidden proposal" somewhere within the lines and all this time "their" favorite music by Michael Bolton mysteriously starts playing in the background....
The way the whole thing is orchestrated, from beginning to end, with a wedding planner as the “maestro”, no be small thing. Forget about those days, when your mother and her friends (plus some village women) put firewood in the back yard and cooked and fried goat meat, forget about how you went to mama Chinwe, the neighborhood tailor, with a magazine under your armpit for serious descriptions, forget about scouring the markets under the heat for “lace” and other “satin like” materials for the flower girls and bridesmaids. I used to be a serious flower girl in the eighties, in fact, one could say, I was sort of a professional. I remember all sorts of weddings, the most memorable of course, were the ones done in village churches. I don’t know what it is about those churches, so cool inside, with the “choir” (anybody that can carry a tune) singing hymns from worn out hymn books, the bride and groom surrounded by mostly family and close friends. I found an old picture once, of myself as a flower girl. I had a toothy smile on my face, with a bunch of plastic flowers. I still remember that day because the groom kept trying to wipe his bride’s sweaty face with his handkerchief.
In my child’s mind, I was already convinced that that must be why she was marrying him. For the rest of their lives, he would wipe the sweat off her forehead. It’s been more than 25 years since that picture was taken, in a little village in Delta state without pomp and pageantry…..and all the rest hullabaloo today’s weddings are made of. They are still married, with adult children and they still have the pictures of that day, stored carefully away in an album.
So, una wey wan begin all those aisle waka, I advice una to seriously think of village church oh, cos e be like say the kain prayers wey those pastors dem dey use na serious “binding”, no small Sikiratu go fit destroy that kain prayer.
waffywaffarian@yahoo.com
Na my papa money!
Na so I just dey mind my business wey my friend come call me, dey complain say all im friends dey travel go abroad dey go continue education, meanwhile, as im papa no fit afford am, na there im go dey. Me, I pity am sha, no be im fault, how im papa suppose find dat kind money? Only the visa runs self go empty the family savings talk less of ticket money! Na so the papa almost kill am self wey im mention all the things wey im suppose do. So na Abraka im go siddon, and even self, after im finish with dat im abraka degree, na who go employ am wey senator pikin go land with UCLA degree? Ehen, who you think say dem go choose? This degree matter no be small thing oh.
Nigeria is a bed rock of class divisions, economically, educationally and…all the rest. The biggest problem faced by our society today, is the inclusion of the poor in a good education system. It is easy for a child to go to school, but if the school does not meet up with the standards required, then the education is wasted. Why send your child to school only to be told that he/she will never be able to pass the common entrance exams to secondary schools? Why send your child to a secondary school when you know that the possibility of the child getting a “p” in Jamb English is impossible? What is the child going to do with an education that he cannot use in the future? If this child, now manages, beyond all expectations, to get a higher education, who is going to employ him when his competition is a person with British secondary school and University results? What chance does a child from Ovwian grammer school and Delta State University have? (In fact, as they just see that name, plus “Abraka” for the paper, na laugh be dat)
The system we have today is ensuring that the children of the wealthy will probably be your rulers and leaders tomorrow. Yes. You know that annoying guy that plays music at all hours, drinks champagne and cruises around your neighborhood with no apparent destination? Yep. He would probably be one of your leaders. For the simple fact that he is better qualified on papers, forget about character, all we care about is your “degree”….and you know that hard working boy, so neat, so polite, looks like he could be a great leader….you know him? Unfortunately, he will probably be the driver, cleaner, washer man or cook of the rich man. Your new leader.
Of course, the wealthy will always have the means for education, and why shouldn’t they? After all, they can afford it. Yes, they should have education, but so should the poor man too. Should the rich man have a better education than the poor man? The answer is NO. We need to make a conscious effort in Nigeria to ensure that all children, no matter their economic back ground or gender, are able to get quality education. Now, if the rich man wants all the other “jaras” a school can offer, then by all means, let him have it, but let there be a general standard for all schools so the poor man can compete with the only natural resource that has not yet been taken from him, his brains.
Meanwhile, no be everybody wey go school for obodo oyibo na im know book oh! Some of dem no even know wetin carry dem go dat side self. Apart from all those their big big English, dem fit still be serious agbekpo.
P.S: Una don find dat plane? Shebi na the same question I ask una last week? Fear dey catch me for dis our country oh, so na so plane fit lost for air? Tufiakwa!
waffywaffarian@yahoo.com
Nigeria is a bed rock of class divisions, economically, educationally and…all the rest. The biggest problem faced by our society today, is the inclusion of the poor in a good education system. It is easy for a child to go to school, but if the school does not meet up with the standards required, then the education is wasted. Why send your child to school only to be told that he/she will never be able to pass the common entrance exams to secondary schools? Why send your child to a secondary school when you know that the possibility of the child getting a “p” in Jamb English is impossible? What is the child going to do with an education that he cannot use in the future? If this child, now manages, beyond all expectations, to get a higher education, who is going to employ him when his competition is a person with British secondary school and University results? What chance does a child from Ovwian grammer school and Delta State University have? (In fact, as they just see that name, plus “Abraka” for the paper, na laugh be dat)
The system we have today is ensuring that the children of the wealthy will probably be your rulers and leaders tomorrow. Yes. You know that annoying guy that plays music at all hours, drinks champagne and cruises around your neighborhood with no apparent destination? Yep. He would probably be one of your leaders. For the simple fact that he is better qualified on papers, forget about character, all we care about is your “degree”….and you know that hard working boy, so neat, so polite, looks like he could be a great leader….you know him? Unfortunately, he will probably be the driver, cleaner, washer man or cook of the rich man. Your new leader.
Of course, the wealthy will always have the means for education, and why shouldn’t they? After all, they can afford it. Yes, they should have education, but so should the poor man too. Should the rich man have a better education than the poor man? The answer is NO. We need to make a conscious effort in Nigeria to ensure that all children, no matter their economic back ground or gender, are able to get quality education. Now, if the rich man wants all the other “jaras” a school can offer, then by all means, let him have it, but let there be a general standard for all schools so the poor man can compete with the only natural resource that has not yet been taken from him, his brains.
Meanwhile, no be everybody wey go school for obodo oyibo na im know book oh! Some of dem no even know wetin carry dem go dat side self. Apart from all those their big big English, dem fit still be serious agbekpo.
P.S: Una don find dat plane? Shebi na the same question I ask una last week? Fear dey catch me for dis our country oh, so na so plane fit lost for air? Tufiakwa!
waffywaffarian@yahoo.com
Memo to whoever is the minister of foreign affairs in this country: Do your job!
NOTE: ANOTHER VERSION OF THIS PIECE WAS PUBLISHED
Dear Sir
It has come to my notice that you are seriously needed by your fellow countrymen. Nigerians all over the world continue to be treated as second class citizens by organizations and companies abroad. Recently, 136 Nigerian passengers were ordered off a British airways flight bound for Lagos because they protested against the way deportees were being treated on the flight. Is it now a crime in the world to show empathy for a fellow human being? Is it now a crime to request that people should be treated with dignity and respect?
It seems carrying a Nigerian passport has an invisible logo underneath it that says “treat me as you please, nobody cares!” There is no country in the world that would accept such treatment of their citizens under any circumstances. It is wrong and I believe it is your job to write a letter of protest to the government concerned or whatever protocol it is that you are supposed to follow. You must know better than I do, it is your job. I am tired of Nigerians being treated like dirt because we do not dare to stand up for our rights.
You are being paid. Do your job.
Regards
Waffy Waffarian
Memo to the commissioner of health, Anambra state: We are now in 2008!
Dear Sir,
I recently heard that for some reason, you have not been informed about the year we are currently living in. It seems you have been misinformed and misled by the people around you. It is not your fault; I know for sure that you must have been living in another planet all these years. That must be the only reason why you are unaware of the disease called A.I.DS. This disease is a threat to the human race and a cure is yet to be found. Did I hear you gasp? Yes Sir, unfortunately, we humans have been living with that monster for decades now. I know you have no idea about it, if you did; you certainly would not make the kind of outrageous statements that you made recently in your state. There was some talk about banning condoms and contraceptives….is this true?
A.I.DS.is a sexually transmitted disease…… terrible isn’t yet? I am sure you are beginning to realize the kind of dilemma this is. As I said earlier, you must have been misinformed by the incompetent people around you. I guess they did not give you all these facts? Well, not to worry, I am sure you can still do something about it. However, reading your opinions on condoms and contraceptives, it has occurred to me that you are in the wrong line of business. I believe you should be a pastor or evangelist, not a health commissioner. Please do not be afraid to follow your calling in life, there is nothing to be ashamed of. I wish you God’s speed.
Oh, I forgot, the real reason for this letter was to inform you that we are in 2008. We no longer allow decisions made by ignorant people in this country, just in case you never got the memo.
Best Regards,
Waffy Waffarian
waffywaffarian@yahoo.com
Dear Sir
It has come to my notice that you are seriously needed by your fellow countrymen. Nigerians all over the world continue to be treated as second class citizens by organizations and companies abroad. Recently, 136 Nigerian passengers were ordered off a British airways flight bound for Lagos because they protested against the way deportees were being treated on the flight. Is it now a crime in the world to show empathy for a fellow human being? Is it now a crime to request that people should be treated with dignity and respect?
It seems carrying a Nigerian passport has an invisible logo underneath it that says “treat me as you please, nobody cares!” There is no country in the world that would accept such treatment of their citizens under any circumstances. It is wrong and I believe it is your job to write a letter of protest to the government concerned or whatever protocol it is that you are supposed to follow. You must know better than I do, it is your job. I am tired of Nigerians being treated like dirt because we do not dare to stand up for our rights.
You are being paid. Do your job.
Regards
Waffy Waffarian
Memo to the commissioner of health, Anambra state: We are now in 2008!
Dear Sir,
I recently heard that for some reason, you have not been informed about the year we are currently living in. It seems you have been misinformed and misled by the people around you. It is not your fault; I know for sure that you must have been living in another planet all these years. That must be the only reason why you are unaware of the disease called A.I.DS. This disease is a threat to the human race and a cure is yet to be found. Did I hear you gasp? Yes Sir, unfortunately, we humans have been living with that monster for decades now. I know you have no idea about it, if you did; you certainly would not make the kind of outrageous statements that you made recently in your state. There was some talk about banning condoms and contraceptives….is this true?
A.I.DS.is a sexually transmitted disease…… terrible isn’t yet? I am sure you are beginning to realize the kind of dilemma this is. As I said earlier, you must have been misinformed by the incompetent people around you. I guess they did not give you all these facts? Well, not to worry, I am sure you can still do something about it. However, reading your opinions on condoms and contraceptives, it has occurred to me that you are in the wrong line of business. I believe you should be a pastor or evangelist, not a health commissioner. Please do not be afraid to follow your calling in life, there is nothing to be ashamed of. I wish you God’s speed.
Oh, I forgot, the real reason for this letter was to inform you that we are in 2008. We no longer allow decisions made by ignorant people in this country, just in case you never got the memo.
Best Regards,
Waffy Waffarian
waffywaffarian@yahoo.com
Sunday, April 6, 2008
African teacher
I never be late, I always early
I never absent I always present
That's why I and I nah sit down inna no back bench
Natty like to be bright, bright, bright
So bright, bright, bright, bright
So bright
-Burning Spear.
I was one of those “over-sabi” children in primary school. I liked to sit at the front, I loved to learn and like a sponge, I would soak every single thing my teachers said. The need to always know, that curiosity, was cultivated in primary school. Every day, we had so many new things to learn. The teachers knew every single one of us by name and I remember many occasions when my young mind would be worried at the presence of a teacher in my home. They would sit and discuss about my grades, areas of improvement and my potential. I loved all my teachers. The science teacher made our eyes big with her different experiments (now that I look back, I cannot ever imagine that I was once amazed by the colors “a starchy material” produced). Our Art teacher taught us to make paper marches, collages, and we spent so many happy hours playing with clay. The mathematics teacher taught us how to read the time by asking us to make clocks, mine was the best of course! Made out of white card board paper, I still remember it, so vividly too. The French teacher taught us the national anthem in French and made us write our very own French play. My part was a buyer who on seeing all her wares screams “beaucoup de chose!” The Urhobo teacher also taught us the national anthem and pledge in Urhobo but he got a bit carried away by asking the girls to kneel while greeting him, in the traditional Urhobo way. The library master, who was also the P.E teacher, made us “skip” and run, jump, and we could play “ten-ten” too. I think he was a bit partial to football though, because all he ever wanted to do was have a football match, every single day. The most fun class was home-economics. Oh what fun we had! We made batik, tie and dye, we did embroidery, sew aprons and hand bags, entered competitions, made chin-chin, puff-puff and cakes. My all time favorite teacher though, was my English teacher. We read so much and spent so many hours coming up with good points for our different “debate” subjects. She encouraged me to read and never laughed at my writings. Instead, she gravely corrected mistakes and suggested ways for improvement. She was my favorite teacher because she allowed me to be me or is it because of all those sweets?
You all think I went to some fancy school right? Maybe one of those international schools or Private schools in Lagos? Wrong. I attended a primary school in Warri, Delta state. How can that be, you may ask? Well, I’ll tell you. I was one of those fortunate children that attended school during the time when teachers were still being paid their salaries. They could take care of the rent and their families so they did their jobs. They came to school and gave us their hearts and souls because they were not hungry. Their children were not hungry, so they taught us everything they knew. These days, I often hear people lamenting about the state of our schools. They are all right, it is dreadful and a shame. However, there is no human being that can give 100% on any job when their future is not secure. Many teachers in Nigeria now have to resort to farming or petty trading to ensure the survival of their families. Those are the ones that still try to live with the little dignity they have left. Many others, no longer care. Their dignity has been thrown out when hunger came calling and have now joined the band wagon of bribery and corruption which is not surprising considering the fact that many of them have not been paid for months and frankly speaking, that they still turn up for work is a miracle in itself.
We have the brains in Nigeria. We have so many good teachers that can ensure that our children get the best in life, but it is not going to happen. You know why? I will tell you the truth: A hungry man is an angry man and until teachers start being paid properly in this country, the education system is going to remain in the dumps. A lot of great minds are going to be lost to “business” and that captivating new world of “bankers”. The losers are the children.
The impact of a teacher in a child’s life cannot be underestimated. They do as they see. When you have corrupt and hungry teachers, ready to sell their selves for money, I assure you, you are raising corrupt and hungry children, ready to do sell their selves too, for money.
Do not let us lose great minds in this country….PAY THE TEACHERS!
P.S: Una don find dat una plane wey una dey look for? 2 weeks never pass? Na wah oh! Meanwhile dat health committee wey go school for Ghana, shebi na study una say una use that 10 million do? Oya, make una publish the report with all of una findings na, dis one wey una know book pass anything!
I never absent I always present
That's why I and I nah sit down inna no back bench
Natty like to be bright, bright, bright
So bright, bright, bright, bright
So bright
-Burning Spear.
I was one of those “over-sabi” children in primary school. I liked to sit at the front, I loved to learn and like a sponge, I would soak every single thing my teachers said. The need to always know, that curiosity, was cultivated in primary school. Every day, we had so many new things to learn. The teachers knew every single one of us by name and I remember many occasions when my young mind would be worried at the presence of a teacher in my home. They would sit and discuss about my grades, areas of improvement and my potential. I loved all my teachers. The science teacher made our eyes big with her different experiments (now that I look back, I cannot ever imagine that I was once amazed by the colors “a starchy material” produced). Our Art teacher taught us to make paper marches, collages, and we spent so many happy hours playing with clay. The mathematics teacher taught us how to read the time by asking us to make clocks, mine was the best of course! Made out of white card board paper, I still remember it, so vividly too. The French teacher taught us the national anthem in French and made us write our very own French play. My part was a buyer who on seeing all her wares screams “beaucoup de chose!” The Urhobo teacher also taught us the national anthem and pledge in Urhobo but he got a bit carried away by asking the girls to kneel while greeting him, in the traditional Urhobo way. The library master, who was also the P.E teacher, made us “skip” and run, jump, and we could play “ten-ten” too. I think he was a bit partial to football though, because all he ever wanted to do was have a football match, every single day. The most fun class was home-economics. Oh what fun we had! We made batik, tie and dye, we did embroidery, sew aprons and hand bags, entered competitions, made chin-chin, puff-puff and cakes. My all time favorite teacher though, was my English teacher. We read so much and spent so many hours coming up with good points for our different “debate” subjects. She encouraged me to read and never laughed at my writings. Instead, she gravely corrected mistakes and suggested ways for improvement. She was my favorite teacher because she allowed me to be me or is it because of all those sweets?
You all think I went to some fancy school right? Maybe one of those international schools or Private schools in Lagos? Wrong. I attended a primary school in Warri, Delta state. How can that be, you may ask? Well, I’ll tell you. I was one of those fortunate children that attended school during the time when teachers were still being paid their salaries. They could take care of the rent and their families so they did their jobs. They came to school and gave us their hearts and souls because they were not hungry. Their children were not hungry, so they taught us everything they knew. These days, I often hear people lamenting about the state of our schools. They are all right, it is dreadful and a shame. However, there is no human being that can give 100% on any job when their future is not secure. Many teachers in Nigeria now have to resort to farming or petty trading to ensure the survival of their families. Those are the ones that still try to live with the little dignity they have left. Many others, no longer care. Their dignity has been thrown out when hunger came calling and have now joined the band wagon of bribery and corruption which is not surprising considering the fact that many of them have not been paid for months and frankly speaking, that they still turn up for work is a miracle in itself.
We have the brains in Nigeria. We have so many good teachers that can ensure that our children get the best in life, but it is not going to happen. You know why? I will tell you the truth: A hungry man is an angry man and until teachers start being paid properly in this country, the education system is going to remain in the dumps. A lot of great minds are going to be lost to “business” and that captivating new world of “bankers”. The losers are the children.
The impact of a teacher in a child’s life cannot be underestimated. They do as they see. When you have corrupt and hungry teachers, ready to sell their selves for money, I assure you, you are raising corrupt and hungry children, ready to do sell their selves too, for money.
Do not let us lose great minds in this country….PAY THE TEACHERS!
P.S: Una don find dat una plane wey una dey look for? 2 weeks never pass? Na wah oh! Meanwhile dat health committee wey go school for Ghana, shebi na study una say una use that 10 million do? Oya, make una publish the report with all of una findings na, dis one wey una know book pass anything!
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Time to let go
My people, I have been thinking. Do you remember a time when we had a subject called “current affairs” in primary school? I think it was a part of social studies. Anyway, I was just thinking of all those big names we had to memorize as past leaders of our dearly beloved country. If I am not mistaken, Obasanjo was one of them. It may pain you all to know that I was a child then when I first heard that name. Yes, that’s how time flies! I am a fully grown adult now and still, I have to hear or read about this name in 2008. I am sick of that name and all the other names that won’t just fade away. Haba! E never reach una? The whole thing is like eating akamu everyday or soaking garri everyday….which some people actually do in this country.
There comes a time in every parent’s life when they have to leave the child to walk. The crawling child must eventually learn to walk, without the support of tables, chairs or worrying mothers. So it seems the time has come for our grand parents and parents to let Nigeria go. Nigeria is no longer yours; you have done what you can. Good or bad, the country is how you have “raised it” to be. However, this country does not belong to you anymore. You have done what you can; you have seen the progress with your own eyes. Why are you still hanging on? For what are you still hanging on? Another generation awaits its turn, yet you block our ways with tricks and huddles. You frustrate us at every turn. What would you like to see? To see us give up? Like the crawling child whom you have refused to let walk, you would like Nigeria to crawl on. Perhaps become handicapped in the process? Yet, you know it is time for a change, you feel it in the air; you know that you cannot hold on forever.
Your time has come and gone, all knowledge you have, you have given. There is no more for you to do. It is time to let go.
P.S: This country ehn! I don talk am say na only if you get strong head you fit survive… or you fit become psykia case. Choose one. Anyway, as una see, that labour man don show everybody say you must to stubborn pass mule for dis country. You must to struggle, argue, vex self, but you must never give up. So, make I join everybody else congratulate our Edo brother wey carry im case go court come test dis our “rule of law” yarns. No be God we thank? and after all dis wahala, I wan see serious things dey happen oh! Especially dat una road for dat side, chei! Last time na so I fall enter dat una red poto poto, my fine white dress just spoil finish! Anyway, after una build the road finish, if money remain, make una compensate dat my dress. Thanks in advance.
waffywaffarian@yahoo.com
There comes a time in every parent’s life when they have to leave the child to walk. The crawling child must eventually learn to walk, without the support of tables, chairs or worrying mothers. So it seems the time has come for our grand parents and parents to let Nigeria go. Nigeria is no longer yours; you have done what you can. Good or bad, the country is how you have “raised it” to be. However, this country does not belong to you anymore. You have done what you can; you have seen the progress with your own eyes. Why are you still hanging on? For what are you still hanging on? Another generation awaits its turn, yet you block our ways with tricks and huddles. You frustrate us at every turn. What would you like to see? To see us give up? Like the crawling child whom you have refused to let walk, you would like Nigeria to crawl on. Perhaps become handicapped in the process? Yet, you know it is time for a change, you feel it in the air; you know that you cannot hold on forever.
Your time has come and gone, all knowledge you have, you have given. There is no more for you to do. It is time to let go.
P.S: This country ehn! I don talk am say na only if you get strong head you fit survive… or you fit become psykia case. Choose one. Anyway, as una see, that labour man don show everybody say you must to stubborn pass mule for dis country. You must to struggle, argue, vex self, but you must never give up. So, make I join everybody else congratulate our Edo brother wey carry im case go court come test dis our “rule of law” yarns. No be God we thank? and after all dis wahala, I wan see serious things dey happen oh! Especially dat una road for dat side, chei! Last time na so I fall enter dat una red poto poto, my fine white dress just spoil finish! Anyway, after una build the road finish, if money remain, make una compensate dat my dress. Thanks in advance.
waffywaffarian@yahoo.com
Monday, March 24, 2008
For this season
Once upon a time, many Easters ago, I was an innocent child without any knowledge of the grave importance religion held in the society. To me, the best part of every Sunday, was the mornings on the way to church. It was then, that I got to sit in the front sit of my father’s battered (but oh! so loved) Peugeot 504 and made very important decisions like which newspaper we should read for the day. There were always so many papers to choose from and sometimes we got them all, because we could never decide. We also bought petrol, “lucky bread” and if I had been really good, I got to buy “butter mints” and “tomtom” for my brothers and sisters. The rest part of the day, “the church part” was basically an intrusion in my very tight schedule of Sunday activities. There was always so much to do; there was “ten-ten”, “suwe”, “police and thief” “plucking ebelebor” and other very important games with the neighborhood children. I enjoyed my observation post in church since all I ever had to do was sit quietly, make up stories in my head and wait until the service was over.
All this was about to change one Sunday when Thomas visited our home. You see, Thomas was “one of Daddy’s people”. This simply meant he was one of those people that could call at any time of the day. He could eat breakfast, lunch and dinner and still call the next day. He needed no excuse to visit, because he was from the same village as my father. Thus, he was “one of Daddy’s people”. I peeped from my hideout behind my father’s chair as Thomas informed my father that he thought it was time I and my brother started attending catechism classes to prepare us for “holy communion”. What! How dare he intrude on my care-free church participation? I was perfectly happy just sitting. I had seen the lines of sober people standing for communion, and watched their lips moving as they confessed and prayed for contrition. They always seemed to be in pain and I did not want to be part of whatever pain they all seemed to be going through. I ran with this terrible information to my brother whose own afternoons were spent playing football. His new fixation then was the Brazilian mid-fielder “Zico” and even wore a Brazilian jersey with the number “10” printed on the back. The news however meant nothing to him, as he bounced his ball up and down. In fact, he seemed to be happy about the recent development. I realized later on, that the football field was right next to the proposed venue of the catechism classes, and my brother spent many happy hours on the field instead of in a stuffed classroom.
That summer, the world of religion was opened to me and left me asking more questions than I thought were possible. Some were answered and some were not. Some, I am still asking after so many years. You could say, that care-free innocent view of the world was lost….forever….and I blame Thomas.
As we all celebrate at this time of the year, Christians and Muslims, I pray that we all find in our hearts, those times of innocence when we were able to see beyond the confines of our churches or mosques. May it be a time for compassion and love to our fellow brothers and sisters but most of all, please Lord, do something about this country. Amen.
P.S: Those of you serving starch and banga soup, please feel free to invite me at waffywaffarian@yahoo.com
Happy Easter!
All this was about to change one Sunday when Thomas visited our home. You see, Thomas was “one of Daddy’s people”. This simply meant he was one of those people that could call at any time of the day. He could eat breakfast, lunch and dinner and still call the next day. He needed no excuse to visit, because he was from the same village as my father. Thus, he was “one of Daddy’s people”. I peeped from my hideout behind my father’s chair as Thomas informed my father that he thought it was time I and my brother started attending catechism classes to prepare us for “holy communion”. What! How dare he intrude on my care-free church participation? I was perfectly happy just sitting. I had seen the lines of sober people standing for communion, and watched their lips moving as they confessed and prayed for contrition. They always seemed to be in pain and I did not want to be part of whatever pain they all seemed to be going through. I ran with this terrible information to my brother whose own afternoons were spent playing football. His new fixation then was the Brazilian mid-fielder “Zico” and even wore a Brazilian jersey with the number “10” printed on the back. The news however meant nothing to him, as he bounced his ball up and down. In fact, he seemed to be happy about the recent development. I realized later on, that the football field was right next to the proposed venue of the catechism classes, and my brother spent many happy hours on the field instead of in a stuffed classroom.
That summer, the world of religion was opened to me and left me asking more questions than I thought were possible. Some were answered and some were not. Some, I am still asking after so many years. You could say, that care-free innocent view of the world was lost….forever….and I blame Thomas.
As we all celebrate at this time of the year, Christians and Muslims, I pray that we all find in our hearts, those times of innocence when we were able to see beyond the confines of our churches or mosques. May it be a time for compassion and love to our fellow brothers and sisters but most of all, please Lord, do something about this country. Amen.
P.S: Those of you serving starch and banga soup, please feel free to invite me at waffywaffarian@yahoo.com
Happy Easter!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)