The Good Effect of War: Ohikhuare Isuku

No sane human would long for war. Its devastating effects far outweigh any meaningful achievement we can derive from it. But more often in time past, war has served as bedrocks for ravishing developments. It has driven serious innovations and established strong economic growth spread across time and space. The world wars brought their achievements, as well as many wars before them. So also the cold war.

The cold war was on one hand, between the United States, Europe, and the Western Bloc of Germany and on the other hand the Soviet Union and the eastern bloc of Germany. It wasn't a direct fight, and it lasted from 1947 to 1991 when the Berlin wall collapsed. This cold war in some ways laid foundation for man's first landing on the moon. 

On April 12th, 1961, Soviet's cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin became the first man in space when he orbited the earth in 89 minutes, He was aboard his space capsule, Vostok 1. To America, this advancement by the Soviet Union was a source of huge concern. Not only did it stab America's pride that its greatest rival had reached space first, it was worrisome then that the Soviet Union would soon begin to shift nuclear weapons into space. America was so enraged that President J.F. Kennedy banned Yuri Gagarin from visiting America after he became an instant celebrity following his return from space. 

In 1962, JFK founded NASA with a major aspiration to put man in space before the end of that decade. It was a greater challenge which would surpass the Soviet's achievement of putting the first man in space, and thereby bringing pride back to the United States in the face of the cold war. So in the unfolding years, America dedicated so much investment - human and capital - towards  achieving this aim. It worked towards the end of that decade.

On 20th July, 1969, Apollo 11 - The Eagle -  landed the first men on the moon surface. Neil Armstrong - the three-man crew commandant - was the first to land, declaring famously, "One small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind." Nineteen minutes later, Lunar Module Pilot,  Buzz Aldrin stepped his foot on the moon becoming the second man in that regard. The third crew member, Micheal Collins, who was the Command Module Pilot, didn't land on the moon surface, rather he was hovering around the moon atmosphere. 

Through this, a giant leap was made by mankind, and it was because of the cold war. 

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Oppression is a Chain Reaction: Ohikhuare Isuku

In developing countries like Nigeria, oppression is increasingly becoming a systematic menace which is proving quite difficult to curb. Sadly, we are all proponents of this darkening cloud rising above us like a plague. If you are quick to deny this accusation, then think of the hideous treatments you often melt on the helpless environment around you; for example, the strewing of non-biodegradable polythene and plastic wastes on marketplaces, highways and public squares; the defacing of the surroundings with religious, business and political posters, as well as the rife torturing of rivers and oceans with deleterious substances which prove more than dangerous to aquatic lives. 

Unfortunately, the list of heinous oppressive actions  are not exhausted. However, it is important to note that oppression has become almost a national proclivity; or legalized, so to speak. Consequentially, the acerbic catastrophe of its aftermath has formed into a chain reaction, or rather a cycle of painful blows and enslavement, more or less. 

Take for instance, a poor man, having no money to purchase a proper waste bin, wakes up in the morning to dump plastic wastes into the lagoon beside his ramshackle abode before going to work to meet an abusive boss who sees nothing in withholding his salary for months. Subsequently, because of the accumulation of wastes on the lagoon and by extension the surrounding sea, there is an upsurge of flood which destroys the boss' beach home. The boss repairs his home with the capital of the business where he employs the poor man; and then the cycle of oppression begins again.

In conclusion, it seems that oppression, as it rises across the chain, spews consequences which are deadlier. Importantly, to put an end to an oppressive system, we have to first define what oppression really means in the simplest term, and then make necessary steps to exterminate its sources completely. 

Ohikhuare Isuku.

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Nigeria's Population: The Time for Strict Birth Control Laws is Now: Ohikhuare Isuku

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ith Nigeria’s current annual Population Growth rate standing high at 2.6%, it is a must that by 2100, Nigeria’s population will have tripled the current value, making her the third most populous country in the world, only behind China and India. Based on the common ideology about Population Growth shared in Africa, it won’t be shocking to me if so many Nigerians – illiterates and intellects alike – rejoice over this news. But there are dire economic consequences which will dog this astronomical increase in the size of our population, especially now there is a little economic growth to cater for the increasing population. Many stakeholders still don’t see the challenges Population Growth will put forth in the next century, that is, if it’s left unchecked. Sadly, they still hold on to the old axiom that population is a blessing rather than a curse. Of course in this scenario, it is not true. A rise in the population figure, coupled with the current failure in the country’s ability to produce visionary leaderships, will spell ruins for the future generation.

Urban dwellers will be more than 70% of the population by 2100, and to think they will be living in unplanned cities and slums that will spring up in frightening numbers as the years come and go. There will be no access to portable water or modest shelters. Of all these Nigerian cities, Lagos will be most affected by Nigeria’s unproductive Population Growth. With the population of the mega city projected to be 25 million by 2020, and further jumping up to 85 million by 2100, Lagos will be the largest city in the world 82 years from now. This will come with so many disadvantages, ranging from an alarming increase in the poverty rate; a complete elimination of the middle class, leaving a gaping rift between the upper and the lower classes in the social strata; an increase in the number of slums and shanty towns; pollution of the water bodies; inaccessibility to portable water; heavy traffic gridlocks and perhaps the destruction of the ecosystem. When I think about all these every day, I shudder in fear for the grim fate that waits for the future generation. We should all be scared to reproduce in a world that thinks little about the safety of the future generations.

            In addition to the uncomfortable living, crude oil industry, which is currently the mainstay of the economy, will have become valueless by 2100, with a consequential result of more than 80% of the population living below the poverty line. Only less than ten per cent of the population will become super rich, controlling more than 80% of the national wealth. How horrible such a life will be for the downtrodden. Is this the kind of life we want for the future generation? Does anyone apart from me think of the unpleasant conditions those alive then will be facing? Does anyone think about the high crime rate, death rate, war, terrorism, among other scary things that await an innocent generation? I guess no.

            The question now is, how can we steer this disaster off our path? We cannot continue to hope that one day a great leader will emerge to put things right economically, because there is none in sight at the moment. Moreover, it is already too late to plan for 2100 when it is barely 82 years left. Even developed nations that began planning for their future generations many years ago are still worried about what the outcome would be. What then is the solution to this worrisome future catastrophe in Nigeria? I dare to suggest, Population check or rather in plain term, Birth Control.

            At present, it is not unusual to see a couple, living in a room apartment in the heart of a costly city and earning a combined wage of less than a hundred dollars monthly, to give birth to six children as if they are animals. I have met so many of these persons in my life and when I try to challenge overpopulation to their faces, there’s a common bland reply they put forth as a weak defense, “It’s God who gives and takes care of children.” How can a man earning less than a hundred dollars monthly cater for a family of seven easily, considering the present high cost of living? Where will these children’s school fees come from? Where will their clothing, modest shelter come from? Where, most importantly, will their decent meal come from?

            A fight for the adoption of strict birth control laws, as practiced in China, won’t be an easy task in a developing world like Nigeria, blinded by faded customs and dogmas. Population Growth in Nigeria has the support of religious, cultural and political sentiments. The political elite will be reluctant to make laws against it because they gain from it during political campaigns. The religious leaders are against it because they believe a deliberate birth control measure is sinful to God. The cultural faithful appear even more conservative in their defense. There is a Yoruba proverb that mirrors this stand: “A man does not count the number of children he gives birth.” But how can this be valid in the fast-changing world, where resources are becoming slimmer and rationed? It is time to give a new name to our future generation in terms of Population Growth, at least by checking indiscriminate births. And the time for this is now!  

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Pessimism Regarding the New Year: Ohikhuare Isuku

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ong before dead people began to have appointments in government and fuel price skyrocketed; before one billion dollars was marked out for fight against insurgency which had been defeated a dozen times; before inflation rate increased and recession took over the economy; before the case of budget paddling and its sturdy defense; long before all these, the year is 2010 and we’re in the month of May. Yaradua has died in a Saudi Arabian hospital; Goodluck Jonathan has just been made Acting President, rising so much hope that an academician with a PhD has come to our rescue. Dora Akunyili, the Minister of Information, has dissolved the Federal Executive Council, and a new song of progress is on everyone’s lips. Then five years later, corruption overwhelms Jonathan’s government; public officeholders loot funds with recklessness and no one seems to care. Oil prices are on the brink of slipping. Then an old General, who is seen as a saint, comes out and says, “Behold I’ll rescue you from the shadows of death”. We believe him, but sometimes our beliefs don’t proffer solutions to numerous problems.

The story of bad governance in Nigeria’s political space has managed to remain fairly constant since 1999, or rather since colonial eras it has degenerated with each passing decade. History documented tribalism as far back as the ‘50s, and this was practiced among our so-called founding fathers. We heard of corruption, electoral malpractices and manipulations of census figures many decades ago. Then the ensuing political imbalance which led to riot that left so many dead in Ibadan and the bitter war of anguish and kwashiorkor which followed. The cluelessness of Gowon dogged closely after the war, combined with so many coups and counter-coups which brought in the military that ruined Nigeria for about two decades and beyond.

It thus appeared as though as the years go by, governance has become infested with more weevils of incompetence. The economic pace has retrogressed and appears as if there would no longer be progress no matter the effort put towards lifting the economy from the ditch. And so sadly, Buhari’s dispensation has been the worst we’ve had of recent.

The truth is we hear so many messages and prophesy of hope at the beginning of every New Year only to find that same year bitterer than the previous years when it winds up. I know as regards 2018, you must’ve heard so many messages of hope from politicians and religious places. But be realistic! 2018 might be worse than previous years. I’m a pessimist; the Nigerian sordid situation had made me so. If you’re a pessimist, you’re never heartbroken because you don’t believe totally that a situation will be better. Thus, it’s a good thing to be a pessimist henceforth. Believe nothing about Nigeria in 2018. Just thrust it in your mind that we’re yet to see the worse in our national life. 

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The Unseen Consequences of Recession From My Observation: Ohikhuare Isuku

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t’s a common knowledge that economic recession is characterized by poor standard of living, high cost of living, astronomical inflation rate, unemployment, unstable marriages and relationships among others. But it’s unusual to note that recession also results in rise in the number of wedding ceremonies, more romantic relationships, increased quest for higher degrees, and the most disastrous being the increase in the number of reported cases of adultery in which women are found guilty.  

The increase in the number of reported feminine adultery of recent has been disturbing. This new development of infidelity has resulted in a number of depression cases, divorces and very often deaths. So many stakeholders have blamed the fall of values and prestige for this ugly development, while others have conveniently pointed their accusing fingers at the infiltration of African’s unique traditions which define threshold for taboos, by the untamed culture of the West. These persons easily support their assertions with the fact that in those days, if you dared to commit a taboo like adultery, there was bound to be a repercussion of some sort; and even though these spiritual repercussions weren’t that potent, they carried with them great fear which checked the excesses of the populations. But these taboos were condemned by new faiths introduced by foreigners, and the fear the taboos took along with them was eroded gradually. Hence the consequential result of immorality.

But I don’t entirely agree with the above assertions. Yes, they might be true, but in my own opinion, recession has a far-reaching effect on the crackdown of values and dignity than the condemnation of taboos by new faiths. This is my observation since the recession began, or since Nigerians were told the suffering they’d suffered for many decades is called Recession.

During hunger and strife, there is breakdown of law and order. In this case, value and dignity are no exceptions. With the hassle in our national life since the recession, I think cases of feminine adultery have more than doubled the number of the past decades. A housewife with a very poor husband, for example, who has five little children crying for want of food, wouldn’t think of dignity if a wealthy man offers her a slim wad of crisp naira notes for sex.

Apart from feminine adultery, many things change during recession. Like numerous marriages. In this case, young ladies want to get married because of unemployment; they just want men they can depend on no matter how meagre the men’s salaries are; they pressurize their partners with threats of breakup if they refuse to marry them. At last, many men fall for these threats and borrow to walk the young ladies down the aisle. The hardships which follow soon after these premature marriages lead to marital instability and infidelity.  If the economy were to be stable, women would be fully engaged, and they’d think less about marrying for dependence.

Also from my observation, the increase in the number of University graduates desirous of master’s degree and PhD is a direct consequence of a recessive economy. If the economy were stable, so many graduates would prefer to seek for jobs rather than go for higher degrees. Only those who have interest in research and the academics will aim for further education. Nowadays, graduates would most likely want to have a higher degree either to increase their chances of securing jobs in the already congested labour market or to keep themselves engaged with a comforting sense of dependence, while they scout for jobs which aren’t within reach. 

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The Ibadan Experience: Ohikhuare Isuku

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esterday, I saw a young boy for the first time in Ibadan who did not betray his timidity either through excessive veneration or by affecting an unwarranted arrogance just to shield the inferiority complex his or her cultural upbringing has inflicted on him. 

It was evening – at that time the sky took a uniform greyness like the colour of thick billow of smoke – and I had come to the market to shop for groceries. When I was done, I decided to get a carton of noodles from one of the shops which flanked the market at the outskirt. I saw this young boy there inside the only shop opened at the outskirt. He was chubby and dark-complexioned; his height was just perfect for a boy of ten, although I would not know. He asked what I wanted even before I spoke. His voice was firm, yet it lacked this common scorn most children I had seen possessed just to mask the damages a stiff upbringing had caused on them. 

I told the young boy I wanted noodles, half-cartoon. He gave me the price, and once I had agreed to terms, he brought the cartoon of the noodles from where it was piled up, using a stool. Then he did what caught my eyes: he actually joked with me confidently. I can't remember the joke exactly. Maybe the shock that a child brought up in Ibadan had had the gods to make such clever joke, made me forget the content of it. I laughed and I joked with him also. His response was mature and I was truly impressed. But this boy saved his best display for the last. As I was about leaving after the transaction, he said to me, "thank you"; there was no "sir" attached to it. A sugary sensation rose to fill my mouth instantly and I was forced to ask him if he was an Ibadan boy. He shook his head in the affirmative. I smiled and was impressed, and as I walked away that grey evening, I saw in that young boy this privilege his guardians gave him to grow at his pace, not being squeezed with expired cultures of bowing down and prostrating or nodding head like a slave does to a slave-master which are the only ways these people believe respect can be expressed. 

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o me, most Ibadan people are hypocritical outright, especially those blabbing market women at Orita. Anytime I visit their market, the women bathe me with "uncle", "sir", "brother" and many other annoying prefixes. Even one day, a woman – about my mother's age – dared to call me "daddy". She had gone too far, I thought within myself, and then I summoned the courage to beg her to stop it; that I had not given birth yet; I was still in my twenties. She was obviously embarrassed, but in her weak defense, she said either ways, I would be a daddy someday.  Sadly, what makes this exaggerated veneration annoying is that the same woman who just called you "uncle" might be the one to spill insult on you soonest, at the slightest provocation.

The opinion I strive to buttress here is that excessive veneration – like prostrating or kneeling to greet – is not a true way of showing respect. These acts are slave-like. Because as from early age, if a child is forced to learn these norms against his or her will, the child is driven into the abyss of low self-esteem. This low self-esteem is a problem which to a large extent is directly linked with fear, betrayal, deceit, corruption, manifested by the child as he or she journeys into adulthood. 

Ohikhuare Isuku,
Ibadan,
Nigeria.

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Remembering Iseyin With Sound: Ohikhuare Isuku

Between sound and smell, which preserves memories better?

For me, I would choose sound over smell because the former is firmer, and there is likelihood to come across it even in a thousand years. But smell could be distinct and unique, appearing once in every generation.

I spent three weeks at Iseyin (a beautiful town where three hills rest against the eastern sky), and it was again sound and not smell that preserved the thrilling memories I had of that camp. Perhaps, it was because Iseyin had no smell or rather it had different arrays of smells which superimposed, resulting to a destructive interference.

I have preserved Iseyin memories with complex sounds from Yanni's soundtrack like: At First Sight, Tribute, Nice to Meet You and Rite of Passage. These memories were stuffed into these beautiful music, so that when I listen to them now, it's as though an invisible force is leading me around Iseyin Camp: the open and closed pavilions, the halls of residence, mami market, man o war ground, the early morning parade in which smokes of cloud perched on the crests of the three hills.

I miss Iseyin, especially the scenery and the few friends I made there even in my silent state. I have preserved these in eternal sounds; they will live forever now.

Ohikhuare Emmanuel Isuku,
(Remembering Iseyin Camp With

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Why History Books Forgot Oshiomhole

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hen Oshiomhole was declared winner of the 2007 gubernatorial poll by The Court of Appeal on November 11^th, 2008, Edo state went wild in jubilation. The excitement was thorough and it cut across individuals – from a two-year-old toddler to a wobbling old man sitting on a wonky chair. Bikes throttled to the highest while smokes billowed from their exhausts as they plied through streets and roads of Benin-city, Ekpoma, Auchi, Uromi, Afuze and many small towns across the state. On November 12^th, 2008 when he was sworn in as the new governor, he christened himself as “The People’s Governor” which was widely accepted in the state and beyond.

For the four years he spent as governor in his first tenure, Oshiomhole laid a sturdy foundation which could have written his name on moving clouds and extolled him as one of the greatest leaders who ever came out from our continent, being on the same history pages with Nelson Mandela. In these years in review – his best years in office – roads were constructed, the public transport system had a ray of hope, pensioners’ funds weren’t delayed, public schools were refurbished, major roads and streets of Benin City wore a new identity of sanity and above all, Edo state GDP more than doubled the result obtained from the addition of nine years before his tenure began.

Of course, these achievements in his first tenure were stellar in our eyes when we compared them with the wasteful administrations which came before him; but in retrospect, we would find out they were  valueless, and it was just another trick of his to be re-elected for a second term.  In mid-2012, Oshiomhole was brought back to Osadebe House for a second term. It became one of the greatest mistakes Edo people ever made. He won with a landslide victory. And this victory went across the eighteen Local Government Areas of the states, even in Opposition’s strongholds. And again, the people thronged out to celebrate with their “hero”, oblivious to them that it was like their sentence to the gallows. But today, we are consoled by the fact that Oshiomhole became governor of Edo state; if not, we would have thought we missed a rare gem who never had the opportunity to lead Edo people from Osadebe House.

Oshiomhole first started to erase his name from history books few months after he was re-elected in 2012, when his administration rigged the Local Government Elections with impunity, and threatened those who rose against the results with fire. This, coming from a man who prior to his election came up with a campaign of “One Man One Vote”, was disappointing and hypocritical. This one error went on to pull off feathers from the hat of honour he wore at that time. Then, there came this inactiveness in his second term: the down-tools, the uncompleted projects, blamed on the fact that the economy was poor and national allocation was dwindling due to falling oil prices.

In 2016, Oshiomhole’s sins were forgiven; his outstanding first tenure had perhaps shone light upon the darkness his second tenure cast upon Edo state, or maybe it was because of the bags of money the administration used to intimidate the poor electorates that made his anointed candidate win the gubernatorial poll to succeed him as the new governor of the state.

When we thought Oshiomhole’s shadows of mismanagement and acrid hypocrisy had passed us by for good, he secretly facilitated a devilish law that almost shrank Edo state’s purse. In the days which followed his exit from Osadebe House, Edo people were shocked to learn that some controlled denizens who prided themselves as members of our State House of Assembly had unanimously passed a bill which spelt out that past governors and deputy governors of the state would henceforth be entitled to pay-off grants, amounting to two billion naira when combined. These grants included: beautiful mansions in choicest locations in Nigeria, a number of cars to be changed every five years, cooks, secretaries and drivers (starting as Level 12) whose salaries would be paid by the Edo state government. This bill was ready to be signed by the new governor when the press learnt of it. We thought Oshiomhole would speak against this bill, considering the personality he always pretended to showcase, but our “saint” has been silent since then, which lent credence to the very fact that he facilitated that bill underground for his selfish gains, despite the glaring poverty lurking in the state.   

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"Restructuring" - The Next Unfortunate Word in the English Dictionary

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rior to the 2015 general elections in Nigeria –  during those uncivilized political campaigns which degenerated to verbal attacks that almost tore up the polity – a word from the English Dictionary became synonymous with hopefulness and development. This word was “Change” – the slogan of the progressive party (APC) that prided the “infallible” General as its presidential flag bearer.  “Change” became the song of hope in the morning and the chant of fairness at night. Today, that word has been raped. Although there was change obviously – like the fall in the purchasing power of our currency, and the consequential hike in the prices of commodities, more than 200% – it happened to be in direct consonance to the expectations of the people. In Nigeria at present, the word “change” bears the same absurdity and offensiveness as “fuck you”. If you want to make a gathering of people laugh or angry (depending on their default state) you can just mention the word “change” to achieve your set goal. “Change” is definitely fading away like the word “power” (1999-2015). But “power” lived longer than “change”; it spanned over a decade.

As the 2019 general elections come closer, politicians – in their craftiness – have searched through the English Dictionary to bring out yet a new word for their political campaigns. This innocent word is “restructuring”; it will be offered for sacrifice on the altar of 2019 general elections. After 2019, “restructuring” will lose its romance, and if it’s possible then to cast a poll of the most unpopular word in Nigeria, it will top the list, as the word “change” is currently doing.

Contenders for 2019 general elections have turned their eyes to “restructuring” because it is the new yearning of a sizable portion of the population. They had yearned for “change” before 2015; not the kind of change currently in place in which a minimum wage, earned by a sizable portion of the population, is not even enough to purchase a bag of rice. They yearned for positive change – like the stabilization of the economy. But now they have been disappointed; now they are frustrated. This frustration is propelling them to clamour for “restructuring” in the form of True Federalism, and again politicians have seen this as a bait to pull votes in 2019. They might succeed as they did with “change” in 2015, but “restructuring” will be condemned in the gallows thereafter.

With a repetitive vilification of words in the English Dictionary by Nigerian politicians once in every four years, I am hopeful that one day the god of vocabularies would rise up in fury to smite them, in order to save his works from being ridiculed by these denizens of hell.

Ohikhuare Isuku,
sIbadan, Nigeria.
Twitter: @ohikhuare_isuku

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Dreams, Dreamers and Vanity: Ohikhuare Isuku

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reamers are achievers: they are the famous artists, the physicians, great engineers, influential writers and scientists, who above all things continue to transform the world on daily basis. They are the ones people want to emulate; those we so much long to live their lives. But sadly, dreamers’ lives echo with hollowness – a constant restlessness governs them from the inside: a bugging restlessness to achieve more; to cap their achievements which very often need capping; to prevent falling off the radar.

Dreams have a bad habit of becoming less important once a dreamer has achieved them. Thus, the dreamer – having a desire to surmount higher dreams – delves into a realm where he seldom finds rescue, in order to achieve these dreams which sooner become useless in his sight. For instance, a man may dream of owning an expensive car, but as soon as he buys this car of his dream, it becomes useless in his sight after a period of time, and he dares to acquire a more expensive car which will also become valueless in his sight as soon as he acquires it.

With these continuous likes for fancier dreams and dislikes for them once the dreamers achieve them, combined with this intoxicating quest to achieve higher and more tasking dreams, the dreamer – no doubt – rises to an astronomical height in his dream pathway. But it must be noted that while those below him idolize and admire his stellar achievements, he loathes what he has become, because his achievements have become meaningless in his sight.

So while we aspire to live the lives of the dreamers, we must be forewarned that it’s suicidal in a skeletal way. Dreamers have a crazy insatiability; they are workaholics, because they must work with either their physical strength or mental capability or both to achieve their set goals; their dazzling facades mask these accumulated layers of fear which make them heavy with guilt of not achieving enough and a consequential fall from the stellar height they presently stand.

Because of this constant desire to achieve a fit; because of this internal quest which drives them like demons, coupled with the heartbreaks which come with failures to achieve some certain dreams, dreamers are generally unhappy; they are generally unfulfilled. Sometimes, this curse cast upon them to dream and achieve, drives them to commit suicide or become demented with drugs or become depressed. When people who only view their beautiful outsides see them this way, they ask themselves: “Why did they commit suicide when they have achieved everything?”

Ohikhuare Isuku,
Ibadan, Nigeria.
Twitter: @ohikhuare_isuku

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Disappointment: Poem by Sheerethia Helb

photo credit: google.com.

Forgive me if I move too fast,

I’m not used to walking slow,

I’m used to men coming to go.

Great is moment though it doesn’t last,

Soon it’s another regret of the past.

Maybe in you I’ll make dreams reality,

And no longer be she who friends pity,

But wait, what was your name again?,

So sorry, I got lost in my words of gain.

If you know you’re going to let me down,

Don’t waste my time, just end this now.

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The Essentials of Life: Philosophical Note by Christian Ovbaikhena Isuku

Life is vain, hollow but mysterious. It is the first as well as the most complicated programming ever done. It's so complex and intricately interwoven that it eludes and shall dodge any type of explanation; be it geographical, philosophical or even religious.

This life owes its complexity mainly to gross misunderstanding of its basic simple facet by man. Earthlings step into the complex without first enjoying the basic simple things of life.

Apart from serving his Almighty Creator, man is here at this time range and within this space of the cosmos basically to be born, taken care of till he could cater for himself; cater for himself for a while and then replicate himself or rather reproduce, all thing being equal together with if need be. Also to cater for his offspring for a while then die off-- either he goes back to his Creator as asserted by majority of the religions or simply goes into an eternal unconscious oblivion as upheld by most scientists and atheists. Whichever way, I don't care since he ceases to exist physically on this plain.

Succinctly put, man is primarily born to breathe, eat(drink), shelter, reproduce if need be and die. These remain basic and constant. Others are only additional entitlements which are being mistaken to increase pleasure. Fame, for instance is almost inconsequential to a fulfilled and simple life time; it is just one of these mundane, psychological and secondary wants which bring false sense of pleasure and fulfillment. To be more serious, can somebody bet on the fact that Aristotle of Greek philosophy and classical sciences as well as Abraham Lincoln of American politics still retain the knowledge anywhere they are (if at all they are somewhere) that their names are yet idolized, making waves and thought across the world today? If at all they are aware of thier names and praises being sung all over the world, then of what use or importance is it to them there? I know this is quite metaphysical in nature but, you can however attempt it if you can.

Pleasure itself on earth is almost an illusion and hence can be termed to be in nonexistence. It lasts for while, suddenly turning into pain when done at the extreme. Such that when totally refrained from also brings a kind of desire that accompanies deprivation. This also initiates pain and sorrow. Man is in a way admonished by nature to be moderate at the same time denying him basic parameters and sufficient attributes to attain this, hence his continuous deviance.

The fact is that what one can take as being close to pleasure and earthly euphoric state is nothing but setting and fulfilling goals and targets. If the goals are achieved there is joy, though momentary, but when there is failure to achieve these goals, there is sorrow and pain, this is also quickly eroded with another future set goals and target. Once man is unable to correct this state of sorrow for a long time probably as a result of loss of vital natural, psychological and even spiritual machinery to correct this, he now falls into depression, which itself is a state of lack of set goals and accompanying hopes of achievements; it is actually a state of lonliness in a world filled with co-humans and hence the urge to hurriedly leave the earth through the only known route- death.

So conclusively, we should endeavor to enjoy the basic things of life, these are actually programmed in nature. God has made it so. Being so ambitious is cool. Fellow humans falling on your feet singing your praises is fine but always take time to eat your natural meal of roasted maize and pear or roasted plantain, yam and oil; take your bath in slow moving glimmering stream, dry yourself by the naked fire flame and watch the sky, the stars and the magic they play alongside the moon, while at thesame time breathe in fresh, unadulterated air away from the industrial parks and cities polluted by modernization and misplaced civilization. This is also close to pleasure that I know here on earth. This is near a perfect life experience!

ISUKU O. ISUKU, jnr.

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Stephanie Otobo's Allegation and the Lack of Creativity

I watched Stephanie Otobo’s claim yesterday. From the incoherence in her voice and the vague descriptions she gave to places she actually alleged she went with Apostle Suleman, I discovered that although she was bold at her craft, she is scarcely creative. Perhaps, the gladiators behind the whole plot would have done well to seek the service of a more creative actress to play the written script, rather than the inexperience Otobo. Perhaps, an audition of who would take the leading role in the saga was thrown underground, but only the pink-hair lady was seen as qualified.

It is no longer a secret that Apostle Suleman’s reputation has come under attack, solely because the gladiators behind the scene feel that his criticisms of ethnic and religious cleansing have become tormenting. Thus, in a bid to seal the Clergy’s lips (the only one who has risen to defend Christians of recent), they could divert his attention from their devilish executions and hence keep the world blind.

Starting with the script which by any standard is considered mediocre; I would say it was either prepared in hurry or the scriptwriter lack the faintest ray of creativity through his or her brain. To start with, the setting of the script shouldn’t have been in Lagos. It should have been somewhere else, maybe in Ontario or New York. Then, maybe marriage should have been erased from the plot upon rereading. The marriage issue made the entire script incongruous and unreal. A public figure like Apostle Johnson Suleman would not promise a stripper marriage and go ahead to impregnate her when he knows fully well it would smell his reputation. It should have just been a sex story without marriage; perhaps it would have been real. There shouldn’t have been impregnation at all. The scriptwriter should have known that later on, evidences would be demanded.

And the claim that Apostle Suleman gave Otobo concoction to remove the pregnancy when she returned to Nigeria, and then the clergy left the hotel room for her to bleed to death was too surreal to be real. That part of the script should have been cut off before it was acted.  There are other parts of the scripts that were unprofessional, but I choose to discuss the above aspects because their incongruousness was too glaring, like the mediocre scripts acted by Nollywood. Please, for future purpose, scripts for blackmail should be properly written and edited so it will appear real.

Then, directing my criticism to the actress - Stephanie Otobo – I would say she did her best, but in the overall rating, she scored below average.   There are thousand and one talented ladies who could have played that script far better than Otobo. The way she was smiling while describing what she considered emotionally disturbing was unprofessional on her part. And for crying out loud, I expected the young lady to be able to say the script off hand instead of reading verbatim from the written script. I am taking my time to outline these errors because Nollywood industry has become irrelevant because of them.

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2face Could Have Been A Future Contender Of A Nobel Prize If

In 1913, Bengali Polymath, Rabindranath Tagore was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature, ‘because of his profoundly sensitive, fresh and beautiful verse, by which, with consummate skill, he has made his poetic thought, expressed in his own English words, a part of the literature of the West’. Tagore was a songwriter whose unique poetic overtone hitherto defines Indian and Bengali musical arts. With over a century gap between, the American Songwriter Bob Dylan won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2016 ‘for having created new poetic expressions within the great American Song.’

The above facts have been stated quite clearly to show those who may laugh off the title of this article that Songwriters, like novelists, playwrights and poets, still have a stake in the most distinguish literary prize.

Nigeria's 2face Idibia

Nigeria’s 2face is a Songwriter and an award-winning singer, whose songs (especially ‘African Queen’) have earned him the trademark as Nigeria’s finest artist. His songs – since the beginning of the last decade – have continued to revolutionize Africa’s singing culture.

But recently, he could have added another glory to his crown – by being a future contender of a Nobel Prize either in peace or in literature – if he had carried on with his planned protest of showcasing to the world the hardship this dispensation chaired by Buhari has melted on Nigerians across the social strata.

2face’s protest had become necessary. It came up at that time the downtrodden were yawning for an intervention to address the hike of the prices of market commodities which stood above hundred percent. This protest, if it was not aborted, could have exposed our sufferings to the world and then channelled 2face to the highest international recognition which could have earned him a spot in the Nobel Prize constellation.

But amid threats and counter-threats, the protest was cancelled, and I do not blame 2face for his action. At least, he deserves accolade for taking the bold steps to announce a protest. For me, he has already shown his disapproval. With the secret threats he received and open intimidations he received from the government and even compatriots, it was enough to put an end to an already publicized protest. Yet, I must say here that if he should have continued with the protest, he may have earned the respect of the Swedish Academy or the Norwegians.

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My One Silly Suggestion

Recently, I visited some friends at the University of Benin who are medical students. In their off campus apartment at Osasogie, we branched off into an argument relevant to the unemployment state in Nigeria today. I began by telling them how compressed the labour market was; how graduates jostled for jobs which paid lesser than the minimum wage.

‘I have consistently watched graduates produced since 2010,’ I said, ‘none I know of has had a well-paying job.’

‘That is even better,’ Precious said. He was lying face-up on the only bed in the self-contain, and there was a smile on his face, a kind of perfect smile which made all he spoke bear certitude. ‘My brother’s friend graduated since 2009 without a job. If that was all, it would have been nice. He got scholarship to study in the United Kingdom and came back to embrace a job paying less than thirty thousand naira.’

‘Even the medical field is no longer safer as before.’ I said.

‘You are right,’ he replied frankly, ‘now a days, after medical school, it is very difficult to get a house-job.’

‘It is true,’ Confidence replied me rather gloomily, ‘and once you fail to do your house-manship for three years, your licence might be withdraw until you are able to pass a given exam.’

I felt it was too extreme: the case of unemployment in the country. The situation has started to affect doctors already as it does engineers. I suggested then, that in order to prevent medicine to go worthless the way other courses went as a result of unemployment, the number of persons who are admitted into the course should be further reduced. They both asked how, and when I told them only federal universities should be allowed to admit into medicine and the maximum number of students they should be allowed to admit should be twenty, my friends smiled as if my suggestion were silly. Smiling back at them, I further affirm that it would make doctors scarce, and vacancies available for employment. I nodded reluctantly while digesting my suggestion

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Distraction: Article by Chidinma Ahika

There are thousands of students I shy away from. So many of them need to rekindle from the light that emits from my candour. Yet I toss every approach to neglect; all because I want to stay focused. It's been three sessions now; this universe that is flowered by collage of students starve from my touch as I need to bag that degree. It sounds egocentric right? Just as much as I thought!

Was it not some months after my admission I made a blueprint where I exalted academics above extracurricular activities---not its death? I thought some way I would manage the latter but not trample on it. Today, the system I live in has subtly made the social inherent proclivities of me, like in all other human personalities, inconsequential. To make a First class I must or should sacrifice 'all'.

What are these other 'all' my soul has become a murderer to? They are my talents and natural dispositions. As far as I'm concerned the cramming talent; the ability to predict exam questions or prepare theoretical theses (to be dumped at the closest bin by the lecturer) are iota of the greater circle.

You may not understand if you are out there. And if you are in here you still don't understand then maybe it's because, sorry to say, you have been indoctrinated in full eclipse. I once was, I still partially am, and I pray someday I would be free.

'Suffer now and enjoy later' this is the scam we bought for an exchange of our potentials manifestation. What can be so abominable, injurious, and cataclysmic than the abortion of dreams, ideas that would change the world, and natural sociological tendencies? We forget that if at all we should suffer now, it should not be at the destruction of ourselves; yes, our gifts are what make the core of us.

Four years in subconscious delay or decay of our contributions and manifestation to the world is a dangerous thing to do to oneself and community.

'The end would justify the means' was the ideology I once used to embrace myself. What if this means actualises this intended end and then decimates the entrance of another more glorified beginning? What if this means becomes the monster towards other alluvial pastures? The end alone should not justify the means. Instead the means should justify and account for itself.

I love to write; Okiez likes to sing; Efe is a dance lord; Isaac can talk for Africa! And what do we do with these God given gifts? I bet you would guess right. We shove them off and call them distractions and flow with the trend. We try not to bother about developing them or question how our conscience will qualify positively for the test of abortionists; for the foetus in us are decaying by the struggle for academics, for great grades. The foetus that would affect Nigeria; that would help lives we have been taught to name bastards in the guise of distractions. Yet those out there wonder why we turn out to be mechanics after graduation.

When scrupulously assessed, we are refined to function in a school and not adjust to life according to our psychomotor domain and entirety of our prowess in whole. The mind is the system's emphasis which is an error to be corrected.

My prayer is that those who rush to come in here should over dose themselves with that which is vaccinated against this indoctrination, and thus react appropriately. A balance is what true education is all about not full time academics. These distractions are part of the instruments needed for change. I pray we all come to accept these necessary distractions one day!

© Chidinma Ahika

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Why I stopped Being a Football Fan

Some years ago, while leaving for the place where I usually read at night, I met an airtime vendor in front of my Hall. He wore a black singlet with green stripes around its sleeveless edges, and the way the singlet molded his body, his chest muscles pushed out and the packs on his stomach traced noticeable outlines on the singlet. He was of the kind of height which is considered average, and because together with this he was stout, he was no doubt ladies’ favourite. That night, he wore three-quarter jeans which went slightly pass his knees. He sweated on his forehead because he had affected an obvious agitation in attending to his customers.

I had just passed the busy common room, filled to the brim. Students hung against the windows of the common room with broken glass-panes. The noise from the common room was threatening: it poured out, past the bar and bursary, unto the veranda of the frontage. But it was the magnitude of heat emanating from that common room that scared me, and while I was wondering whether it was worth the stress for those dedicated football fans to mill themselves in a heated room with poor ventilation just because a match was being aired, I met this airtime vendor of a man.

After he had sold airtime for me, he asked if I was coming from the direction of the common room. When I nodded my head in the affirmative, he asked what the match’s score was. Other time, I would have answered a simple ‘I don’t know’ to this question, or just keep quiet and watch the agitated soul run back to the common room to get the score for himself. But this night, for a reason I didn’t know, I told him I didn’t like watching football, and then added solemnly that I was not a pious football fan, when he gazed at me for a long time as if he were pitying the young man I had become. He spoke at last; his accent flared with disappointment: ‘In this age, what sort of a young man doesn’t like watching football?’ This statement struck me; it made it seem like not being an ardent football fan was a crime of the same magnitude as felony or murder. So that night, while walking slowly to my destination, I pondered when football and I parted ways; when I stopped being a football fan.

In the years that preceded this very one, I had begun to nurture a keen likeness for football. In 2008, when Chelsea and Manchester United played the UEFA Champions League final, I was in Class Four in Secondary. In the morning of the day the match was played, after the assembly tradition, there was an exhilarating argument in my class over who would win the big one that year. Because the most powerful in class supported Chelsea, the whole class seemed to pitch their abode with the club as if that would sign off their wining. Because I hated to go with the crowd, I openly declared my support for Manchester United. Before now, I wasn’t emotionally tied to any club, although I had begun to watch football many years before then. When I came to join my brother in Secondary, some nights, we followed the Corpers in the lodge we lived in to Viewing Centre and paid to watch matches, yet I wasn’t a fan of any club. But my brother had become a Manchester United fan, and it may have partly influenced my decision that morning in Class Four.

In the night the match was played, the lodge we lived in was empty: corpers, our teachers and co-students moved out of the lodge to Viewing Centres. We watched the match in a guest house in the beginning of our street. Where we watched the game was a large round shade built of thatched roof at the middle of the guest house. With iron poles as supporting pillars and a cemented floor, the sides of the hut were left open, guided only by iron balustrades. The TV was placed in one corner of the hut-house, while the crowd surrounded it like a half-moon. The crowd was not as large as the one in the common room I would experience years later and there was no heat emanating from the venue because of the perfect ventilation. It was a venue in which ardent fans bought large Manchester United and Chelsea posters, and spread them side by side on the floor between the TV and the fans.

Manchester United won that match via penalty kick-out and also won my heart. I started becoming a religious fan: I could go to watch their matches for money or simply ask those who have the media to get football news what scores were and who was topping the league. Little by little, I discovered I had become emotionally drawn: when Manchester United won a match, I felt uplifted, when they lost, I would feel a sharp pang on my chest and become moody for a long time. It began to affect me psychologically, and like a bad relationship, it was difficult to cut the chains off.

I think I finally broke the link between football and I the last UEFA Champions League Final Manchester United played with Barcelona, in which they lost to the Spanish giant two goals to nil. I had left my comfort zone to watch that match that night, having high hope my erstwhile club would win. I felt heartbroken when they lost; it affected me for many days and I became scared the disappointment would never wash off. Then later, when I finally escaped the spell, I decided to retrace my steps and stopped being a football fan before it would ruin me. I realized that no matter how wonderful a football club maybe, it must suffer defeat. And since the defeat affected me negatively, I decided to leave the football-sphere.

I seldom watch match now, but the ties with Manchester United has not been completely severed. I still feel excited when I hear that they are doing well. But that bitterness which covered me in those days when they lost has completely gone. 

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