LOOSE YOUR CHAINS

 

If we do nothing, but make jokes from every national disgrace. Of we do nothing but scan through our social media accounts for jokes, comic clips and picture updates from friends and enemies. If we fold our hands and watch the destiny of ours and that of our kids unfold through the hands of this past and present system, then I can easily tell us that OUR FUTURE hold nothing. It's not rocket science. 

Everything is not normal. Yet we act normal. There is Fire on the mountain, and no one seems to be on the run, Asa told us. 

Every sector is a failure; politics, health, education, transportation etc.

Our educational system is affected the most. The best things we learn from universities is English speaking.
No exposure to knowledge. No complete practical. Even when a practical is concocted, no reasonable result is gotten. We spend years in our universities imagining and most times wrongly the things we were being taught. We pass examinations without fully understanding the concepts. Ask most Biochemistry graduates to differentiate amongst gene, chromosomes and DNA with exactness and watch the drama unfold. Ask the Microbiology graduates to explain with exactness the process of fermentation highlighting the unit operations and the enzymes involved and you see my point.

I spent years in the university passing examinations on some courses without full understanding. And when we dared to read further we failed and were called "I TOO KNOW". In one course, I was asked to explain a concept. I did, with detailed structures and eligible writing but I got 6/30. When I met the lecturer for an explanation, he told me blatantly that I was too detailed. Of course, in the examination I was as brief as his notes and I got 64/70. I made my first class knowing fully well I won't encourage my son to aim that high in academics esp in Nigeria.

Our engineering graduates can't even fix a bulb properly. Most read Literature and graduated just by answering "who said this, to whom, when and what was the implication?". We produce economists and accountants who can't even balance a profit and loss account seconds after their graduation.
Today, I have a post graduate examination on Nutrition. Of course I will pass (God blessed me that much). But I will pass answering elementary questions on Digestion of protein, carbohydrates and fats. So what's the difference between post graduate and junior secondary school?

The results are easily evident: Lawyers become entrepreneurs. Accountants become sales girls. Engineers hustle on the streets. Biochemists work in Banks. Journalists turn musicians. The basic advice becomes entrepreneurship knowing fully well that we are all unemployable in the real sense of it. Knowing fully well that the system is a failure.

Karl Max would have said:

" Nigerian youths arise. You have nothing to lose but your chains. You have your future to determine.

photo credit: www.brokenchains.us

BUS CONDUCTING ROLE

 

Yesterday with Ignatius will probably go down as my most memorable work day in 2016.

My itinerary was nicely scheduled to run from UNILAG to my commercial abode then home- perfect triangular arrangement, but then I met Ignatius. 

I have always known Ignatius since I finished my NYSC. We work in the same area. Last year he bought a bus which he claimed was suitable for ease of transporting his family and goods during outings and yuletide seasons. In fact last year, I was lucky to have traveled down to the villa with him and his family in his bus.

So yesterday, after I completed my postgraduate biotechnology in course, I walked straight to the bike stand to board one. The road was leading to LUTH entrance was as usual flooded with just the little drizzle from the night before. As I tried carefully with immaculate precision to circumvent the dirty flood, a bike man non-challantly designed my white t-shirt with a heavy splash of the milky brown water. He didn't even stop to offer condolence. 

There I stood totally soaked and dripping of brownish smelly waters. I had just answered some questions on Bioremediation and pollution and there I stood in anger pondering on the source of this water pollution and whether my newly bought t-shirt could be remedied by any laundry techniques. How can I even go to work with such dirt on me, I asked myself. But then I got a gratifying answer.

A loud horn from a bus sounded behind me. I turned and from the driver's side, a hand was waving at me to come. I looked closely and it was Ignatius. Hope at last.

Looking at my shirt, "ahh, Ben what happened?

"Igne, na okada man splash water on me ooo" I responded. 

He felt for me and asked me to enter his bus so he can drop me off. I told him I can't go to work again and he still insisted he will drop me off at my junction. I thanked him and hopped in. 

We got to the next junction and Igne started calling in passengers. I was awe-struck and he saw the surprise on my face. But he explained, since we were going that way, let him just pick these passengers and make some money for the family dinner then. I saw reasons with him after all this recession is really bad. I decided to show solidarity. We started calling in passengers. Two more junctions and bus was filled. Igne was driving and I don't need to be asked to collect the passengers' fares. Row by row, I collected their monies in my visibly stained white shirt, typical of a commercial bus conductor. I was speaking good English as I collected the money in order to passively communicate to the passengers that I wasn't a conductor, but just a conditional passenger. 

The man sitting on the second row was so pleased with my English and in order to appreciate, he asked me to keep his balance before going on to blame the government for my predicament: “Imagine, a young man with such fluency in English language working as a bus conductor.  This country has failed her graduates. Before I could turn to explain to him that I was just helping Igne out, the woman seated beside him had started telling the story of how her daughter who graduated since 2005 was now a sales girl at one supermarket in their street. The whole passengers joined in the discussion. Next junction and a young lady shouted: "Conductor, owa ooo." I looked at her with defeated eyes and she continued: "my change conductor ejoor.  No be me tell u make u finish school no see work." I looked at Igne to see if he would do something, but he was busy asking the lady to come down fast so he can carry another passenger. 

There was no opportunity to ask him whether he was now a bus conductor but my curiosity was satisfied at the next junction: the area boys approached his bus but on sighting him they began all forms of salutations and respect- baba, aja nla etc. He handed them #20 and they marked his bus. 

I felt played, used and dumped at the next junction. 

#he didn't even give me my own cut# 

photo credit: www.naij.com

THE FOOD THAT GOT US GOING

 

I can't really say with exactness why we loved it the more. 

In those years in boarding school, we had a strict dining menu. So strict, we knew exactly what would be served as breakfast, lunch and super all the days of the week. In fact it was so strictly followed that we had the right to go on a hunger strike without punishment, if the supposed and desired meal was skipped.

As teens, we were good with nick-naming everything and so our foods weren't exempted. Garri was and still is ASOKI. Yam porridge always deficient of vegetables was called 'ESAU'. Then there is this particular soup we really can't fathom the name so we named with 'SOUP WITHOUT NAME'. Rice and bean cooked together was known as 'COMBIDO'. 

But one stood out; loved, cherished, honored and always anticipated by all- PAP n BEANS. 

For the ease of pronunciation we nicknamed it ' PAMBI'. So great and glued was the love that I still remember at least three times for its serving: Monday morning, Saturday morning and Sunday morning. We would ask each other for confirmation "Arinze, hope today is the day for PAMBI?" ibegbunam would respond from his bunk as if the question was thrown to him: " of course, I even passed the pantry this morning for confirmation." Nobody wanted to miss the special delicacy. Whatever might bring a delay or a total miss of this meal was avoided as we braced up for the yummy meal.

Then we would sit in tables of tens, a big pot for the beans and the smaller one for the pap. Then in front of the table stood a sharer for the week on whose hands lay the quantity of PAMBI to be served in your plate. Woe betide you if you have unsettled issues with him.

First, he would ditch the beans and allow you to perfectly shift it to one extreme thus creating a semicircle with enough radius for the pap. Having added the pap, each and everyone of us would eat gloriously with fork and knife in observation of the refectory culture.

So happy that we have eaten that which had kept us alert and awake, we would go in for morning assembly and then morning classes. Before the mathematics teacher would be done with his Pythagoras theorem, the whole class atmosphere would be filled with 'poisonous' farts emanating from the gluteus maximus of sleeping students. 

PAMBI was the best regardless of the fart. In fact the fart made it more memorable. 

#PAMBISIMPLYTHEBEST#

photo credit: buzzfeed.com

CHRIST IS THE KING

Yesterday again we took to the streets, to the highways and byways drumming, chanting and dancing. The proclamation was very clear: "CHRIST IS THE KING." 

The dancing was vigorous. The chants were resounding and the joy was tremendous.

But what struck me the most was the indigenization. The slow, steady and simple way through which we have made Christ our own. We gave him VISA long ago when He was brought by the missionaries. We monitored Him for a while then accepted Him. We kept renewing His VISA and then finally we granted him citizenship. He became our own and no longer a western introduction.

Westerners would have marched in a single file singing dull and solemn hymns in procession. But we, NO!!!!! What they denied us in Masquerade entertainment we have found a way to exercise. Infact we even called Jesus the Masquerade stronger than other masquerades thus setting the stage for our traditional activities.
The dancing and name-dropping for Jesus yesterday was epic. Names like King of kings and Lord of Lords were too western, too outdated. We called him in our native tongues: ODOGWU KARIRI ODOGWU (Chief masquerade), OZOWARA ONAAA (March and go), AGADA GBACHIRI UZO ( road block ), BABA NLA (big father), AJA NLA (big fish).
Have you ever been to a king's Ofala? Yesterday's ofala was unmatchable both in terms of entertainment and spirituality.
The young man beside me at one time was a truly converted ancient masquerade. His dance steps let him out easily. His roars of praise was more 'pagan' than Christian. He introduced our Lord with the sound 'okoko-ko-kooooooooo'- an incarnational sound for the introduction of masquerades in the village. But it gladdened my heart to know that his was for the TRUE MASQUERADE.
The roars and chants were so loud they almost silenced the solemn recitations of the flower girls. I drew closer and listened more intently. In unison and adoration they echoed:

"O SACRAMENTUM SANCTISSIMUM (O SACRAMENT MOST HOLY)

O SACRAMENTUM DIVINUM ( O SACRAMENT DIVINE)

OMNES LAUS ET GLORIA TIBI SIT, IN SECULA SECULORUM ( ALL PRAISE AND ALL THANKSGIVING, BE EVERY MOMENT THINE).

Truly He deserves all praise. And the solemn recitations from these innocent girls blessed our numerous joyous agitations and 'mbems'.
Christ is ours and so we worship Him traditionally.

SOMEBODY KEKE DRIVER

 

There are things you just can't explain.  You just wish the other person will understand. 

The recession is really getting to us all and MMM gaining more popularity. The banks have tasked it's staffs to make extra efforts in winning over customers at all cost. 

So yesterday, an elegant lady walked into my office. I was still battling to see if I could pull off an Einstein in a post-graduate examination slated for Thursday.  I attended no class and I just received the course outline on Saturday. So my head was down and my eyes fixed on the downloaded materials which I was trying to make meaning out of, when she walked in. I thought it was the secretary approaching to relay a message.

But then the "Good afternoon Sir" sounded more like those recorded voice messages you hear when you call customer care line (or when they call you ). So I quickly looked up to match the face to an automated machine and lo, before me stood an elegant lady; tall, slender, her black suit well ironed and with a smile perfectly carved out from her cheeks. The smile and the position didn't change for seconds and I wondered whether she has been sent to perform the Mannequin challenge to customers in a bid to keep them happy and open more corporate accounts. 

I then responded: “Good afternoon dear. Can I help you?" You know, when a man says to a lady "can I help you?" he really wants to help. Same cannot be said vice versa. So I wanted to see if I can help her. She quickly introduced herself and her company, as if the rectangular rosette pinned to left of her suit pocket, slightly above her mammalian endowment wasn't enough billboard of where she works.

"Sir, do you have an account with us?" She inquired. I said yes. She asked for the type of account and when I said "Savings" She started selling the "Corporate account" type to me.

That was when I looked closely and noticed a familiarity. Out of curiosity I asked: “wait, did you take the NNPC aptitude test back in 2011 at Enugu?" She drew back a little and with surprise engulfing her countenance, she replied with a question-filled "Yes". Her name unlike the exam materials I was reading struck a chord in me: " You said you are Ifeoma?" 

She had placed her phones on my table during the course of her introduction.  I wanted to use her phone to call my line, but to avoid sending a wrong message across I reached for my phone. Scrolled up to Ifeoma-NNPC and dialed. One of her phones started ringing. We were thrilled and we looked into her phone at the same time: for me, it was to confirm if it was actually my number showing. What I saw got me uneasy, unsettled and even doubting my occupation: "BENJAMIN KEKE ENUGU." I tried hiding my disappointment but then she said: “wow. What a small world.  So you were the KEKE driver boy that took us to the Examination center?"

You definitely can't guess my next reaction.

Anyway, we had a nice chat and I promised to open a corporate account of my KEKE business with her bank.

photo credit: awkacity.com

SOME THINGS ARE CONSTANT

They say the only thing constant in the world is change. I have always believed that, though with a mind so much disposed to disbelieve it.

I have my reasons. 

For long now i have been watching closely to identify a change in the clapping style in the churches. 

You what I mean?

That clapping style that goes with two consecutive claps, a pause and then another two claps in succession. As in "kpa-kpa.....kpa-kpa".

Try it now, check it out next sunday, or in the next church activity. 

It doesn't change with the change in songs. From "That is why you are called Jehova" to "in the morning, early in the morning". 

Even, this clapping system transcends tongues and languages. From " Odighi onye yiri gi, Odighi onye yiri Chineke nke eluigwe.." to "Oshe oo Baba".

I believe Africans invented this clapping style. It's "Africasal" and who knows it might already be universal.

No matter the denomination in christendom, the clapping style is the same. 

We have one thing in common afterall. 

#keeptryingtheclap#

JUST A QUESTION

Just a  question
Have you ever been to the village stream?
With the folks, carrying jerry cans of different litres
 And the girls balancing iron and plastics buckets on their heads

 Making your ways down through the narrow path flanked by thick bushes

The memories were always great
And the feelings tantalizing
 Sometimes the cans are put in wheelbarrow and we take turns to push
 Getting to the stream is a dream we cannot wait to achieve

 Yet the distractions along the path cannot be brushed aside
 The plucking of mangoes, ripe and unripe
 The stoning of pears and guava
Stretching out and cutting off little branches of the black velvet tamarind

 The steep between the narrow path and the stream must be threaded with caution

 to avoid tripping over.
 Walk gently with shuffling legs or use your buttocks if you are that scared
And finally we are in the stream.

Years ago according to the story, a tree fell across one Eke night
There was no storm, so the legend suggests the tree provides a sitting place at night for the ancestors to drink and make merry
 Whatever,  it provided us more fun at the stream

 It divided the stream into two halves
 stem of the tree somehow lays above the ground.
So we would crawl to the highest elevation of the stem and have an aerial view of the stream and the surrounding

Unclad, we jump into the cold, chilly water
Splashing waters sideways, upwards.

Pinching our noses to avoid the liquid from gaining entrance into our nasal cavity.
 Swimming takes longer than fetching

Fetching is our ticket out of the house

Thirty minutes or so we begin to feel the cold and we shiver
A rural jingle about a sudden departure from a place of visit no matter who's cooking homeward for warmth is intoned and we quickly fill our cans and zoom off

Did you remember this?

If not, then I guess childhood didn’t treat us all, equally