ASARO

The dreams kept me going
The image kept me wanting
I couldn't think of nothing else
My mind , 100% occupied
He got jealous, yes jealous
'Cos I was cheating on him as far as he could see
Couldn't hear his words no more
My mind was fixed, I wasn't going to falter
I moved, closer and closer
I sweated on both hands and feet
My eyes transfixed, my heart missing beats
He was angry but I was out of reach
Moving away from him once more
And causing him pain once again
Would I miss him, didn't want to think
Not that it mattered at this point in time
My moment of bliss, that moment
When my lips touched and my tongue rolled
the moment I ate Mrs Dabiri's ASARO

Where did it start from?

Who was the First Nigerian President? When did Nigeria gain Independence? When did Nigeria become a republic? The above are typical questions for a Nigeria history exam. All the facts and figures must be right at your finger tips to make close to a pass mark. I watch in amusement how much and how well our youngsters cram these facts to pass their exams. Unfortunately, there is no lesson learnt and no value passed to these kids.

When Russians learn of their communist history and when Black Americans sit down to watch the tear-provoking episodes of Roots. As the name, 'Kunta kinte' sounds like the wake up crow of a red horned cock, the black American little boy remembers that he came on a ship to the melting pot of the world but he also knows , quite evidently by the recent US election that black or white, all men have rights . He resolves to tread those places that no black man has reached. It's the history that produced Colin Powell, Jesse Jackson and even Barack Obama. Those kids are filled with resolve to make their country better, to become better heroes than the ones they have read and heard so much about. Benjamin Franklin, Martin Luther King Jnr, Abraham Lincoln, Alexander the Great, and the endless list of those that make us marvel with awe.

What do we pass to our kids in a history class asides those details that can be summarized in a 40 leave booklet sold on the streets of Lagos? Those books are typically called' Current affairs in Nigeria' or better still, 'Passing your history exam in flying colours' . As parents buy that almost perfect collation of facts, for the simple purpose of passing a paper. As primary school pupils recite the states and capitals of Nigeria without flinching, and as I struggle to learn the new ministerial list that changes like card shuffle. As I Google the list of state governors just to appear to be slightly smarter than my colleagues. I wonder, so hard that I get wrinkles on my face, what history we have about our rulers in this country asides the creation of new local government councils, creation of new parastatals, impeachment of state governors, election malpractice, court injunctions, and even assassination in some cases. I weep because the colorful part of our history ended with independence and the God- given advocates that made October 1, 1960 worth remembering. And please don't take that for granted. It takes skill, patience, knowledge and maybe anointing to negotiate the future of a whole nation with the most powerful lady in the world at that time. I wish I had videos of those sessions, those patriots that put the nation above themselves. I would show my kids with pride what some Nigerians like Obafemi Awolowo and Nnamdi Azikwe did on behalf of Nigeria.

But then again, that is where Nigeria history ends as far as I'm concerned. I imagine if I were to write Nigeria's Obituary

NIGERIA

Born 1960, Great potential nation

1960-2008 (nothing positive to report)

2009 (rebranding exercise)

Died…………

And just as I write, I see a news flash,' Controller-General of Nigeria Customs service may emerge today.' And another one, 'First Nigerian-made armored car being launched by president'. I can almost predict the next, 'Press conference by some state governor' or 'President travels to Australia to visit the Minister of Power and exchange ideas'. How much worse could it get? Why should it be news that Lecturers are being paid their salaries or that roads are being repaired. What then is the Nigeria's definition of normal events? What exactly is the job description of a NIGERIAN President or governor? Who do they report to? Do they get performance reviews? Am I asking too many questions?

Where did this all start? It's easy to blame individuals and add a corrupt tag to most if not all of our leaders but I refuse to do that. Leaders are born out of society and not the other way round. I laugh endlessly at people that say,' when they get into power , they change'. Change to what exactly? Our leaders are simply a reflection of the greater part of our society. We might argue that they weren't elected, they rigged the election. Trust me, rigging is not a one-man campaign. You, yes, you the ordinary man down the street that feels so upright and just cannot be absolved of blame. We, everyone that calls himself/herself Nigerian is to blame for everything that has gone wrong. And just before you frown your face as the pangs of guilt flow straight from this piece to the depth of your heart. Let's go back to those corrupt and dark moments that your children saw. The times you bribed the PHCN officials, the times you bribed for your children to gain admission into an educational institution. Yes, that moment when you threw the pure water sachet out of the car unto the road. The moment when little Dammy said, 'Daddy, why are you beating the traffic light?' You all remember those moments. That is where it all started from. The corruption, the lack of respect for law and authority did not start with policemen demanding bribes on the street, but started when you parked wrongly along the road. Generation, after generation, we multiplied the sin, the hatred, the corruption and here we are in 2009.

Light Up Nigeria

And darkness covered the whole earth
Or so it seemed to my finite mind
I could see nothing and hear nothing
but the sound of crickets and frogs
What happened? Are the gods angry?
Is battle coming? Are we ready for a fight?

I slowly searched through my diary
Yes, the diary lodged in my mind
We kept the New year festival
and we observed the usual annual fast
What could we have done wrong, I pondered?
Shall I visit the shrine to find out
Or shall I call for a meeting of the elders
I searched the chronicles and recited them
all to my unlistening audience
trying to fathom the infinite darkness
Said my prayers, did they work?
Not soon enough if they did
I started to hear footsteps
but still I had no answers
The morning came slowly or so it seemed
At last I released a statement
"All women and children should be home before nightfall"
At least, I felt in control

Tis wasn't a solar eclipse
was the beginning of a degradation
of an institution and a nation
The lights out became more regular than not
At last we were back to candles and lanterns
Heaven to hell, or so it seemed
Will things get better, I dared to hope
But as I told this story on my dying bed
I gave a charge to those little kids
Change does not come until you dare
to challenge the status quo
At this point , I left a dying wish
#lightupnigeria

Re: A Nation’s Identity Crisis

Identity crisis- a disorientation concerning one's sense of self, values, and role in society, often of acute onset and related to a particular and significant event in one's life.

Stedman’s Medical Dictionary 28th Edition, Copyright© 2006_Lippincott Williams & Wilkins. All rights reserved.

I read Reuben Abati’s article, titled A Nation's Identity Crisis and I tried very hard to get the point. I cannot disrespect Flora Shaw, any less the name ‘Nigeria’ but I find it difficult to diagnose ‘identity crisis’ by the factors mentioned by Reuben. Based on Reuben’s diagnosis, the USSR had an identity crisis in 1991, hence the name Russia. The Ghanaian Cedi had an identity crisis hence its redenomination. So also, Persia, Rhodesia, Abyssia, East Pakistan, Gold Coast and Upper Volta. Now we must be living in a pathetic world, even worse now with the global recession. Probably the United Kingdom might become ‘Greater United Kingdom’ by the time the world economy picks up again. I can almost hear Reuben saying, ‘Identity Crisis’.

The article did make me think. Yes, I wondered if the out-going old generation has the discipline or the patience to write complete sentences or think through a subject to its logical end. And if they do, how much virtue is there in keeping this ‘good’ to themselves and to the grave. Where did the younger ones go wrong? Was it in trying to improve what they met or living the life that they met. Can I blame my five year old neighbor for not knowing what a pedestrian crossing is when there are none on the roads or would I rather blame the town planners for not enforcing some certain road signs? No, I would rather blame the painter for not sparing some excess white paint for the ‘Pedestrian Crossing’ noble cause. Think about it.

The creation, performance, significance, and even the definition of music vary according to culture and social context. Social environment is the culture that he or she was educated and/or lives in, and the people and institutions with whom the person interacts. With the world being a global village, the environment is infinitely extensive. For instance, if you consider the evolution of Mambo, salsa and any of the Cuban dances, you would realize how much external influence defined those dances today. This might be because I’m not the Chief Editor of Guardian newspapers, but I would rather dance away my frustrations than write them.

I can do anything

It's up to me, solely to me

to make sure things are right with me

As a man thinketh, so is he

the things he is are just a sea

Of all his mind has lodged within

It's been so long and if feels like yesterday
I could only be silent until today
Still remember the laughter and joy you spread
Just anytime and to everyone you met
I can't forget the prayers you prayed
On every thing and for everyone even unmet
It's still this hard to let you go
even at four years running I shed more tears
Still wish it didn't happen that way, that time and to you
I wish I had one more chance to tell you how much you blessed my life

From the lecture hall

Why aren't we allowed to make choices
Why can't we make decisions
Why most one be somewhere
not for pleasure or leisure
But to be assumed as present
For a course not well understood
Except that you will be tested
On what you're assumed to have learnt
Even though it might just be a transfer
Of words to brain and brain to paper
and it's called writing a test
It's driving me crazy and it should stop
Lest I begin to bend the rules
Afterall, they are meant to be bent
By not you, not me, but someone
Who doesn't see reason for the obsession
to be in class and sit in front
Pretending to concentrate even while not
He goes on and on and stops
a few minutes after he ought to have gone
He dictates his note
that barely makes sense
Makes waste of paper a norm
every Mon and Tue
Believes he's imparting knowledge
to who I wonder, probably the seats
Has a Master's he can't defend
or probably mine he came to lend
Thity-five minutes gone
Thirty-five more to go
Of more boredom and annoyance
Must be deceived that he has a skill or gift, I'ld say a curse
Of pretending to teach when he's not
Takes a break to explain
Or sorry, to repeat
what made no sense before
like repetition helps to build snese
Even a scrap car is made of scrap
My point, you know is simple
Sense is made of sense
Repeating nonsense gives repeated nonsense
Must feel he works for his pay
Not knowing he's a beneficiary of a charity
Or what would you call pay
for merely showing up in a classroom for the required duration
and holding a marker, writing on the board
Raising his voice so everyone knows he's around
And making it sound like he knows all
It would be too harsh to say he doesn't make sense
Afterall he probably makes sense to his little world
Consisting of his mouth and his ears
A congregation of three - big enough
to give approval to what he says
His personality- oh no
a far cry from what is called normal
Could be a special breed of humans; a mutation of genes maybe
Having resigned to his fate as a teacher
that teaches nothing and learns nothing
gets fascinated by everything strange
to his little world of three inhabitants
would probably still be here in ten years
Teaching a couple of desks and chairs
With a less than fortunate audience
Watching his mouth move and waiting
keenly for the clock hands to move

Thought I'd finished, but I haven't
Event still unfold in Economics class
I have just realised how interesting
it is to have some form of power
He particularly enjoys
displaying the extent of his power
though it's not beyond the walls of a classroom
Such limits, I'ld say are sad
I mean for all the shouting and squealing
the walls are still the limit
for him not me in case you're mistaken
He illustrates by
bolting the door so no one leaves
He has to enjoy these two hours you know
Power for two hours is better than none at all
By the way, he has no manners
Cannot afford a 'sorry' when needed
Thinks he can captivate audience by cajoling and claiming to have prayed 'some prayers' for us
Spends about twenty minutes telling us off
and wishing he were not our lecturer
Preaching, teaching and screaming cooperation
like that means looking straight into his eyes
Pretends not to be complexed
Gets worked up when we ignore him
Feels like both a Christian and moralist
like a principled branch of a tree