A Naija at Niagara Falls

 

We fall in by loving others. Distracted by beauty we walk towards it hypnotised with a smile that betrays the state of the heart. Love compels us to move and the stationary usually do not fall. Why do we stare at beauty whenever we stumble on it? Why do the eyes bring inspiration and satisfaction? Sometimes splendour does not walk by. We get on our feet and move across land and sea; seeking a beauty we cannot own or take home.

We stare

We marvel

The heart races and the spirit takes flight

We stare

We pay homage and sigh.

Looking can be a labour of love sometimes. There is no financial gain in looking yet we spend a fortune just to ‘go and see’.

But why travel to see the magnificent?

Why journey for days to view a wonder that lasts a few fleeting minutes?

When would my eyes be satisfied with seeing and say, ‘enough!’

These were my thoughts as I boarded the plane having uprooted myself from the safety and comfort of my bed. I was off to see Niagara Falls. It was no doubt a lady. Men tend to spend a long time looking at ladies and stumbling. It was not just a lady but three times a lady like Lionel Richie would say. Niagara Falls was made of three separate Falls; the Horseshoe, the American Falls and lastly the Bridal Veil Falls. Nothing conjures romance like the veil but more of that later.

The plan was good in my eyes. Birmingham-Paris-Toronto. I was in good spirits as the plane took off for Paris. One hour after landing I was told to step aside along with three others at our boarding gate for the flight to Toronto. This had never happened to me before and I was disappointed to be told that the flight had been overbooked and I was not travelling. I was informed that I could travel the next day but would have to sleep in Paris.  I was booked on a flight the next day and given two options for compensation: 600 Euros cash or 800 Euros worth of vouchers.

The feelings of falling at the first huddle of my journey evaporated.

That is my ticket to Lagos for mum’s funeral sorted out.

25/05/2022Wednesday

I was up by 4am and heading to the Charles de Gaulle airport. I had fears of further cancellations. I flew to Amsterdam from where I flew to Toronto.

26/05/2022 Thursday

I took a Taxi to Niagara on the lake and checked into room 401 at the Holiday Inn Express. It was great meeting up with my Med School classmates who had all converged for the wedding of our classmate’s daughter. There was a lot of laughter and catching up to do. Once again it was like the good old days when everyone had a Room Number in the same hostel complex. (But in this case; level don change). We huddled in each other’s room eating drinking and laughing. I was struck by the fact that everyone travelled down because two people had fallen in love. We might have been old school mates supporting one another but if no one had fallen in love there would have been no congregation of busy people. It was beautiful, the air, the people and the love. Beauty cannot be bought in a shop. It is a happy ending that makes us call something beautiful and we need to live and stay put till the end to experience beauty. No one was about to leave as the movie was just starting.

27/05/2022 Friday

We gathered downstairs for breakfast and the hotel seemed prettier than the night before. We had planned to go to the great falls this morning and we were soon on our way. We all loved nature and moved to see it in its naked and raw glory. There is love in all movements; even when propelled by fear. Running away from life threatening danger is running towards a life which is loved. The one who grabs a child before fleeing away in fear also runs away in love. Love provides the energy to do the impossible and move like a miracle.

We all want to live in idyllic settings so we can gaze at nature. And when you look at created things you see the creator. Most paintings have a name or a title but these works are also called Rembrandts after the painter or Van Gogh. There is always a piece of the creator in the created thing. Men seek to see something that elevates them; something that reminds them that there can be hope in this world. Living by still waters and fishing, skinny dipping all summer long can be beautiful but you must dry up and go indoors at some point. It is a blessing to live with a beautiful human being.

We drove to the area and walked to the spectacle. There was a roar of a thousand mountain lions producing a sound that demanded respect and yet was soothing to the brain. Cute mansions on hills could not compare to this beauty. We all knew we did not have this at home. No home could house this. This was God’s own water feature and it was spectacular. Gallons of water moved to the edge and crashed down beautifully. Water no get enemy after all. We took pictures and videos hoping that a fraction of the ambiance could be captured on film.

We hopped on the boat for a tour wearing red Ponchos. Across the water those on the New York side got on their boats dressed in blue. It looked like Manchester City and Manchester United football clubs lining up for the Manchester Derby but the boats stayed far from edge other.

At one stage I felt like I was in a Cecil B DeMille movie set; the Ten Commandments to be precise. Our boat went up close to the water Falls, into the mist and there a wall of crashing water on either side. This was the Horseshoe. The water was turbulent and it was an exhilarating experience. We still got drenched despite the waterproof coats and the water appeared to get into my phone. Somethings just have to be experienced as no one has enough talent to tell it as it is.  The boat appeared to be edging closer to the great showers of water and I thought to myself, ‘this would be a bad time for engine failure’.

The grandeur of the place made me wonder how men of old would go into barrels and be put in the waters upstream to see if they can survive the drop. Trust women. Annie decided life was not exciting enough and she went over the falls in a barrel. On the other side, after the drop, she had survived. I can almost hear MJ in Smooth Criminal screaming from the banks, Annie are you OK?

Why would Annie Taylor take such risks at the age of 61 years old in 1901? Nigerians would say she has Liver (While the rest of the world says Annie has heart, or Annie has guts).

And here lies the difference in opinion of what the word ‘excitement’ really means among different races. From all accounts Caucasians were the only people involved in these daredevil stunts at Niagara. Some even walked across the gorge on tight ropes.  Africans are made different. They might take risks for gain, but hardly risk life for adventure. Even our water spirits called Mami water will jump out of the water upstream and walk down hill on land before reconnecting with the water downstream. Caucasian mermaids will go with the flow and crash; la-la-la Whoosh la-la-la-la, la-la-la just like Simon and Garfunkel sang it

The waters falling through the air were like two lovers falling in love at great speed with no parachute. Everyone expects a crash but love has its own powers. Love is immensely more powerful than gravity; and next thing you know there is a couple holding hands and flying with their hearts. This romantic weightlessness makes no burden too heavy and no effort too hard.

Niagara did not send us a special invitation to come and view her majestic form. We had a need in us, an itch to scratch. She did not disappoint. The mist and water in the air gathered on the face and the lips drank the water. It was like a kiss. The way people kiss wine glasses. We were enveloped in that mist, almost like a baptism and purification. No one remembered their problems in the mist and the mind was fixed on the wonder being experienced.

As we walked off the boat I wondered when I would stop loving the wonders of the world. Would my affections wax cold some day? Maybe when the mountains flatten and the oceans dry up.

I suppose the sun sometimes asks itself, ‘when would I stop shining?’ Then it laughs and shines on.

The day one decides to stop looking is the day one starts dying. Human beings will always marvel at beauty or start to decay. That is why the beauty was placed there in the first place; to sustain life.

4pm

I was the back seat passenger as we speed to Toronto. We went up in the lifts together as a group at the CN Tower. The 360 Tower was really clever. You sat on your table and the whole sitting area which was on an outer circle went around slowly like one of those revolving stages. Your view through the large windows changed as you went along. This was a day of contrasting spectacles; the natural water falls versus a man- made modern day super tower. I couldn’t help myself; I had a thought about Nepa. I walk around with this fear of electric power failure. I take it everywhere. I once had a patient with a battery operated mechanical heart and I freaked out when I saw the device. What if the batteries fail? I thought to myself. It was a fleeting thought. I assumed we would have to sleep in the restaurant or walk downstairs all night if a power outage occurred.

The ride back to Niagara on the lake was great. Laughter and banter all the way.

28/5/2022 Saturday

The business of the wedding started proper and we had traditional ceremony which was delightful. It was colourful in every respect. The bride danced with her father. Goya Menor’s Ameno Amapiano Remix. It started like any other dance you saw on the dance floor. One good foot delicately moved after another; moving in tandem with the beat. Then they went through the gears like Lewis Hamilton. The electricity spread throughout the hall; from their feet to our hearts and everyone jumped out of their chairs. No words, just cheering, shouting and clapping. Dancing easily translates from the physical to the spiritual and love becomes expressed in movement. We looked, not like statutes but also swaying to the beat in participation.  This was a cocktail of a rich cultural heritage; ancient rhythms, the dances of ancestors long gone, and foot work that first stumped the earth in Africa.  Everyone was there in the moment because a father loved his daughter enough to provide for her, because a man loved a woman so much he decided to marry her and we travelled down for love.

29/5/2022

It was back to Niagara Falls again in sunny weather. Everything looked better in the sun. This time there was no boat ride. We stood at a distance and took photographs then said our goodbyes. Later in the day we attended the white wedding and after party.

The joy of the whole year was condensed into a few hours dripping with honey.  The stars were in alignment and the heavens vibrated as the music played and the lovers danced. It was a celebration of falling in love and floating off into the sunset in the weightless blissfulness of an intoxicating affection.

Back in my hotel room I guess my head was full of the jokes about delegates to a political party conference. I played You and I by the group Delegation. I read the card that my classmates had signed to sympathise with me on the passing away of my mother. I hate crying in public but alone it doesn’t matter if I looked like Niagara falls.

30/5/2022

I couldn’t believe I was flying home. It felt like a deportation

I wish Chineze & Osasuyi a happy married life

Babawilly

Dr Wilson Orhiunu

Seeking Chappal Wadi

Dr Wilson Orhiunu

Babawilly

May 2022

 

My dental appointment took a wrong turn on the Tuesday the 26^th day of April. I lost a right upper molar that was extracted with sweat, muscle and sharp instruments.  I paid my bill biting on gauze with a numb face. By the time I got home I puffed my right cheek and noticed that air whistled through the hole in the empty tooth socket up to my right maxillary sinus and out my nose. I had terrible visions of eating Jollof rice and having my maxillary sinus crowded out with ‘aliens’.  It was pain and spitting out pus and blood all the way. Antibiotics and Paracetamol became my best friends. There were a few work related assignments to complete as I was due to go on leave. My son was coming down from University to run the Great Birmingham 10km race on Sunday the 1^st of May and this was the first time I would be running with a family member.  I could only eat on the left side of the mouth.

We were in high spirits on Sunday morning and I took my medication and felt ok. The race went well and it was one of those happy days when we all went out of a meal to celebrate our family milestone. We were running to raise money for an Orphanage in Lagos and my son and his friends has raised something.

2/5/2022

It seemed the whole of Birmingham was evacuating the City. There were long queues to check in at the Air France counter.

‘Where is your health declaration and screening summary from the Federal Ministry of Health Nigeria’s International Travel Portal Site?’

While I struggled to understand the question he motioned me to step aside saying that I could not board the plane without uploading my Covid Vaccine certificate on the webpage.

‘I thought Nigeria doesn’t require any Covid 19 results’ I said. His mind was on the next passenger and his eyes told me to push my trolley off and go do the needful.

By now my dental situation was seeking attention and relevance. The hole in my tooth socket had now healed but there was pain across the right side of my right face. I meet a friend who was also travelling to Lagos via Charles de Gaulle Airport and he was a dentist. He too was battling with getting on the Nigeria Travel Portal so we formed a small solidarity and support group. We checked in our suitcases and moved to the immigration queues. Thirty minutes to take off we were in line to miss the flight when a staff member called out our flights and took us in line like primary school children to the front of the queue. After an uneventful flight I arrived at Charles de Gaulle and boarded the larger plane bound for Lagos. The first thing I did was walk up to the air host and to request for a Coke. He said he could only give me water. I get nausea when I take tablets with water and I took exception to not getting what I wanted. My mind did the usual calculations; would a First Class passenger be denied a little can of Coke? I took my tablets of Paracetamol and Amoxicillin capsules and settled down with a book for the flight. To break the monotony of reading I ate food, and watched a sports documentary film followed by one of the Eiffel Tower and then listened to the 19 tracks of the African giant by Burna Boy. I dipped into the Book again; Sopona about people dying by the hands of Small Pox in pre-colonial Nigeria and also worshipping the god of small pox (no be today Stockholm syndrome start o). To top it all off I watched No time to die; 007.

3/5/2022

We discussed the various routes to Jalingo namely  Fly to Enugu and do an 8 hours road trip to the Taraba State Capital or fly to Yola; the capital of Adamawa State and go by  road to Jalingo. We settled on the next day flight via Air Peace but later discovered the once weekly flight to Yola had been cancelled.

 

04/04/2022

 

We booked a flight via Aero Contactors Lagos-Abuja-Yola for the 5/5/2022 with a take -off time of 6.30am

The plan was to do the four hours from Yola to Jalingo where we would spend the night, then proceed the next day to Gembu which is an 8 hour drive.

At dinner that Wednesday night I told my mother I was travelling and would be coming back soon.

 

05/04/2022

We took off for Abuja by 6.30am in a B737-500 plane on schedule. Flight time was about 55 minutes.  All passengers disembarked in Abuja but those travelling onto Yola hung around for a few minutes on the tarmac while the plane was cleaned and new passengers joined.

Just before we flew to Yola there was a special welcome to a Senator who was flying with us. It felt like a wedding. We were in  Yola (Adamawa State Capital) in under an hour and took a taxi to the motor park where we hired a commercial car to Jalingo (Taraba State capital)  from the Sauki Transport company ( It was a bit strange to see that the passenger manifest form  had a space to include one’s  Blood Group! This was left blank by us.  We had a pleasant two and a half hour drive through Savanah land.  I was traveling with my long term friend Enate and till now the trip was going well.

In Jalingo we contacted our contact in Bali, Pastor Victor. He was to arrange a driver for us and had booked hotel rooms. We were soon driving in another car to Bali.  The driver spoke no English so we phoned our contact and passed the phone to the driver. At Bali the weather changed and the rains began. We went into see Pastor Victor and he was limping. He had fallen off a motor bike with his wife that morning. His right ankle was swollen and his wife had a large swelling on the right side of her face. They limped around and tried to be hospitable in their pain. They promised to send food to us in the hotel. By the time we got to the Young JP Guest Inn on Takum road, the heavens opened. We were drenched but were happy to get our rooms and change clothes. All our lines went dead. No food came and there was no food in the hotel.

I made do with crunching on cornflakes and peanuts.

By morning we went for a walk and the text came in to say that my mother was dead. She had been getting increasingly frail but it was still a shock. Enate does not panic so he was the best person to be with. We had spoken at length about her so he knew my thoughts. I was not going to mourn and be sad as she had led a good life. The tone was now set for a reflective time on the mountains.

After breakfast at Pastor Victor’s house we met up with a driver he had arranged Hamza Ibrahim who proved to be our Rock. The initial plan we had was flawed;  which was to drive to Gembu and go up to Chappal Wadi from there.

Pastor Victor had instructed his in law to get us hotel rooms in Gembu.

By 12pm we set off from Bali to Gembu, stopping for photographs along the way. The mountain side roads were the best scenery I had seen in Nigeria to date. Some areas were breath taking.

In Gembu the hotels were all booked up and we were kindly lodged in a personal residence.

We visited a Suya joint along the way and it was premium beef. The best I had experienced in years.

 

7/05/2022

Saturday morning was an exciting time. Our 6am stroll through the neighbourhood was enchanting. We stood above the cloud and watched a magnificent sunrise. I did not even know this scenery existed in Nigeria.

By about 12pm we had done three hours down the mountain road and were seated in the lounge of the Gashaka Gumti National Park and the details of the trip was planned after filling the necessary paper work. We were told to travel with three Rangers who would act as the tour guides. Our driver Hamza agreed to come up with us too.

Although there were lodgings at the Gashaka Gumti NP, we decided to set off to the next town of Nguroje to reduce the travelling on Sunday.

The staff put us in contact with motor bike riders – four in all, who would take us to the foot of the mountain, wait for us to ascend and descend, then bring us back to the hotel; a four hour journey both ways.

By 4pm we were off on the drive back up the mountains; now carrying two armed rangers. By about 7pm the heavens opened and it was impossible to see where we were going. That was when the call came for Enate that his senior brother had died. There was tension in the car as the rain crashed on the roof and the windscreen wipers fought a losing battle.

We arrived at the Hamdalla Hotel Nguroje by 8pm and took four rooms.  The noise from an English Premiership game could be heard from a local viewing centre. We huddled in a Masai café for fried eggs and bread before settling for the night. I was on antibiotics and chewing only on the left side of my mouth but my dental pain was subsiding.

8/05/2022. Sunday

We were up and ready by 6am. Four motor bikes had arrived and we speed off with the Rangers and me on one bike each and Enate and Hamza on one.

It was like being on a roller coaster as we speed through farms, hills, valleys, wooden planks over streams and uphill through dusty pebbles filled paths. We drove through farms villages and so many check points that I lost count.

By 9.30am we stopped at a village for food and it was great to see the traditional setting. The sole of my left boot was now flapping in the wind and the village cobbler came down to collect it for stitching while I used the plastic slippers he brought.

We had breakfast and continued our journey to Njawe which had a Rangers camp. We picked up a third Ranger who owned his own motor bike making us a party of five. We all speed through the rough terrain to Jauro Haman Sale, a tiny village at the foot off the mountain. We had a short rest and said hello to the leader of the community there who served us food. A corn based dough with soup which the guys gathered around and eat with their fingers. I watched from a distance.

By 12pm we started walking up the mountain range. It was beautiful and we were relieved to be off the motor bike. The sole of my left boot came apart and I yanked it off. The right boot suffered the same fate soon after.

The Okada ride had taken its toll. We were exhausted and had walked for three hours when a guy led a horse past us. Enate had the idea of riding on horseback but I was not keen and I imaged the animal galloping off down the mountain side. Eventually a trained horse was brought and things went fine. As I started to slow down, the Rangers felt I too should hop on a horse and another one was found.

I got off the horse close to the summit and struggled to the top. By 5.30pm on Sunday the 8^th of May 2022; I was the Nigerian with two feet on the ground standing on the highest altitude. I felt one with myself and my destiny. I felt at peace with the passing of my mother. Nature cannot be wrestled with and defeated. It was ordained that I was to be here at this time. I waved my mother goodbye; alone in my private thoughts.  The mountain top is a spiritual place, a beautiful lush wilderness where no distractions lay. You are one with your maker there. We celebrated and took pictures and it was time to go down.

We went down a gentle incline but by now my bum had been stretched to the limit with siting on the motor bike and the horse for so long; something I had never done in all my life.

I had to dismount and walk. Enate left us far behind as he rode  on his horse and was soon out of eye shot. The period of good weather grace was over. The clouds moved in and the loudest thunder ever shook the heavens. This was not those types they call ‘bedroom weather’. The lightening looked like it was seeking someone to kill and I was the tallest in the group. In a few seconds I was drenched to the underpants and my sole-less boots had no grip. I slid and fell four times. As the Ranger walked he slipped twice. The other ranger fell also. Nothing dangerous; as we landed well; breaking our fall with strong hands. As it grew danker it was time to focus on each step. Our torch lights shone and the Jukebox that is my mind began to play Amy Grant’s song

Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.

The rains stopped and we were making good progress. I was not tired but my boots had no grip. It was obvious we were not going to the hotel in Nguroje tonight so the aim was to make it down, sleep and move in the morning.

By about 7pm we had crossed a familiar looking stream and the senior guide then took a wrong turn and we were walking around the jungle for 2 hours. At a point Hamza had joked, ‘Sir, do not fall to your right. Put your entire mind on the left, if you fall we would never see you again’.

It was a sheer drop into an abyss on the right. This was not a time to trip over a stone.

Amy Grant’s voice came back.

Angels watching over me, every step I take

Needless to say I was in a prayer session.

‘Why don’t you ring your colleagues to come and fetch us?’

‘We dey Cameroon.  Where we go see network?’

In all activities that involve exertion there is always that point you ask yourself, ‘na who send me message o??’

Why am I even here?

I suddenly remembered all the Parables of the lost sheep stories. My mind told me, ‘Wilson, no bi today you loss. You don loss tey tey’ (You have been lost for a long time).

Hamza whispered to me he knew the way back but didn’t want to say as he was just a driver. He had worked with cattle for five years prior to going to Polytechnic and his custom when entering any bush was to note land marks.

At this stage I heard it clearly as if a Bose speaker was playing in the jungle.

I’m lost without you

Bebe and Cece Winans sang that song of comfort

Don’t ever go away

The senior ranger conceded he couldn’t lead us anymore and Hamza led us. We were soon climbing over a fence I recalled from the ascent earlier in the day.

Back down at Jauro Haman Sale, we meet some of the crew in a large room without a door. Enate was on one bed and the other bed was reserved for me. The Okada guy vacated the bed. I took off my water logged boots and socks, yanked off my soaked sweater and slept in my wet jeans shorts. By 2am I two my jeans shorts off.

I walked out bare footed in my underpants to urinate by the side of the house with my torch light. I thought about scorpions.

9/05/2022

By 4.30am the crew assembled to say that they did want to be in Cameroon at sunrise as they didn’t want any problems with the border officials. I wore my wet jeans and boots; without the socks and we speed through the darkness heading for Njawe. My clothes dried on the journey but the boots remained wet. We sustained two tyre punctures and had to double up on the bikes but fortunately this happened close to Njawe.  A guy was found to fix the tyres. We ate a breakfast of beans and bread at a local village Café and then hit the road. My thigh muscles ached from being on the bike so long.

Two and a half hours later, I was glad to see the hotel at Nguroje

. I made a mad rush for new clothes and inspected the skin of my feet which was now macerated. We said goodbye to the Okada men and continued with the two Rangers for three hours to Gashaka –Gumti NP where they dropped off and we continued with Hamza to Bali.

After a brief stop we hired another vehicle to take us to Jalingo and we arrived Pacy Hotel at 8pm. The tickets for the return flight to Lagos were booked while driving with help from a contact at Yola Airport. We arranged a vehicle to take us to Yola in the morning

10/05/2022 Tuesday

The booked vehicle did not turn up so we took a taxi to the motor park and hired a car to take us to the airport in Yola. We were there in two hours and flew Max Air Flight VM1649 to Abuja.

We did visits to Enate’s bereaved family members and I visited the Discovery museum in Wuse 2 which I really enjoyed as it had brilliant staff; Ezinne and the crew and really cool exhibitions.

We were back at the airport for our 10.55pm Green Africa Flight in an ATR 72-600 propeller plane.

I slept most of the way.

I arrived home by about 1.40am at my mum’s house but she wasn’t home.

She had gone home

 

 

 

Dedicated to Mrs Charity Orhiunu

My Mother

02/03/1944 to 06/05/2022

 

Chappal Waddi (also called Gangirwal) translates to 'Mountain of Death' in Fulfulde, because of an insurmountable gully that exists in the Southern corner of the Nigerian side of the range.

Nigeria's highest mountain, Gangirwal, stands at 7,963 ft (2,419 m) and is found in the Adamawa mountains in a remote corner of Gashaka-Gumti National Park (GGNP).

PS: For more pictures and videos from the trip to Chappal Addi go to may Facebook page (Wilson Orhiunu) and check out the Posts Seeking Chappal Waddi Part 1, Part 2 Part 3. Part 3b and Part 4. 

It is a Public page

ROOFTOP GOODBYES 

Dr Wilson Orhiunu

(Babawilly)

I came to the roof

To wave goodbye

My solitary private

Tears

My pride my joy

My years

Few come to the roof

It’s arduous pathways

Will test the spirit

No walls to protect

No walls to shield from the winds

No shelter from the rain

A soul planted

In terrestrial a vineyard

Drawing sustenance

From the umbilical cord

The cord that broke

And released me into the world

Ye! She was my vineyard

I was her fruit

We were owned by the owner

Not her, not you , not me

The owner has called her

And she must go

I am at the roof of Nigeria

Alone with tears and rain

Lightening visits fleetingly

Thunder is heard from a distant place

A tearful thunder

A painful noise

My pride my joy my years

The dark clouds possess the skies

I lift my hands to wave

My shoulders do my bidding

You waved back and I am delighted

Because your strength has returned

Your mastery and supreme command of your body is back

You can now fly

Who would have thought this day would come

In flight you look majestic

A vineyard at the speed of light

You came in as a seed

But you leave a luxuriant forest

You waved goodbye to yours

I waved goodbye to you

On the roof of Nigeria

My eyes have seen like Elisha

A beautiful seed; you came alone

You bore fruit by your Labour

You saw your children’s children

You are the blessed one from above

Charity Arigo ORHIUNU

02/03/1944 to 6/05/2022

The dangers of ikebe-centricity

 

The dangers of ikebe-centricity

By

 admin

 -

July 28, 2015

Twitter: @Babawilly

Instagram:@Babawill2000

Strange article, but we live in strange times. I sat by my radio set listening to contemporary Nigerian music when a bolt of realisation hits me. The mainly young male vocalists sang like anatomists. In quick succession all five of them sang about the female backside.  Now, once could be chance and twice is equivocal, however, five is a trending phenomenon. Female buttocks are trending in Nigerian dance music.

Now, this is not a vulgar rant. I am licenced to study every region of anatomy by the powers conferred upon me by the University of Benin, Nigeria.  Yes, I hold a diploma in Medicine and my certificate was signed by the then Vice Chancellor, the distinguished Professor Grace Alele-Williams (the first female vice-chancellor in Nigeria). I am sure she would not be very pleased with women being referenced in Nigerian music as nothing but the custodians of posterior quivering adipose moulds, aka lady lumps, aka bum-bum.

What happened to songs like ‘Sweet Mother’? That was Prince Nico Mbarga proclaiming the virtues of the Nigerian mother. Chris Okotie sang, ‘I need someone’, pining for love and Jide Obi wanted a ‘Sweet suicide’ in ‘Kill me with Love’. Men of a by-gone era sang of love, romance and loyalty. Today’s men bark out instructions thus – “Put it down on me!”

So, as one licenced to study bum-bum and to study the effects of a bum-bum-obsessed male cohort on their attitudes to women, I hereby tell you that it is dangerous to sing about bum-bum. It is dangerous to listen to songs about it and finally to sing songs about it.

It is universally known that you tend to attract what you focus on.  You also tend to be hyper-vigilant about things in your environment that you had previously been oblivious to the minute it catches your attention. We have all experienced that phenomenon where you buy a certain car and suddenly start to notice that same brand everywhere the next day. Well, the same goes for bum-bum. Every lady has one but you don’t go looking. However, the minute you look, a life of distraction begins. You get hypnotised, mesmerised and enticed away from your primary assignment in life as bum-bum observation creeps into your subconscious to say the least.

A hypnotist swings a pendulum before the eyes and is able to send strangers into a trance to a state in which they become pliable and open to whatever is suggested. Gazing upon that to and fro swinging circle at the end of a chain does things to your brain. So it is with gazing at a rotating, revolving, swaying and fibrillating bum-bum beautifully suspended at the bottom of a curvilinear spine. If you look long enough, you would do the bidding of the possessor of the said bum-bum as if under a spell. A man and his woman can get as hypnotised as much as they want. But the danger is when a man is hypnotised by another woman he might change his address or even change his name. Those who say looking means nothing should ask why a woman that really wants to get a man gives him something to look at and it is usually not her stamp collection.

Singing about bum-bum just creates a breed of randy male youth with too much nyansh-consciousness at a time they should be using their energies to develop their body, soul and spirit. It is actually derogatory to women to view them as mere carriers of ‘junk in the trunk’. Now, while some ladies say that ‘ikebe na money’ and they don’t mind being judged by the size of their bakassi, rather than the content of their brains, I believe that the vast majority of women have unique characters and virtues which should be reflected in urban culture.

Ikebe-centricity is a state where the bum is the focus not the spirit or intellect or anything else. It is a state of mind that eats into discipline – that attacks all the naturally occurring powers of self-control and reduces a man to the level of an animal. He becomes an instinctive lump of protoplasm that reacts to sights without any recourse to cognitive functioning. It produces people who are geared up for lewd action at the drop of a hat for they are under a subliminal oath to worship the bum, the whole bum and nothing but the bum. It creates men who view all ladies as potential twerkers. Nyansh is mind-altering. In the intro of the song ‘Army Arrangement’ by Fela Anikulapo Kuti, he asserted that Nyansh is a wonderful material property. Who can dispute that claim? It can wreak havoc on your dreams, your health and your finances. The music video producers know what to do to hypnotise you.

Traditional Nigerian history of bum-bum

Most Nigerian traditional dances are heavily flavoured with waist and bum-bum gyrations. However, within those same traditional cultures are codes of conduct. No girl was deemed an anonymous ikebe, be they single or married. They were all known by their family name so when a waist gyrates it is a family name and honour that gyrate and there are men in that family that will shed blood to uphold that honour. No man who gazed on the coral beads on a lady’s rotating waist in antiquity would dare to touch what he had not paid a bride prize for. Thus, even in the face of profound gravity defying waist revolutions that break all of Newton’s laws, the traditional ladies of antiquity were protected. But colonisation and modernity hit Nigeria and things fell apart. Lagos once had a magazine entitled Ikebe Super, a weekly comic for the young centred on buttocks. Why not a – cerebral hemisphere super – magazine?  Now in parties, girls turn their backs on their dance partners.  Whatever happened to communicating face-to-face?

 

 

Arithmetic Deficiency Syndrome (Tropical Idiopathic Dyscalculia)

 

Arithmetic Deficiency Syndrome (Tropical Idiopathic Dyscalculia)

 

January 19, 2016

Twitter: @Babawilly)

An Oba was once asked during a television interview how many children he had. I was a child at the time and waited for an answer. He looked at the ceiling for inspiration before answering: “Children are a blessing from God and not to be counted like cattle.”

My young mind interpreted thus; this man has a poor grasp of Arithmetic. Since that day I have come to believe that some parts of West Africa have a major issue with counting. Every newspaper reported in one way or another the failure of my countrymen to count accurately. Money was the biggest issue, followed by the population. Next, it was the voters registered and subsequently the votes cast. The amount of crude oil coming out of the ground could never be totalled up effectively.

Only the unborn babies knew how to quantify time it seemed for they all come out in nine months.

There was some hope for me when Fela sang thus; 49 sitting 99 standing, suffering and smiling. Actual figures! I soon lost hope again.

I grew up in a society in which anything that had to do with numbers was a problem. On Saturdays at wedding ceremonies, “due to circumstances beyond our control” proceedings always started late. 5pm was always the new 1pm.

While on a trip to Ghana I asked a local what the distance was from Kotoka International Airport to Tema. He answered thus, “Charlie, as crow flies or by road”. I was taken aback by his exactitude and decided to be mischievous.

“Charlie, as the witch flies is what I prefer” I said to which he replied, “In that case ask a Nigerian” (If I slap pesin dem go say I dey violent!)

Now compare this incident to the driver I asked about a proposed journey in Lagos.

“Fred, how far is Aguda to Epe?”

“Ah, Doctor e far o”

“How far?”

“Ah, go slow fit dey for road and the road fit bad.  Rain fit spoil road sef,” he said

“How far na? Assume it is Sunday and there are no cars on the road”

“Ah, I no fit say o.  Maybe three or four hours. See John dey come, he go know. John!”

John comes and greets us. “How far big bros?” he bowed slightly in my direction, not in respect but hoping for a monetary gift’.

“John, what is the distance between Aguda and Epe?” I asked

“Ah, I no know how much time e take us that day as I sleep for road”

“Distance is not time. How many Kilometres?” I said

“I no know book big bros. Enter motor check time. When you reach Epe look ya time again.  Then you go know how far”

At this we all burst out laughing.  No wonder the standard greeting in Naija now is “how far?”

Nobody knows.

Asking too many questions make people feel uncomfortable as life is just too unpredictable.

“Who know tomorrow?” “Na God hand e dey”. “Do your best and leave the rest”.  “Man no die man no rotten”. “Anyhow e happen we go patch am”. All these phrases have become tranquilising drugs to ease the pains of poor planning caused by poor counting.

How does a state government plan education for its citizens without knowing how many children of school age are in circulation? There surely should be a ratio of numbers to students to teachers, abi?

Then there is the small issue of age. No one seems to know his age it appears. From our footballers to our politicians – all politicians are under 50 and all footballers are under 25 years old. Na wa!

I once was trying to remember a certain date and couldn’t. After struggling with friends for what seemed like hours, someone had a eureka moment and reminded me of the Naija CD I bought around the time in question. I rushed to my collection, grabbed the CD and voila, it was not dated. Now who in the history of the world has ever heard of an undated piece of music? Even now we know that George Frideric Handel wrote the Messiah (containing the Hallelujah chorus, a Christmas Naija favourite) between 22-8-1941 to 14-9-1941. He had neither iPad nor internet but he kept records and knew how to count. Here I am unable to know the release date of music recorded in the last 10 years. Ah!  Does not the Holy Book say we should number our days?  What is the book between Leviticus and Deuteronomy in the Holy Bible we carry in Naija called?  Numbers o!

In summary, my suggestions to improve the tropical idiopathic dyscalculia are:

1.      Stop saying Nigeria’s population is about XYZ. Just name a figure and if it is wrong let it be

2.      Stop saying “that man is very very rich” and when you are asked how much is he worth you answer, “he wad scatter”. Please put a figure to it

3.      When asked about your estimated time of arrival be exact. “Between 12pm and 5pm” is not a time neither is “to 5”. I know you have issues from your past as you slept in Bendel State one night and woke up the next morning in Delta State and had to change your nickname from Bendelite fire to Delta Fire. You have endured changes in fundamental institutions in the country such as coup de tat, annulment of elections, closure of universities, etc. You have no trust in the army or police. You don’t even trust yourself anymore. Bros, be a man and be exact. Commit to something and if you fail then you fail. Even in a world with so many variables one should still have a plan

4.      Practise to get your numbers to add up on your monthly and yearly budgets and never let your budget document go missing.

Daz all.

 

Finished Product Disease

Finished Product Disease

September 13, 2016

Email: babawill2000@gmail.com Twitter: @Babawilly

Finished Product Disease (FPD) is a mental illness you would not find classified in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders published by the American Psychiatric Association because I made the illness up.

I define it as a mental disorder in which a person desires a favourable outcome or product but has no interest in the processes that cause raw materials to become finished articles. The incidence of this malady is one hundred per cent in humans but zero in Vulcans (Star Trek make believe people) who are logical in all their thought processes.

FPD is what makes a man view Arnold Schwarzenegger in the documentary film Pumping Iron and rather than drive to his local gym opts for a trip to the plastic surgeon for biceps and calf implants. In a world where everyman is a consumer, many think that everything is a product for sale.

I recall a guy who returned from a party and immediately started berating his lady for not looking as slim and well-groomed as the other ladies who had been in attendance. When the shouting match was over she told him the ladies in question had been recipients of gastric by-pass and liposuction operations which cost quite a bit. On hearing the cost of a low weight in advancing years he apologised and vowed to “love the adiposity that wobbles rhythmically”.

Soup wey sweet na money kill am, so it is imperative for guys to know the prize of any glittering thing that catches the eye.

Babies and young children are excused from scrutiny as we expect them to cry for anything they see which looks pleasing to them. An adult however is expected to know the value of nice things and ask himself if he is willing to go through what it takes to make nice things available for his or her pleasure. A wise person who is not aware of the cost will ask discreet questions of those who know and think hard about the answers obtained.

I remember eating dinner on a particular night and it suddenly occurred to me that the yams that will peel themselves and fly into the pot had not been invented. The work of planning and making dinner sometimes starts three hours before one sits at the table.

Not being home during a meal’s preparation can slowly induce Finished Product Disease especially if the maker of the meal is tidy and cleans up all evidence of hard work. It almost appears as if the yam pottage made itself.

There is no risk of FPD with an untidy chef though. Yam peelings on the floor, Maggi cube wrappers and onion peelings decorating the work top tell you someone has been cooking. The unwashed pots and dirty cooker are also vaccines against FPD where food preparation is concerned. Only a brave man will ask, ‘why is everywhere so filthy?’, for what usually follows is a long angry diatribe that involves how women suffer, slavery, insensitive men, attempted homicide through domestic chores, the lack of a home help, etc, etc. With such people, even a glass of water from them must be taken with great gratitude; for peace sake.

The accomplished in any field will perform to a very high standard and at the same time make it look absolutely effortless; for years of practice chisels talent into great spectacles. This ease of execution is what makes people look at a Michael Jackson video and turn up the next week to audition for a talent contest on national TV. They soon find out that a Star and Pen torch produce light but with diferring brilliance.

Look before you leap

Pertinent questions must be asked when we encounter greatness of any kind.

“I too can do it” might be a true statement for you but it might take you five years or even another lifetime to achieve the ambitious emulation.

The deluded always think everything good they see is for them and the world is full of these people. That is why politicians vying for office promise ‘un-deliverables’ and people don’t bother to ask what will be the process or method to actualise all the ambitious promises. They clap and hope for a miracle rather than think. These same people soon start cursing the politician when the inevitable happens. What they forget is that the politician studied them and arrived at the conclusion that FPD was endemic in the electorate and all he had to do was reel out a list of ‘finished products’ that will appear automatically once he is sworn into office.

Sweet nothings tickle both the personal and national ears, inducing euphoric great expectations and give a false and heady hope. But like big tasty chewing gum, the sweetness soon fades and all you are left with are bubble gum bubbles full of hot air.

The biggest cohort of FPD sufferers can however be found among thieves. If they like it, they just take it by any means necessary. Countries invade weaker nations in land grabbing exercises, men steal money and valuables from others at gun point; the list is endless. These thieves see no reason in working hard and waiting for a wage. They care not for process and must satisfy their appetites on demand. I guess that is why the Police was invented.

I am not too sure if FPD is involved in husband-snatching. I guess further research is required.