She no sabi cook

She No Sabi Cook

Babawilly tak say...


We all have our talents
Rare gifts, peculiar traits
And judging from her many kids
She has talented ovaries
Yet come the kitchen-matics
Her sums just don’t add up
She started off baking a cake
And ended up with bread
That babe no sabi cook
It’s true just cannot cook
Town crier warn the neighbourhood
That lady just can’t cook



I found out just last Christmas
When invited out for lunch
While everyone was saying grace
I opened up my eyes
I saw the little fish
Kissing the giant shrimp
The fish said to his lover
We will continue in his stomach
That babe no sabi cook
It’s true just cannot cook
Town crier warn the neighbourhood
That lady just can’t cook



I didn’t learn my lesson
Went there for easter lunch
She served one kain egusi soup
that looked like oil spill
Palm oil floats above
submerged vegetables
Was on the loo all night,
and in the morning saw my doctor
That babe no sabi cook
It’s true just cannot cook
Town crier warn the neighbourhood
That lady just can’t cook

I am here to watch the football
Upon their giant screen
he told her ‘cook something spicy
we will eat come the half time’.
she brought a mountain in
I said 'thanks for the Tuo'
She snapped ‘don’t mention Mr Neighbour
but this is Jollof rice’
That babe no sabi cook
It’s true just cannot cook
Town crier warn the neighbourhood
That lady just can’t cook.

Return match was at mine
My babe cooked for half time
Smooth pounded yam, ogbono soup
with fish and chicken thighs
My neighbour licked his plate clean
then begged for second round
I told him food was finished and he
should eat when he gets home
That babe no sabi cook
It’s true just cannot cook
Town crier warn the neighbourhood
That lady just can’t cook

He looked at me with bad eye
as if it was my fault
he fell in love with alchemist
parading as a chef.
His phone went off so sudden
His dinner was now served
He walked with Africa on his head
as he moved towards his poison
That babe no sabi cook
It’s true just cannot cook
Town crier warn the neighbourhood
That lady just can’t cook.



Dr Wilson Orhiunu

August 2008

Ideas

The source and course of the River Niger was a mystery in Europe for many years.  Many explorers died in the quest to map out its course.  One such was Mungo Park who saw the River Niger in 1796 and wrote about it in his book Travels in the interior of Africa 1799.  He returned to the Niger for a second time and died in present day Kwara State.

Human beings have a strong desire to know where things flow from as knowledge is power.  Those not blessed with the risk-taking curiosity that could potentially kill are happy to live on the river banks and explain away things they have no knowledge of with imaginative assumptions and superstitions.  The Europeans knew that inland waterways could open up opportunities for future trade while the locals were happy to fish and worship river goddesses who placed no demands on worshipers to build boats and travel the whole length of the rivers.  Why engage in speculative travel when curiosity can be assuaged with colourful myths?  Thought the West Africans then.

It appears that since the world began, if a people sat still long enough, some other people on the move are bound to travel to them.  Travellers usually come bearing gifts and asking flattering questions that stimulate boastful answers.  Notes are taken and the guest bids the hosts farewell only to return with an invading army.

So, where do ideas come from?  What makes some people build progressively bigger ships and develop navigational skills?  What makes them set sail despite the numerous cases of people being ‘lost at sea?’  Why do others have, ‘let sleeping dogs lie’ as an ideology.  No risky ventures, no experimentation, no hypothesis formulated to be disapproved or validated.

The source of ideas might be harder to explain than the source of the River Niger it seems.  I have watched so many interviews of people who have achieved great success in their creative fields.  The question of the inspiration behind a work of art always arises.  The answers are always impossible to decipher.  Many say they are inspired by what they see around them every day.  Now, if what we all see around us is the fountain of ideas and inspiration, how come everybody is not bringing great ideas to past?

The same event in the neighbourhood inspires people differently.  A man down the street has a windfall and buys a new car and throws a party for friends which has all the neighbours talking.  One teenager at No. 6 who offers to wash the new car loved it so much he resolves in his heart to work hard and buy that kind of car as soon as he can afford it.  House No. 8 has a guy who knows a lot about the movements of the guy with the new car and the love he has for his daughter so

decides to get his friends to organise a kidnap of the daughter for a ransom.  These are ideas forming in the minds of people based on what they have seen around them.  Even among the positive people, the kind of ideas people have from the same inspiration varies.  A beautiful girl walks by and the painter reaches for his brush, the tailor grabs his pen and paper and starts to sketch dresses, the sculptor reaches for his marble, the poet babbles creatively, the vocalist pours forth a love song and the love-struck designs and builds a Taj Mahal.

 The door-bell to our minds constantly rings as different influences seek to gain entrance and gives us ideas.  What really matters for an individual is what he has been taught and how he has been conditioned from birth.  Family, friends, neighbours, culture, society, faith, willingness to endure hardship years before any material gain is seen, education and mentorship all play a role in how ideas are received, analysed and worked on.

One of the things people waste in life are good ideas.  A life of wasted ideas is exemplified by seeing more and more examples of people succeeding today using ideas you had thought about twenty years previously and had not acted upon.

If only we reacted to the ideas that come into our heads with the same zeal as we react to those physiological urges that cannot be ignored.  No matter the coldness of the night and the cosy warmth of the blankets, a full bladder enforces the idea of a trip to the toilet on us.  Hunger, thirst, sexual urges are all physiological states producing all kinds of ideas that produce actions.  I have never heard of anybody ignoring the peristaltic ideas generated by diarrhoea.

Never waste an idea

      Write down every idea that comes to mind in your idea journal

      Expect to have ideas come to you and always have writing materials to hand

      Research the ideas you have

      Start to entertain yourself in the areas where your ideas lie. Watch documentaries and films themed on the particular subject of your ideas

      Learn to act on your ideas and start small.  Celebrate the successes and learn from the failures

      Describe yourself as a creative person full of new ideas.  Write it down next to a picture of yourself.

      Ideas have to be good for others to make it worthwhile.  Seek to harm no one

Talent dey waste

Talent Dey Waste

Some clever people do not believe that talent even exits.  They say all things are possible to everyone who puts their hearts to it.  These clever people have obviously not watched Messi on the soccer pitch.  Training and determination can only take one so far.

Most people would agree that there are domains in which they seem to excel in with relatively little effort.  They get great returns on their investment of time in training and may even develop competence without training.

I have wondered if every single human being has a gift in them; an ability that sets them apart from others.  Do all people have a unique aptitude for the acquisition of high levels of skill in a particular field that differentiates them from their fellow men?

The title of this article demonstrates my bias.  I believe that most people are gifted in something but the development of their talents may not happen.

In the kingdom of animals where only the strong survive, the talents each species has must be expressed to the full to avoid untimely death.  The cheetah either runs after prey at great speed or starves.  Unlike humans who need to be discovered before they feel validated as talented individuals, the cheetah hits the ground running.  Animals do not have crazy parents creating home environments not conducive for the growth of human potential neither do they have governments that do not provide that much needed high quality education essential for young minds.

Animals don’t lack self-esteem or get denied of opportunity for growth.  Daddy Cheetah does not catch the prey and spend it on his side chick and neither does he barter the prey for booze.  He eats and shares the food with the family.  After a few hundred meals, the lesson is etched in the memory of baby cheetah.

The animal just exits as itself irrespective of who is watching and who is ‘discovering’.

But humans are too clever.  They need to be discovered to believe they are talented. And when an authority figure tells them they lack talent they stop trying.  The authority figure might be wrong but it does not matter.  They have the power to create a reality in the young minds.

There are other indirect ways to tell the young ones that there are no indicators of future promise in their tender lives.  Make no provision for their quality instructions and offer no opportunities for their training and they soon get the message.  A spirit of self-blindness to abilities soon evolves and then we can truly say talent dey waste.

The word talent is derived from the Latin word Talentum which is a weight of money. One could view talent as what buys you skills when you travel to the skill shop on the rail coach of training.  No one can break into the shop and steal skill.  It must be acquired.

According to UNICEF, 40% of children between 6 to11 years old do not attend primary school.  Since education exposes kids to the various options available to them to apply their talents to, being at home serves them not.  

Growing up without reading or writing skills means if these kids do not have physical attributes for sports, they are destined for a mediocre life.  According to the UN, 8.73 million elementary school aged children did not participate in education at all making Nigeria the country with the highest number of out-of-school children in the world.

The known determinants of success and high performance usually do not reside in the poor homes where majority of the kids excluded from education come from. However, in these same poor homes might be children supremely gifted with the traits required to achieve world class status in science, sports or medicine. Failure to harness this huge human potential means that the future generations have been robbed of individuals capable of taking the country to the next level.

When leadership is not concerned about what will happen in thirty years, there is a problem for the babies born today.  One should expect that all babies born today in Nigeria would have graduated from school in thirty years and be in a job that they report to daily in a car driven from their house on good roads to the office.

It would be a shame to expect the babies born today to all be at home scratching their groins and smelling their fingers in thirty years when their counterparts in other parts of the world are going to work in driverless cars.

 Reversing the Tide

A parent who did not achieve their potentials may shout their kids down when lofty ambitions are mentioned.  Parents and even teachers might want to shield the young one from future disappointments.  In the animal kingdom that does not exist.  A cobra grows up biting like a cobra.  There are so many things one can learn from the animal kingdom.

If no one teaches you that your natural instincts are unattainable you will not put the brakes on your experimentations.

Proverbs 6

⁶ Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise:

⁷ Which having no guide, overseer, or ruler,

⁸ Provideth her meat in the summer, and gathereth her food in the harvest.

It is possible to go on natural instinct and be successful.  The absence of a guide or overseer does not stop the ant from consistently hustling.  And even if one tried to discourage the ant, it has no capacity for de-motivation or depression.

The ant is just who he is.  Like that Diamond in the ground that is sure in its identity even if it isn’t discovered, so must men be. Even if parents, teachers, government do not recognise potential, we must trust instincts that lie within to push us to challenge the expectations placed in our talents.

You don’t need to win a talent contest to know you have something special, you just need to be yourself. The Cobra bites without enchantment and if you doubted its talent for killing in the past, one venomous bite makes a believer out of you. Human beings must strive to be fully formed in spite of the absence of encouragement.  Even the celebrated stars need to work every God sent hour to produce their next big thing, so how much more the rest of us.

The Letter (From a Nigerian Rat) 2000

The Letter One dusty harmattan morning when the good Lord's North east trade winds brought cracked lips to the masses, wondrous grey hairs to the children and crocodile skin to the legs of those not insured with a 'Vaseline policy' or perhaps a 'palm oil policy' (as all fingers are not equal), lightening struck.It was no ordinary strike. It was stamped and addressed to the Skido household and measured very high on the 'Gbosa' scale. Sir Skido's life changed unrecognisably. His car, bed, shoe, and eating habits changed. His dreams changed also. No more did he see the landlord evicting his family into the streets as the crowds jeered and the heavens opened up like a new book in the hands of a bookworm. He now slept seeing himself contesting for the Local government chairman's seat and making witty speeches at exclusive gatherings with microphones bearing the logos' of NTA, CNN, MINAJ, and AIT clustered beneath his chin. Such is the power of the lightening strike they call sudden wealth. No one dared to inquire about the source of this newly found wealth (at least not in public), for such questions are deemed rude in Lagos almost akin to asking the Oba how many children he had or asking a society woman her age. The harmattan was yet to engage top gear when the unthinkable happened. Lightening struck twice. The 'Gbosa meter' exploded and Sir Skido decided to move out of the his Ajegunle neighbourhood. "How can a man of my class continue to live in this jungle city?" Sir Skido asked his friends over drinks. As he was paying, his friends controlled their anger at Sir Skido's newly found "class" and smiled heartily through clenched teeth while they cursed him in their heart of hearts. On his last day in Ajegunle, the large crowd that had gathered to help with the move were shocked to see a tiny pick-up truck parked outside the Skido family home and what more, the Skidos' were not properly dressed for the hard task of moving. Sir Skido knew what they were all thinking but decided to play games with them. He served drinks and "small chop" of groundnuts and chin-chin and chatted nostalgically of his years in the area. Many shed a few tears. "Don't cry for me Ajegunle" pleaded Sir Skido. "For I go only across Lagos to my small house in Victoria Island. It's not as if I am going to die and go to heaven". "Or hell" shouted someone in the crowd causing roars of laughter. Sir Skido pretended not to hear. "For some of us, heaven is nearer than Victoria Island. We may never see you again" said an old man causing a murmur to sweep through the crowd as folks marveled at this nugget of 'suffer man' wisdom. Soon it was time. Sir Skido announced that as God had so buttered his bread he would not need any of his old property as his new place was fully furnished. "All I need you Alaye boys to do is load my three seater settee onto the pick-up trunk. Then I will go in and fetch my City and Guilds electricians' certificate and you people can have whatsoever you wish". The air was thick with excitement and everyone braced themselves for what latter became referred to as the "harmattan rush". At this point Sir Skido's wife butt in, "that rotten settee is going nowhere. Ah-ah, what will the new neighbours think? You wan de-shine me bicos of ye-ye sentimental value? I no gree". Sir Skido was hurt. How dare this wife of a woman belittle him in public he thought. He lost his temper and pushed his wife aside then helped the Alaye boys with the settee. He then gathered his children out of the way and declared in jest "let the property massacre begin!" What happened next surprised all including the participants. People rushed madly for the door all at once and got stuck. Alaye boys quick and nimble jumped in through the window. Vicious punches and elbows were freely dispersed and blood flooded freely. Some came out breathing heavily clutching radio sets, shirts, and children's clothes, cooking utensils and even bars of soap. One group of elders too old and wise to struggle poked fun at the rat race called life. Suddenly the one they called chronic bachelor burst out of a window with his T-shirt completely in tatters holding his spoils of war high above his head. "What good are two ladies scarves to an unemployed with neither wife nor girlfreind?" the elders teased. "I go sell am Tokunbo for market" came the reply. Sir Skido saw friendly neighbours who had known each other for many years shove each other out of the way and muttered to himself "there is no friend or brother in property. First thing Monday morning I must write my will". All this was months ago. Today has brought new problems for Sir skido in his new house. His settee had come back to haunt him and his wife, true to type taunted him thus, "I told you not to bring the rotten settee but you just had to be "the man" in front of your friends. Shame Skido. Shame on you!" Saying that she marched into her jeep and went shopping. Despite the central air conditioning the sweat poured forth. Sir Skido eyed the long letter and contemplated reading it for the umpteenth time. He rubbed his eyes, put on his glasses and picked up the letter. His whole body shuddered as he began to read. Dear Sir Skido, You dey craze? What lame excuse do you have for the multiple attempts you have made on the lives of my family? In Ajegunle you never gave us any problems but since your arrival in Victoria Island your attitude towards us has changed. Are you now ashamed of us after so many years of cohabitation? You feel your ascent up the social scale calls for a severance of all old acquaintances whose faces no more fit eh? You wan kill us all eh? Sir Skido, you leave me no choice. I hereby declare war on you and your family with immediate effect. I Chief Ekute Rattus Muridae, the third by the powers vested in me by God almighty and in my position as the leader of this family decree a state of emergency in this house forthwith. May I however implore you to study and understand why during the Second World War the Rats of Tobruk were so named and more recently why the victorious Desert Rats were so named during the gulf war? So you really want to annihilate us eh? You are not the first to attempt the impossible. Let me teach you a lesson from history.Many many years ago our forefathers had established themselves in Hamelin Germany and were basically running things at grass root level when a Flute playing nobody pranced into town wearing a colourful Hugo Boss jacket. (I say flute because if I refer to him as the Pied Piper of Hamelin , his proper nickname, you and that Coconut brain of yours will think him to be a pipe smoker). He won a contract to exterminate my forefathers. He used music. Chai! See how relations fit disgrace person! My forefathers foolishly danced in the streets to the flute this deceiver was playing. When they got to the River Weser he changed tune, opting for a Sir Shina-ish rhytym. Ol' boy, the Rats raced into the sea and drowned. Never in the history of humanity have non-swimmers rushed to a watery grave like my forefathers. Ah, well the swine in the Bible did it ke? At least they could plead diminished responsibility, as it was evil spirits that lead them astray. What excuse do my forefathers have eh? The story continues thus; the Piper returned for his fee but the mayor must have had Naija blood for he claimed armed robbers had just left his office having cleaned him out completely. The Piper cried bitterly for he knew that numerous companies and private individuals all glad to see the back of my forefathers had donated large sums of money towards his fees. Alas the '419' came to light when the news reached the Piper two weeks later that the mayor was building a big house in his mother's village and was paying cash for everything. Furthermore he was now referred to as "Mayor keep the change" on account of his lavish generosity to the shopkeepers of Hamelin. Next came the repercusion. The Pied Piper returned to town with an even more flamboyant jacket and blew a re-mixed version of his Rat killer tune. This time all the children followed him while the parents looked on smiling. It was like the Children's Day march past at Tafawa Balewa square. The Mayor even waved at them from the giant window in his office. The Piper led them to the caves in Koppen Hill and all were never seen again. The moral of this story is simple. Man wey say Ekute no go sleep, im sef no go sleep. So you want to kill us? Your mama no born you well at all! May I inform you that since arriving at Victoria Island we too have been making contacts with Rats who live with great men from all works of life. In fact, we don open eye finish. We now network with fellow Rats from all over the world. You know Ben? The one wey Michael Jackson sing about. Well the grand son is now a big man in Hollywood and has promised to send us arms and technology to finish you. You useless man. Right now as I write this letter with blood (not red ink), three Hollywood stars of the Muridae family are organising a charity benefit to raise money for the suffering Rats of Lagos. They are none other than Chief and Chief Mrs Mickey and Minnie Mouse and Chief Professor Master Splinter, the Ninjistu don . May I inform you that Master Splinter will be smuggled into the country in two weeks to begin guerrilla warfare training in a disused Shalanga (pit latrine) somewhere in Ikorodu. Did you not see how well he trained those Area boys to become the Teenage mutant ninja tortoise eh? When he finishes with us I'm sure we will be ready to take over the whole country if we so please. Sir Skido, you don enta. So your children now watch Rugrats eh? I know you wish to insult me with style. We shall see. Please inform your offspring the cat that died for whom they cried so much was killed by me. Ha ha. No be curiosity kill am, ha ha ha. I no fit laugh. I have read the post-mortem report (remember I have cousins in every pathology laboratory and veterinary surgery in this Lagos state), Warfarin poisoning my foot. I bet you think your cat eat the Ratsbane you left out for us eh? All the so-called Rat poison is no more than an afternoon snack to us. We store the Warfarin they contain in our livers and it doesn't harm us. Unlike your Ajebuta Ologbo. I set a bait for him with one of my sons and he fell for it. The same happened to that silly hawk that used to terrorise the neighbourhood. It took four of my daughters to finish him off. If you don't believe you are welcomed to buy another cat. And mind you, I will never run out of children for madam dey born seven times a year and each time na six or seven pickin dey come out. Even sef ,when I hungry I dey chop some. So you want to kill us eh? You go die o! You keep on scandalising my good name, calling us vermin, claiming we eat your useless City and Guilds certificate and claiming we spread disease. What disease? Go to London and ask about the Bubonic plague. That is disease! Where a quarter of the population dies and those alive live in fear. That is the disease we can bring. Sir Skido, we haven't started with you o! Was it not just one bite I gave you last year and you succumbed to Rat bite fever. If not for that antibiotic wey the doctor give you na coffin you for dey now and I for don chop your right eye comot by now as na im dey hungry me pass. By the way, did you get diarrhoea with those drugs? I eat some you left on the table and belle come turn me well- well. Take ya time o! I know you are petrified and looking to make peace. It's too late. A white flag will not cut it. I will sit down at a round table conference with you only if Kofi Annan, Nelson Mandela, Jesse Jackson and the presido of Naija are present with full guarantees for my safety. And just a word of advice, you are wasting time with those rusted rat traps harbouring mouldy bread and bits of rotten fish as bait. Right now we possess the technology to take the bait off without detonating the trap. Furthermore, we are now high class and would no more contemplate eating such nonsense even if it were served on a platter of gold. Finally to make sure you don't get any sleep here are my war plans. Sabotaging of electric cables will start next week. We will chew off insulation causing sparks and fires. This will occur by 4 am to ensure the house burns down with you in it. I have already told you about the Ninjistu training. We will attack you in the bath when your eyes are closed in a pack of sixty. I have sons who when they bite will not let go unto death. As for your baby in the cot use that useless imagination of yours. Biological warfare excites me the most. We all carry fleas called Xenopsylla Cheopis. Chai! What a name. They in turn are the sole distributors of Yersinia Pestis the producers of the Bubonic plague. For the now the fleas are happily living off our blood but should anything happen to us they have vowed to attack you in twenty four hours thus gifting you with the plague. When Lagos people find out that the plague was caused by Sir Skido's stupendous behaviour, your house will be burnt to the ground while your children will be awarded the 'tyre medal' (you understand don't you? Tyre, petrol, matches, boom!). We are also making arrangements to import Endemic Typhus as soon as possible. So you want to kill us? Go ahead then. Signed Chief Ekute Rattus Muridae the third.Sir Skido put the letter on his laps and sighed. He didn't hear his wife come in and jumped when she spoke.Sir Skido promtly told her they would be moving back to Ajegunle as this situation was too big for him to handle. "Over my dead body. Move out for rats? Tuffia! Skido ,you are not a man at all" said Lady Skido. "That might be true but whatever you might call me I'm still alive". Lady Skido sat next to her husband and read the letter. They sat in silence bar the occasional hissing from Lady Skido as she turned the pages of the letter. She tore the letter to shreds as soon as she had finished and whispered to her husband "the rats are afraid" "How can you say that?" "Chief Ekute uses his sons as bait. Where is the courage in that? Can't he die fighting for his people? I will sort him out!" said Lady Skido. "How my wife?" "I've been out to see a friend who had a similar problem. First we kill off all the fleas, and stop putting out ratsbane or traps. Next we start leaving out good bits of food for them. This will lull them into a false sense of security. Next we leave out kai kai spiked with infertility drugs. In no time they will all be sterile alcoholics with no fleas biting their backs. Life go just dey sweet them so.When we build a bar for them with free flowing Kai kai in the garden, long throat no go let them dey suspicious. After one week of free booze we will change the bar's door to open one way only, hence trapping all the rats inside By now the bar will double up as a gas chamber. As the now drunkard rats will all be hooked on Kai kai they will come in to be gassed. As for those who refuse to come out to drink we shall recommence ratsbane and procure some tough cats. Them go sabi say dis one no be Tom and Jerry matter at all" said Lady Skido. "Na die!" screamed Sir Skido."But women get sense o! Abeg come sitdon for my lap jo". Lady Skido shifted her bulk onto Sir Skido who received her with open arms. Their combined weight caused the settee to sag . Chief Ekute was woken up from sleep. He heard giggling and saw he's roof moving. "They laugh despite my letter" he said to himself. He turned over to his wife Chief Mrs Ekute who was neck deep in the travails in labour and said, "I smell a rat. A big stinking rat © 2000 Babawilly

Anatomy of a good day

What is a good day? While doing a junior surgical job a senior colleague told me what a good day was for a surgical resident. ‘Don’t kill the patients and don’t sleep with them either’. He used a different grade of English which I have translated here. Permanently tired due to long on call sessions he had set his sights low and simple. It worked for him.

I recall a line from Ice Cube’s song It was a Good day-

Today I didn’t even have to use my AK

I gotta sat, it was a good day

That song was sounded funny at the time but reading the lyrics today almost brings tears to my eyes. The picture depicted was one in which murder and trouble was the daily expectation and if it did not happen then it was a good day.

It all boils down to expectations in the end. If the day could meet the expectations or even exceed them, then it is a good day. Anything less is was a bad day.

I noticed myself feeling a particular day hadn’t gone well and I started to ask myself questions about the exact matrix I used in coming to that conclusion. It so happens that I had no objective method for assessing the day. It was purely subjective and dependent on the way I felt my interactions with patients went towards the end of the day. The things that did not go well were remembered while the routine tasks that go well were promptly forgotten.

It was not hard to figure out that something untoward was bound to happen most days and if I focus on these things and exaggerate them, I would drift out of balance and start to label each day as a ‘bad day’ due to isolated incidences.

There was a time I told myself that making it to bed at night alive and achieving just one thing no matter how small was enough for me. I soon forgot this mantra which looked as if it lacked ambition and pressurised myself into looking for difficult things accomplished each day to maintain that sense of having lived a day to be proud of.

I think I am back to square one now. Making it to my bed at night alive with food in my stomach and a smile on my face is good enough for me. I will always work hard and be creative as it is too late to change that now. It is the simple things in life that make for a good day. There is no peace of mind like the children finishing their food and having dirty nappies a few hours later. That is a good day.

Trying to find fulfilment in just the work place is not enough. The work place will continue long after you have left. Family is more important. If the family are having a good day then it means my day is good. No matter how good work is, people don’t take annual leave and go on holiday with work colleagues but with family.

Driven people and high achievers can be a miserable lot sometimes as this subset are sometimes defined by their work. They are on top but stay up all night thinking about how they can remain at the top. It is a bit ironic seeing that everyone dies and leaves both the wealth and the status behind.

There is no top man or high achiever in the cemetery.

Everyone wants to make significant impact in their work and continue to be productive and efficient working with friendly motivated people.  But sometimes we might feel that we are fire- fighting all day long;, running from one urgent low priority task to another. There might be bosses we dislike or working practices that we hate but have to work with.

We must however remember that we have only one life to live and we have to make the best of each day.

The days build up to weeks and months and before you know it you might be having a bad year.

Each person should write out clearly what a good day would look like for them and strive to make the various elements on that list come to past. Writing things out will make it easy not to miss the easily forgotten items that are essential and which we would be grateful to achieve.

Waste Management

Waste Management

The secrets of tomorrow’s success might be hiding in what we waste today.  Show me your waste management systems and I will tell you who you are.  No system is blessed with a hundred percent efficiency so, things go to waste. However, the best people limit waste to a minimum.  They convert today’s waste into tomorrow’s raw materials.

The ugliest cities on the planet tend to have the ugliest waste disposal systems.  Refuse plied to the rafters, stench everywhere and water drainages blocked as things fall apart.  Waste piled up blocking the flow of other waste channels leads to a big fat mountain of waste.

The wise will devote a great deal of talent, time and hard work to find ways of limiting waste.  As it is with cities, so it is with people. But unlike refuse which looks ugly, people have perfected the art of wasting resources with style and aplomb.  Some waste money with such panache that frugal on-lookers are tempted to look down on themselves.  Waste can sometimes be entertaining to watch.  The guy who buys three cars of the exact same specifications in different colours to go with his clothes slips into folklore and gives everyone something to talk about, till he runs out of money and the folklore moves to another house.

I have seen people waste things and I do not think a time will ever come when everybody is thoughtful and introspectively seeking out waste to be more efficient.  Here are my top ten things I find that people waste;

Time

Everything takes time and everyone alive has time to use how they please.  Television was invented to keep those unsure what to do with their time, occupied.

Money

Cash is King and we all have a bit of royalty in our pockets.  This is a king that intoxicates you into thinking that it multiplies in the wallet like Amoeba when what it does is sprout out wings and fly away.  The trick is to nail it down in investments so that it flies out of the nests but returns at intervals to lay golden eggs.

Beauty

Blondes have more fun they say.  There is an element of truth in that.  Beautiful people are never short of admirers.  But, there exists a strange breed of beautiful ones.  They hate publicity and hide their faces from the world.  No social media.  Ha!!!!  And you are beautiful?

Do these people know that they will die one day and they would lie in state (against their will) and all the people they did not want gazing into their faces would do so at a time they cannot airbrush themselves?  Make hay while the sun shines, is all I can say.  Flaunt your beauty.

Brain Power

Watching television instead of reading leads to an under-developed brain.  There is so much educational material online that anyone who chooses to could learn just about anything. An inquisitive mind that is hungry for knowledge, helps to keep the brain constantly developing.

Anatomy

The body needs exercising and freedom from noxious chemicals and gases.  The body weakens and wastes away when not exercised, washed, fed and watered well.  Strength goes and so does quality of life when the body continues to be unfit for purpose.

 Youth

This is a period that occurs just once, characterised by high levels of strength and low levels of experience which helps in producing a stupendous amount of courage to attempt the impossible.

That is why novel start-ups have young founders.  Unfortunately, some waste their youth watching other youths attempt and succeed at doing the impossible. In the end, it becomes too late to ‘chase that dream’.

If I knew then what I known now………………………

Talents

What if Michael Jackson worked in the post office and told his colleagues his hobby was dancing?  Or perhaps Ronaldo worked as a bank clerk and indulged in a football home at weekends when he could find the time or energy?

Behold the curse of the hobby!  

Ideas

Too lazy to write ideas down?  Too lazy to start the preliminary moves of making these ideas a reality? Soon the ideas stop coming and move next door.

Relationships

We should nurture good relationships and generally be kind to those we come into contact with.  There is nothing as irritating as hearing from a ‘friend’ who needs something and they start the small talk with, ‘how is the baby?’ to which you reply , ‘he is just about to start secondary school’.

Opportunities

Sometimes the planets are in alignment and a great stride can be taken at a fraction of the usual effort.  The cursed will procrastinate on a day like this and forever sing the ‘had I known’ song.  Some opportunities are never coming back so never waste them. Sudden windfalls, opportunities for business, opportunities to network with important individuals, all these opportunities of a life time must be grabbed with two hands and exploited to the maximum.  Individuals might suddenly find a market for their well-honed skills while countries might discover huge reserves of natural resources.

Sudden wealth is usually wasted and I would strongly recommend one year of counselling to anyone who suddenly strikes it rich.

Waste Management – an example

Some waste of time is inevitable like the case of a guy who spent two hours in traffic jams on his daily commute to work.  These ten hours trapped in the car were mostly spent listening to the radio which provided jingles, promotions and mindless pop music.

He struck on the idea of listening to audio books and now does two books a week during his commute.  He warns anyone asking for a lift that his car is his library so no ‘gisting’ allowed.

Teds, Business podcasts and documentaries follow and in a few months his colleagues at work notice he has become more knowledgeable about business in general but slightly behind in the latest celebrity gossip.

Who celebrity epp?

The loss of purpose (2009)

THE LOSS OF PURPOSE By Dr Wilson Orhiunu(Babawilly)Babawill2000@gmail.com

2009 Chidi was a dissatisfied man. He hated his job, car and the council house in which they resided. Despite his Christian faith he hated his neighbours. In number 15 was a middle- aged man who always seemed to look at Sonia lustfully. That drove him mad. While he accepted that with a butt the size of Australia she was bound to draw glances from some men, Chidi drew the line at Mr Jones’ (the chronic bachelor) lascivious expressions.Number 19 was permanently drunk. Empty cans of beer and cigarette ends littered his front garden and the wind helped to bring the mess over to Number 17.
Then there was Phil, the scrawny white kid who lived across the road who thought of himself as the new Quentin Tarantino. He was in film school and for some reason was always filming the children. Chidi Junior, Anne and the baby Tony featured in his assignments on a regular basis. Whenever he visited to take permission to film the children and there was music playing, he asked to borrow it. In the end Chidi told him to take the entire CD collection home, down load to wherever pleased him and return as borrowed. Chidi disliked the boy but Sonia liked him.
Chidi’s patience was stretched to breaking point when Phil turned on boxing day last year with a camera. He wanted to film Chidi and Sonia kissing under the mistletoe. It was half time and Arsenal were losing. Chidi had been complaining about everything. His pounded yam was too lumpy. The soup was too salty. ‘The world is reducing their intake of salt yet my wife is cooking Hypertension soup to kill me with’ he protested. Phil could not have walked in at a worse time. 
 Sonia shooed Phil off very quickly.
Chidi could not afford to move to a neighbourhood he felt was deserving of him.Sonia suggested he spoke to their Pastor. Chidi liked the idea. He looked up to his Pastor who was on the telly more times a week than his beloved Arsenal football club.As Chidi got to his car Phil walked up. ‘Chidi, can I film this tree in front of your house? The leaves are falling off beautifully. Will do it from my bedroom window using my zoom. You wouldn’t be disturbed. I hope to fast forward the..’‘Do what you want. I am sorry, getting late for an appointment’ said Chidi dismissively.After a short prayer his Pastor, Reverend Kunle looked him in the eye and asked how he may be of help.
‘I don’t know where to start. I seem to have no purpose for being in England. I haven’t told my wife but I am thinking of moving back to Nigeria’ said Chidi.‘Fine. You know what you what. When do you fly back and on what airline?’ asked the Reverend. Chidi felt the slimy tentacles of irritation begin to grip him. Surely the Reverend must have known that the going to Nigeria was an opening gambit. Why was he trying to humiliate him?‘Eh, I am not sure that I really what to go back home’ said Chidi. In the silence that followed Chidi heard his belly rumble.
‘I see. So you are unsure about your purpose in England’.‘Precisely sir’ said Chidi happy that his predicament was now being fully comprehended by the Man of God.‘So that brings us to the next question. What is your purpose in life? I am sure you are familiar with the scripture, I paraphrase, “without vision the people perish” ’ said the Reverend. Chidi’s irritation began to return. He watched the reverend unconsciously fiddle with his cuff links. He noticed the wrist watch. He once argued with his wife Sonia about if it was a Rolex or not. They had both moved close to the telly that day but it was impossible to say. Here, now, with the benefit of close range vision he knew it was a Rolex.‘That is why I am here sir. I do not know my purpose in life. I provide for my family, love and protect them, go to work, come to church but I feel something is missing’ said Chidi. ‘The Maker of the Digital Camera writes the manual. He knows its purpose and he only explains how it works’ said the reverend. He pulled out a box from a drawer in his table and out came a camera. ‘Get the picture? Let God show your purpose’.‘I get the picture’ said Chidi. He hoped his disappointment did not come across in his voice. He was not sure what he had expected to hear but this was not it.‘I will give you one hint. Your purpose will be linked to your natural abilities. That thing your do effortlessly. Done with grace. That thing your don’t mind doing for free’ said the reverend.The only natural abilities that  Chidi’s could think of were eating pounded yam with draw soup and sex. ‘But who will pay me money to do that?’ he thought.
As he drove back home he planned what to say to Sonia. She would what to know how it went. Was great insight he had acquired that will stop his constant mopping about the house. He would tell her to keep up with the pounded yam. Served hot at half time during live Arsenal games on TV.The sex bit was going to be trickier. He didn’t call Sonia, Jayne Austin the period drama queen for nothing. Once she claimed to have been on a period for three months. In the end he took to surveying the bins for evidence, usually at night as if he was a UN inspector in search of weapons of mass destruction.When he confronted Sonia with his evidence; no ‘smoking tampons’, she instantly developed nocturnal headaches.
 On a particular night he wondered if he could open up her head to inspect her brain for headaches.
Chidi parked his car and placed his wheel clamp on. He looked up and saw Steve from number 19 fixing the fence. There were bits of wood everywhere. Bits of fried potato chips and newspapers caused an untidy mess on Chidi’s front garden. Steve’s dog was having lunch.
‘Steve, why are you serving your dog leftovers on my garden’ asked Chidi angrily.‘Let it rest mate. The dog is keeping me company. The missus said I must fix the fence today’. Steve took a swig from his can of beer and continued to hammer away at the fence.‘This is unacceptable. Ever since you dirty lot moved here, all I have done is clean up after you. The wind blows in our direction and all your filth gets blown to our front garden’ said Chidi angrily ‘If you don’t like it here, go back to Africa’ said Steven without turning to look at Chidi.Chidi grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. ‘What did you say?’‘Clear off to the jungle Mr Kunta Kente!’Steve’s dog attacked Chidi. It bit his right ankle then backed off snarling. Chidi quickly looked around and picked up a piece of wood which he crashed into the dog’s mid section. It collapsed in a whining heap.‘You have killed..’ Steve was now swinging wilding at Chidi with the hammer. Chidi jumped out of the way twice. The third blow was aimed at Chidi’s head. Steve missed and spun like a hammer thrower before losing his balance and falling backwards onto the concrete floor.Steve was motionless on the floor but still held onto the hammer. Chidi rushed to his side and extracted the hammer from Steve’s grip.Steve’s wife ran out having  heard the noise. ‘Someone call the police! Get away from Steven. Put that hammer down!’ she screamed. The judge was lenient. At least that was what Chidi’s lawyers said.The good thing was Steve did not die. He had surgery on his fractured neck and was out of hospital in two weeks. He however came to the court in a wheel chair he didn’t need for each court hearing. Five years in jail was lenient. The humiliation was complete. Someone had leaked the story to a newspaper in Enugu State, Nigeria where Chidi came from. His parents were now in distress. Sonia during her visits to Hoston Prison brought with her news from home. It cut like a blunt knife.
‘They saying its drug trafficking. Some are saying it is wife beating. Some are even saying money laundering. Why can’t our Nigerian press men get their stories right, eh?’ Sonia said.
Sonia proved to be very strong. She organized a move from family home due a hate campaign organised by Steve and his friends. When a brick was thrown through the front room window the council agreed to move the family. It turned out well for them as they ended up in a new development. As money was tight, church friends helped with the move.She sat across the table looking much better than he had expected. He wondered if she really missed his absence.Chidi struggled with this new role. Absentee father. Prisoner. Absentee husband.Absentee protector of the family.
Chidi brought up how well Sonia looked, trying his best to sound as causal as possible. She saw through him.‘You are ungrateful. I am only trying to cheer you up’ she had told him. She came every month without the children. She looked slimmer each time. More attractive.On one visit Chidi mentioned her plummeting weight. ‘I am doing it for you. When you get out you would have a new wife’ she said.Sonia always came on coaches. They couldn’t afford the fares for all the kids. She had the car but was terrified of driving on the motorway. It was six months before the whole family came.It was meant to be a surprise.‘Mr Jones gave us a lift’ Sonia said when Chidi wore one of his quizzical looks.‘But we have moved. We are no more neighbours’ said Chidi. His tried in vain to suppression thoughts of Sonia in a tight embrace with Mr Jones whose large hands were place firmly on Australia.
‘Mr Jones bought me a bike dad’ said Chidi Junior.‘And me too’ said Anette.Sonia had never mentioned Mr Jones during any of her previous visits. Chidi shrank into himself. The children being there meant he had to talk in riddles.‘A father should buy his children bicycles. Are we now a charity case?’‘Chidi dear, the children have been through a lot. They have been looking towards this visit for months. Mr Jones is a kind man. No fighting over this. Don’t let pride cause trouble today o’ said Sonia. There was an unmistakable threat in her tone. Chidi could not believe the changes that 6 months could bring. ‘Daddy, we exercice in our garden every evening. Skipping and stretching’ said Anette. Chidi instinctively looked down at his flabby gut and made a mental note to start visiting the gym.‘So many changes’ Chidi thought out loud. Changes that excluded him. He did not even know where his own family now lived.‘There is no one to wait on hand and foot so I fill up the time with exercises’ said Sonia. Chidi wondered if that was all he represented to her. Someone to be waited upon.
It was Sonia’s turn to comment about Chidi’s physique when she returned alone four weeks later.
‘Oh, I have started using the prison gym. Also reduced my food. That was not hard to do. The food is useless. Prophylaxis against hunger I call it. How I long for my pounded yam and draw soup’‘Hypertension soup you used to call it’ teased Sonia.‘Eight months in jail soon teaches you to appreciate what you had. What you have. I love you Sonia’. Tears materialised in both their eyes. Chidi had now been in jail for thirteen months. There was talk of a move to an open prison. He was now fully involved in prison life. He played in defence for the football team. Had become a lay preacher running regular Sunday services for inmates and worked part time as a gym instructor and a library assistant.‘Someone must be praying for me’ was his reply whenever inmates asked about his sudden positive out look on life. When Sonia walked into the room, he said it out as he thought it. ‘This woman is having an affair’. A sense of loss hounded him. ‘She will move off with the children into another man’s den. He would be alone’ he thought. He pondered on a few ways he might choose to kill himself. All the positive thinking of the last few weeks went out of his prison window.The main problem today was Sonia looked stunning. He had never seen her like this in years. Her lips looked like they had been smeared with the brightest of palm oil and her jeans were really tight. ‘Hi baby’ she smiled. ‘Yes’ thought Chidi. Smile at me then kill me.‘A Christian woman like you dressed like that’ he said coldly.‘But I am wearing a coat’ She stood and took off the coat and then slowly turned round to hang it over her chair.Chidi could see Sonia had returned to her Coca Cola bottle figure. Every part of her body had shrunk except Australia. When she turned to sit her saw her cleavage and swallowed hard. She was no longer the 2 litre cylindrical plastic coca Cola bottle.‘So who is the lucky man?’‘You’ she said
‘I am banged up’‘But soon you would have you filthy hands and mind all over me’ she giggled like a school girl as she spoke.‘Two things will have to happen. First you will need to commit a crime and be banged up and secondly the home office will need to introduce same sex prisons’ said Chidi.‘You are coming home next week’ ‘What do you mean?’‘Remember Phil?’‘If I die and I am resurrected I will remember Phil. Who can forget that pest with a camera?’‘His two minute film, Falling leaves won an award. You starred in it’‘He used one of my CDs as background music did he?’ asked Chidi wondering where all this was going.
‘Yes Femi Kuti’s Fight to Win’ said Sonia.‘I hope he gave me credit’ said Chidi‘Chidi my dear, prison life has made you slow. The short film featured the dog attacking you and your squabble with Steve. When the film is slowed down it clearly shows your innocence’ said Sonia.It too a few seconds to sink in. Then he let out a scream. A scream that had security guards rushing all over the place in panic. A scream of pure joy. A scream of freedom. 
‘Surprise!’ came the screams. Everyone was there and Phil was filming. This time he had Chidi Junior holding up a light for him. It seemed the whole church had cramped into the living room. He noticed Mr Jones and smiled at him. Even Reverend Kunle had come. There was a well dressed man who came up towards him.
‘I am glad you are out’ he said. The face looked familiar. Chidi barely recognised Steve. He was sombre for starters. Chidi turned to walk away ignoring Steve’s hand which was suspended in mid air. All the talking stopped. Chidi walked into Reverend Kunle in his haste to get away.
‘Take the man’s hand. He is a changed man. Do the right thing’ said the reverend.
Grudgingly Chidi turned, took Steve’s hand and then hugged him. Everyone clapped. Sonia, overcome with emotion ran into Chidi’s arms.
‘My purpose in life is to love you’ he whispered into her ear.
Someone raised a song. It spread like a forest fire in the middle of a scorching summer.
What the Lord has done for me
 
                                                            
 
 
 
 
                                                       THE END

WELCOME BACK DAD read the banner over the doorpost.  ‘It is good to be back. Thank you Jesus!’ exclaimed Chidi as he walked into the leaving room.

I cannot tell it all.                                

MISS MOST- WOWO PAGEANT (19-01-2009)

Dr Wilson Orhiunu

(Babawilly)

Babawill2000@gmail.com

 19-01-2009

Life is like a vapour….

Ologbo watched Dr Igo’s mouth move. He heard words which seemed intended for someone else.

‘Ologbo, do you understand?’ Dr Igo asked

‘Perhaps you have the wrong test results. It cannot be mine. I don’t even wear a beard’ Ologbo muttered in a throaty voice he barely recognized as his own.

No wonder the looks. Ologbo could have sworn he saw a look of pity in her eyes when the nurse showed him in. She gave him a cup of tea and biscuits. Others in the waiting room wondered why he had such special treatment.

Dr Igo had gone straight to the point. ‘I am afraid it is bad news. You have a rare form of Leukaemia; Hairy Cell Leukaemia’.

A huge book was opened up. It looked so large to Ologbo.

‘You are not even in the age group for HCL. That’s life’ said Doctor Igo who seemed to be reading the six o clock news. Bad news.

Outside the Igo Infirmary Ologbo had to hold back his urge to smash the windscreen of his Doctor’s Navigator jeep.

It wasn’t till he got to Isaiah’s flat that he broke down.

‘I only went for this lump under my chin and now this’ cried Ologbo.

Beers were ordered and the DVD player switched on. Isaiah got Ologbo talking after a few bottles and it didn’t seem so bad after all. At least there was treatment.

‘In three day time we see the haematologist. Till then we drink and drown our sorrow’ said Isaiah.

Laughter is like good medicine……  

They laughed till tears came out of their eyes. Isaiah slid off his chair and began to cough.

‘Of all the Leukaemia wey dey, na di byah-byah one you see carry’ said Isaiah gasping for air

‘Na wa o! When I no bi Santa Klaus’

Isaiah’s phone went off.

‘Hello. Commissioner for beard speaking’ he said. He soon staggered to the door.

‘You are drunk. I have been ringing that bell for twenty minutes’ said Egala.

‘My cousin, we are mourning. My friend here says he is going to die’ said Isaiah.

Egala ignored the drunk pair and took her suitcase to the bed room. She often turned up unannounced whenever she tired of the University Campus life.

‘If that your cousin was finer, I would have loved her’ said Ologbo to his friend.

‘Forget love. Drink and be merry’ replied Isaiah.

Egala had changed into something more comfortable and joined them in the cramped sitting room. She took the remote control and started the DVD from the beginning. It was a stand up comedy show.

Beauty is vain….

The first comedian joked about the difficulties of being ugly or ‘wowo’ as they preferred to call it. Each time the word ‘wowo’ was mentioned the audience was thrown into fits of laughter.

Four more comedians come on all making jokes at the ugly people. The camera zoomed on two girls who were definitely unattractive. These girls were obviously finding the jokes very funny indeed. That in turn caused Isaiah to slide back onto the floor laughing and choking.

Ologbo and Egala gave each other high fives.

If you laugh me, you dey laugh my God….

Isaiah regained his breath, ‘ this is immoral. I was brought up never to laugh at anyone’s anatomy’.

‘Pause the DVD make e no waste if una wan talk’ said Egala as she rushed out to the loo.

‘I wouldn’t laugh at a cripple or the deaf and blind but wowo jokes make me laugh. Didn’t you see those wowo girls in the DVD laughing?’ asked Ologbo.

‘What does it tell you about the state of the Nigerian mind when jokes about other people’s ugly faces gets the loudest laugh eh?’ asked Isaiah.

‘Tells me we all have no mirrors. Everyone thinks they are pretty. It is the neighbour who is wowo’ said Egala as she made her way back to her sit.

‘My wowo cousin is correct’ said Isaiah

‘You father wowo. Please press play make I laugh ojare’ said Egala as she sipped on her second bottle of beer.

Wetin your hand find to do; do am well-well. Dat grave wey you dey go so, working and planning no dey dia o….

It hung over them like a dark cloud the next day. A cheerless mist brimming with grief filled every room. Egala’s tears flowed freely ever since Isaiah had told her what Dr Igo had said. When they all sat for breakfast nobody eat. They moved their food about and avoided eye contact.

‘You guys are making me feel dead already’ said Ologbo when he couldn’t take the silence any more. ‘May be I better go home’.

‘No, wait. It is such a shock. I love you. We love you’ said Egala. She reached out to hold onto Ologbo’s hand across the table.

‘When will you tell your parents’ asked Isaiah.

‘Never. You know they are in poor health. I would most probably outlive them’ replied Ologbo.

‘Ologbo, should you want a child, I mean before chemotherapy. I don’t mind helping you out’ said Egala tentatively.

‘No, it is not that kind of chemo’

‘So you asked? I cannot believe you this boy. Someone gives you bad you and all you are worried about is your millionaire status’ said Isaiah.

‘I didn’t ask. Dr Igo was just trying to reassure me when he mentioned my millions of ‘little Ologbos’ were safe. I might not even need treatment for years’ said Ologbo.

‘Whatever. Remember, I will be right here waiting’ said Egala.

They began to eat in silence. Soon the dark cloud began to dissipate.

‘I thought of bearded revolutionaries before going to bed. They had no mirrors. Too busy to shave. Che Guevera, Fidel Castro and not forgetting General Odumegwu Ojukwu during the Biafrian war’. Ologbo looked at Egala as he spoke.

‘I find beards wowo in a man’ said Egala smiling.

‘You said last night that no one thinks they are wowo. I disagree’ said Ologbo.

‘I see we are all back on the wowo trail. What ever makes us happy. Cut!’ said Isaiah.

The friends gambled over ever argument. They linked little fingers and Egala separated their hands with a gentle Kung fu style chop. This signified a bet was on.

‘So what much?’ said Ologbo.

‘I bet you 60 thousand that we find twenty women who will agree they are wowo in 2 hours’ said Isaiah.

‘You have lost your money. No woman will agree that she is wowo. I should know’ said Egala

‘Done deal. My risk aversion days are over. Come to think of it, how many more days do I have left sef?’ said Ologbo.

‘Please don’t talk like that my dear’ said Egala.

They worked out the details of the bet over what was left of their breakfast. An advert was composed and handed over to Egala. Egala’s best friend was in a relationship with a Newspaper editor. She would get him to run an advert the next day.

Entries for the Miss Most Wowo pageant invited. First prize 5 MILLION NAIRA.

Ring the number below for application forms.

‘I will be 60 thousand richer tomorrow’ said Isaiah rubbing his hands gleefully as they all made their way to the Newspaper office.

The race is not to the quick nor the battle to the strong. Time and chance happens…  

That night Egala went crazy in the kitchen. An eight course dinner for three she had said. A few neighbours came knocking.

‘Party dey?’ one asked.

‘No. Na evening food we dey prepare’ replied Isaiah. The frying and baking sent distant signals. Even houses across the road could smell it.

Isaiah worried at the first phone call. Someone at the Newspaper printing press wanted information on how she could get four forms for the wowo pageant.

There were four more calls in quick succession.

‘Ologbo, have you organized chicks to ring this number so that you can win the bet?’ asked Isaiah.

‘I would not do that. But the paper is not out. What’s going on?’ asked Ologbo.

They both went into the kitchen to tell Egala about the calls.

‘Are you surprised? How much do those suffer- head girls earn at that printing press? They want free 5 million’ said Egala dismissively.

They eat like royalty that night. Then they watched the stand up comics. They laughed at the impersonations, the farting jokes, the rich man poor man jokes, the Ajebuta-Ajepako jokes and most of all, they laughed at the wowo jokes.

By 7 o clock the next morning it was obvious that Ologbo had won the bet. By 12 o clock they knew they were onto a winner. It seemed the whole world wanted to be wowo for 5 million Naira. The phone never stopped.

Ologbo’s diagnosis was temporarily ignored. Egala complained of a right sided abdominal pain and was told to shut up by her cousin. This was business.

Every penny they had in their bank accounts was withdrawn and they hired a chauffeur driven car for the week.

Next they went to the Newspaper office and took out a full paged advert. This time stating that application forms will go for 5 thousand Naira. Egala got the Editor to do a feature on Wowo Factor Productions, the name they coined while waiting outside the editor’s office.

Egala was on fine form during the interview.

A series of events made them all millionaires in 5 days. First the sale of application forms went through the roof. They signed deals with a production company that owned its own TV station and with a Mobile phone network company. TV audience voting was written into the blue print for the grand finals of the  Miss Most Wowo pageant.

They  went to see the haematologist together. The news was not as bad as they had expected.

He said they would be watching out for Anaemia and infections. He spoke about Interferon but the threesome had other things on their minds. Money.

Next day it was in the papers.

Wowo Factor Productions chief  given 6 months to live.

‘Going together was a mistake. Drew too much attention. Trust the press to miss- inform’ said Ologbo.

‘It’s your parents you should be thinking about. Its time you went home’ said Isaiah.

Where there is no revelation, the people cast off restraint.

Ologbo’s diagnosis turned out very good for business. 12,000 applicants had to be auditioned. The nation stopped in wonder. Every night girls and women tried hard to convince the panel that they deserved to be in the final twelve. The ratings went through the roof. There was even talk of the show being sold to other countries.

Egala, Isaiah and Ologbo were now being dubed as ‘the famous three’ in the press. Ologbo was the kind heart. Isaiah the cute looking one who was only there for the money and Egala ran things. She dismissed contestants with her acerbic –‘you are too cute to be wowo. Get out’.

 Someone in the TV company had an idea for a spin off. The plan was to ensure that only obese girls with ‘reversible factors’ as cause for their wowo-ness made it into the last twelve. They would then be entered into another reality TV programme that involved an intensive weight  reduction programme and plastic surgery.

A plastic surgeon and dentist were drafted in anonymously from South African to choose the final twelve. ‘The famous three’ just sat there pretending there was a method to the insanity. To please the viewing public each of the major tribal groups in the country was to be represented in the finals; that is the Yoruba, Igbo and Hausa.

Things went well for four weeks of live television till Angel turned up.

Angel was an 18 year old with left sided facial scars from an incident with hot oil and a careless mother. She needed the cash for plastic surgery.

Egala didn’t like the look her.

‘Turn and let me see your right profile’ said Egala. She bit her biro for a few seconds as she studied this contestant’s perfect figure.

‘Too cute to be wowo. Get out’ she said. Most contestants walked off instantly but not Angel.

‘What do you know about scars?’ asked Angel.

Egala stood and lifted her blouse to reveal her appendicectomy scar.

‘You’ve seen it now clear off. You no wowo, just unfortunate’ said Egala.

‘I have been scarred from the age of six. Everone looks at me like I am a freak show. I really cannot afford plastic surgery’ said Angel.

‘Too cute. Abeg commot’ replied Egala.

When Angel turned to walk away Isaiah suddenly woke up. ‘Wonderful. She has stuffed two pillows in her jeans’.

‘Not just one-derful but two-derful. Abeg Egala lets call her back’ implored Ologbo.

They argued for a while but Egala put her foot down. That night they had a record number of phone calls calling for Angel to be brought back. The people won.

On the way back home Egala complained about her tummy aches. ‘It is just over my appendicectomy scar’ she said.

‘You are a real show off. Imagine flashing your scar on live TV’ teased Ologbo

‘Egala, I think we should go and see Dr Igo’ said Isaiah.

‘Forget that. If Ologbo can work with Leukaemia what is a belly ache eh? I will take Paracetamol’ replied Egala.

Better is the end of a matter than the beginning.

The grand final of the Miss Most wowo pageant broke all previous viewing records. Ologbo and Isaiah had insisted on their favourite comedian to kick things off. He was none other than Lagos Boy.

As he walked on stage, he surveyed the contestants and looked away with a frown.

‘My friend Chidi dey bite finger as im wife no gree contest. Una think say these ones wowo. Make una see Chidi wife picture’ said Lagos boy as he unfolded a picture of a smiling chimpanzee for the camera.

‘This is the only chance you will have in your life to make your vote count, so if you no get credit abeg go tief’. The studio audience were falling over each other laughing.

‘Many countries hook up tonight so make I no talk too much. But una understand. Counting na our weak point. Census sef, we no know how many we be. They say the men are more than the women. E bi laik dem no count wowo girls!’ joked Lagos Boy looking into one of the cameras.

Ologbo looked at Egala who was not laughing.

‘Aren’t you enjoying this?’ he asked

‘It is my tummy. The pain’ said Egala.

‘As soon as the show is over we will get you to a Doctor’ said Ologbo

Beads of sweat were beginning to appear on Egala’s forehead.

‘Ologbo, I am afraid’ she whispered.

Beautiful you are. Your eyes are like doves.

                                                                                   

Angel won in the end. Her belly dancing nailed it. She wore a veil and her eyes looked beautiful.

Egala’s protest about the show degenerating into a beauty contest brought jeers from the live audience.

When the votes were finally rounded up Angel was ahead by 10 million votes. By then Egala was already on her way to hospital.

Life is like a vapour..

The head line story the next day was unbelievable. Many thought it was a gimmick of some sort.

Egala dies on the operating table.

The confusion reached boiling point when a radio station claimed she has died from complications relating to  perforated appendicitis.

At one stage during the day a government minister was quoted as saying ‘Wowo factor Productions were toying with the nation’s emotions and causing under stress in the name of entertainment’.

That evening Igo infirmary was subjected to an arson attack and Dr Igo went into hiding. His house was also burnt down by unknown people.

The next day Wowo Factor productions called a press conference. Ologbo and Isaiah looked in a bad way. They wore black.

First to speak was the surgeon who operated on Egala. He said he had diagnosed appendicitis and proceeded to operate. Egala’s scar was only skin deep. It was too late by the time they did the operation. Septicaemia had set in.

The pathologist who had performed the post mortem confirmed the cause of death as septicaemia secondary to a perforated appendicitis.

‘What exactly is going on here?’ asked a bewildered journalist. Most people had watched Egala reveal her appendicectomy scar on TV.

The state commissioner of police spoke up.

‘Dr Igo is a fraud. He put people to sleep, cut their skin and stitched up. We learnt he has performed over  two thousand of such operations. He has also been falsely diagnosing people with Hairy Cell Leukaemia and then charging his patients millions for Interferon Alpha treatment. His accomplice, a haematologist, has confessed to the scam. All they do is write Interferon on Saline infusions and deceive the public. We also learnt that though Dr Igo took blood samples for which he charged extortionately, the samples never made it to any lab. He threw them in his bin and made up a blood report’.

‘Any comments from Mr Ologbo?’ asked a reporter.

‘What do you want me to say? I thought I had Leukaemia but didn’t. Egala thought she did not have an appendix any more but she had. Dr Igo has betrayed our trust. Now Egala is no more. She has left this wowo world’ said Ologbo with tears streaming down his face.

                                                        THE END