Wednesday, 11 May 2016

Stealing

Stealing

10 March 2014 at 12:29
Asking people to define stealing is no different from asking them all to pose on quick sand for a group photograph. Everyone is reluctant to respond and when they eventually do, they sink into a self- contradicting mode. For some, what is left behind after the ‘acquisition’ determines if a theft has occurred. For instance in a warehouse containing two million mangoes, the worker who pockets five for the kids has not stolen. What he took will barely be missed. This logic is applied to unlawfully ‘taking’ from rich individuals, corporations and governments. If di change plenti  den mek poor man chop im own. Notin spoil. Hence illegal down loading of movies and music is alright because they (the corporations) are making billions anyway. Pirate copies abound of any product you can think of. The pirates feel they are making cheaper products available to the masses and the masses love cheaper products. Let di big men dem buy dia originals.
Surely this is wrong for we all know what stealing is. People everywhere will give a definition fit for the occasion but their attitudes betray them. For some ‘taking’ it before someone else is being sharp. It was destined to go anyway, so no burden of conscience there. Dat is the auditory anaesthetic statement applied liberally in Naija. Everybody dey chop, so yu too chop up and neva   dull up. Finally, what the ‘taker’ does with what has been taken affects how some define his actions. If some of the gains are repatriated into sections of the community, then the individual becomes a proud son of the soil and his people will not call him a thief but a hero.  He buys the local monarch a big car, ‘settles’ the area boys, buys a chieftaincy title and all is well.  Di man don try for us well well o.
Stealing is a crime and crime does not pay. It is a Trillion Dollar industry that does not pay? Peoples in every country are stealing daily and justifying themselves.  Only one per cent of the population will steal from people intentionally (as opposed to opportunistically)with the use of violence but when an opportunity arises with little risk of being caught, such as money lying in a wallet on the floor, 60-80% will pocket the cash. If stealing is given another name, then the number could raise as high as 90%. Using office supplies and telephone lines for personal use is stealing but many don’t think so.
Before striking, people do a quick costs -benefit analysis in which they compare the risks of being caught and the nature of punitive actions that might be meted out versus the pleasure they would derive from satisfying their greed or yielding to temptation.  Where institutions make stealing easy, then people steal. Such institutions have an unwritten code by which business is done. All stalk holders are ‘settled’ and you keep what you have ‘taken’. A pre-emptive Kola-nut can be served to local powers that be to make sure that the law is not enforced on an unwilling citizen.  People respect institutions and role models. If these institutions turn a blind retina in the face of stealing then the thief is en powered to carry on with his illegal tendencies. It is my humble opinion that nobody is born a thief and even though harsh societal pressures i.e. penury or intense ambition can make some individuals take what is lawfully not theirs by way of purchase or inheritance, it is the institutions of family, community, law enforcement agencies and law courts that shape the individual in his formation.  They all affect the calculations of his personal risk benefit ratio i.e. to steal or not to steal. So much has been written about Naija’s stolen government money. How it has hampered development and denied a generation the infrastructure needed to thrive. If society stops lauding people who have stolen government money and if the police becomes effective in arresting fraud suspects, then that will bring a change to how people look at stealing. For instance, a man on a monthly salary of N500K a should be embarrassed to pose with a car worth millions in front of his mansion in a glossy magazine especially when he has no other means of livelihood save his salary. If community leaders steal and flaunt the proceeds in the full view of the next generation, then the future becomes dark.
Make what you may of this but Fela’s song- Authority Stealing (1980) insinuated that it was wrong to use the position of power accorded by a white collared job or high powered political post to steal funds. Authority stealing pass armed robbery.
In recent times we have heard songs like Yahozee, Maga don pay and I go chop your dollar, all obtuse references to advance fee fraud perpetrated via the internet. If music is a barometer of public sensibilities, then one could assert that the era of the beautification of area boy and area thief is really upon us.
Seems everyone complains about politicians stealing money and natural resources in Africa (yes o. Not just cash but crude oil, gold , diamonds and even yams have all been stolen from mother earth), yet we laugh when we are blood relatives of these same thieves. Sontin muss touch mai hand. In the same vein, any relative with an opportunity to chop, who doesn’t on account of moral principles becomes the village fool. Principles count for nothing when cash is involved. See yua chance and take am.
A friend complained to me about problems he was having at work. He was driving down one of Lagos streets, not the best place to hear someone whinge as traffic was moving like pregnant snails. The brand new Range Rover with its soft leather comforts that looked like an air-conditioned heaven on the inside and purgatory on the outside helped to focus my mind as we drove through a traffic situation best described as Hell. ‘That man does not want to ‘play ball’. We will deal with him o!’ said my friend. He spoke about a colleague refusing to inflate a contract so that all the boys can see sontin chop. Looking at my friend, you would not believe he was the mass servant with the angelic voice of our childhood. He had made his name in field of honesty by returning money found in the playground to the class teacher even though we told him it was money for Goody-goody. Of course the teacher pocketed the cash. But that was Timi for you. Honest to a fault (in our young eyes). Now he was an office thief. What had transformed Lucifer, the Star of the Morning assembly into the angel of darkness; Satan the evil one? Pride? The need to beta pass mai neighbour? Or just plain environmental and institutional factors? Surely the chap at workdisturbing is a product of the same society.
Timi’s complaints didn’t end there. His wife has been inflating chop moni costs and asking for money to service her car when nothing is wrong with the car. His drivers falsify petrol costs. The children sef inflate the costs of their books and keep on asking for school fees almost convincing that schools now have six terms. A relative had begged for cash to treat his tuberculosis with imported drugs. This treatment went on for one year, till he found out there was no tuberculosis in his relative’s lungs, but rather an infection of evil ingenuity in his heart. The poor chap with the phantom TB had a big quarrel with his wife over moni (you guessed right) and she rang Timi to report her husband.  She now hated his stealing twelve months down the line. She however did not abhor stealing when she was getting her cut.
The last story almost made us crash the car. He called his second son a ‘born thief’. Aged four months he shared his parent’s bed. One night his wife work up startled and violently shook his shoulder. She began to accuse him. ‘Thief wey I marry. See as my right breast flat. Yu don drink all the milk. Wetin Junior go drink now’. Timi looked at the bulging stomach of his son and called his son a thief and a liar for implicating him in the breast milk bunkering. ‘Yu tief sotey, yu come tief wetin bi yua property’ he said reprimanding his son. His wife did not believe him (You know women and their sons). Junior had drunk the right breast empty when everyone was asleep and told his mum it was daddy that stole the milk.
Timi said God saved him by making Junior vomit all the milk he had ‘taken’. That was his defence. We laughed all the way home and on arrival ate dinner out of plates bought by stolen money in his large house which was his official ‘spoils of war’. The TV was large, digital and obscene. We ate sweet stolen food as we watched Brad Pitt et al steal in Ocean’s Eleven. (Wetin man go do. If yu visit white collared tief and he offer yu food, yu go chop nau. Abi?).
May those who have stolen Naija’s cash suddenly vomit it up. So help us God


Babawilly

Dr Wilson Orhiunu

10-3-2014

Saturday, 7 May 2016

Bishop David Oyedepo should be made a Degree course



Why do we go to university? I have listened to a few clever people and here is what some of them have said.
  1. To learn things that will improve us as individuals
  2. To learn things that will give us the skills to learn more things at a later date i.e. make one educable.
  3. Acquire specific skills to aid the fulfillment of professional roles in society such as teaching, engineering or Banking.
  4. Provide the country with a work force that enables it to compete with the rest of the world.
University education should teach people to think and that only happens when good teachers meet good learners. That exchange of knowledge is so important to any society. The old will surely die one day but before they leave they deposit their pearls of wisdom and knowledge in the young. This gift of knowledge should help the recipient recognize problems, articulate them clearly, brain storm and finally solve them. If a country is stuck in that nebulous place where unwanted things get repeated in a daily, yearly or four yearly cycle, you do wonder if the education being received is understood. Education cannot be divorced from the country where training is being given. It should equip the student with more than technical information. How does one succeed in Nigeria with so much technical information crowned with a certificate? The problems of bad roads, poor electric supply and insecurity have been discussed for so many hours that rather than sounding intelligent, these discussions that contains so many big words accumulated from foreign universities actually sound unintelligent.
Many blame the Nigerian factor. An invisible force that makes nothing work and corruption thrive. My question is this. How has the telecommunication industry managed to put a phone in the hands of so many Nigerians? I was once stopped by a beggar in Lagos who I showed my money and apologized for lack of change. He brought out a mobile phone and asked someone to bring down some change.  This is proof of the now ubiquitous presence of mobile phones. Now compare this to the days of Nitel. Next question is how come Governor Fashola of Lagos appears to be ‘working?’ How come the dreaded Nigerian Factor did not hamper the above examples? What about the music and film industry? There must be something that works for Nigeria and all these examples need to be studied.
So why not study the Presiding Bishop of Living Faith Church worldwide aka Winners Chapel; Bishop David Oyedepo? He sits at the helm of a large organisation that appears to be growing without the usual African tonic of foreign aid and expatriate workers. I watch their services on line early on Sunday mornings and they start as advertised. That bursts the myth of African time. The ministry is a growing entity and has established schools and universities. What is the secret? Their ministry is a Christian one and it will be too simplistic to just say that it is the blessing of God making the ministry grow. From comments on social media, he has many detractors and I am not writing this to woo them over, neither am I on a mission to recruit new members for his church. I am just saying that success in a place with a reputation for failure needs to be examined.
From my observations-
David Oyedepo works hard for long hours
Is a problem solver
Is a patriotic Nigerian who has a vision.  He claims that the universities he founded would compete with the best universities in the world. I found this particularly inspiring having grown up in Nigeria during military rule. That was a time when the leadership of the country had no respect, regard or ambition for Nigerian education.
He watches no day time television as he claims to be too busy to spend precious time watching busy people.
He writes books and through the ministry’s printing facility has been able to make books affordable to members of his congregation.
The ministry is well organised.
He tells his congregation that he expects them to be world class players in whatever sector of the economy they work.
The question is why should all these be happening in Nigeria and where was the Nigerian factor when all the above were happening?
I visited Winners Chapel aka Canaan land in Ota for the Sunday morning service on 26-9-2010 with my friend Mr Enate Ogedegbe and was quite surprised at what I saw. After the service we drove around Covenant University and went to get something to eat. I saw the students and they were quite respectful. The university had an ambiance that was conducive for learning. Why? When we see things that are organised in a place famed for disorder we need to ask why. The answer can then be applied to every other sphere of Nigerian life.
Another thing that I have noticed is that the Bishop’s wife does not appear to throw her weight around even though she is one of the most powerful women in the country by virtue of her position and the strength of the churches' population. Why?
Education is all about developing curiosity. The Nigerian students should all ask why? Why a thriving Nollywood, why kidnappers and armed robbers, why 419ers, and why Winner’s Chapel? The answer can then be used as a template for what to avoid (as in the case of 419ers) and to emulate and reproduce as is the case for Bishop David Oyedepo and his ministry.


Dr Wilson Orhiunu
Babawilly

26-6-2014 

Tuesday, 9 February 2016

London Marathon 2007

The Persian armies invaded Greece in 490 BC.  The Greeks won the battle of

Marathon and Miltiades (Greek Army leader) sent word of the victory to the King via

a runner Pheidippides.

Poor (or patriotic) Pheiddippides ran to the Palace and promptly died after delivering

his very important message.

If Pheidippides had died in my village, the elders would have called a meeting to

decide that all indigenes be forbidden to run that kind of distance.  Europe however

is not Africa.  42.2 Km is the distance we will be running at the London Marathon

come 22-04-2007; so help us God!

Back to the present (21-4-07 3.30pm)

I am driving down the M25 to the Excel Centre to register for the race.  Paul Play’s

Angel of My Life is playing but don’t angels sprout wings and fly?  All my people are

voting for our next Nigerian president back home.

At the Excel centre, I join a queue and hand over my letter bearing my running

number, 15900. I was handed a bag, which contains a computer Champion-chip to

be attached to the trainers while running so progress can be tracked, and

identification labels bearing my running number, for my bag and vest.

22-04-07 6.30am

D Day!  Lazy in bed, felt stiff from all that driving from Birmingham to London.

Showered, and then adjusted my coral beads (my latest fashion statement - the

South-south look).  The necklace had to be shortened and held down with safety

pins to make running easier.  At this point, I thanked God that I didn’t have breasts.

I was running late and left by 7.10am.

At Sutton station there were no trains and I was soon on a Coach to West Croydon

to arrive at 8.10am.

I was late and sweating.  The race starts at 9am for elite women, 9.25am for the

Wheel Chair Marathon and 9.45am for elite men and the masses (me) and you sabi

say the only African time that will be on display will be the victory times of the

Kenyans or Ethiopians.  Get there late and it will be ‘come back next year thank you’.

I had hurriedly put just £5 in my pocket and left my wallet and credit cards back in my

cousin’s place.  Train transport was free for all runners who display their running

numbers so I thought I didn’t need money.  I began to rehearse how I would

convince a cab driver to take me to my Blackheath starting point on credit. It will be

sad to go home without a medal.

As I came off the coach, a chap called me.  He was looking lost. He was from

Northampton and needed to get to the marathon starting point.  I on the other hand

knew the area.  Off to the cab office, £23 to Blackheath. His mum brought out the

cash. Halleluyah!  Shebi God said, I will go ahead of you….

Race 10am

I ran for ages and got very angry at the first sign, ONE MILE, only??!!  25 miles to

go!  God help us!  At 3 miles, I saw the Vittel water sign.  The water had finished.

Runners began to lust after the half empty bottles on the road side floor.  Soon

runners were grabbing bottles off the floor. ‘If you cannot beat them.….’

At 12 miles, it was time to cross Tower Bridge.  I began to drink like a camel, but

unfortunately didn’t have a bladder like one.  We were peeing in the bushes.  It was

like everyone had a full bladder but marked their time to see who would go first.

Once a chap made a detour for the bush, any bush, it gave everyone a licence to

urinate.  If the bush was high enough the women joined.  Not so for the elite runners

though.  We heard they just did the business down their legs.  With over £100,000 at

stake, I don’t blame them.

Spectators

If no spectators come, there would be no race.  The noise from the crowd is like a

petrol nozzle up your engine.  It fires you on.  There was a slight problem though,

Babawilly doesn’t translate well into English.

One woman shouted ‘come on Babawilly, prove it!’

Next year, I will have BABAWILL on my T- shirt.

The Wall!

I hit the wall at Mile One!  By Mile 20, I had hit a planet.  I was so hot; I smelt like

Suya on a grill.  Then the hamstrings went into cramp.  Next thing, the muscles

began to talk to me.

‘Babawilly, Persin wey say Peroneus no go sleep, im sef no go sleep’.

I was glad to queue for the toilets and rest.  Then there’s the friction burns.  The

thighs rubbing; the buttocks grating; the toes on the trainers; blisters on the heels

and the nipples being sand papered by the T-shirt; and the scrotum against the

thighs. Then, once the skin gets raw, that salty sweat stings up the whole place.  I

guess that’s why we apply so much Vaseline for the moving parts and plasters over

the static parts.

Mile 24

Running along the embankment, you know the end is nigh.  My whole body became

one massive lump of cramp and I had to walk to the finish line - from here on, no

toilets.  There are crowds everywhere, so no chance of Bush action.  I just couldn’t

pee on myself so I suffered.  This must be the closest a man could get to labour

pains. Cramped up body, six hours of sun, full bladder and I couldn’t cross my legs.

I was about ready for my Caesarean section!

FINISH!

Mile 26 you are grateful to see Big Ben and Buckingham Palace.  I suspect this race

course has been designed to psychologically programme you into associating all

good things with the British Parliament and the Royal family.  When I finally went

over the finish line, I begged for two medals as I felt that my efforts deserved two.

She smiled and gave me just one.

Tuesday, 2 February 2016

The Chicken Witness

Chickens make the world go round and eggs ensure the course remains constant.  Where would the human race be without the chicken and the egg?  

I was recently at a wedding and noticed the great contributions made by the chickens to our enjoyment.  We ate chicken, jollof rice and cakes made with eggs.  It made me reflect on my long relationship with eggs.  As a child, I had my boiled eggs in my special egg cup holders and life was sweet.  With age I moved onto chicken oblivious to how the chicken made its way to my plate.  The day I saw a chicken being killed in the flesh for the first time was a life changing experience.  Its two legs were trod upon and its neck was slit as it gave its last cry. This  gave me a phobia for seeing the knife put to any throat but I still eat chicken.

At this wedding with medical colleagues in attendance there was a clear difference in the way each physician related to the chicken on the plate depending on their specialty.

Paediatricians
‘This chicken is too big for our ward’.  Refer to the adult ward.  Need I say more?

Orthopaedic surgeon
Every profession has its tough guys who love to play with tools and toys.  Orthopaedic surgeons are the area boys of medicine - bone setters with a love for ‘Black and Decker’ and ‘plastering’.  These are the ones who grab the chicken and bite into it like a great white shark - they disarticulate the femoral head from the acetabulum with spicy juices flying everywhere yet they leave their eyes wide open.  They eat bone and sinew with jaws that look like they were manufactured in a Russian Steel plant.

The Haematologist
These ones ignore the rice, dodo, moin moin and fish and go straight for the drum sticks.  They peel away the flesh; crack the thigh bone open and start to suck on the bone marrow.

Psychiatrists
I saw this at close quarters.  When the steward served my colleague his plate of delicious food, he beamed with joy, grabbed his cutlery and suddenly a dark harmanttan cloud descended on his face.  Then he dropped his cutlery and said to the lady who served him his food, ‘this chicken looks tense on the plate’. She looked bemused as did most people on the table, all except his wife who kept on eating.  I suppose after thirty years of marriage one accepts two things - all men dey craze smol smol and why change your man?  You will only change the type of craziness you live with but the crae=ze always remains.

Our psychiatrist told the table he suspects the chicken had a rough childhood.  Perhaps, a separation anxiety occurred when its mother was abducted and taken to the local KFC.  He asked the waitress if she knew if there was any family history of psychiatric illness in the chicken’s family.  She replied that she never had the pleasure of meeting the chicken while alive.

As I write this, I fear I have developed auditory hallucinations.  Maybe it is that song the DJ was playing.  I keep hearing voices asking me, ‘what is your baby’s name?’ and before I can answer, the same voice tells me the answer is Panya.  I must remember to ask my wife if she has acquired a new nickname.
Neurologist
They served him jerk chicken and he postulated that the chicken died from Status Epilepticus

Rheumatologist.
One look at his chicken and he asked for a slender knife with which to take a muscle biopsy for further studies for he noted wasting on the chicken’s Quads.  He put the tissue on his mouth which also doubled as a histopathology lab and declared the muscle was normal.

Gynaecologist
He refused point blank to have a piece of chicken.  He asked for a whole chicken served in the lithotomy position on a platter.  He shouted at the waitress as she walked away, ‘I need size 7 gloves’.  The manager of the hotel was told about this unusual request.  He obliged as he figured that today’s rich guest might be tomorrow’s client.  Soon after, a full chicken appeared with its bum in Lokoja, its belly facing the sky and one leg up the Niger while the other one was up the Benue.  Our gynae star donned his gloves and began to molest the poor chicken.

General Practitioner
The GP told the chicken it had to be eaten in ten minutes and politely asked it if it had any strange ideas, concerns or expectations.  Met without a reply, the GP asked for an interpreter for he thought a language problem existed.  Soon a waitress who was an expert in talking to the dead was found and she communicated with the spirit of the chicken.  She said the chicken was in Chicken heaven and hated being disturbed this way.  However, it expressed concern that part of its carcass was at a wedding but its legs were at the indoor market on sale.  This it found disrespectful.  The GP asked if the spirit of the chicken wanted a referral for psychological therapy and the rude reply was, ‘shut up and eat my remains’.

Anatomist
He cut through the skin of his chicken and asked the wedding photographer to capture his beautiful dissections on film.  He kept calling the photographer back and forth as he beautifully carved up the carcass of the chicken exposing nerves and blood vessels much to the delight of himself alone.

The dentist
Asked for the head and neck of the chicken and threw a tantrum when the request was not granted then he said, ‘I am unfamiliar with anything neck down’.
Plastic Surgeon
Drew diagrams on napkins plotting how to make the chicken look prettier

Chemical Pathologist
He just kept on tasting every item on the menu.  He was saying something about salt and potassium content but by now everybody was singing that their baby’s name was Panya and no one took any notice.


Tuesday, 26 January 2016

Doctor, Are you Nigerian?

'Doctor, Are you Nigerian?'

I looked over my shoulders when the Nigerian patient sitting in my consulting room asked the question, ‘Doctor, are you Nigerian?’ Perhaps, there was another fellow in the room. I never thought the day would come when my country man would not read the Nigerian written over my face.  Ironically, I knew the patient was Nigerian from the name and the face when I saw it (please don’t ask what a Nigerian face is.  You just know it!).  The speech, mannerisms and accent all gave away his nationality - the name was from Edo State.  They were recounting a recent trip ‘home’ when I asked if they went to Benin and they were startled.

I took solace from the Bible story of Joseph in Genesis 42 verse 8;
So Joseph recognised his brothers, but they did not recognise him. Then Joseph remembered the dreams which he had dreamed about them.
The only problem was that with no prior dream I did not see this coming.  I have always thought I looked and sounded Nigerian but what I believed about myself had been challenged.  I started to think about what makes one feel Nigerian and what features or characteristics help onlookers recognise a Nigerian.  I might be wrong but these are my conclusions.

Ring tones
We have a sign at work which forbids mobile phone usage during consultations but once in a while phones go off during consultations.  If the ring tone is, Yori Yori, your patient is Nigerian.

Telephone voice
If you can hear a telephone conversion clearly coming from the second floor flat of a tower block while you drive by in your car, a Nigerian is ‘ringing home’.  Word like ‘exchange rate’, ‘fuel’, ‘light’, ‘gen’ and ‘naira’ also give away the caller.

Dressing
If the shoes on a black male cost £500, and he removes them to show you his bunion only to find his cheap socks cost £1.05 for a pack of twelve, he is Nigerian.  Some of us suffer from a shoe-sock maladjustment disorder. It causes us to be showy thus, the garments of public view are expensive while the ‘private garments’ are as cheap as chips.

Names
If it starts with O, and they are black and well dressed, they are Nigerians.

Phrases
Some things just roll off the tongue inadvertently, ‘It is well’; ‘not my portion’; ‘how far?’; ‘ah!’ ( after getting an unwelcomed news).

Pidgin English
If while speaking pidgin English and laughing on the phone, they go two minutes without saying Charlie, they are Nigerians.

Swag
There is a certain swagger to a Naija man or woman.  There is always a degree of flamboyance that can be detected with a trained eye.  It sometimes boils over into supreme confidence, and other times it might be arrogance, but it is there.

Noise
Nigerians generally create traction and fiction. That means sparks fly, heat is generated and noise is created. That is the Nigerian way.

Nationality
Well, they actually have Nigerian parents or were born in Nigeria.  Nationals from neighbouring countries sometimes cross the borders and assume Nigerian citizenship or the Nigerian persona.  The late Prince Nico Mbarga a musician of Cameroonian extraction is a good case in point.  He composed the ever-green song Sweet Mother, and it was only after his death I found out that although he was born in Nigeria to a Nigerian woman, he had dual Nationalities.  Nigerians don’t like being called Africans, they are Nigerians period!

Favourite topics to discuss
For the men, football, money, politics, tribalism, God and those who are making money fast.  The women on the other hand, marriage, children, parents, career, ‘useless Nigerian men’, shoes and bags, what Linda Ikeji said and God, are the main topics.

Tribal marks
Facial scarification marks and tattoos are now a thing of the past but some Nigerians still have them.  Those in the know can tell what part of the country you come from just by looking as the marks.

Body shape and complexion
·         Tall and slim means northern Nigeria, if the above features are present.  Kenyans are also tall and slim
·         Light-skinned and stocky means south-eastern Nigeria
·         Dark-skinned and athletic means Niger-Delta and the South-western Nigeria

Food
Nigerians know that their ancestors created jollof rice and are proud of it.  Moin moin (beans pudding), suya (roasted meat) and boli (roasted plantain) are beloved delicacies.  We also share our Gala and our booze for we are generous people.

Ceremonies
South-western Nigerians throw parties while the rest of the country will attend.  Baby naming ceremonies, marriages, burials can all be done as many times as the finances dictate.

Academics
If they are in ‘the abroad’ and they are black and have over four university degrees, they are Nigerians.

Language
Hausa, Igbo, Yoruba, Efik, Kanuri, Urhobo, Edo etc.

Self-appraisal
I do not do too badly with the above categories.  I however, let the side down by eating pounded yam with a fork and knife.  Other things to my credit include knowing my Galala from my Shuo and being able to Shoki, Azonto and Atigi with flawless co-ordination.

I am a bit designer clothes averse and have never asked anyone in anger; ‘Do you know who you are talking to?’ but I wrote the first ever online Naija Pidgin English Dictionary and the Pidgin version of Psalm 23.  Urhobo man wey write Ukodo Tonight. With these few points of mine, I hope I have been able to convince you that I am more Nigerian than the River Niger.




Dr Wilson Orhiunu

(Babawilly)

January 2016

Tuesday, 13 October 2015

All my Bobos (Guys)

All My Bobos (Guys)
Every man has male figures in his life and I am no exception. I have gentlemen in my real world and others in the social media world. This article is about my Facebook male friends and I have about eight hundred of them. I will start with the players identifiable by the mismatch between their age and photographs on display. The size of their belly betrays them to be husbands on the receiving end of the marital pounded yam for no less than twenty years yet they only post pictures of themselves alone and declare ‘single’ as their marital status. These wedding ring free uncles behave as if Pfizer invented Viagra for their sole benefit. They roam Facebook fishing for young blood daily. Dia rez God o!
As always, just like Pareto postulated, 80% of the drama you see would be generated by only 20% of your Facebook Bobos. These are my observations on the drama kings.
Show Business
Every male in now in show business it seems. On social media, while the ladies project beauty and the men project importance and what quicker way is there to show your importance than by standing next to an important brand (shebi vultures of a feather flock together). Hence our eyes are bombarded with numerous selfies with stars, expensive cars and private jets. I sometimes wonder if these private jets are air borne sef. 
Being photographed with items of luxury or men of power is entertaining to the on lookers but it really means nothing. Ironically it proves that you are not a man of power. How come Bill Gates never posts selfies from his private plane? These by- force show biz types reminds me of that proverb about the marriage between that compatible couple; Miss Empty Vessel and Mr Noise.
Ego
The male has an urge to look successful. So we get photographic evidence of a high sperm count, an ability to attract a comely mate and a high bank balance daily. Madam don born o! Pictures are usually in an expensive looking hospital. How come we never see the millions of babies born in Maternity homes on Facebook? The answer? These Facebook  pictures are not announcements of births, no. They are displays of affluence and the projection of the male ego. Any man who inboxes me for a loan to help pay off his debts accrued from having his baby in the USA will be blocked from my Facebook friends list for life
I no fine?
Everyone is now a movie star. Air brushed flawless skin, grey hair blackened and pot belly air brushed away. Na wa o. Since when did the guys join the ladies in wanting to look beautiful? The over packaging na wa. Handkerchiefs prolapsing out of jacket pockets is the order of the day now. The movies stars and musicians are now being given a run for their money, at least in the packaging department. But we know sha, it is just effizzi. You guys are not stars at all. Don’t let the ‘likes’ deceive you. People will hail- Boss, My MOG, E no get Part 2, My Oga, Beautiful!  All na game. When the microphone or football is passed around na that time you go know say Whizz Kid and Mikel Obi are stars respectively and you are just a candle. Kontinue.
Any man wey bleach will be blocked from my Facebook for life.
Dressing young
Ah! Uncle please study Davido’s picture. When he wears a belt with his jeans we can see the buckle. You are wearing a tight designer T shirt and jeans with a designer D&G belt but your belle don drop come cover the beauty of the buckle. Please borrow body magic from madam. Not Movie Magic o, Body magic, abi deafness don join your bad taste in clothes?
Something to hide
Some guys have something to hide abeg. You know them. Scriptures all over their wall for the last two years. No dad or mum’s birthday or memorial. No girlfriend, no wife. We dey suspect una.
Then you have these Chelsea for life people. The whole wall is Chelsea. Ok, we know you are Chelsea for life but does that exempt you from having a life? Una dey hide something. The same applies to all these Man U for lifers too. No graduation picture, no family shots nothing. And when you chat back when they send their – Good day sir –greetings, these guys don’t even know Lee Sharpe, George Best or Mats Busby. How can you say you are Man U for life at thirty years of age and you only know Rooney and Sir Alex Ferguson? Olodo!
Nouveau riche and flaunting
Bros, we join you to thank  God for bringing you out of poverty but e don do na. Must we continue to thank God with you for every new car (even hire purchase sef), new suit and even new pot of soup? E do na. Let us thank God for others abeg. These are the guys whose oldest picture is 18 months old and they have no relative on their page because na only dem get money for village. They are ashamed of their past and all their relatives. It is not a crime in itself to break out of poverty,  it is actually inspirational. However when you try too hard to distance yourself from your past, you start to look like a sky scrapper in Dubai. Bright, shiny and new but devoid of history or meaning. Bros yu get sontin to hide abeg.
Scrubs.
Please listen to TLC’s song. Front seat passenger taking selfies and trying to holla at us on social media. Bros, buy your own car. Selfie’s in your friend’s living room but you omit to title the picture appropriately. We sabi una. Passenger in another man’s private jet and you are taking more selfie’s than the owner. Kontinue.
Mr Romantic
Ok. We have a good memory. You love her. E do, let’s move on to national issues or football gist. We don’t need reminding. Once a year on your anniversary is more than enough. Ah ah!
Holiday Father
Ok, we have seen it. You are on the beach living it up while we are slaving away in an airless office; you have made your point.
Christianity Bashers
I fear these ones. Anything happens in Nigeria; they run to Facebook and scream, ‘where is the Church?’ They expect churches to run the economy, build infrastructure, stop armed robbery and educate all citizens. When I become a Pastor the same ones will hate me and my Doro wife for being Doro Pretty by embezzling tithes and offering. Please note that we are Doro pretty now! I unfollow these Pastor haters.
Argumentative political analyser
Comes to Facebook for a war. You know the type. Oppressed by madam at home, oppressed by boss at work and too broke and lacking in charm to attract a fine girl for an affair. Facebook is his outlet and he rains curses on all politicians and anyone who disagrees with his views. Mr Angry, buy madam flowers and be nice to her. She may give you a rub down and chase your demons away
419 Bobos
Custom auction for seized goods. Executive beggars always running out of credit  while in importance meetings. Hackers of my friends’ pages needing a quick loan of four hundred thousand Naira because the ATM card fell down a well. All of you guys eh, my prayer is for you is that your right testicle rotates twelve times till it dies and drops off. Shout Amen!!

Disclaimer

Any resemblance between the characters I have mentioned above and my humble self is purely a coincidence. 

Tuesday, 4 August 2015

Music and Naija Love

“If music be the food of love play on. Give me excess of it, that surfeiting. The appetite may sicken, and so die” says Duke Orsino in William Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night. By suggesting that a dose of music might calm the pain of unrequited love for Lady Olivia, this character links music to love. Perhaps music could be that substitute for love. If Love has music for breakfast and looks healthy, those without love who want to look like love should ‘eat’ the music.
There is no doubt about the link. The pure romance created by stroking violin cords the right way is not in doubt. Many a singer has made his fortune just singing about falling in love or being in love despite a large proportion of his listeners not being in either category. Music can indeed be a substitute for love. A comfort that romance still exists and it lays just a chance meeting away. People sometimes love to hear songs about what they do not have. Aspiration, maybe fantasy or a bit of both.
Barry White really could set the scene. ‘You are My First My Last My Everything’ is a song that could make a lonely person grab his or her pillow and fall in love with being in love. Then there is Nat King Cole whose submission is that “when I fall in love, it will be forever”. And he goes on to sing that song ‘Unforgettable’. Now which human being does not want to be unforgettable to someone else?
Fantasies come true in music. I really loved Barry White’s music growing up. A wonderful distraction from the harsh realities of the economic and societal upheaval that comes with living under a military dictatorship. The love fantasy did not need a partner, just the right music and closed eyes.
But trust Gwen Guthrie to burst the bubble. Her ‘Ain’t Nothing Going On But The Rent’ really spoilt it for me. That line “you’ve gat to have a J-O-B if you wanna get with me. No romance without finance” was not what a Naira deficient student wants to hear. A crude awakening!
Enough of my emotional trauma. What do the present crop of Nigerians songs about in relation to the wooing game? I might as well start with the good news. Davido in his song ‘Aye’ found a girl who does not want designer items, and shuns a Ferrari but is satisfied with his love. Hurray! Love is alive and romance has been resurrected?
It goes downhill from here I am afraid.
P-Square says “chop my money…I get am plenty”.
Now impressing a girl is all good but a relationship is not quite a financial transaction. If it is, then one needs a receipt and also a warranty just in case goods and services do not meet the international standards the purchaser has come to expect.
Money and love in the same sentence loses its romance. Payment for services is a business transaction. That moves no one emotionally neither does it inspireI go die love is more interesting than I go charge love.
But many seem to charge it seems. I was watching a lady on the internet talk about how a boyfriend should buy her clothes, shoes, and hair. I wondered what her father buys. And if the father cannot afford the items does that not mean she is living above her means and relying on romantic subsidy? Now who pays the piper dictates the tune, for the paid love or relationship providers are servants to the Pay Master.
How does a girl eat her agbalumo and have it? With great difficulty. Once you charge you cannot turn round and complain that your buyer is unromantic.
Some things should never have a price tag but the minute friendship is monetised, it is not friendship anymore. It is a business transaction.
I don’t blame the musicians for they are just barometers of society. They sing what they see.
Wizkid asks “are you gonna dance, if I show you the money?” in the song ‘Show You the Money’. I like the song and the beats on it. It has an air of danger about it. But the phrase “show you the wallet” makes me think. (Maybe I think too much sef).
That the singer has to ask suggests the answer could go either way.  A ‘Yes’ shows a crude lust for money and a ‘No’ would be dignified.  Perhaps the singer knows the society in which he lives and thus has modified the wooing techniques passed down from generations to fit his modern day reality.
All Naija ladies claim to be romantic (for why else would they say Naija men are not romantic?) ‘Show You The Money’ and ‘Chop My Money’ are directed at ladies and these tunes are loved by them. However we all know that cash notes are not romantic.
If romance was truly in the air, the song would have gone:
Are you going to dance?
If I show you my problems
Are going to dance
If I show you my heart
Are you going to dance?
If I show you my heartache
Are you going to dance?
If I show you my piles
Shebi true love conquers all abi?
May you all live in love and happily ever after.