Ghanian Jollof Rice

A great saga sometimes is instigated by a small spark; an errand.

When faced with a big self-afflicted calamitous episode, the Naija man must in the spirit of self-examination ask himself the question, “na who send me message?’”

Nothing propels you forward in life like an errand. Goliath lost his head on the back of this errand. Now Jesse said to his son David, “Take this ephah of roasted grain and these 10 loaves of bread for your brothers and hurry to their camp.” And the world talks about David and Goliath situations till today.

And so I got a text message at work, “Please can you collect Joel’s gift and some food from Mary’s place on the way back from work?”

The answer is always “yes” to these requests. I recall a friend who was asked to help pick up something on his way home after work from his wife’s parents’ Kaduna home. The only problem was that he lived and worked in Abuja. When he protested that Kaduna was not on the way home he was told “go and see what your mates are doing for their wives”.  I digress.

Show me your errands and I will tell you who you are. The errands maketh the man after all. The lonely have no one to send them anywhere. Those with company do errands all day. I digress again.

Anyway, I appear at Mary’s house and I am sent on my way with my son’s birthday present and a container of Ghanaian jollof rice. I did not ask who the rice was for as I assumed the women had discussed ownership rights of the said jollof.

As I drove home the aroma from the rice filled the car and did strange things to my brain.  Alone with a rice that smelt like it came from heaven, I started to get adulterated flashbacks to history lessons of yore. Did Chief Priest Okomfo Anokye conjure from the skies a golden bowl of Ghanaian jollof rice for the first Asantehene of the Asante Kingdom, His Royal Highness Osei Tutu? Or was it just the golden stool he brought down from the skies?

The more I drove, the more I thought of parking the car in front of one of these shops along the way home that sold plastic containers so I could divide the rice into two and leave my own in the car to be retrieved later in the night when all have slept.

The next idea that formed was to elope with the rice to France for two days. By the time my worried family reports me missing to the police and go through the stress of searching for me, they would have forgotten the rice when I turn up with a tale of having been abducted by kidnappers and almost sacrificed in a money ritual (too much Nollywood abi?).

You see, food is a powerful thing in the presence of hunger. Diverse temptations and creative lying abound in the mind of the possessor of an empty stomach.

Some might wonder why a Nigerian is being tortured by a foreign jollof when we have our own version. Time and chance my people, time and chance.

Apart from errands, a man is also made by the gifts bestowed upon him. On the said day my wife was gifted with Ghanaian jollof and that was my experience. Perhaps, if I was gifted with Nigerian jollof this article would have turned out different. And yes, I have eaten Nigerian jollof before, complete with dodo, moin-moin, gizzard and beef. However, the past meals mean nothing when you are famished and you are faced with a hot meal within reach.

How could I write of Cameroun jollof embellished with coconut oil or the Liberian or Sierra Leone versions? Togo and Republic of Benin have their own jollof as does the Senegalese Wolof jollof popularly called ‘one pot’ and said to be the first jollof ever made. No nationals from these West African countries called me to collect a ‘take-away’ so Ghana it is that gave me Independence from hunger.

Oh yes!  I recall the Nigerian jollof of my youth however; the CV of past meals can never give comfort when a man is famished. If you doubt this ask Esau when you die and see him so he can tell you how he sold his birthright and destiny for a plate of food.

By the time I was parking my car, good conscience and commonsense had prevailed and I decided to present the items to my wife without any taxation.

I asked tentatively, “who did Mary do this rice for?” And she answered, “It is for us na. Why do you ask?”

A hidden sigh of relief later I muttered, “Oh, I thought you made a special request. I might eat a bit”.

On the table, I did pray a prayer of thanksgiving for the meal which had to be cut short as my mouth flooded with saliva. It felt like the Volta River had sprung forth in my mouth while my lips acted as the Akosombo Dam.

Those acquainted with the Pavlov’s experiments will catch my drift.

The meal took place at night and my two-year-old son hustled hard for a good share of the Ghanaian jollof.  Despite it being dark outside, in the words of Osibisa, it was a “sunshine day” on our dinner table. Pure Black Star tinz.

Party Jollof Rice

A party without jollof rice, is that one too a party?

A feast is made for merry and for the vast majority of West Africans, there is only so far that nice music and drinks can go. At some point, guests want to be asked that question that is like Mozart to their ears: “white, fried or jollof?”

The answer is usually “jollof please.”

Some need moin moin to eat their jollof and would opt for fried or white rice in its absence.  Others need dodo (fried plantain) with their jollof rice and might get by with a banana if the dodo has run out.

A party that the dodo did not run out, is that one too a party?

One must mention that rare breed of Nigerian – the ones with rice allergies which can be distressing. After three spoons of jollof rice, they develop streaming eyes and noses which would make people around inquire if the pepper is too much.

A full-blown asthma attack may develop and suddenly paranoid family members start to accuse each other of poisoning. It is a sad thing to be told by your doctor the news. No more rice! The distraught patient asks how they would celebrate weddings, birthdays and parties for party sake if they cannot eat rice.

A Nigerian that cannot eat party jollof rice, is that one too a Nigerian?

The ability to consume rice is almost a legal requirement in Nigeria. The average Nigerian eats about 24.8kg of rice annually. As would be expected, some will love eating rice more than others. For some, it is an act of worship. They dream of rice all night and eat it all day.

Everyone is free to determine their nutritional destiny but one must always make provision for whatever appetites one decides to generate.

Take the Kenyans for instance who are the biggest tea drinkers in Africa and number four in the world. They are also the world’s third-largest producers of tea, so there is a balance.

The UK grows no tea but ranks at number 12 in the world tea drinkers’ league.  Through brands like Lipton and Tetley, UK businesses make a profit from the tea business and actually do better for themselves than the tea farmers.  No matter what you learn in school, once you live in the UK you slowly start to forget that cocoa, tea and coffee are not grown here because the really strong brands for these products are based in Europe.

The story is different in Nigeria where about seven million metric tonnes of rice is consumed annually with a local production of 2.7 million metric tonnes.  The shortfall is imported and costs the country about N1billion a day.

In just one month the proverbial 30 Billion leaves the “haccount”.

China and India love their rice and eat more of it than Nigerians but there are differences. Firstly, these countries know not the pleasures of party jollof rice and secondly, they grow what they eat and sell the rest to other countries, creating a lot of local jobs in the process.

Nigeria is very good with cassava. We make a lot of it and it is used to produce the staple food garri.

Yam production is not bad and could be increased. I wonder if Nigerians could go for a whole year without rice.

There are people who have been without electricity for one year and seem to be coping but take away their rice and they might become suicide bombers!  The cost of rice keeps going up and people just keep on buying it. Soon, things might fall apart because there is a limit to how much the average man can pay for a plate of rice.

Personally, I don’t trust rice too much. Is it not one of those plants that take up the arsenic in the surrounding soil? It is the government’s job to ensure that the arsenic content of rice does not exceed safe levels. Who wants poison in their party jollof rice?

And then there are all these rumours about fake foods everywhere on the internet.

Finally, rice is a carbohydrate and that means it is converted to sugar in the body. Most people over 40 years of age have no business eating more than six tablespoons of rice at a sitting yet many eat it by the pot-loads.

It might help to develop alternative recipes like party jollof eba or party jollof yam pottage. Other foodstuffs need to be glamorised and promoted till the local production of rice in Nigeria can meet and perhaps exceed the demand.

Hope springs eternal. I have a dream that one day in a thousand parties in Nigeria on a Saturday night, the plates of party jollof rice would all be alumni of our local farms. Standing side by side with moin moin and plantain locally sourced. I have a dream that the beef will be conflict-free on all Nigerian plates.

That rice will grow abundantly in the land as it does worldwide. Yes, rice is akin to a bronze medallist in the planting and cultivation Olympic finals.  Sugar cane and maize take gold and silver respectively.

What grows in China and India can grow in Nigeria. No shaking.

A country that cannot feed its population, is that one too a country?

P.S: Jollof rice was invented by aliens on Mars and sent down to Senegal, Ghana and Nigeria by 2pm on the second day of March 419 AD

It floated down in a bright giant space pot.  The Aliens then went on to supply Wakanda with Vibranium.

The rest is history, lies and deception.

References

1. An Overview of the Nigerian Rice Economy by Prof ’Tunji Akande

Economic Analysis of Rice Consumption Patterns in Nigeria

2. S. B. Fakayode 1*, O. A. Omotesho1, and A. E. Omoniwa1
3. Agr. Sci. Tech. (2010) Vol. 12: 135-144

Babawilly

20/03/2018

The Nigerian Broom

There is not a single house in Nigeria without an object that emanated from a palm tree. The ubiquitous mosquitoes might be absent and there might be no Nigerians, living or dead in the building but there is always something bearing that Palm Tree DNA lurking in the corner. Palm wine in the fridge or palm oil in the cupboard are variables but the one constant thing is the Nigerian Broom made from the palm fronds. This great iconic domestic appliance epitomises that cult of cleanliness that Nigerians subscribe to. I grew up under the shadow of the broom in Lagos. It was the epicentre of the day. One woke up in the morning and walked as if in a trance and started sweeping. The broom was a collection of palm frond petioles held together at one end by a band (the centre that held) that doubled up as a handle that was used to direct the lower lighter end in the battle against dirt. In the 1970s Lagos was a City with a cleanliness obsession so much so that while the Americans where busy acknowledging that the party was over by the appearance of the fat lady who sings, the Lagosian knew it was the lady or guy sweeping to the beat that told you it was time to go home. There was a rhythm to sweeping and many sang as they swept. Once in a while the song converted into a gasp when money was found.

Even people with no food swept the house clean. It was almost like the home was primarily meant for cleaning. The fetish priests adapted their charms accordingly. There was an anti-burglary system made out of a medium sized broom bedecked with a cowrie studded red cloth and having other accessories tied on its handle like tortoise and snail shells. This broom was normally placed above the door and legend has it that while this broom would not prevent a break in by robbers, as soon as they gained entrance into the house the ‘juju alarm’ kicked in making the robber grab the broom and start sweeping the home;  sometimes till morning light. This went on till the house owner said the magic word of release that immobilised the spell, (perhaps after a sound beating). This broom is called Igbale Esu (Devil’s room) or Aale Oogun.

By April 1975 when Bill Gates and Paul Allen where founding Microsoft with a vision of putting a computer on every desk in every home, Nigeria had reached an average of 4.5 brooms in every home. This high number per household was because on average four brooms were needed. Long hard brooms were used outside the house and a long soft one was used indoors. There was a medium length broom for the toilet and an ultra-short broom for food preparation; for the preparation of Ewedu vegetables in a pot.

There were other uses of brooms though. Kids used the hard brooms in the construction of paper kites and those who had new brooms awaiting their commission while sat in storage used them as make shift tooth picks.

The story is told of a man who asked his son to go and get him one broom stick from storage to aid dislodge beef stuck between his teeth. Mum was angry with dad and diverted the child to the toilet broom. The man thought the broom stick tasted funny and asked the son who then told what his mum had advised. We know how that story ended.
There was a sad broom story in my neighbourhood though. Two brothers fought and one struck the other over the face with the broom. It was an argument over who should do the sitting room sweeping. An eye was lost and depression followed. The guy died latter of causes I am unaware of. I suppose i blamed the Igbale for this disaster.

Sometimes when an insect needed killing but the murderer was too scared to stamp the life out of the poor creature a broom was used. Even tiny objects trapped in crevices could be teased out with two hard broom sticks held like chop sticks.

Everything was about cleanliness growing up. Two baths a day was compulsory, uniforms and shoes had to be super clean and the biggest adverts on the television were all soap adverts.

Lux soap and Joy soap television advertisements made stars out of Patti Boulaye and Benita Hamman respectively and the detergent powders battled it out for the hearts of Nigerians.

The 1980s saw a deterioration in the general cleanliness in the cities of Nigeria. The 50-60 million people in the country had grown to about ninety million and they continued to sweep and pack the waste out but the council men who came around weekly to collect the rubbish in the seventies stopped coming.  Forced environment sanitation days did little to help as there was no well thought out waste management plan for a rapidly growing population of broom owners. 

The broom however had one big advantage over the hoovers which started to increase in numbers in the 1980s. They were hand operated devices needing no electricity. They were cheap and bio degradable.

In the late 1980s just like a broom tied by a weak cord, things began to fall apart in the country and the Cities slowly acquired the ugliness that filth bequeaths. Once the centre cannot hold, the people left the countries in droves and many found themselves in UK where houses had carpets to help conserve heat in winter.

Like most recent immigrants, there is a pining for home and the Nigerian broom was best equipped to ease home sickness. People swear blind that a Naija Igbale reaches places on the floor that the Dyson cyclone bag less vacuum cleaner can only dream about.

However Naija brooms raise, dust and house dust mites. When the Igbale is in full flow, if you have asthma, hide ya face!

In Lagos I recall people slinging carpets over the walls and beating the life out of its fibres raising dust. At least when done outside the wind takes the dust away. In the UK sweeping carpets with the windows closed means the dust is inhaled.

I just don’t like brooms when Dysons or Hoovers exist. At least for carpet cleaning. But an immigrant must travel home weekly albeit psychologically. Play that old Naija beat, sing and sweep like one is in Lagos. I suppose it provides a psychological therapy that goes beyond how clean the carpet fibres are after the house cleaning.

Cooking Ewedu with brooms always gives me that fear that a splinter will escape into the soup and get lodged in the gullet of someone who will end up needing chest surgery.

For those in Nigeria with uncertain electric power supply, hold tight to the broom. This broom was invented by the ancestors of yore and designed for the huts and compounds of centuries gone by. In today’s world the broom should have been obsolete by now but it lives on as light no dey.

A distracted Life

When preparing for international travel, before I pack the passport and cash it is now customary for me to I pack my phone chargers. My phone must not run out of power. The airlines now have USB ports on the back of the seats in front so that means there must be an I phone charging cord for the I phone and I pod in the hand luggage. The complimentary plugs are neatly packed in both suitcases and hand luggage and if making a stopover in any of those two pin plug countries the necessary adaptors are packed.

The aim of all this fuss to ensure that one is distracted in the present from mainly trivial notifications and that future distractions are catered for by why of a well powered up phone. I can’t even remember the last time I listened to the safety announcement before take -off.

Diverting attention from meaningful activity is what distraction is all about and it has its pleasures.

Throw away, the work to be done

Let the music play on

Unfortunately everyone has work to be done whether it is known yet or not. It is a good thing that the essentials for sustaining life on the planet have been taken out of man’s hands. Breathing, the heart beating and the need to reproduce the next generation just happens automatically, no matter the state of distraction. All three can be achieved even in sleep or in drunken stupor.

For other things we need to manage our distractions and that is no easy task for the agents of distraction get better every year. The gossip gets more salacious and the cars and planes all look sleeker that they did twelve short months ago. A resolve of granite is required to even have a small consistent hobby that you do in the evenings.

I recall the dirty looks I have received when I had the audacity to mention I have never watched Scandal or Game of thrones. I also know all so well the urge to take him by the left leg and throw him down the stairs when I meet people who say they did not watch Pogba et al win the World Cup.

Someone once brought out a phone and it was not a very ‘smart’ one. Calls and texts only was what it said on the tin and it did just that. I wondered how the sad phone owner planned to get distracted. It is true; distracted people look on focused people with a great deal of pity.

They don’t know how to enjoy life

Being focussed is not very fashionable in today’s world to the extent that great achievers dumb down the effort they put in their endeavours. Perhaps they have books to sell to wishful dreamers and they dare not alienate the fans who think they can achieve great things by reading the book of a man who was too busy grinding to have time to read books.

As we get older we surely need to focus on our life’s work. If it is baking for instance it is better to inhabit a world of flour and get the attention distracted from one cake to another. The solution has to be to know one’s life work and make sure all the distractions one is exposed to come from people who inhabit the universe of our own aspirations.

Since the personal phone is now the centre of the universe, rather than fight off the concept, it might be a good idea to learn for this mobile phone addiction that aids mind wandering and the attention deficit that tags along with that.

Focus over the course of a life is the sole preserve of people who pursue what they perceive to be a worthy life goal. It does not matter how much time is spent daily on a goal attainment for over a long period the mind set becomes set in stone. Consistency is crucial to achieving big things.

Those with worthy goals treat their lives like a smart phone. They are in a state of permanently being ‘charged up’ about their goals and would do anything within their powers not to let their dreams run out of batteries.  

When preparing for international travel before the passport or cash is packed, they pack the elements that would fire their dreams. That audio tape or that inspirational book is packed into their hand luggage as the ‘dead time’ spent in the departure lounges of airports and during flights can be a good opportunity for positive content acquisition. Inflight entertainment that does not keep the dreams and aspirations charged are ignored, for watching people live out their ambitions can sometimes be like watching someone else charge their phone longingly while your own batteries go from weak to zero. The responsibility is ours to keep our dream alive, and to ‘break the rules’ if need be. If there is no power supply for your charging cords, carry your own pre-charged power bank!

I once saw a guy agonise about the cracked screen of his phone which he had just dropped. (He was being particularly rude to be at the time so his small accident was a welcomed distraction). He cradled his phone lovingly and you just knew he would have called an ambulance if there was a free smart phone emergency repair service on the NHS. Unfortunately his body did not receive much love from him. Little sleep to ‘recharge his batteries’, toxic downloads to clog up his memory and slow down all operations and he was marinating his mind in alcohol like those people who think their smart phones can withstand boiling water and actually test out their hypothesis.

Man smart but woman smarter

At least the ladies put the kids before the phone. The kids always get fed, watered, cleaned then put to bed before the manicured nails start to negotiate the touch screen.

The Gangsters & Lovers

1

The Gangster and his horned love

Spread beef from west to east

They stroll in ancient strides

They are both beauties and both beasts

2

Born a pretty golden calf

Her leather to the gangster is silk

Now a full grown dame on all fours

She flashes many breasts for sweet milk

3

Gangster loves his lady’s slim tail

Fell in love on an animal farm

As they roam the fine country

They spread jungle laws and evil harm

4

Moonlight walks singing sweetly

They stop for a bite at the local plantation

Eat up drink up and shoot up the locals

Pack the guns and leave the commotion

5

Cowboy movies come to life

We enjoyed those bygone Spaghetti Westerns

But what we now have cuts like a knife

Vicious Tuo Shinkafa Northerns

 6

The lady and her gangster

Daily in search of dinner

She wears her ugly perfume

He straps what makes him the killer

7

They tip the waiters well

Stomach full of bullets; tipped into a grave

The Police all flee the crime scene

The army did not hear so cannot save

8

Next comes the funeral processions

Black fabrics and swaying leaves

Halleluyah Joy we shall meet on that day

Then we pray, all on their knees

9

Why love what seems to kill us

For after murders by cows and their lovers

The beef has no enemies

We serve beef to all the mourners

10

Most gangsters guard their wares

With guns that cost much less

But here the case is different

Makes no sense but buy AKs nevertheless

 11

The gangster knows you are all addicted

You will buy no matter the human cost

Beef on a pedestal higher than humanity

Shaki ponmon just buy and ignore the mini holocaust

12

The gangster is a pimp

He sells his lover at the right price

Then goes to recruit another herd

For meat goes well with jollof rice

Babawilly

Dr Wilson Orhiunu

16/01/2018

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