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Showing posts from January, 2012

Dec 1, 1998 VI

Continued from Dec 1, 1998 V
I stare at the paper in my hand. Freedom or restrictions. I couldn’t really tell. It is one thing to brace yourself for such summon. It is another to get the summon. If I had been told, a year ago, that this day would happen, I would have called the messenger a liar. But then, I wouldn’t have predicted all that had happened in the past year either. Yes or no, there is no option.
I flip the paper, wondering why the lightness of the paper couldn’t translate to its content. Am I scared? I have no idea. My phone rings. I fish for it. It’s Sandra. I press the green button.

What’s the Nigerian Dream?

I slept on this thought and woke up forgetting all that I thought of while I was groggy. I started pondering on this after seeing the “How not to kill the Nigerian Dream” article in Vanguard Nigeria, published on the 22th of January. I excitedly had opened the article only to be disappointed. It was a well written piece publicizing a book written by Gani Fawehimi. I had no problem with the article except that it made a promise that it didn't keep.

You Lazy (Intellectual) African Scum!

This week, I am taking a hiatus from my Dec 1, 1998 story. I decided to do a couple of things. You shall know them when you see them. And I am sorry if I disappointed you. But in my defense, I didn't write "to be continued next week" in my last post. No, I am not going to leave you high and dry. I would get back to the story, soon, and be on my way to completing the project. But I need to get some things sorted out. The first is this article. I read it on Malaka Gyekye Grant's blog and knew I had to share. It is exactly what I think, what I say, yet what I do not do. Please, take a big chill as you read this. Like they say, the truth is bitter!

You Lazy (Intellectual) African Scum! They call the Third World the lazy man’s purview; the sluggishly slothful and languorous prefecture. In this realm people are sleepy, dreamy, torpid, lethargic, and therefore indigent—totally penniless, needy, destitute, poverty-stricken, disfavored, and impoverished. In this demesne, as t…

The Contest of the Nigerian Context

By Atilola Olubela
A bane cyclic of our society,
Mediocrity clad in Ignorance.

Dec 1, 1998 V

Continued from Dec 1, 1998 IV                                                                                    Wat do u mean? I stare at the words trying to decipher its meaning. Somehow the words do not register. Wat do u mean wat do I mean? My fingers move fast, connecting with the buttons. Are you serious? Chinedu is dead. My thumb hovers over the send button. Logic kicks in. Whether I like it or not, I have to be extra careful with records. Anything that might either indict me or someone close to me has to be eliminated. I press the back button until an empty screen shows. It is better if I talk to Tomi face to face.

Dec 1, 1998 IV

Continued from Dec, 1 1998 III The sun is mild and weather conducive. I sit with my parents in the gazebo, sipping orange juice while listening to my parents talk about Nigerian politics. It is always an interesting discourse, with my parents taking different sides of the cons and pros table. I figure that they need the sparring match to hone my mother’s arguing skills. But of what benefit to my mother, I wonder. Her law firm is doing well and she seems to have retired from the court scene. I guess they continue the tradition for my sake. Every now and then, my input is requested to settle the differences. And each time, I carefully weave my way out of it without pitching my tent with any one of them. Nigerian politics is just not my cup of tea. I have never exercised my right to vote as I figure that the outcome of elections would not affect me. Besides, whoever gets elected would always be the wrong guy for me.

The New Day

The many sisters skipping the night
We sit in the dark
Staring at the sky
Wondering at our captivity
Fuel subsidy a day made
We look and wonder

My PR Bucket List

Ever since Heather Whaling tweeted about achieving something on her PR bucket list, I've been intrigued by the idea. I made up my mind to make one, but kept dragging my legs on the issue. As Justin Goldsborough and Matt LaCasse rolled out their own lists, #PRbucketList soon became a familiar hashtag.     A few days ago, just as I was about to switch off my bedside lamp, I pulled my leather-bound journal and jotted down my wishes. They were supposed to replace my New Year Resolutions. I had done away with NYR a while ago, but I was excited about my #PRBucketList. It was a great surprise to find out that Nikki Little went the same way. She published her Why I'm Trading New Years Resolutions for a Bucket List post, four days ago. Finally, I dragged my journal and decided to share my own list. Here is it:
Graduate December 2012 - I really cannot stress how much I am tired of being an undergraduate. I've planned my school schedule till December 2012. And except if there is…

Dec 1, 1998 III

Continued from Dec, 1 1998 II THREE WEEKS LATER           I look out of the window, fighting the protest at being paraded at the Wilson’s party.  My parents would have none of my objection and ordered me out of the house. The reason: I had never left the house ever since I got back from school, and since I had pronounced myself okay - the reason I'm not going back to Dr. Linda – I better act it. I shove my complaint as I had dressed up and got into the front seat of my father’s car. I look out of the window, hoping that the driver isn’t beside me and my parents behind; annoyed that I have to act nice and proper while choking on my disgust for the flamboyant display that I'm sure to see at the wedding. I swear each time I attend a Nigerian wedding, the prospect of eloping is so alluring. But being the only daughter of my parent,  I'm sure that isn’t going to happen. And being single, the prospect is justthat.