SIZWE BANSI IS DEAD: A CRY FOR THE DEARTH AND DEATH OF THE MODEL STUDENT

The above title is a classic; a work of art that, in a slightly humorous way, tells the story of a man in a society that does not favour him. For the purpose of this discourse though, the use of the above title is a gleanable, metaphorical meaning accrued to the use of the word DEATH.

Death, as we all know, connotes finality of existence; a state of nothingness. However, as used in the text, death represents the changing of persona; a shedding of ‘what was’ to pick up a ‘what is’ for reasons known only to the maker of the choice. The character- Sizwe Bansi- a poor man, shrugged off his identity and picked another for reasons both economical and personal. This is a change based on positivity.

Having said all these, I intend hereon to discuss the crux that this discourse is laid on: the dearth and death of the model student. A digression to discuss who or what the model student is however needed. As humans, we of course see things from different perspectives, but some things can be generally agreed on and some of these, I believe, include the fact that a model student is one who is defined by such attributes as cleanliness, obedience of authority, and punctuality. Note should be made that academic excellence is not mentioned, this is not because I do not believe it is a necessity as not all are born geniuses, but it behooves on one to be diligent in his/her academics. It is sad to note that this brand of student is fast becoming an endangered specie- a rarity.

With the advent of technology, the pro-western leanings of the majority of the citizenry and a fall in the standard of all things Nigerian, it is now a common sight to see students think the teacher is just a figurehead, education is a waste of time and scruples are for the weak. This pervasive outlook is rampant and can be traced to many factors, some of which I intend discussing.

Firstly, the seemly reticence on the part of teachers and mostly-absent parents to employ the use of strict disciplinary measures when they are needed. Not advocating needless beating, but the need for corporal punishment cannot be overemphasized.

Secondly, blame can also be laid at the feet of the society at large. Gone are the days when every adult could have a say in your attitude; when “omoluabi” was a term greatly cherished. However, what goes now is a “mind-your-own-business” attitude and a turning of a blind eye to the mischief of the children they are supposed to oversee.

Thirdly, the individual- the student himself- carries a bit of blame. What we do, though influenced by our environment, is not decided by our environment. Each person is the captain of his ship, master of his destiny and is therefore answerable to his decisions.

I do not intend this to be doom-gloom, but a sort of wake-up call for parents, teachers and the students themselves, to reverse this bad trend as decisions made now sometimes have far-reaching and long-lasting consequences. There is a need for a revamping of the educational system, yes, but what is the use of a revamped educational sector if the individual for which it was revamped is decadent.

Slainte.

QUESTIONS

Free will is a myth. Believe it so. We are chained, constricted and designed to act/react in certain ways by different shackles. The beauty of these shackles is the subtlety in their ensnarement techniques; family, religion, friends, hatred, marriage, and the subtlest and toughest of all- love. We live different but similar lives. In this similarity lies the destruction of the myth that is free will.

What we term “free will”, that act or thought we believe is unshackled is borne out of something. This is so because nature abhors vacuum. I put it that ideas beget ideas and the first idea, the “unbegot” idea, is itself a result of something external (via sight, touch, taste, smell or hearing).

I digress. This article is about the similarity in the different ways we live our lives; a similarity that puts a lie to the freedom of will and choice. These underlying characteristics that define us; questions that we ask at the different stages of our lives: cradle»»teenagehood»»youth»»parenthood»»grave.

Asked in different ways, these questions basically follow our growth trajectory:
“where do babies come from?”,”where is mommy?”,”is there school tomorrow? (I asked this till I graduated university)”, “what’s dinner?”, “does she love me?”,”why is she not picking my call?”,”what’s taking this child so long?”,”when are you coming to visit your mother and I?”,”how are my grandchildren?”,and “doctor, how long do I have?”

We each answer these questions in our own way; sometimes correctly, sometimes wrongly, and we also answer these questions with a mind to the possible repercussions. Have you ever sat back and asked yourself, “why is an action right or wrong if I am free to do as I wish? Why is there a consequence for every choice made if my will is really unshackled?” I would implore you to live knowing you owe it not to your parents, not to your friends, not to your children but to yourself to give good answers to the questions that beset your journey thru earth.

Do ask of yourself regularly “what questions would I be glad I answered and answered properly when I ask myself at the final stage of my life?; when the grave is not a phantom thought, but a constant companion.”

It is sad; it is gladdening; it is life as we know it. Slainte.

Et tu,brutus?

According to Shakespeare, those were Julius Caesar’s last words (denied by historians though). But today, I am not interested in the veracity of the statement. I’m interested in the pain from which that sentence was borne; the pain of treachery.

From time immemorial, human relationship has always being full of instances of betrayal, be it done for a cause believed just a la Brutus who thought he was freeing Rome from the clutches of a tyrant; a tyrant who he called friend, or for love, baubles, wealth and of course, power. Occurrences are always followed by a string of emotions: increduility, pain, hatred and finally acceptance. I have been betrayed countless times as I have betrayed those who themselves trusted me not to( to these people, I, again, apologise). So,what’s new?why the fixation today?

Well, you see, I’m hurting. oh,not for me. For us. For that betrayal that is just around the corner, the one from our Brutuses. Be aware, be vigilant, be ready. And I just lied, I’m not hurting for us, I m just hurting.

Lots lead a man to write, pain is one of them, obviously. Till I do have something fun to share, slainte.

ode to iya dapo;the woman that shaped the man

The first cry of a child heralds one thing; symbolises different things. To the mother, it is music to her ears; the end of a nine-month sojourn, the fulfilment of her goddess purpose; the beginning of a lifetime of watching, praying, fear, love, joy, beatings (my mother didn’t forget this part), success and finally, the reversal of roles where the caretaker becomes the one being taken care of. To the father, well, it is a period of imprinting, ingraining and when you misbehave, reminding your mother “se ori omo e?” (can u see YOUR child?) and when you do well, “omo mi niyen” (that’s MY child). Of course, at all times, you are your mother’s “omo mi”(MY child; MY own). To the barren, it is a cause to remind God of their existence and of course to some, it is a reason to prep the stomach for the naming ceremony.(others can fill what it means to them here,thank you)

Written many an article, stories. Today, today’s, is about iya dapo; it is way past due.

I was born more than two decades ago, 14days after my parents officialised what they had already been doing unofficially (my dada didn’t believe in time-wasting) and upon being birthed I cried!, what I’m sure went through my mind was “tha f*ck?!what happened to the warm cocoon?! and what is this anomaly?!”. On top of that, the idiot doctor decided to lash my buttocks(the sadist, mschew); it was all good though; from being inside to being in my goddess’ arms and there I was, literally, for the first few years and, metaphorically, ever since I was too big to be carried.

So,I suckled, grew teeth and bit her nipple. All she did was wince in pain, and in that pain, find a smile for me.

A few years passed and I was registered and started schooling, walking like a boss infront while she carried my bag and most importantly, my food flask like say she be ADC; every day.(and like a boss and good son,I finished the thing.”waste not,want not”). Primary school, “usurpers”(I love my siblings but then, a spade is not a cow) secondary school, friends; addendum to my first friend because, you see, she cleaned up my shii and piss so she gets 1st dibs in everything, university. . All through it, she babied me; she listened; she cajoled; she threatened; she insulted(d woman can insult well,mehn); but above all, she loved me unconditionally.

Many an instance have I pushed her to her limits. Is it the time I had a combo of typhoid and malaria. Was hospitalised. Everyday, everymorning saw her commute between home and the hospital. Could not eat as I was being dripped (the rubbish doc said the IV contained nutrients to sustain me #wash). I took this calmly until day 4 when I told my ma I was thirsty and wanted hi-malt. Now, nothing epic about this ordinarily until the nurse said I can’t have the drink. Say what?! Iya dapo stood up,re-tied her wrapper, went out, came back 10mins later holding a cold bottle of malt, opened it and passed it to me. She was watching the nurse, giving her that “if-u-feel-like-to-die-say-somthn”-look.

Writing about the above triggered another memory, one involving me being too sick to eat. She could not eat either. I felt so bad for her I ate a lil rice,held it in forcefully and threw up when she went out. Atleast,she went out with a smile.

Times have been hard. Life has thrown lots at us, didn’t feel the brunt, felt only the aftershock because my mother shielded me; because my mother is a superwoman.

So today, I’m telling the world that I don’t have the best mom in the world, I have THE MOM. Having the best mom implies competition; the thought of that is just hilarious. Ikira fun iya dapo, she is an orisa; she is my orisa.

RELIGIOUS INTOLERANCE: BOKO HARAM AND THE NIGERIAN REALITY

 

            Hobbesian philosophy would have us believe man was in the beginning a brutish, savage being who, after a while, slowly became aware of himself, his environment and fellow man; upon this awareness, civilization was born. One thing, however, that man had, even at the start, was the belief in the existence of a Being more powerful than he; a being which he must pay obeisance to. The bone of contention is therefore on the manner in which this Being should be worshipped and what name to call It.  This bone of contention has littered history with instances of war, chaos and anarchy and Nigeria’s is no different.

            Populated by over 100million people, Nigeria is a potpourri of individuals who are differentiated by such social variables as sex, language, ethnic group and the purview of this wrwite-up, religion. Religion is a reflection of an individual’s fundamental belief which in turn determines and shapes how s/he sees the world. It is an ideological stance based on principles held dear by its adherents. Not forgetting the afore-noted diversity that defines Nigeria as a nation, there are different religions with Christianity and Islam being at the forefront and sometimes, loggerheads. It cuts across all human relationships even love as in the story of a young lady, Mary, who falls in love with Yusuf, a Muslim. This love affair, in this landscape, is itself an aberration. The lovebirds however make a go of it inspite of difficulties and challenges. The relationship had its titanic moment upon the introduction of the lady to the man’s mother who vehemently opposed it based on Mary’s religion. The relationship goes on for a while but breaks up after a while due to each individual’s adherence to their faith’s take on such issues as sex, and even inter-religious marriage.

The issue of religion is a very sensitive one in the world at large, as it has not only caused division and segregation amongst individuals and nations, but war, crises, chaos too. In our polity, the Boko Haram sect is a manifestation of the intolerance that seems to pervade locales with diverse peoples and religions. On the 25^th of December,2011, the nation was shocked by the bombing of a church in the capital city in which a woman lost her husband and children; a bombing claimed by and attributed to the Boko Haram. This religio-revolutionary sect, who claim to be committed to the propagation of the Prophet’s teachings and believe that western education is sin and ungodly, have meted so much havoc and injustice on the polity what with the bombing of houses, churches, the UN building, but above all the killing of innocent people; all in the name of religion. Allegedly, one of the objectives of the Boko Haram in Nigeria is to ensure that the Sharia law is adopted across Nigeria, especially in the Northern states, where the religion majorly practiced is Islam.

One cannot help but be nonplussed at such ideology, beliefs, values, opinion and ideas that form the basis for the actions of members of the Boko Haram sect. They believe that they are fulfilling God’s mandate and will be rewarded for doing so, just as some system of belief holds that killing is sin against humanity and God. The menace this sect represents throws up many questions that require fast answere for the sake of Nigeria’s corporate existence. Such questions as ‘can this menace be said to be rooted in religion?, can it not be argued that it is a result of the failure of the leaders to make available quality education?. Provision of education would have nipped this in the bud seeing as the bulk of the sect members are illiterate; ‘are there political undertones?’; but most of all ‘what is to be done?’.

It is galling and appalling to witness the seemly disdain with which human life is treated; the impunity with which these atrocious acts are carried out by the Boko Haram sect members. They are also emboldened by the lackadaisical approach of the government in its combat against this menace.

It is argued that the problem with Nigeria is the amalgamation of a people who had not agreed to co-exist. This point, however, has been belaboured and what should be discussed is how to live with the situation. There is a need to sensitise the people on the need to see and respect the other man’s religious beliefs as his and avoid forceful conversion to one’s own faith as what says your faith really is the best. The government has to provide for their needs to show that they have lots to lose if they persist in their incessant bombings. It is a dangerous man who fights and has nothing to lose but everything to gain.

               

what next?

The sociopolitical climate of the country has been overflogged; the thieving, incompetent, lie-ridden leaders; the disastrous anti-people policies; death and dearth of basic infrastructures; inability of the govt to provide the basics: education, security, water and electricity and of course, Boko Haram. So, much as I would love to add my voice to the condemnations, cries et al that seem to be the norm, I would not discuss these things; this piece has its birth in the conundrum that is the question: what next?

Born and bred in Lagos, butterred in ibadan via OAU, Ile-ife, I grew up in the dying days of military rule and was grasping enough of things by the advent of democracy. I had dreams. Not just did I have dreams, I believed in the achievability of those dreams. Why would I not? There was minimal insecurity, jobs were plentiful, naira had value: you could survive on 200naira per day. There was pride among the people. Mr Biggs was not the sole haven of the rich as it is now, the poor and middle-class could afford taking their children there.

Then we had democracy, or rather we had Obasanjo. No, wrong. We had PDP; from 1999 till date. In that time, things have managed to worsen and just when 1 thinks we have reached our nadir, something worse happens. I am a graduate now, I fear to go out, I must have a master’s to get a good job but I have a lady who it behoves on me to take care of, I have siblings who think me god. So, you see, I need to have that job now. *sigh*. Shakespeare once said, “there is a tide in the affairs of men, which, taken at the flood leads on to fortune…” I am at that tide now, timing the flood is the trick. The keyword being “trick”. I am supposed to be a product of my environment, I am supposed to find my inspiration in that environment, I am supposed to get the “trick” in that environment. Since Nigeria is the environment in this case, one would not be remiss to think me a lost cause; a nation in chaos, in the midst of disasters both natural and man-made, a failed state. I, however, would not be beaten. I have those who look up to me. Seriously, life should come with a manual for the Nigerian child. All izz well (apologies “3 idiots”).

In a few days, I would be off to camp for the mandatory three-week military training that precedes the one-year national service. This is supposed to be a thing of joy, so why am I not jived; why do I dread tomorrow.

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