Half of a Yellow Sun - Those Madmen Were Chasing Us Like Runaway Goats

September 15, 2014

...

Obiozo was speaking, saying something about vultures and bodies dumped outside the city walls, but Ugwu no longer listened. It started in Kano rang in his head. He did not want to tidy the guest room and find bedsheets and warm the soup and make fresh garri for them. He wanted them to leave right away. Or, if they would not leave, he wanted them to shut their filthy mouths. He wanted the radio announcers to be silent too, but they were not. They repeated the news of the killings in Maiduguri until Ugwu wanted to throw the radio out of the window, and the next afternoon, after the men left, a solemn voice on ENBC Radio Enugu recounted eyewitness accounts from the North: teachers hacked down in Zaria, a full Catholic church in Sokoto set on fire, a pregnant woman split open in Kano. The newscaster paused. ‘Some of our people are coming back now. The lucky ones are coming back. The railway stations are full of our people. If you have tea and bread to spare, please take it to the stations. Help a brother in need.’

Master leapt up from the sofa. ‘Go, Ugwu,’ he said. ‘Take tea and bread and go to the railway station.’

‘Yes, sah,’ Ugwu said. Before he made the tea, he fried some plantains for Baby’s lunch. ‘I have put Baby’s lunch in the oven, sah,’ he said.

He was not sure Master heard him and as he left, he worried that Baby would go hungry and Master would not know that her fried plantains were in the oven. He made himself keep worrying about it until he got to the station. Mats and dirty wrappers were spread all over the platform and people were crumpled down on them, men and women and children crying and eating bread and tending wounds. Hawkers walked around with trays on their heads. Ugwu did not want to go into that ragged bazaar but he steeled himself and walked towards a man sitting on the ground with a red-stained rag wound around his head. Flies buzzed everywhere.

‘Do you want some bread?’ Ugwu asked.

‘Yes, my brother. Dalu. Thank you.’

Ugwu did not look to see how deep the knife wound on his head was. He poured the tea and held out the bread. He would not remember this man tomorrow because he would not want to.

‘Do you want some bread?’ Ugwu asked another man nearby, who sat hunched. ‘I choro bread?’

The man turned. Ugwu recoiled and nearly dropped the flask. The man’s right eye was gone, in its place, a juicy-red pulp.

‘It was the soldiers who saved us,’ the first man was saying, as if he felt he had to tell his story in exchange for the bread he was eating dipped in tea. ‘They told us to run to the army barracks. Those madmen were chasing us like runaway goats, but once we entered the gates of the barracks, we were safe.’

A rickety train pulled up, so full that some people held on to the outside of the coaches, clutching at metal bars. Ugwu watched as tired, dusty, bloody people climbed down, but he did not join those who rushed over to help. He could not bear to think that Olanna was one of those limping and defeated people, and yet he could not bear to think that she was not, that she was still behind, somewhere in the North. He watched until the train emptied out. Olanna was not there. He gave the rest to the one-eyed man, then turned and ran. He did not stop until he got to Odim Street and past the bush with the white flowers.

Source: Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (2006). Half Of A Yellow Sun. Farafina. pp 144-145

As We Kick Out Ebola, Shall We Let its Lessons Kick In?

September 14, 2014

As we emerge from the gradually waning pall of darkness that Ebola cast on our country over the past several weeks, we take advantage of the slowly brightening skies to reflect on the losses we have conceded and the gains we have made. Like the Londoners who endured the darkness of the blitzkrieg of Nazi Germany and eventually woke up to the dawn that was the aftermath of the D-Day landings, we are gradually beginning to emerge from our cocoons of fear into the dawning realization that maybe, just maybe, this too shall someday pass.

True, we lost seven people, but we saved 12, and with those 12, all of Nigeria. The families and friends of those seven people have each of them recorded a 100% loss by the respective passings of their loved ones. But those people - those selfless Nigerians, those true Nigerians - gave their lives in defence of our nation, in much the same way as soldiers do in defence of their countries' interests. It is our place to ensure that, like our national song proclaims, their labours, yea, even their deaths shall never be in vain. We may publish eulogies and write epitaphs; we may canonize them or erect mausoleums in their honour; but if we want to pay truly tribute to their heroism, we would immortalize the legacy they have left us. This we can do by permanently embedding into our national consciousness the lessons that the horror of this epidemic has taught us:

1. Our awareness of and attention to our personal hygiene, which was heightened by this epidemic, should remain at this all-time high. We should resist the temptation to allow the passage of time result in the erosion of the good habits of handwashing and handrubbing (via the use of hand sanitizers) that Ebola so eloquently taught us.
2. Our governments displayed a degree of proactive behaviour that I personally could never have believed possible. There are any number of opinions as to what motivated the unusual finesse with which our governments tackled Ebola. For me, there is a special beauty in the way the PDP government at the centre and the APC governments in the two states that were hit by the virus put aside all their bickering and concentrated on making Nigeria safe for everyone. I hope this coming together to solve national problems irrespective of party affiliations will continue in the face of other existential threats to our nationhood, particularly the threat that is referred to as Boko Haram. There are those of us who care neither for APC nor for PDP but crave good governance, security, and basic infrastructure from whoever can provide it.
3. We have always felt that our ports of entry and exit are vulnerable to any number of threats. Mr Patrick Sawyer amply demonstrated this vulnerability. I would expect the prevalent notion in government circles to be "Never Again".
4. The media community - particularly Channels TV, Africa Independent Television, Raypower FM, and Rhythm FM - were unrelenting in their awareness campaigns. Very obvious latecomers to the sensitization drive were the mobile network operators, and when they did come on board, only MTN did any campaigning really worth appreciating here. I hope that beyond Ebola, Rhythm FM keeps up its HIV/AIDS awareness campaign, and that other media outlets and mobile network operators find ways of unconditionally promoting health awareness campaigns of national importance.
5. We also learnt the hard way that accepting whatever is posted on social media or said from pulpits without subjecting those pieces of information to cold, rational thought can result in drastic and unintended consequences. I am sure we will not be using salt in place of Dettol when disinfecting our bath water, but what if another equally ridiculous rumour surfaces in the coming weeks? How shall we respond?
6. In our fear of Ebola, we somehow finally seemed to realize that people living with HIV and AIDS (PLWHA) may not be on a speed lane to their graves after all, and so need not be stigmatized. As the fear of Ebola wears off, let the tolerance and sympathy for PLWHA that we have begun to develop become an integral part of our lives.
7. It took just a Sawyer to infect 19 people and kill seven. As such, it is not yet over. As long as there remains even a single case of Ebola Virus Disease anywhere on earth, we are still all at risk. We should all still be vigilant.

May God bless all those families who lost loved ones to Ebola. 

May God bless all those who worked to protect us all from Ebola.

May God bless Nigeria.

- Naijaman

As Benjamin Adekunle Claims His Place in Hell

September 13, 2014

Brigadier Benjamin A. M. Adekunle (b. 1936 d. 2014 a. 78y)

So Death found the Black Scorpion? Hilarious! The war criminal deserves no funeral; nor does he deserve to be remembered in any capacity other than that of a man who walked in the shadow of Adolf Hitler's gloomy example.

I reproduce below excerpts from a Wikipedia article on him that may shed light on why I think he has finally gone to claim that special part of hell that he bought and reserved for himself all those bloody years ago:

****

Adekunle led the Third Marine Commando Division with such great panache and determination that the foreign media, in looking for a human angle on the Biafran war, found him a ready source of news.

Adekunle was a key champion of the food blockade to Biafra. In a wartime interview he had with Randolph Baumann of Stern Magazine in Igweocha (published on August 18, 1968), he stated:

"ADEKUNLE: In the section of the front that I rule—and that is the whole south front from Lagos to the border of Kamerun—I do not want to see the Red Cross, Caritas Aid, World Church delegation, Pope, Missionary, or UN delegation.

STERN: Does that mean that the many thousands of tons of food that are stored in Lagos will never get to the refugee camps in your section of the country?

ADEKUNLE: You are a sharp one, my friend. That’s exactly what I am saying.

STERN: But you said yourself that most of the refugees in the part you captured are not Ibos.

ADEKUNLE: But there could be Ibos among them. I want to avoid feeding a single Ibo as long as this whole people have not given up yet.

STERN: Do you sometimes feel sympathy for the Ibos?

ADEKUNLE: I have learned a word from the British, which is “sorry”! That’s how I want to respond to your question. I did not want this war but I want to win this war. Therefore I have to kill the Ibos. Sorry! The End".

****

Still wondering why I think Benjamin Adekunle just used his visa to the hottest part of Hell?

Friends, Romans, Countrymen...

September 13, 2014

I was rummaging through my archives in search of something when I came across my copy of this speech credited by Shakespeare to Antony following the assassination of Julius Caesar. I have always been impressed by the diplomatic skills which the man employed in dressing up mischief and personal ambition in garbs of grief for a fallen hero - a quality that seems to have been improved upon by successive generations of politicians.

I have used ellipses to indicate portions where his speech was occasionally interrupted by the conversation of members of his audience. Happy reading.

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their bones:

So let it be with Caesar. 

The noble Brutus

Hath told you 

Caesar was ambitious:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault;

And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it.

Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest,

—For Brutus is an honourable man; So are they all, all honorable men,—

Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral.

He was my friend, faithful and just to me:

But Brutus says he was ambitious;

And Brutus is an honourable man.

He hath brought many captives home to Rome,

Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:

Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?

When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept:

Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:

Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;

And Brutus is an honourable man.

You all did see that on the Lupercal
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,

Which he did thrice refuse: 

Was this ambition?

Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;

And, sure, he is an honourable man.

I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,

But here I am to speak what I do know.

You all did love him once,

—not without cause:

What cause withholds you, then, to mourn for him?

—O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts,

And men have lost their reason!

—Bear with me;

My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,

And I must pause till it come back to me.

... ... ...

But yesterday

The word of Caesar might have stood against the world: 

Now lies he there

And none so poor to do him reverence.

O masters,

If I were disposed to stir your hearts and minds 

To mutiny and rage,

I should do Brutus wrong and Cassius wrong,

Who, you all know, are honourable men

I will not do them wrong

I rather choose to wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you

Than I will wrong such honourable men.

But here's a parchment with the seal of Caesar,

—I found it in his closet,—

'tis his will:

Let but the commons hear this testament,

—Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,—

And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds,

And dip their napkins in his sacred blood;

Yea, beg a hair of him for memory,

And, dying, mention it within their wills,

Bequeathing it as a rich legacy

Unto their issue.

... ... ...

Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it;

It is not meet you know how Caesar loved you.

You are not wood, you are not stones, but men;

And, being men, hearing the will of Caesar,

It will inflame you, it will make you mad.

'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs;

For if you should, O, what would come of it!

... ... ...

Will you be patient? will you stay awhile?

I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it:

I fear I wrong the honorable men

Whose daggers have stabb'd Caesar; I do fear it.

... ... ...

You will compel me, then, to read the will?

Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar,

And let me show you him that made the will.

Shall I descend? and will you give me leave?

... ... ...

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.

You all do know this mantle: 

I remember the first time ever Caesar put it on;

'Twas on a Summer's evening, in his tent,

That day he overcame the Nervii.

Look, in this place ran Cassius' dagger through:

See what a rent the envious Casca made:

Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd;

And as he pluck'd his cursed steel away,

Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it,

—As rushing out of doors, to be resolved 

if Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no;

For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel:

Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him!

This was the most unkindest cut of all;

For when the noble Caesar saw him stab,

Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms,

Quite vanquish'd him:

Then burst his mighty heart;

And, in his mantle muffling up his face,

Even at the base of Pompey's statua,

Which all the while ran blood, 

great Caesar fell.

O, what a fall was there, my countrymen!

Then I, and you, and all of us fell down,

Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us.

O, now you weep; and, I perceive, you feel

The dint of pity: 

These are gracious drops.

Kind souls, what, weep you when you but behold

Our Caesar's vesture wounded? 

Look you here, Here is himself, 

Marr'd, as you see, with traitors.

... ... ...

Stay, countrymen

... ... ...

Good friends, 

Sweet friends, 

Let me not stir you up

To such a sudden flood of mutiny.

They that have done this deed are honourable:

What private griefs they have, alas, I know not,

That made them do it; 

They're wise and honourable,

And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you.

I come not, friends, 

to steal away your hearts:

I am no orator, as Brutus is;

But, as you know me all, 

a plain blunt man,

That love my friend; and that they know full well

That gave me public leave to speak of him:

For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,

Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,

To stir men's blood: 

I only speak right on;

I tell you that which you yourselves do know;

Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, 

poor dumb mouths,

And bid them speak for me: 

but were I Brutus,

And Brutus Antony, 

there were an Antony

Would ruffle up your spirits, 

and put a tongue

In every wound of Caesar, 

that should move

The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.

... ... ... 

Yet hear me, countrymen; hear me speak.

... ... ...

Why, friends, you go to do you know not what.

Wherein hath Caesar thus deserved your loves?

Alas, you know not; I must tell you then:

You have forgot the will I told you of.

... ... ...

Here is the will, and under Caesar's seal.

To every Roman citizen he gives,

To every several man, seventy-five drachmas.

... ... ...

Hear me with patience.

... ... ...

Moreover, he hath left you all his walks,

His private arbors, and new-planted orchards,

On this side Tiber: he hath left them you,

And to your heirs forever; common pleasures,

To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves.

Here was a Caesar! when comes such another?

PDP/APC: If You Have Carried the Umbrella and You Have Wielded the Broom, then You Need to Don a Coat

September 13, 2014

In 1999, when Nigeria's current experiment with democracy was officially launched, not a lot of people were sorry to the trigger-happy, power-hungry soldiers return to their barracks or withdraw into retirement, as they saw fit. It only took a few days however for the experiment to begin to go awry, as experiments whose planning has been hasty and whose preparation has been shabby are wont to do.

There were three parties of note at the time - the People's Democratic Party (which has sometimes had trouble being the "People's", has always had trouble being "Democratic", but has done quite well at being a "Party", where "party" loosely translates to an assembly of individuals with a spectrum of irreconcilable ideologies), the All People's Party (which may have been a party but was certainly not for all the people), and the Alliance for Democracy (where "democracy" is taken to mean the bloc of south-western states). But although there were three parties, nobody could identify how any one party differed from the rest. No one, least of all the party faithfuls, knew which party had what ideology; no one knew which party was conservative or liberal, nationalist or pan-Africanist, pro-American or pro-Chinese, in favour of going green or staying brown, ... there are many possible ways to classify men based on the ideologies they profess. But in our experiment in 1999, it was not ideologies that bonded men in fellowship. It was interest. And this interest was primarily pecuniary.

By 2003, the retired general, President Olusegun Obasanjo, was the face, head, and heart of the ruling People's Democratic Party.  His word was the official party doctrine. If he said you had K-leg, you definitely did not need a doctor's opinion on that 'diagnosis'. K-leg na K-leg. By 2003, the political landscape in Nigeria had crystallized into those who were for President Obasanjo and those who were not for President Obasanjo. Shikena. No further ideology was needed. None was provided.

Today, although we still have parties that are lacking in ideologies, they are not so utterly bereft of ideas today as they were in 2003. For one thing, if you belong to the PDP, and you live in a state controlled by the APC, then everything the government does is wrong. Everything. Including everything you thought was right before that government did them. In the same vein, if you belong to the APC, then for you, President Jonathan and his horde of PDP colleagues can never get governance right. Even when they take a step that is clearly in defence of the overall national interest, they have done it wrong. It does appear that as we head to 2015, Truth and Objective Reasoning have lost their independence and are now slaves to the Dictatorship of Party Loyalty.

Although this may be seen in some quarters as sad, for me, looking back along the road we have come, all I can see is hope. We have come from a point in our history when we had parties that were not political but were just launchpads for the deployment of the personal ambitions of individuals.

We have now come to a point where we have parties whole sole (and shared) ideology is criticizing the other party's every move, without ever proffering an alternative route to follow.

Hopefully by 2019 and more so by 2023, we will get to a point where our political parties will differ significantly from each other, with meaningful manifestoes that will crystallize into party doctrines, rather than serve the ad hoc purpose of giving the finger to the competition. Hopefully, such differences will be sufficiently profound ideologically as to render implausible and impossible the mass defections, redefections, and counterdefections that have characterized our colorful political history in the last 15 years. 

By the time that is done, I hope there will be a separate political party for all those who have defected from any political party  more than once. That party will probably be called the CMC - and many of our contemporary politicians will be made to belong to it; this, for the simple reason that they all have one thing in common, one ideology that binds them in brotherhood: whether they carry brooms or umbrellas now, they have from 1999 to date been decked in Coats of Many Colors.

- Naijaman

Correction: September 13, 2014

A previous version of this article erroneously spelt launchpads as lauchpads.