THE OLD TELEVISION

“He always walked amongst them, watching quietly, unseen, unnoticed,” Amara said, trying to describe Nonso’s sudden uncanny behaviour the last time she saw him. Her body quivered, her voice unsteady and she occasionally used gestures to imprint her words in mind.

The old television was on when she stormed into my room unapologetic, uninvited. Kunfu Panda was playing and I laughed at Pow’s wanton silliness and exaggerated screams, ‘Awesome!’ in the face of danger. Nonso is my brother but it felt like Amara knew him better. Before he travelled to Portharcourt, for greener pasture, he spent most of his time with her. They sometimes cuddled on his bed, whisper to their ears and laugh at their silly jokes. I would excuse myself to the parlour and pout at the HD television hanging on the wall. “I dont like this television, it’s too clear and colourful,” I said when dad bought it to replace the old television. He planned to discard the old television but I protested we keep it in our room. I hardly believe anything I saw on the HD television. I preferred the old television, that gave a sharp contrast between a movie and NTA; when movies played on the VCD, the colours were bright but the moment NTA is flipped, the images blurs, and sometimes tiny black dots fill the screen. From tender age I learned to associate poor images to live broadcasts.

Our shared one-room was all Nonso and I had in common; beds placed side-by-side with the old television in-between. Nonso would lie down and face his wall and I would lie down and face mine. The only time we enjoyed flamboyant gist was when Super Eagles played; Nonso would lament how Enyeama punched a ball he was supposed to catch, how Mikel passed the ball to a defender instead of a striker, how Musa sometimes outrun the ball like a lorry without brakes. And when the images on the television blur, “Oh Lord! What is wrong with this stupid television?” he would scream and smack the television by the side, several times and unsuccessful, most times.

“Let me try.” I would say and tap the television gently by the side. This worked mostly. I concluded it was the television’s subtle way of saying ‘am old, please cuddle me’. Nonso would muse when I did get it right.

I went to the kitchen to get a glass of orange juice for Amara. As I passed the television in the parlour, a female newscaster was serious reading something. The image was spotless. I assumed a Nigerian movie was showing cut-scene news to drive home a point and didn’t bother to pay attention, because of my vendetta for Nollywood’s amateur movies. Amara screamed. I abandoned everything I held, dashed to see what was wrong. The expression on her face depicted horror. “Picture of Nonso and four others is showing on the screen,” she said. I turn to take a look, the television goes off.

5 EASY STEPS TO KNOW YOU ARE DEALING WITH A SWINDLER: IT MOSTLY STARTS WITH SMALL SOMETHING

The day 2014 closed its curtain, as usual, I sat to ponder on my successes, failures, growth, degeneration, stagnations and so on. One thought that kept resurfacing was how I was swindled from a singularly unexpected source – a ‘family man’ with a wife and son, a man I once worked with for close to a year. Inasmuch as I have forgiven him, the experience continued to traumatize me, so I thought of what best to do with the memory and an idea came to my mind; turn it into a lesson so that others can learn from it.

There is a popular notion that swindlers use juju (black magic) hence you must fall for them each time. This is not always true, at least 80 – 90% of the times, juju is not involved but psychology, they preoccupy your mind with illusions that you lose objective thinking, and think only what they want you to think.

Using my experience, I will lead you through some of the steps to identify a swindler. These steps are easy to understand and are the same in almost all the cases notwithstanding the direction they take.            

1)    THE FIRST CALL ALWAYS COMES FROM THE BLUE

“Hello, Tony” came the voice

“Hello sir.”

“Tony! I just finished speaking with the dean about that thing you told me and he is working on fixing your name into the shortlist. Send me your name, course of study and state of origin fast.”

“Ok sir!” I said and did as I was told as soon as I dropped the call.

My declaration of interest that sunny afternoon catalysed a cascade of a dozen other calls every now and then, for me to do this or that. Though I asked him to assist me secure a job in his establishment, that was a long time ago, more than a year even and we haven’t talked since that discussion. I had no reason to suspect anything at first because I knew him and I asked him the favour in the first place.

The scenario is virtually the same with all the cases of swindle I have heard of – the caller comes from the blue claiming to be a long lost friend, distant uncle or aunt or cousin or relative. After the initial introduction and sudden overflow of concern, what follows is them proposing to help you or seeking your help. Swindlers are not ghosts, they are people who know you or people who have spent a little time to study simple details about you with the fore knowledge that knowing someone’s name alone makes them lower their shield towards you.                                                     

                                                                                

2)    MONEY IS ALWAYS ATTACHED; EITHER AS A PRE-REQUISITE OR FOR APPRECIATION

Later that night, he called again to update me on the situation of things,

“Tony! Thank God o… Do you know what?”

Brief pause

“What?” I asked

“The dean forwarded your name and the list has been approved”

“WoW!” I screamed, “Thank you sir, may God reward you.” I told him with a sincerity erupting from the bottom of my heart. I mean this.

“Don’t worry, it is God, I will only struggle to make sure everything works. The only thing is that you did not buy the form and some people who bought the form were removed to accommodate the names from the dean and now the registrar is requesting for your file.”

“Ok” I chipped in.

“First thing tomorrow morning, send me the money so that I will help you get the form. The form is one thousand and also the dean is requesting for some appreciation, SMALL SOMETHING.”

“Ok sir, just send me your account number let me see what I can do.”

I thanked him again and again and ended the call.

He sent me his account number and I sent him a SMALL SOMETHING.

Though in my case cash got involved in a form of appreciation which was an indirect and smart way of putting it, in other situations – some of which I know people who have experienced – cash comes first. Some of the mundane techniques swindlers use to defraud their prey includes

a)      Showing you a bag full of money, sealed with juju and telling you they need money to pay a medicine man to remove the charm so that all of you will share the money claiming that if anyone touches the money without removing the charm, the person will die instantly. They promise you a fair share depending on the percentage you put in [If you come across this set, tell them to take the money to the medicine man and after he must have removed the charm they can pay him from the cash and share the rest].

b)      Another popular one is that you have won so so and so but have to pay some money for the processing [tell them to sell your winning, deduct their money and send you the balance].

The list is endless but this sort of defence works in all the cases. It only takes your consciousness to remember to use them. If I knew this earlier, I probably won’t be writing this post but such is life, some have to learn the hard way. 

                                                                         

3)      THE PROBLEM IS NEVER FULLY RESOLVED; AN OBSTACLE MUST COME UP

“Tony, the appointment letters have been released o…”

I screamed. Only a Nigerian youth yet to be battered by the trauma of unemployment won’t understand this feeling, what this meant.

“Thank you sir. God bless you sir. I promise you will never regret this,” rolled out uncontrollably from my lips.

“Tony thank God o. my own is just to make sure everything is successful. I will collect it for you later.”

This was happening a day after I sent him SMALL SOMETHING for forms and files. About an hour later, he called again to tell me the situation of things,

“Tony, I went to collect the letter but learnt you have to pay five thousand for the letter to be released to you.”

“Ok sir, let me see if I can send it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Tony people are collecting their own o. and the registrar has ordered that anyone that fails to collect should be replaced. You know it is through the dean you got this, I don’t want to make him feel that we are not serious.”

“Ok sir, let me see if I can get the money.”

“Please Tony, try your best.”

“Ok sir” I said and dropped the call.

Before banks closed for the day, I transferred him another SMALL SOMETHING.

The next day he called to tell me the local government chairman hijacked the letters and that he was demanding 5K to release it. After the last SMALL SOMETHING, I added up and found out I have spent BIG SOMETHING. There and then I convinced myself that I won’t send a dime again to his account. He told me he would help me secure courses while I ran around for the money.

As promised, late in the afternoon, I finished working and checked my phone, six missed calls stared back at me. I returned the call and he was shouting, furious at me,

“Tony! I have been calling you since and you refused to pick my call.”

“Sorry sir, I was busy,” I said.

“Send me recharge card let me text you your courses, I don’t have credit.”

I obeyed and sent him another SMALL SOMETHING for his phone.

That evening while I was in church, eagerly waiting for his text, I asked God for guidance and courage to say NO without flinching. Till I got home, nothing, so I decided to call him.

“Good evening sir,” I said, “I didn’t see your text again.”

He sounded like I was a pester when he said, “I am eating, I will text you when am done.”

“Ok sir.” I said and dropped the call.

Few minutes after the eagerly anticipated text came in, he called,

“Tony, the courses are remaining two” – because he sent four – “the person that will give the remaining two is requesting for SMALL SOMETHING.

“Sir, to be sincere with you, my account is red. You know I am not working and don’t have money.”

“I know but Tony, na money them dey use pursue money o. Let me tell you, I am in the system and assuring you there is no amount you put in that will be too much. You will have three hundred to three-fifty students and hand-out is one thousand and is compulsory. Some students will fail and come to meet you. In one semester you are sure of half a million, that is outside your salary o…”

He finished his sugary explanations and I ended the call. I am sure if I had played along, more demons would have been manufactured by him to truncate my hustle.                                          

                           

4)      THEY PLAY DOWN YOUR SACRIFICE AND EMPHASISE WHAT YOU STAND TO GAIN

Where he pulled the first wrong string was shouting at me to send him recharge card. I am a very sensitive person and inasmuch as I respect people, I hate someone shouting at me no matter the reason talk more of shouting at me because you think you are doing me a favour.

Having the guts to tell me about a rosy future while my ass burned red hot as I mourn the BIG SOMETHING I have thrown away was a huge setback for him and that was where my interest died. What swindlers do is to draw out your greed. The greedier you are, the better for them. This is because greed is a bad driver, and robs its passenger the power of rational thinking.

Imagine if I had allowed my mind swirl on the borders of the good life he postulated, I would have kept spending till a point will come when the greed will fade and I will spend this time to protect what I have already spent.

5)      THEY SPEAK WITH AN UNWAVERING CONFIDENCE EVEN WHEN IT APPEARS THE SHIP IS SINKING

Along the line when he started laying down unforeseen problems, I begged him that I should come around and see things for myself and sort out what I can but he claimed that I would spend more if I should come around but since he was in the system, they wouldn’t like to inflate prices where there was any.

Most times, they keep a flat, toneless voice. Same tone they use to announce your little ‘success’ will be the tone they will use to tell you about a sprouting problem.

You may have begun to wonder how I broke free or did I just end the communication? No! You are wrong if you think the latter. He kept on pressurising me, stating clearly the time frame but each time I would tell him that I will run around and later in the evening when he calls back to know how far I have gone, I will tell him I didn’t succeed. One day he called again and I told him plainly,

“Sir, I don’t have money, please use your money and I promise to pay you when I start the job.”

Guess what he said,

“We have not been paid.”

Hilarious right?

Well, in your dealings with anybody, always keep the consciousness that the person may be a swindler close.

BEFORE THE ‘I DO’

There are three very important dates or days for every individual; birthdays, marriage anniversary (priestly anniversaries for those that embraced chastity) and the not so pleasant death day. The first two are remarkable in the life of any individual and where resources permit, celebrated in grand style under a special jubilee name depending on the number of years being celebrated.

Jubilees are named depending on the number of years in question as follows: Wood (5 years), Tin (10 years), Crystal (15^th), China (20^th), Silver (25^th), Pearl (30^th), Ruby (40^th), Gold (50^th), Diamond (60^th), Platinum (70^th), and Titanium (100^th).

It is worrisome how rarely, these names sound in our present age especially in the case of marriages. Most marriages today start out very promising but all of a sudden flip-flops and crash land on a dead end, even before it ever gets to kiss a Wood or Tin.

Often, I sit and ponder, “How did water get into the coconut? What has led to demeaning of marital vows? Our parents enjoyed marriages that span long years, sometimes brought to an end by death but the case is different today.”

Only recently, I came to a conclusion that it must be one of two things or both; it was either they were ill-informed about the institution or they played down some salient yet vital points in the course of courtship.

So before you seal your mind on whether to say I DO or I DON’T, here are some factors you should consider:

FINANCE

You may have at one time or another heard various versions of these sentences from a girl, “It doesn’t matter if he has money or not. What I want is a responsible man who would love and care for me.”

Believe me, the moment you get to the point of no return, only then will you realise money has always mattered and will continue to matter. A candid advice, you young man planning to tie the knot should observe yourself. If you find it difficult giving yourself three rich and sumptuous meal every day, it would be best you held out a little longer and work on strengthening your financial muscle.

As a bachelor, if you don’t have, you may decide to go on a compulsory fast. But as a father and husband, I wonder how you would force your wife and kids into starvation – except if your system of government is tyranny. The moment you pull off bachelorhood and embrace family, expenditures are bound to mount and will climb higher with each new birth.

I know a man (name withheld) who used to sell petrol in black market to survive. He wasn’t rich but looked good at that time. Years passed and he felt he was aging and took a wife. Today, he sells buns with a basket. Worse of all; he now dresses like a man who narrowly escaped lunacy. I didn’t put this here to mock him but to drive home a point. Marriage is not a factor of age but a factor of when all the other factors especially finance have been put in place.

TRADITION

Naturally, this singular factor shouldn’t be on the list or considered even, but, in Nigeria and as a Nigerian getting married to another Nigerian so that both of you would live in Nigeria, it matters a lot.

Like I mentioned in one of my previous post, some tribes see themselves as superior while others to them are abominations and misfit. The uniting cloak of Nigerians was rendered between nineteen sixty seven and nineteen seventy and the friction will forever live among us. Fingers would always be pointed.

While the romance is hot, make out time to learn the tradition of your partner and wherever whenever they differ. Ask yourself, “Can I conform with this or in the case where I can’t, will I be able to modify it to my satisfaction?”

In the long run, you will find out you didn’t get married to the girl alone but to her family and her community at large. Very few inter-tribal or inter-ethnic marriages in Nigeria cross the Silver mark, majority crash after few births. Also bear in mind that ethnic frictions are bound to intervene, discuss the various possibilities among yourself and also try to phantom how best to handle them when they do come.

PRIDE

If your aim of getting married is to prove a point, to drink at the table of MEN, then you need not bother to get married at all. A number of ideologies have fuelled or caused people to venture into marriage when deep down, they know they are not ready.

One of such idea is embedded in according married men respect as responsible men. The lighted cannon on this is that it makes marriage appear like an achievement. But that is not what marriage is.

Let me help you to think this through: achievements are rewards people get for working so hard and probably attaining success in that field. One thing common with achievements is that, once the applause dies, the awardee shelves it and goes out in pursuit of another. Now you decide if that is what your definition of marriage is – I do know that marriage is noble and was ordained by God.

If I ever tell you to mention your achievements and along the line, you say, ‘and I am married’, I will shake my head and walk away. Marriage isn’t something to brag with, rather, a model to teach. Marriage should be in the picture when you are trying to buttress your CV, trying to show your sense of responsibility and your years of successful marriage should add a plus to your managerial skill.

What that idea that marriage is an achievement does – especially to most ladies who view it as the summit of their existence – is, makes them woe young promising young men into giving them their surnames. Some go extra miles to pin their targets down with pregnancies.

For young men, it makes the ones that are obviously write-off in all spheres of life – socially, emotional, financially, spiritually, and so on – to take up a wife just to have an achievement tagged to their once worthless names.

I however laugh at ebullient and vibrant young men that truncate their hustle in the name of love and marriage. Concrete jungle shall be their home, cold ground their bed and stone their pillow.

Finally, all these wasn’t said to stand you between I DO and I DON’T, to scare you from getting married, rather, to prepare you for the task ahead. I don’t hate marriage as some may presume already but its fall. After you might have read this, I don’t assume you would agree with all of it and that’s why the comment box is just below for you to tell me your own side of the story.

THE POINT YOU WISH NOT TO GO ON…

It is said, ‘the harder the battle, the sweeter the victory’. But I tell you, if the battle becomes too hard, the sweetness of the victory would be lost. Same could be said about failures which many claim to be the definition of an individual’s strength and weakness. However, failures – especially those from parameters beyond our control – that comes in the wake of glaring success casts shadows on the authenticity and or validity of such quotes on failure.

I like many other ambitious and zealous Nigerian youth have failed, not once, not twice. In fact, I have lost count. More intriguing is that the failures am talking about isn’t in my entire life rather an aspect of it – my writing career. If I venture to compile the former, Guinness would be forced to create a new World in their Record Book (that is if I would ever complete such a mission).

From the inception of my writing till date, I have entered countless writing contests, still yet to succeed in any. I always approach all the contests as if it was my last chance; write-out my heart, de-ideating my brain in the process. Next thing I do is go through the rigours of getting close friends to read, review and spot typos and missing strings. The body language of a handful of my friends tells me that am already a burden to them. Some will give me a hasty reply, ‘LATER’, which more often isn’t delivered. Some am sure don’t even read but will reply in emphatic adjectives – and I warn that giving someone too much false hope is a grave inhumanity to your fellow man – that will make my head swell and up my confidence and aspirations,

“Ah! It’s very good”, “You are a great writer”, and so on to avoid hurting my feelings. In the end, only a few give me helpful tips.

Laden with huge confidence and the internal pride of self-accomplishment, I would submit these write-ups with unwavering optimism. When the results are released however, the story is different. My confidence and mental strength drains on reading those demonic lines,

“Dear Anthony, we are sorry to tell you that your story does not fit…” bla bla bla…

Some go ahead to explain their reason for rejecting your work probably to console or force the bitter lemon sweetly down your throat,

“being rejected doesn’t mean your story is bad but that it doesn’t fit into the working plan…”.

The very first of these sorts of replies – that would later be a reoccurring stanza in my rhythm – left me broken for days and weeks. Today however, their poisonous effect doesn’t get me bed ridden anymore because my mind has produced immunity against them.

Truly, nobody wants to plan and still fail or get disappointed. We all set goals – albeit at different levels – and aspire to reach them. The only enemy standing on our way is usually failure. It often succeeds but if you don’t allow it to hold you down, you’ll be surprised at how farther you’ll go beyond your initial target.

Today, I would write a story – even the smallest in word counts – and I’ll keep getting buzz and commendation from people I’ve never met my entire life. Most of them say I write so well they look forward to my new posts. At such times, I would look back and flinch, not in disgust but constant realisation of how I wouldn’t have become a better writer if I had listened to the loud voice of inertia and dropped my pen after that first wave of cascading failures.

Yes! That’s the point am trying to make obvious. The more you remain resolute in what you do, in your dream and aspiration, the moment you muffle all the voice telling you to quit, you set yourself on the path of excellence. This may not turn you into an instant award winner but one thing you’ll be sure of is that you’ll not be the same person you were, you’ll become a better you. I am a better writer, I know that, don’t ask me how. And I believe the awards and recognition will one day come.

This brings me to the pathetic tale of a friend of mine who for a very long time had stood by me, feeding me with unrivalled amount of motivation. Recently, this friend explained to me how one could draw inspiration from ones immediate mind state; joy, bitterness, depression, anger and so on. As I write, this friend is in dire need of solace and motivation. I guess even the motivator sometimes needs motivation and it would be thirty-third degree evil of me to sit and watch at such a time.

This friend of mine right from undergraduate days to post NYSC had strong in heart to make a mark in the world, to stand out, to be distinguished. Early this year, the friend applied for a Master’s scholarship and got it. I was all stressed up and angry that afternoon when I got a beep on my whatsapp. It was this friend and the message read,

“I have something to tell you.”

I quickly replied, “I hope it’s something good” – my current life is enough bad news.

“Yes” was the reply.

Much later that day, the friend broke the good news to me and I rejoiced deeply because of how much I knew this friend has struggled for this opportunity. A month later, the Korean government sent the visa and every other document required. All the while, my friend often told me of a premonition that something may go wrong, but I dispelled the fears every time it came up in our chat. In fact, I began to relay my fantasies and what I would like this friend of mine to do for me on getting over there – I think that was faith. Was it?

My friend was supposed to travel through Kenya to Korea republic. Barely a week to the journey, it was on Aljazeera that the Kenyan government has banned flights into its countries from Ebola hit countries.

“I am scared. The Kenyan government banned flights from Nigeria” was the message on my whatsapp that Friday morning.

“What? Have you contacted the Korean Government?” I asked.

“Yes but they won’t reply till Monday because today is their independence and tomorrow would be Saturday so it’s till Monday.”

“Ok. Don’t worry, am sure they’ll get you an alternative.” I said – maybe I was guilty too here of giving too much confidence.

“Am having panic attack”

“No need to, everything would be fine. Believe me.” I concluded.

The truth was, I panicked more than my friend but I said to myself that if both of us wept, who would console the other so I called up all the sangfroid in me to maintain my calm. Five days later, very early in the morning, I got the shocker,

“The programme has been cancelled because of Ebola” my friend had written.

I tried effortlessly to contact my friend but my friend would not pick calls. This development has left me also devastated. If my friend will have the heart to read this, know that I share in your pain and shutting me out only made it worse for me.

This taught me that aspirations are like steaming soup; we may smell the aroma from far away or even close but may never get to taste the soup. Just when the light at the end of the tunnel beamed so brightly, its rays was choked off suddenly from the least expected source. It’s weird how things that seemed not to matter would turn around and ruin our dreams.

How would my friend have predicted this fate the day the Liberian ‘madman’, Patrick Sawyer exported the deadly virus into Nigeria? Let’s leave aside the blame game because of the strong strings animosity it would wield likewise the healing wound it would chaff again.

Now this friend of mine is probably in a sort of trance; lonely, torn, depressed. At this point, the religious would often say, “God knows the best.” This is one phrase that vexes me the more and I would advise my friends never to use it for me – I think too much and this sentence may set me on a wrong path with my creator, my Dear God Almighty.

To my friend I would ask, “Do you think this missed opportunity is the highest you think you’ll ever attain in your entire life or do you think you deserve and can get a better one if you work towards it? If your thought resonates with the second part of my question, then you’ll have to get up, dust yourself and forge ahead. I have been in a trance before and I don’t think it’s what one will even wish for an enemy. One thing is certain when one is in a trance: nothing anyone tells you makes sense except that which you tell yourself.

Finally, beyond every disappointment is a lesson learnt, if you keep trying and refuse to quit, IT CAN ONLY GET BETTER.

 

 

FIFA: THE JOKE OF EXTERNAL INTERFERENCE

 

Am not an ardent soccer fan – except am the one with the pads – but the current crisis farrowing in the Glass House pushes me to pick my paper and pen. Believe me, am flogged mentally for my prolonged resistance.

Corruption and the NFF hitherto are like Siamese; successive administrations bedevilled by fraud, misappropriation of fund, maladministration and so on. The once peaceful shenanigans hit a rock immediately after the exit of the Super Eagles from the 2014 World Cup in Brazil, exposing to Nigerians what otherwise was intended to remain indoors.

The public show of disdain, disgust and distrust began on the 4^th of July when a court order got the NFF president, Aminu Maigari removed on grounds of corruption and later on, arrested and detained by the men of the Department of State Security. This move attracted the mighty rod of Oga FIFA; raining sanctions and bans on the Nation for what it called external interference.  In view of the negative impact the ban and sanctions would have on upcoming international tournaments the country has spent time preparing for, the government – or whoever was in charge – was forced to upturn its decision and return Maigari to office.

Roughly three weeks later, Maigari was sent packing again by eight of the thirteen man Executive Committee of the NFF. This again attracted the red eyes of FIFA; memo upon memo on letter-headed paper from the mother body. The acting president couldn’t resist for long and left the sit for its rightful owner – but not without carving out his own faction. Will this be recorded as one of those cases of good triumph over evil? I don’t think so.

The drama hit crescendo recently and this time, it is between the NFF and the Electoral committee. Let me give you a brief gist of what is going down in case you were not informed too. The NFF Electoral Committee earlier scheduled the election of a new president to be held on the 26^th of August 2014. Following the rippling sack and reinstate saga of the president, the Executive Committee decided to set aside that day to sit and forge a way forward rather than holding the election.

Lo and behold, the Electoral Committee – mind you, constituted by the Executive Committee – has come out strong to say that nothing would stop the election from holding on that day (a case of the servant becoming bigger than the master).

Now, let’s relax and ponder on some critical issues. First off, am pushed to ask why the Electoral Committee is headstrong on the election when the body that formed it says NO. Does it not smell fishy? Does it not spell hidden agenda? Come to think of it, the accreditation process of prospective candidates was very suspicious; I heard on radio that some candidates were disqualified because one receipt or the other was missing, others for a ban that happened decades ago. It got to a point I had to conclude that if they (Electoral Committee members) liked your face, they’ll get you approved and vice versa – like they don’t want anyone that would come and beam light in their darkness and was setup to foresee to that end.

The unending ban-threat by FIFA on what it calls ‘External interference’ has become obsolete and irritating with the current state of sports development in some countries, using Nigeria as a case study. One may argue that it is a universal law hence why should Nigeria be an exemption. Yes! Nigeria is driven by a bunch of corrupt leaders – and that’s putting it mildly.

The attempted removal of the President was occasioned by what the members termed gross embezzlement of the funds set aside for the soccer mondial. The fart in the NFF smelt round the world when the Super Eagles players refused to train till all their entitlements were paid. We all know what happened next; how President Goodluck Ebele Jonathan called the players personally to resolve the issue. In fact, this has become a reoccurring decimal in the life of the national soccer body.

Did FIFA at this point not see it as external interference? Why did it not ban Nigeria at this point in time?

We are aware the Nigerian government is the backbone of sports in Nigeria. That is why year in and out, Nigerians suffer in the form of tax to raise the money for the government to finance these events in the annual budget. Is it possible telling someone to put his/her money where his/her mouth isn’t?

Let us approach this matter practically from a layman’s view: assuming I sent my small brother to the market and he came back without justification for my money, them am supposed to fold my hand and watch him or even clap for him just because Dad said we shouldn’t beat our younger ones. No way! He’ll either produce my money or I’ll beat silliness out of him.

If FIFA should insist on NO EXTERNAL INFLUENCE then it should be ready to take up responsibility on total financing of the game globally unless it creates a clause in its constitution for an exemption because the current policy stands more for corruption than the independence of the game.

Why did fire have to engulf the financial offices of the Glass House and not any other place? And why is it happening now that people are pointing fingers?

Listening to the Radio Nigeria programme, ‘Radio Link’ on Saturday 23^rd August 2014, I learnt from one of the guests Mr Austin Mgbolu, former spokesman of the NFA that he had five levels of communication with FIFA and that he was surprised how some of the FIFA decisions eludes him till it come on a letter headed paper. This again draws my mind to how mischievous Nigerians could be. I will advise the NFF to verify the authenticity of any letter that comes to it before acting in accordance and on the part of FIFA, they should file such information which may seem trivial under the respective countries on their web pages for easy verification of its authenticity.

Finally, I present a passionate appeal which am sure represents the supressed murmur of most Nigerians at the moment to the warring parties of the NFF: sheath your sword and lock your barrels for the sake of the young talented Nigerian youths whose career and dreams you are toiling with. Imagine if the initial ban was upheld, we won’t be talking Nigerian Falconets getting to the finals in the 2014 U20 Women Wold Cup and probably lifting the cup. The likes of Asisat Oshoala – who I call in my own words SUPER STRIKER because she reminds me of Shegs Okoro in that comic book – and Sunday and a host of others wouldn’t have reached the level of success they recorded and also would have missed playing at that level all their life.

It is my sole prayer that Leaders – no matter how small the post – in Africa would emulate the life of the great Madiba, the great Nelson Mandela and shun the sit-tight mentality, learn to quit power easily when they perceive they are no longer wanted by the people, learn to give way after one tenure in office knowing that no one can do it all.

RURAL TOURISM

Travel is said to be a great part of learning. Basically, travel is either for business or pleasure and rarely both. This time I travelled for the latter (tourism). Born and brought up in the city of Makurdi, capital of one of the North Central states of Nigeria. I often got mystified when conditions of rural dwellers were narrated. Most times I nod in the gist to the comfort of the teller while convincing myself that those tales were merely exaggerated to gain audience.

Come the fall of 2012, I decided to see for myself. As widely known, ‘charity begins at home’, I took a trip to Echori, a village in Obi local of same state, notorious for its savage lands. The trip was not in short of enthusiasm as can be expected of any tourist expedition.

We got to a junction from which a dirt road branched off. The driver turned to us and said, “This is the farthest I can go”.

Our heart skipped as we got down and pondered on what next. I almost forgot to say I went with a friend, just in case. Two motorcyclists came and stopped.

“Where una dey go?” One of them asked in broken English.

“We want to get to Echori,” I said, “How much?”

“Oga, two of you seven hundred but one person na five hundred,” the motorcyclist explained.

We hired the two in the end. As we went deeper into what seemed like a forest, we met other cyclist plying the road. I was convinced my thoughts had demeaned the exaggerated gory tales of rural dwellers. A village with such huge number of motorcycles must be more civilized than speculated. Isn’t it?

Further in, we were greeted with houses made of mud bricks – not plastered – and rusty zincs or thatches. That moment, the reality of how wrong I might have been hit me. On arrival, at the place the cyclists advised us to go because we could easily get accommodation, children rounded us – most of them cladded only on dirty pants.

We intended spending a week but realism cut the tour to two days: the only borehole – manual by the way – released only one bucket of water every three hours, there was nothing like electricity because they were cut off from national grid, the houses where apologetic. There was no way I could endure longer.

Besides the odd stories, good stories also abound: as little as two hundred naira could prepare you a sumptuous full pot of nutritious soup because of the low cost of living.

What captivated me the most was how little children would poo-poo and rub their butt on sand afterward. We took photographs of the kids, albeit they were shy at first. When we prepared to leave, we left behind cutlery, toiletries, clothes and so on. At least am sure they’ve had the experience of wiping their butt with tissue paper till I return – that is, IF I would ever return.

TALES FROM A BROKEN HOME

Chibuzor had always been a force to reckon with in the race for who tops the class at some point in his primary years – a very cheerful and vibrant young lad. As expected, he came first at the end of the term. It was a brief three weeks Christmas holiday. On the day of resumption, the class was bustling with tales and gossips when Chibuzor ghosted in. That was unlikely and immediately caught my attention – the real Chibuzor always made a scene of his entrance.

‘What happened?’ I asked, an arm over his shoulder.

He was silent for a while before the words flew out of his mouth, ‘Daddy. And. Mummy. Fought. All. Holiday.’

The forceful and drolly manner in which the words came told me he never intended to share. I was pushed to ask further questions but my heart would not let me, gazing at his lifeless face. I rather provided as much solace as I could muster. His mood lightened over the next coming weeks with constant encouragement and friendly nudge. About a month later, he came to school with watery eyes. Walking straight up to me, he broke down in tears,

‘Mummy has gone away,’ he cried.             

I hugged him tightly and let his tears soil my uniform on the shoulder. He cried his heart out and cleaned his eyes. I for once knew I wasn’t sure of what to say so I kept quiet. Later, at break time, I engaged him in an elaborate chat. That was when I found out that his mum was from the Idoma ethnic group while his dad was Igbo by tribe and that tribal difference sprouted the dispute, somehow. His father forcefully took custody of them and sent them to the village. Chibuzor never got to make it to the top of academic excellence he was known for and currently enjoys a meagre salary as a teacher. Probably, his academic excellence would have made way for a better fortune for him but that was never to be. Tribal difference at then to me didn’t present any meaning, talk more of being a threat to peaceful  coexistence until years later when I prepared to leave home for university.

I had packed my bag that morning and readied to leave when my father called me aside for a last minute fatherly advice,

‘Ebuka, come here,’ he had called.

‘Sir?’ I responded and came over.

‘You are now leaving for the university so be very careful and face your books.’

Brief pause, I nodded.

‘Yoruba girls are dangerous, they easily charm men. Run from Nsukka girls (who are also Igbo but with confusing accent) too because those ones behave like the Hausas and you know very well Hausas don’t have sense. The Calabar girls…’

I felt uneasy with the discussion because I at then had a phobia for women (caused by his ugly tales about women) which obviously he had failed to observe so I let my mind trail off cutting short assimilation of his words. To my father, every other race or tribe – even those of his tribe but with different accent – had demonic tendencies.

Watching him talk to people of other tribes rudely or associate with them coldly was to him justifiable because they were evil. When I grew older however, his mentality gradually washed off me and I began to make my own judgements. Firstly, I realised that there was no such thing as a bad race but bad people; my secondary school classmate who helped me put out my best through his unending competitions was Yoruba by tribe, the girl that became my personal teacher after my first year woes in the university was Igbo by tribe but from a different state of origin (in fact, shares the same state as the Nsukkas), the girl that fed me with sumptuous meals to ensure I didn’t die from my poor diets during my service year (of mostly soaked garri and sugar) was a Yoruba Christian from a Muslim ancestry.

It is without doubt that many ethnic groups or race see themselves as being superior to another. This mentality to a large extent directs their behaviours towards the acclaimed lesser tribes or race and vice versa. This same mentality has pulled down most inter-tribal and inter-racial marriages due to pressures from families of both parties. Therefore, it is easy to see that causes of disunity stems from the mentalities we flaunt.

Another conclusion I reached quickly was that every chaos had a small beginning. Such thing as a simple feel of superiority or inferiority by an individual or a small group could blossom to a nationwide mayhem if not nipped at the bud. Same can be said about religious and political violence – they mostly start with one party posing as superior or threatened.

As a teacher now in a remote primary school, I saw how a simple advice could turn around an individual’s life. Jemila wasn’t witty in the class albeit she manages to secure promotion at the end of every session. I had observed her solitude for some time and it was worrisome. It was break time when I entered the class – haven completed a lesson with another class – and found her sobbing.

‘Jemila, come here.’ I said when I was seated.

She walked sluggishly from behind the class to my seat at the corner of the front of the class, ‘Sir?’

‘Why are you crying,’ I asked.

‘Nothing,’ she replied amidst tears. She was reluctant to say but after few more times of repeating myself, she burst out her tantrum, ‘I don’t like what Joy and favour are doing. They are always insulting me that I don’t know anything but don’t talk to Juliana. Anything I do in this class is different. Is it because I don’t have father or mother?’

At that point, I didn’t want to hear anymore. Children will always be children; they always seek fun even if it means capping on the weakest classmate. I didn’t think twice before I gave her my reply,

‘Why are you behaving like a kid? Don’t you know that they like to see you cry and you are making it easy for them? When next any of them insult you, insult them back and if they beat you, come and tell me and I will take it up from there. Stop seeing yourself to be inferior to them and mingle freely with them and you will see how they will come to respect you.’

Even though I said the words so convincingly, I still nursed doubt if she would ever take it or if it ever works. But alas, she heeds to it and it worked! The once shy and timid Jemila soon began to bubble with life and excitement and even joined the boys to play ball. Although those words didn’t change her poor grades, it changed her worldview and I think that’s most important – I gave her something to live for. Imagine if I hadn’t taken that bold but sublime step but throttled the road of ignorance. Maybe she would have sought solace elsewhere and could easily get it amongst bad company. This would have been terrible because her default demeanour towards the world and everything it contained would have been hate. This same animosity I presume consumes terrorists when they launch their attacks.

When individual’s feelings are neglected or treated mildly, be it the feeling or superiority or inferiority, we pay the ultimate prize, war. Most importantly, we should put the future of our young generation first before taking any major decisions that could make or mar them. The fight against terrorism should begin from the home. As it is said; “You can’t give what you don’t have”, so also, a war torn home can never make a peaceful society.