Funmi Iyanda

They asked for ID (you need an ID to breathe in America now) and I pulled out my green passports (three stuck together, many visas, as Nigerians we require visa to exist) in resignation. As expected he says, maam, you need to step aside… and so began the second search of my person and possessions in a walled off corner of the security gates. Post 9/11 l know that by virtue of my nationality I am high on the security random profiling list for terrorism (plus drugs, 419, child trafficking and prostitution), why l don't know for sure. All day they had been announcing that the security alert has been raised to orange and last night l had watched reports of the botched terror attacks in the UK. As l endured the indignity of the search, my mind is on this unwinnable war on terror. What will it take to make the developed world a safer place? We on the other hand are used to living in an unsafe world and before someone shouts about lack of parallels, consider the numbers that die daily from malaria, AIDS, TB, childbirth, armed robbery attacks, air and road accidents and such in a country like Nigeria. You might argue that the terrorists (politicians) in most African countries are within but one cannot deny the cumulative effect of colonial legacies, complicit multinationals, unfair trade laws and tacit support for bad governance whose trail leads right back to the developed world. Even if it is to stem mass migration, reduce the inequalities that are the tools of fundamentalists or just create new markets in youthful economies, the west must consider other methods of achieving internal security.

As l flew out of Aspen l noticed that there were even more private jets parked than usual, expected as some of the heavy hitters are flying in for the institute's ideas festival. The likes of Gen Powell, Bill Clinton, Richard Branson and Wyclef Jean. One of the high profile items on the agenda is the concert by jean and the focus on Africa. It would appear these days that you cannot get away from Africa talk.
When my friend Jide downloaded the 20 covers of this month's vanity fair 2 weeks ago, we were both peeved that there we only 3 (2 non resident in Africa) Africans amongst the stellar cast on the covers. Naturally we began talking about who is talking for Africa now and what they really know and this tiring unending image of Africa as one monolithic mass of dejection. I had my copy of the magazine with me during the search and watched as the security officer carefully (with gloved hands and gauze covered spatula) rift through it. My mind is fixated on those gloves and spatula, thinking how it is that doctors don't have these in some hospitals in Nigeria.

During one of my session in ACT II, the conversation was on global business and creating job opportunities to the poor majority of the world. I recall making the point that the tendency to see the poor as a non-viable inferior entity that must be helped is erroneous and is at the heart of the inability of the developed world to engage Africa on terms other than as a homogenous aid needing tragedy. Kimberley, our moderator then raised the issue of the controversy that aroused during the TED conference in Arusha, were some young bright entrepreneurial Turks of African origin had more or less heckled Bono and protested against the aid based approach to solving Africa's problems.

I do admit to a sense of disquiet about this new breed of crusaders and their methodology although l am persuaded of their passion whatever its root and find campaigns such as Bono's ONE Campaign compelling. To think that spending $200 billion a year will only amount to 1% of the budget of the "rich" world seem such a little thing to ask for. Should the money go into aid or investment or a combination of both as well as whom and what the conduits for such monies are is the real thrust of the matter. The West usually talks to the wrong people about Africa, l know this to be true certainly of Nigeria. They may talk the talk but only because they have learnt to do so. Finding and engaging those who actually walk the talk and most probably have no time (too busy trying to fix what usually is a basket case of misery) or the learning to talk it is the real challenge.

As a new generation of Africans insist that they must be engaged with and perhaps spearhead Africa's recovery, l call into question what their moral authority on, commitment to and knowledge of the majority poor. I am constantly faced with the emotional detachment of the new emerging middle, business and intellectual class of Nigeria to the challenge of reducing poverty. This generation may be more exposed and more educated than their forbearers but are they not just as guilty of the lack of understanding that leads to the sort of decisions, which widen class, and opportunities divide? Rampant cronyism, in trading and borderline criminal business collusion with dubious government officials is still the norm in corporate Nigeria. I have many young Turk pals with outstanding degrees from some of the most prestigious institutions in the world who are advisers, consultants and officials in governance and business, what l see frightens me.

This is not to cast aspersion on all because there are those who are genuinely concerned with building truly prosperous economies in their nation but we need to turn this harsh questing light on ourselves to evolve a self sustaining, self policing system which encourages
prosperity and freedom.

As this generation asks such hard questions and make tough demands of herself then we can confidently engage the growing army of external messiahs and leverage their collective star, intellectual and political power to pull ourselves and our people, majority of who are poor out of the abyss. Then the world will be forced to stop reducing us to a single dejected picture. Lets take a cue from Lee Kuan Yew who decades years ago went against the grain of popular ideology of the time and invited western business just so he can start with giving his enterprising people jobs so they can at least feed themselves, whilst he puts in place radical educational and economic policies that were the building blocks of today's prosperity and superior world image. I know it is not as easy as all that but that is the point exactly it is not meant to be easy but never has their been globally a generation more prepared, more virtually connected and more capable of achieving such audacity.

Due to some genetic anomaly, l am given to deep, oft convoluted and confused thinking which my friends swear must be one of the reasons for my high metabolism, l burn fuel just staying alive, thinking. I can vividly remember that at age 7 l used to sit and stare at the stars and try to understand existence, why am l here, why me and not some other kid for my mama, how do l add up in comparison to all these other people and the earth and the stars, where will l go after here and what is it like there. The Christian religion provided some answers soon enough but because of my rather colourful journey through the Christian faith (baptized catholic, raised cherubim and seraphim then Jehovah’s witnesses, became a reluctant born again Pentecostal in young adulthood and now ….) the answers where often conflicting. For example l was told to be sinless and blameless so l might go to heaven by most but the witnesses said the reward was an earthly paradise. What constitute sinlessness and blamelessness is hardly uniform except on the topic of sex. Religion has an obsession with sex. The concept of heaven and hell strangely never had the desired effect on me. I was neither afraid of hell nor desirous of heaven but l wanted to please God and honour the earth and other humans. Hell never scared me because in my childhood mental gymnastics l had become convinced that since the sphere before here is an unknown, unremembered entity, it either doesn’t exist or is not affected by my actions or inactions in this sphere besides if one is to burn in fire perpetually and eternally, it becomes the norm and therefore painless. Similarly as hell failed to strike the required mortal fear in me so did heaven fail to arouse the great desire. It just always seems to me that heaven will bore me to tears. Clean, blameless, white clothed, singing people eternally happy and smiley? Where is the challenge? If happiness is eternal and the norm how will we appreciate it as a desirous emotion since we have nothing to compare it with. In an existence where it is all done, all perfect where is the joy? Unless the nature of man will change, in which case we became other types of creatures, the eternal pain or happiness argument never worked for me. Ditto the concept of paradise, l am more inclined to accept a utopia on earth but it still seem to me that it would be a bland boring existence where the plants, season and people are perfect and healthy and happy whatever they do or do not do.

However since l am a believer in intelligent creation whether He or She is God or a non embodied intelligence, and desirous of a mostly happy existence here on earth in my allotted time and a similar existence for the largest majority of all such fellow humans on this sojourn with me, l am interested in understanding the nature of that intellect and the rules which work best to create a mostly happy existence for the largest majority. That is my spiritual quest, not out of fear or selfish desire or egotistical quest for immortality but a desire to make the best of this gift of life that l have and know for myself and the rest of creation and to happily expire into the nothingness that l came from. Now what is so scary about that?
Note of course that all this introspection today is the result of being bored stiff in paradise, all the order, beauty, security, the clean, happyish, fit, healthy mostly white (The waiters ignored me for 30 minutes at a restaurant yesterday until l asked if l was required to dance naked before getting a bowl of mussels) people are beginning to get on my nerves.

I leave Aspen this morning for the flawed big apple, l am more comfortable with the constant pursuit of happiness and perfection. How will we recognise pleasure if we have never felt pain?

I was startled when a fellow from India said to me that after reading the CV of the fellows from around the world and America and absorbing the quality of the on going conversations, she cant help wondering what the heck she is doing here. Startling because in comparison to her and all the others l am wondering what the heck l am doing here.That is the beauty of this convocation of all the classes of Henry Crown fellows and the classes of the leadership initiative fellows from all over the world. The amount of brainpower, accomplishment, human values and the potential for moving from success to significance in each plenary session is overwhelming. No matter how well you might
be doing, measurable less in terms of career success but in terms of influence on the development and growth of the good society in your own space or sphere you feel challenged to do even more. Here your core human values and intellectual abilities are stroked, toned, honed and challenged to greater endeavour. It is all the brainchild of one incredible human being called Keith Berwick (more on Keith and his wife Sheena later). The past few days have been challenging but rewarding for me as l struggle with jet lag, dehydration, home sickness (l want eba and okro, my daughter, my friends) and engage with some of the brightest minds around the world on diverse issues. I have concentrated on the challenge of delivering access, equity and quality in education to all as well as examining how business can help to create opportunities for the majority poor. I shall share thought on this in subsequent posts. One of my favourite sessions here was the afternoon chat with professor Wole Soyinka. I sat there blushing with pride as he spoke and engaged the audience. I even managed to stand up and ask what many of the other fellows have described as brave, hard but important questions. I am equally honoured and humbled to be here and I feel that in many ways the universe prepares me as she does us all to be so much more.

I woke up this morning and the sun is dancing on my face through the
five-foot windows in the bedroom of my chalet. I look out and l see
the rows of trees stretched as far as the eye can see with beautiful
homes and gentle streams nettling amongst the vegetation even as they
all are gently cradled in the bosom of an imposing mountain. Is that
snow I see on top of the mountain, in July? I tried to understand the
song the birds are singing even as l recalled the sight of the
indolent deer jauntily strolling by as we returned from the party at a
ranch last night. Dele Olojede had said earlier that he and some of
the Henry Crown fellows had been interrupted from their wine and
cigars by a benevolent bear the night before. In this my second visit
to Aspen and stay at Aspen meadows l am still in awe at the sheer
physical beauty of the town, the utopia like quality of the lifestyle
and the demonstration of human capabilities evident in the landscaped
mountains and exotic living. As the brilliantly sardonic and American
upper middle class James keeps assuring me, this is dreamland by
anybody's standard. They even have parking lots for private jets and l
cannot describe to you the beauty, style and grace of the many homes l
have visited here. By the way this is a community where the average
corner shop is a Prada store and the community rag is a free, all
glossy magazine with more high end luxury product adverts than all the
magazines in Nigeria and most of the ones in south Africa. As l said
it is dreamland even for America and with the descent of the fellows
from Africa, this is the first ever-largest collection of black people
seen at one time in the town. We were about 25. The other thing about
this community apart from the insane wealth or because of it is that
the people are super fit and healthy, everyone looks tanned, fit hard,
strong and ageless. It must be all that hiking, kayaking,
mountaineering, paragliding and botox. There are more facelifts per
square metre in Aspen than LA and l have am yet to see a bad hair cut
or non blow dried hair especially amongst the older citizens.

Growing up as a Jehovah's Witness l became familiar with an image of
paradise from the many pictorial representation in Watchtower, Awake
and the many books and magazines they produce. The clean, safe
environment, the happy, smiling, healthy, youthful, (granted no botox
and facelifts) fit (come to think of it, there was never an obese
person in sight in those pictures), people and the trusting
interaction between man and beast (aside the deers and bears there are
dogs of all pedigree crawling out of every crevice here). I was told
that all l needed to do was live a blameless, sinless life and preach
that life to others then l would end up in paradise. Now that l have
seen the location of paradise, l know that all l need to do is make or
marry tons of money and l can move over to paradise

Just got this sent to me, think you'll find it interesting. I come in peace so l will ignore the cringe worthy comments et al and look at this from another perspective. I have often argued that the world will take you, your language, your culture serious when you become relevant mostly economically but also in other ways. Apart from 419, hostage taking and occasional football feat, one way Nigeria has gained international prominence is through religion. Either by the gay opposition and the potentials for breaking the ranks and file of the Anglican Church or the large growing churches Nigerians control worldwide. Now if only we can direct such efforts and creativity into building national economic and civil prosperity, creating an unignorable global market given our population size and its potentials for rapid growth then l swear they will not only sing church hymns in Nigerian languages, ogbono soup will become as cool as sushi in a brave new world.

BTW l wonder if a 9ja babe would be allowed to rock that sort of outfit on stage in a church, hey don’t shoot just asking questions. Thanks Wale Ajadi arakunrinmi omoluabi for sending the video. Ire o.

Its 4.53am at Denver airport, l am sitting on the floor, legs outstretched, typing furiously away. All around me there are snoring people of different nationalities covered in standard issue airport blankets and lying on camp beds, chairs and the floor. We all blur into a mass of unremarkable humanity except that if you look closely, l am wearing diamond studs and Chanel flats. What kind of homeless bag lady wears diamonds and Chanel? Well it's a long story.

2days ago l sat on my bed at 6am and watched the shrimp get ready for school, my standard red hard box travel box is packed and she keeps glancing at it suspiciously but perhaps unwilling to know the truth refrained from asking the obvious question. I did not know if l should say goodbye to her, as l had no idea at that moment if l was going to make the Virgin flight, l had no ticket you see. We both kept our peace and she left for school. I said a quiet prayer and chant and l left for the airport. That was when the drama began, because of the strike and the closure of banks and other personal drama l won’t bother you with, l had not been able to buy a ticket for the ACT II convocation on ethical values driven leadership l was billed to attend in Aspen Colorado.

It so happens that l did get a ticket at the airport that morning and had a good flight on board Virgin (addicted to the brand). I flew with Chris Ngige, Kanu Nwankwo, Asari Dokubo's cousin Princewill, Saheeto and Julius Agwu who insists on French kissing (no tongue) me every time we meet. With such an eclectic collection of travel companions, the conversation on board was illuminating but a story for another day. I spent the night in London and was at the airport by 6.30am for my uneventful flight to New York flight.

I arrived New York at noon and swapped my UK SIM for the American one (l no dey roam) praying that l would still have credit (minutes to Americans and airtime to South Africans) to call a friend who was supposed to have got me a flight to Denver and Aspen. He says l might be able to get on an American Airlines flight to Denver so l dash and caught a train to the right terminal only to be told that l won't make it through security on time. My friend buys another ticket online and l dash between terminals to get a boarding pass only to be told that flight had been cancelled. A few more frantic calls and l get my flight switched to a later one. In all of this my credit runs out and of course this is post 9/11 America so you cant just buy credit anywhere or get a new phone without plenty forms an registration. In London and Lagos, you can buy from the corner shop or traffic. So my benefactor buys some online and texts it to me but l had forgotten how to load it and had no credit to call him back so l am confronted with another annoying American habit. Nobody has the information you need unless you go through some complex officialdom just to credit a bloody phone! Finally did it through customer service. By now, l’d been travelling for 36 hours and was exhausted. Before l left home, l had suffered some weird food allergy and my face is a war zone of spots and acne so l am trying to eat healthy, in America? As l looked around at all the fast food, greasy food, dead food and sweet over processed food on offer l decided to go to the Virgin lounge. Another dash across terminals and l am in this glorified school canteen that is the virgin lounge in New York! It does not bear any resemblance to the virgin clubhouse at Heathrow and is even worse than the one in Lagos. The world weary waitress informs me only the bites are ready at that time and after l had the bland chicken noodle soup and pathetic bread roll which she insist must be called dinner roll (no granary or whole wheat here o) l left and proceeded to a restaurant were l ordered a huge fry up, with carrot cake and cookies, fuck the breakout, l need comfort food and might as well resign myself to the fact that l shall systematically poison my system with bad food whilst here as usual. At 7pm, l dashed across terminals to board my flight only to be told it had been delayed due to bad weather. 3 hours later, they board us and 2 and half hours after that the plane finally took off by which time it was 1am, l had been at that airport for almost 13 hours. There goes my hotel reservation and payment for a hotel in Denver as we arrived at 4am and l slump on the floor with the other weary, stranded and in transit travellers.

That was earlier today. After 48 hours, travelling l finally arrived Aspen at 9am and had only enough time for a quick shower and change of clothes before proceeding to the conference building. The day had been very eventful but that is yet another story. Aspen is a balm to my badly frayed nerves and my suite at the gorgeous Aspen Meadows is fantastic with the huge windows in my bedroom offering an incredible view of the mountains. America may be one of my least favourite places to visit these days what with the paranoia and non-visitor friendly facilities but Aspen soothes my spirits and the intellectual discourse of the next few days will nourish my soul. If only l could do something about the craters on my face, this even as l tuck into my third desert today, a most divine chocolate mousse.

I am not an Arsenal supporter and l confess part of it is just bloody mindedness and non-conformity because supporting arsenal in Nigeria is as pedestrian as weekend a Ankara sokoto and buba on open toed sandals combo to visit the mother-in-law. It's a new money, young family, little bit on the side, Pentecostal church going, middle class social wanna be thing to do. Arsenal fans in Nigeria can be so anal (yeah go on shoot me) so l support Chelsea because l find the drama of dubious Abramovich, arrogant Mourinho, scandalous player buying and take no prisoner winning strategy refreshingly anarchic and irreverent. I am rational enough to see the blatant intellectual laziness in the many generalizations contained in the sentences above but suck it, football supporting is not about reason. That said, l felt the pain of the gunners this weekend after Thierry Henry decided to end his 8-year run at Highbury and go on to the sun of Madrid. I admire and fancy (as hell) Thierry Henry not just because he is such a great player (got great abs and butt too) but because of his focus, discipline, devotion to the game, his family and his club and most of all his no nonsense approach to dealing with issues of fame, masculinity and racism. It is my belief that if Henry was wearing the slippers and Ankara combo to visit his mum in law at the weekend it will be because it felt comfortable on his skin not because he wants to conform or present an image that is far from the person he is. Who knows what his time in Barcelona will turn out to be like or how the rest of his career will go but to me Henry is the true golden balls, nay platinum balls baby! One of my fav Thierry interviews is in this month's edition of GQ but l cannot seem to find the link anywhere.


In all the talk about replacement for Thierry at Highbury, Nigeria's Obafemi Martins' name has featured prominently, of course it is no longer breaking news that he had a run in with armed robbers in Lagos last week and that the Nigerian police through the Lagos police PR officer Bode Ojajuni is contesting his claims. I find Ojajuni very interesting, in the numerous interviews l have had with him in the past l could never quite decide if the joke is on me and the viewers or if the man operates on his own unique planet.
Here is a sample.

The streets are empty save the odd cars and busses, the boys are on the road either playing football or selling fuel, the girls? Who cares what happens to girls, hopefully they are cooking and cleaning at home, and no doubt a fair number will be “servicing” past and present beneficiaries of the systematic breakdown of our structures.

Yesterday was the to be or not to be cliff hanger day as other unions backed out of the strike declaring satisfaction with the concessions made by government. The NLC held out for a reversal to the old pump price so it is that the strike is back on.
Why president Yar'Adua (already nicknamed GO SLOW UMORU for his lack of swiftness and dynamism in his first few weeks) would choose the puerile strategy introduced by Babangida and perfected by Obasanjo is confusing to me. Granted he didn’t effect the increase but surely this is a brilliant opportunity to not only legitimize his government but also win over new allies and the Nigerian people. None of that annoying babanomics that claims to seek to increase our national bank balance at the expense of our well-being. How long are we going to continue the rounds of hike, strike, and reduce? We must not only hold out for reversal of the odious increase but we must insist on a criminal investigation into what has happened to the billions sunk into energy and power reforms in the past decade and a half and the initiation of progressive innovative economic strategies for the overhaul, repair and growth of that sector. Why must we listen to the cross section of buffoons (to be nice) and shylock businessmen of the “squeeze the people to death” economics?
President Yar'Adua must make up his mind about the ends he wants to achieve (hopefully one that best serves the Nigerian people) in the energy and power sector and fire anyone who tells him that end is impossible, especially if such (as will most likely be the case) have been a part of this long running soap opera of “just charge them more” school of “innovative” thinking.

Was it not acceptable “knowledge” that it was impossible to produce antiretroviral at less than a particular price a decade ago? What happened when Brazil decided that she was going to offer them to every Brazilian who needed them for a token or free? They found the innovative, progressive minds to produce generics in Brazil and the courageous strategy (exploiting a favourable clause) to break the international patent. The result saved millions of Brazilians and changed the world in that sphere for not only did India follow suit, the huge profiteering pharmaceuticals had to crash their prices. I know the politics are different for health and oil and thus more viscerally deadly but it is possible to develop sound economic, energy and power policies that are humane, self-sustaining, locally functional and globally competitive. It only requires a courageous visionary who will find the brilliant minds (oft not to be found amongst jobbers, self promoters, praise singers, cronies, cohorts and concubines) with the commitment and human (certainly not religious) values to deliver the strategies, systems and methods. Question; will Yar'Adua turn out to be such a visionary? We have as long as the strike lasts to answer that question.

Its 5a.m and I’m wide awake on my bed listening to the prayer calls from my neighbourhood mosque, my mind is troubled as l contemplated the difficulties that will arise from the proposed Fuel/VAT hike strike, OBJ's parting back handed slap to Nigerians, something very much in his nature as he was arguably the first Head of State to approve a fuel hike. As at last night, the streets and filling stations had emptied, the lords of fuel (Olu epo) were out doing brisk business and traders and transporters had affected an upward price review. I get up to read the news online to the distant calming chant from the mosque and l heaved a huge sigh of relief. The strike is off, the government wisely negotiated with labour unions and civil societies. The battle is won, but the war is on. The war is the complete overhaul and reform of the very corrupt and inefficient Nigerian energy sector. In the meantime, in true Babangida time honoured tradition, what goes up always goes up. We will still have to bear a 5-naira increase, which might of course have been the original intention.



Calmer now, l moved on to other news and my temporary ease quickly dissipates. I read a story with a familiar pattern. Nigerian ex international Godwin Okpara jailed for rape in France. I was going to quickly move on thinking the victim to be some unwitting young white female unaware of our "no means yes, man wants, man is stronger, no one to stop him, no one is looking (except of course at Oshodi, during riots and armed robbery), man takes" mode of accepted social sexual behaviour. Not that it makes it better if it is a white girl, its just that the possibility of justice is much higher in those countries no matter what the "she was gagging for it" school of morons promotes. It was with a sense of distaste that l read that the female concerned was a 13-year-old imported servant (otherwise called house help) from Nigeria whom he had repeatedly raped in his garage. In his defence the ex footballer claimed that the sex was consentual. With a 13 year old, most likely poor and illiterate child employee whom he claimed to have adopted! The man must be mad! Even madder is the wanton ranting of an alleged friend of Okpara who posted a demented defence claiming that Okpara's wife is the witch responsible for his troubles and confirming that yes the rape was known to the player's wife and perpetuated by other males in the family too.
The true madness however is that such stories are so rampant in Nigeria it is almost an expected norm, why else do you think Nollywood is so compelling? Those stories, seemingly grotesque and so crassly told usually carry a pearl of truth that is familiar to the millions of Nigerians who watch it and it provides morbid fascination for others. I interviewed a young nurse for a nanny position yesterday and on enquiry as to why she isn't working as a nurse, she revealed that she was tired of the constant sexual harassment and near rape by doctors on night duty with her. From her countenance l suspect she has probably been raped in such a situation but God forbid she tells, and face ridicule, stigma and further abuse, at best she'll get pity, certainly she wont get justice as l have never heard of a case of a man convicted for the rape of an adult female or male. Even the few convicted of raping a child usually only get a slap on the hand judgement. At least the trafficked child in Okpara's case got justice.

No longer at ease, l read another story with a painfully familiar pattern, there was yet another collapsed building in Lagos with usual fatalities.Usually, nothing less than 100 dead is any cause for undue concern, l swear a public officer took offence on the show when l insisted that that fatality figures at one such disaster was more than he would admit. You people like to exaggerate, only about 150 people died he said. This latest collapse came one day after one collapsed in the same neighbourhood, which is one month after one collapsed in a Lagos suburb and that was 3 months after… the list is endless. I have done at least 5 shows in the past 2 years on collapsed buildings in Lagos. The station only agrees to air the shows when the death toll is horrendous especially if you cannot point a direct finger of indictment at the federal government, they don't care so much about propaganda and censorship for the Lagos government, that is LTV's responsibility. Personally l think one death is one too many and l fear this is going to follow the same pattern; there will be official huffing and puffing but the concrete of corruption, disregard of laws and inefficiency of the regulatory bodies at the bottom of such tragedies will not be blow away. What is sure to be blown away is yet another structurally incorrect, over crowded tall building in an area of bad drainage in Lagos.


By now l am a little despondent, then l sight a story on the ongoing Ehingate. The last two IGP have been exposed to be appallingly corrupt, any prizes for guessing why the police is in such tatters and armed robbery is on the rise. I have a moment of bliss as l recalled Hafsat Abiola Costello's comment about China's policy of execution of corrupt public officials as they are considered to be murderers. As the chants from the mosques faded in rhythm with the rise of the sun, it dawned (wink) on me that there is a ray of hope in the fact that they have been indicted in the first place. and if this was done across board then Insha Allah, we will be on course. So it was that l returned to Zen like calm and a hopeful spirit ready to face the new day, don't tell me l am being silly (this to that mischievous inner id) don't you know that is with this spirit we survive each day in the city of god? Why the heck can l not get that stupid Jeffery Archer's little story (Clean Sweep Ignatius) on a Nigerian official out of my head? What is it the book title? Yes a twist in the tale, sweet that coming from 'Lord' Archer.

Still on the topic of righting wrongs (yeah I know how that sounds), ANDY UBA IS OUT! Suddenly I am hopeful again.

The past few days have been an emotional blur. On June 12 I was at the town meeting at the Muson centre to mark the 14th anniversary of the rape of democracy in Nigeria. Prior to that fateful day, democracy had been taunted and harassed, post June twelve, her honour taken, she was systematically dehumanized until the 1998 reprieve. Now she walks around in bright new garments her wounds unhealed, her soul damaged even as she is chastised to smile, forget the past and keep moving. This appallingly by some of the active participants and bystanders at her rape and dehumanization. Some of the known casualties of the June 12 struggle where there but by far the most powerfully haunting moment was when three ordinary, young men, one of them with one amputated leg were called on the stage to be recognized. These men had been shot, injured and jailed during the dark days and they stood on that stage representing the thousands who were murdered, maimed or jailed. They also stood there an indictment to a government that had benefited from their sacrifices but had not deem it fit to honour them nor work towards entrenching a society where such sacrifices will no longer be necessary. As l left the event, l drove into one of those notorious Lagos traffic, a friend called that the tri weekly armed robbery operation at Osborne in Ikoyi had started so l calmly tell my driver to turn in the opposite direction.
Time to kill so l go to cactus and order a meal and l began to read THE KITE RUNNER. l only put the book down 3 hours ago. Why l had not read it before now is beyond me for l had heard about it. l followed the story of the young privileged Amir in pre Armageddon (that's what the Afghan long drawn out wars and conflicts are) idyllic through the wars to present day, the skilful, spare and haunting writing drawing me deeper into the taste, colour, culture, contradictions and eventual savagery of a nation gone wrong, the disturbing thing is that so much of the themes are chillingly familiar to me as a Nigerian.



In all of these, my emotional rollercoaster was briefly halted by a phone call from Mrs Betty Irabor, publisher of Genevieve Magazine. She was uncharacteristically flustered and the sum total of what she had to say was Funmi, l have made a terrible mistake, how can l make amends. Why not articulate your deep apologies and circulate it in the media, people will sense the genuiness of your feelings. She said she'll mail me a copy and we signed off. l sat back staring sightlessly into my book.

Here l was mulling over unrighted wrongs from June 12 and the great lengths a man is willing to go to right many wrongs in Kite Runner and l wade into this situation. If there is one thing l know for sure, it is that true bravery lies in the ability to right the wrongs we wittingly or unwittingly commit or even more importantly to right the wrong of others. Thus, Betty Irabor did the right thing to apologize to Yinka and Genevieve readers but most importantly, she faces up to the little and not so little acorns of prejudice in us all that can potentially grow into irokos of unspeakable wrongs.

:::This is from my archives, written for PM News and Tempo seven years
ago after a controversial match between Nigeria and Cameroon in
Lagos.....:::

It is the best of times and the worst of times; two angels are in the living room in heaven watching television. They are arguing and shouting. Then a rumble comes from the throne room.

God: Will you two cut out that racket!
Gabriel: Sorry sir! There is actually something very exciting going on in the problematic continent that may require your attention. Perhaps you should come and watch.

God: What is it? Another war? A coup? Or is it one of the Nigeria's Senators hyperventilating again? Cannot one create and then rest?
Fate: No sir, nothing like that, it's actually a football match between Nigeria and Cameroon.

God: Well then that is good; it will keep them out of trouble.
Gabriel: Oh my, oh my sir, that may not be strictly true for if Nigeria were to lose before this kind of crowd I see before me, I fear a civil war and as you know Lord, most of the clean up angles are engaged in Chechnya (that would be Iraq and Sudan today). We cannot afford such a catastrophe. Besides, that mad soul who is always screaming from the other side so much so the other demons are having trouble controlling him, you know, the dark goggled one that fate dragged off that land sometime ago will have cause to laugh.

Fate: Oh look father! They both pray to you, the Nigerians pray longer and all the spectators join the Nigerians to pray to you. Who shall you support?
God, E tu Fate, I suspect you have fallen behind on your bible review, go and read Matthew 6:5-6. Besides, I have no interest in football, l much prefer Tennis, didnt that designer angel, what's his name again do a good job with sharapova and the Williams girls? Besides I’ve got more important things to worry about, those white ones are cloning each other, altering their genes and getting set to mess up my work. Got to straighten things out. You, fate, deal with the match; after all, you are familiar with Nigeria.

Gabriel: Wonderful! The Cameroonians almost scored that third goal, what a disaster. These rough Cameroonians make the skilful Nigerians look almost ordinary, my, my, I foresee trouble.

Fate: Easy my boy, all will be well. I kind of like the Cameroonians. They are not rough but fit and strong. Any slight tackle from such is bound to look bad. What fine figures of athletism they are. Look at those tight butts!
(I hope you know that fate is a girl angel. Her fits of erratum are due to hormonal changes occasioned by PMS).

Gabriel: You and your mouth…oh look! Nigeria has scored and at the right time too, just before the end of this half! Wow!

Thirty minutes later…

Fate: Where have you been?
Gabriel: I went close up to hear what the prayer of the Nigerians was to begin the second half, there was problem with the NITEL line from them, it kept saying that the number was not obtainable so I had to go down.

Fate: wonderful! Did you see that goal! That surely is the goal of the championship. The player knows it too, look at him, the one they call Okocha, I have never seen him like that. He seems to be saying, not here, not on this soil, damn! This bloody line, I can't hear him well! Gabriel: The officiating is a bit faulty won't you agree? Look at that foul! Fate: I have told you. All will be well. Look, they are going into extra time.

Gabriel: Do something, fate, can't you see they are both exhausted?
Fate: Yes, but the Cameroonians still have power and the Nigerians have the spirit, they dare not lose here, what a match! Please don't pester me to intervene; I came here to enjoy a good game just like you.

Full and extra time later..

Gabriel: It is over. Now they have to take penalties, this is not good. It is not a good measure of who is superior. Look, that heart case boy of a couple of years ago does not want to take that kick, why are they compelling him to. He is not in the right frame of mind…oh God! (Sorry Sir thats Gabriel looking in the direction of the rumble)
He's lost it. Oh my, oh my.
Fate: (screams) Who did that? Who made that boy put his hands on his head? The ball crossed the line, who did that? Now the referee will uphold that it is not a goal because he is not sure himself. I said who did that? (remember the controversy of whether Victor Ikpeba's goal crossed the line before bouncing back and the decider being his own apparent admission of failure by putting both hands on his head)

An angel walks in with a sheepish look on his face.

Fate: You! Why did you do that?
Luck: The Nigerians played like champions but the Cameroonians deserved their victory. They had the spirit, the might and they prepared for this championship thoroughly. This is their time. For the Eagles, this is the limit of talent; for once, I choose to be fair. No victor no vanquished, just a stroke of me.

All nod silently and change channels to watch more interesting things
on the Jerry Springer show.

This sun is shinning so beautifully bright it blindens. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie won the prestigeous Orange Prize for Half of A Yellow Sun last night. I am joyed, l am chocked. Watch out for this girl people, there will be many more great moments linked to that name.
Congratulations babe!

Now get your vocals into this. A singing competition in blogsville? Bright idea from Pink- Satin and Miss Opeke. Even more interesting for me is how we can apply this kind of virtual communality to other areas (l am gleefully rubbing my palms together and lasciviously licking my lips here). Did someone say orange revolution? Easy, down gurl! Lets start with the singing first or at least let others start, can't sing to save my life and have been paid in the past NOT to sing.

This was one of those ongoing numerous congratulatory adverts for Mr. president and any other new person in power. I am speechless.

June 4th. Exactly 11 years ago, Alhaja Kudirat Abiola was assassinated in Lagos, those were the dark darks. In these grey days my mind is on her legacy. Later today, I and her daughter Hafsat Abiola Costello will be leading a delegation of women to the governor of Lagos to
raise certain issues. Hafsat through her organization KIND is interested in getting greater female representation in governance (Nigeria has only 7.5%, less than anywhere else in Africa including Rwanda), l am interested in making Lagos FEMALE FRIENDLY in terms of structure, form and laws.

I have never told her this but my fondness for Hafsat stems from the fact that she is the only one of MKO's numerous children who rose to the leadership, moral and ideological challenge posed by the murder of both her parents. She could have been a totally different person, her own future being assured by accident of birth but her frail bodied, soft spoken, respectful physicality belies a highly intelligent mind,
a steely steadfast unbowable spirit and soul that is deeply aware of her potential role in building a better nation. Unlike my fire spitting gun blazing approach, Hafsat is easy to underestimate and thus more strategically effective. I like her.

What she unconsciously stands for in my mind is that elusive entity that persuades certain people to step out of definite and assured comfort and risk all for a husband, a friend, an ideology, a vision. How did a submissive, affluent, businesswoman, mother of seven, 2nd wife of an entity like MKO ignore tradition, religion, expectations, bribery, intimidation, fear and lack of support within the family to evolve into a fearless fighter so much so that the mightily mad Abacha
had to murder her? How does it happen and can one bottle it and force-feed it to our middle and intellectual class?

All these were going through my mind as Hafsat participated in the female panel on Monday edition of NEW DAWN. In her soft-spoken eloquent way she hit the nail on the issue raised by my last post. In the quest for a better society, should the question be who should lead as against how they will lead. In the entire history of man's
existence, the number of outstanding political leaders worldwide can be counted on the digits at our extremities. One can therefore conclude that exceptional leadership is that, exceptional. The norm therefore is to get anything from mundane and moronic to the completely psychotic. Knowing this, should our constant engagement not be the evolution of an adaptable, self-policing, self sustaining
system of governance where all parts are acutely aware of their roles and defensive of any attempt to usurp such. In plain language, won't our leaders only perform if we make them? Long live the Kudirat spirit.

Horaaaaaaay! Farafina just got sexy. I confess to being one of those creatures (less evolved l know, its my unusually high testosterone levels) that prefer my brains with a good body. I always read Farafina but thought it a bit staid. Enter Lanre Lawal, (new layout and edgier
cover) guest editor Toni Kan (a little anarchy and an unabashed love of women) and Farafina is beautiful, sexy and smart, the brainy gal's got boobs yippee! Just a little more tweaking with the articles (braver, grittier, smarter, truer) and it would be the perfect babe.

Also check out this illustrated book


from same publishers. Hilarious,unsettling, eerily familiar.

My friend V, a perfectionist who on falling pregnant eight years ago decided to put her career on hold and devote her time 24/7 to the care of her new born daughter has had some serious hard times. Regal, literate, intelligent, civil, funny, self possessed, more than a little stubborn are all apt descriptions of a woman who is a great mum, a loyal friend, one of those rare people who can be counted upon to look you in the face and tell you the unflinching truth even at the risk of loss of friendship, livelihood or approval. Her mini me daughter has inherited her mother's gift for slightly unsettling non-pussy footing eerily concise summary. Recently, V got the sort of job to suit her situation and temperament and moved to Abuja. When asked what she likes about Abuja, V's 8 yr old simply replied, we always have light and when we don't we put on the generator. Every child l know and a lot whom l have interviewed have repeated different version of this simple truth i.e. just give us light.

Yesterday l sent my man Joel to buy the 3rd (in 48 hours) N5, 000, 50 litres keg of diesel for our long-suffering generator just so we can watch the inauguration ceremonies in Abuja and Lagos. 8 years ago, l had been a young hot head in Ankara running around organizing and anchoring different inauguration activities in Lagos. 8 years on l am party weary and growth hungry so l turned down all invitations to inauguration activities at every level. My friend Jide was making one of his famous cooked breakfasts at mine for his family, mine and a couple of friends as we indulged in our favourite national pastime, talking about Nigeria. We watched as a sour faced Obasanjo hand over to an inscrutable Yar'Adua. One of the eminent citizens at the inauguration benignly smiling at Obj sent a text to Jide's phone simply saying JUST GO. That text sadly sums up the feeling of majority of Nigerians about Obasanjo right now. Whether that is deserved is a topic for another discussion.

7 am today l am on my desk struggling to write through the guttural screams of what feels like a thousand demon generators. Shortened lifespan from pollution and noise aside l am lucky, at least l have light, my wax mistress (that is not what you think it is silly) Barbra assures me that her neighbourhood has not seen electricity in 2 months as she walked into my room, pulls off her blouse and lays prone on the floor to "enjoy small ac" before she starts work on me, l can hear African China crooning the many woes of the masses into her ears through her mp3 player. Her phone ring tone breaks our moment with china's primal scream "light no dey, food e no dey, my people dey suffer suffer".

Back to yesterday, one of my breakfast guests is telling of how many of OBJ's people has assured him that there is no cause for alarm as "dem still dey kampe" because Yar'Adua has been mandated to keep them on. The other guest is talking about alternative energy to power the base stations of the telecoms companies as they grapple with the humongous challenge of running their operations in a country with huge power problems. I gently remind everyone that we would have to break up our "party" in an hour to conserve the diesel, generator and our sanity.

Its 9am today, we have not had electricity for four consecutive days in a neighbourhood with a PHCN base station within a shouting distance, what must it be like for others? I send Joel to buy more diesel and some fuel at the new pump price, OBJ's passing shot. Joel gives me the papers for the day and Yar'Adua picture is on the cover of THISDAY. His wave is frail, he looks exhausted but his eyes seem earnest, perhaps it is optimism of desperation but l feel moved to pray silently that somehow this frail unlikely man may yet confound his puppeteers and go beyond that to do just three things.

a. Give us light.

b. Reform, rebuild and modernize our educational system and make
education free and mandatory to all children born on this soil up to
secondary levels with opportunities for scholarships to poor gifted
children at university level.

c. Tackle security from its root, reform, adapt, equip, grow, motivate, remunerate, and devolve the police. I If he would just do these three things we can take care of ourselves and others will be happier to deal with us i.e. self sustaining, growth and adaptive globalization will follow.

In all of this l hope that he will always remember that his name is umoru, not baba, not god, not messiah, not prophet, just umoru who has been given a unique opportunity by Allah for true greatness. Whether he will rise to the occasion only time will tell. Time now to switch on the generator for 6 work hours.

BTW
What was all that "olokada" display at the inauguration ceremonies, in today's world? Shio! Surely, we can do better than that. And why does a ceremony which should be solemn and civil look like an owambe party with people running all over the place and in front of the camera. In Lagos, there was a point where Tinubu was obviously exasperated and gestured at some aide to get away from him. Haba!

As the swearing in day approaches, my mind is in frenzied thought as to possibilities, realities and potential catalysts, allow me to sound insane and leave that unexplained. Last week, l sat in the lemon in the daily murderous chaos that is the result of the utterly mad idea to calve out bus lanes and bus stops out of the unlit, unsafe, potholed, too-narrow for the volume of traffic Ikorodu road. As always there was traffic, mayhem and confusion galore as we meandered our way down the road, l am engaged in my usual escapist pastime, reading. I was reading the latest WIRED and TIME magazine special on the most influential people in the world. Surrounded as l was by the effects of allowing the least able to be so influential, the stories took on an even deeper meaning. The trick of absorption even as you take your mind to other plains is a childhood survival skill, many a hot afternoon in molues were eased by an ever-present book. So it was that l was reading about heroes and villains but mostly heroes the people who have changed and are changing the way the world is, men and women of different race and cultures, mostly admittedly Caucasians. They included politicians, thinkers, innovators, scientists, artists and activists. One was the story of a lowly black construction worker in New York who jumped on a train track as the train approached the station to save a passenger who had had a seizure and fallen unto the tracks. The beauty of the story is that he simply saw nothing special about what he had done; to him it was only the right thing to do. The concept of right is a discourse for another day and my encounter with people like these through a TV series l did 12 years ago in Nigeria is yet another story, another day.

As l read the story and others l wondered about the seemly lack of innovation, radical space changing thought, development and sheer heroic actions in our sphere. Are we as a people not brave, innovative and extraordinary? Even as l wondered l was drawn to a higher level of chaos unfolding before us. We had turned off Ikorodu road into a narrow side street and there l saw a sight for sore eyes. A huge truck was snaking down the road, all other vehicles had stopped to let it pass but it couldn’t. The thing is, the truck was too high and could therefore not go through without tearing down the low hanging high-tension electricity cables. Apparently, this was no major challenge for the long-suffering innovative resilient Nigerian mass. I had wondered what the job of the wiry young man in yellow gloves on the truck was, l got my answer. This young man calmly got up, wrapped a dirty old Ankara wrapper around his gloved hands and firmly grabs the cables, about 8 of them and to our utmost amazement began a death defying jiggle of lifting and lowering as the driver moves the truck one inch at a time. With every movement the end of the cables connected to the poles begin to crackle with live electric sparks flying all-round sending the head holding, mouth opened gawkers temporarily scampering for safety. This whole process must have lasted 4 minutes but it felt like a life time as the truck eventually passed through the cable point with the young man deftly dropping his death load, sitting back down on the truck top ready to repeat the feat at any other point on this senseless drive for a meagre salary.

As we drove down the same road, l shut my TIME and WIRED magazine, my mind in deeper conflict on an old intimate subject, one l am convinced is the key to reforming our lives and space. How does one turn the resilience, strength, bravery, innovation and innate intelligence of the real Nigerian into an organized, self realizing, self sustaining life improving force? I suspect the answer is less in Harvard and more in okokomaiko but then l have often been called insane.

Is this the measure of the Nigerian Man?

I do agree that all I need to know for now is that Chelsea rules, now to more mundane issues which I have distilled into 10 most important.

Comment: Obj cried cos he is leaving without Stella.

Response: I'm sure he has "consolations"

Comment: Obj prayed that may Goodluck not be like Atiku & there was a resounding Amen.

Response: I bet Goodluck is praying that Yar'adua won't be like Obj.

Comment: Obj said he never wanted third term.

Response: Yeah right

Comment: Governor of Adamawa cried for 16 minutes retelling his travails for being loyal to Atiku.

Response: Enough with the cry babies already.

Comment: You should know, by the way, that Uncle Oby, aka Baba Jay, aka OBJ gave himself a farewell present in the form of the PH refinery, under the guise of a sale to a conglomerate consisting of Dangote, Otedola (Zenon Oil0 and Transcorp.

Comment: Funny how these same names keep coming up time again in the fire-sales of government property. This same PH refinery that others have been placing bids for for years, and have had the exercise cancelled like, thrice already.

I dont remember Uncle Oby ever relinquishing his 200 million naira worth of shares now? Tut Tut.

Response: Na dem turn, the new choppers will soon collect their thing.

Comment: A campaign is on to stop a TV documentary on child sex abuse in the Catholic church being aired in Italy. The church denies it claiming it is slanderous. There is no smoke without fire!!

Response: Down with censorship. Out with the closet pedophiles in cassocks. Now that's what Jesus would do!

Comment: The Chinese government is providing the largest amount of aid ($10bn) to Africa. I say what's the catch?? Just hope we're not selling our birthright!!
Response: Of course we are not selling our birthright. That's sold already. We are selling our grandchildren's birthright in exchange for mirrors.

Comment: Ground breaking news for France is a woman of North African origin (Rachida Dati) has just been elected the new French Justice Minister by newly-elected President Sarkozy.
That's it for now...

Response: North African, Muslim and female. Very smart, sexy, hip, very green, very now!

Comments:
a) Mourinho's dog is safe and sound but exiled in Portugal.
b) Police say hopes are fading for missing 4yr old Madeline McCann. Please visit CalabarGals blog for more info on this.
c) Gordon Brown cant stop grinning. Please pray for us and our taxes oh!

Responses:
a) Player dawg haters!
b) 2, 2, sad
c) Come home jare!

Comment: Idols West Africa finals to hold next Saturday. Eric was voted out last week, Temitayo was voted out this week leaving Timi and Omawumi to contest for the grand prize.

Response: My money is on Timi

Finally on Isabella Blow?
Better have 48 fabulous anachist years than 100 barren, unimpactful ones. No doubt the hereafter is a little more interesting with Ms Blow there. Adieu

So l am back. I am in that slightly stupified but warm and fuzzy place where your heart, soul and brain have been persuaded into higher ideals and possibilities which you struggle to snuggle up to even as the external forces of present realities threaten to yank you out still born, unbiblical cord first. I spent last week at the serene Volta hotel in Akosombo Ghana with my ALI African Leadership Initiative classmates and moderators looking at globalization especially how it affects Africa and whether Africa should ride or buck the rampaging bull. It was as usual an uplifting and enriching intellectual process one that l smiled wryily about yesterday as l sat as judge at Ade Bakare's young designers’ competition and fashion show just 3 hours after landing at Muritala Mohammed airport. The seeming wide extremes of my existence. In the following weeks perhaps we can have conversations about many aspects of globalization and Africa but the thing about going for the ALI experience (for that is what it is) is that l impose a no news, no work, shut out the world rule on myself. l only make calls once a day to check on the shrimp and my peeps, no one is allowed to call me unless there is a coup (tufiakwa!) so l trully have no idea of what has transpired in Nigeria or the world as it affects me or Nigeria in the past week. I’m afraid to open the floodgates and find out. Okay l know Chelsea won the FA cup finals and the British were messing with Mourinho's dog (playa haters!) but thats about it. So in the interest of democratic new pull media (old media push info at consumers, new media pull from consumers, capish?), can you tell me 5 top things l should know about? Anything from the mundane to the fundamental, you tell me, l react. As you can tell, this is a cop out, l really just want to get a few hours of shut eye

PiX: Top row::Tolu (2nd from the left) and Bill (3rd from the left):
Down row: Fola (4th from the left)


::::I’m out of town on a workshop and I’m letting a member of my staff guest blog this one time, till I get back.::::

"Bill...join the life class"
Those words were from the boss and there was no room for talk back. I who had just marched my colleagues up to the life class was treading the same path they had trodden a few minutes before me...hmm! As I slowly walked up to the life class platform, I wondered how I was ever going to look Tolu in the eyes again. Pride they say goes before the fall and here was my own fall.

Working on TV is a constant hassle, a race against time and our reality is "deadlines".

The show for the day was ready, our boss (the consummate professional) was sitting on her "throne" getting dolled up for the camera and here were three of us: Tolu, Fola and I - the latest additions to the new dawn family trying to run the show in the absence of Funmi Akinsola (floor manager) I had bragged to Tolu that I would be filling in for Funmi, while she and Fola would have to join the life class.

I guess you need to know why members of staff had to join the life class. Our life class on New Dawn is drawn from a wide range of young people who watch and love the show New Dawn. They write in and are invited to the recording. But for some reason, most of the people who had written in from the week before where from out of town...hence our dilemma. We had a scanty life class (an exception, not the norm I assure you)

As if that was not enough wahala, Seki, the production manager was ill and would not be coming in, Abigail had to be in the production booth and Mutiu was going to be covering the whole show, with an extra camera, leaving the three of us with duties...but not enough duties to keep us from filling in the gaps on our life class chairs.

A thousand curses on my need to watch F.I (that's what we call Funmi Iyanda in the office) getting made up, while flipping through her research documents. And on my need to watch the set being readied for the show...watching the lights being pulled into place, being switched on, seeing the curiosity on the face of the guests and the slight tension of the uninitiated at the prospect of sitting before a camera.

But most of all, I love the way F.I. sits on her chair, getting made up, going through her script and managing to converse with and relax the guests and life class members, putting them at ease and loosening them up for that spontaneous edge that comes across so beautifully on the camera.

And lest I loose my story in all of this....

Funmi Akinsola walked in at this point and that one extra space gaping at F.I. from the life class had to be filled by poor old me.
I who had relished the idea of having the life class, the guests and F.I. focus on me for their cues was now sitting on the life class form...and looking like the ghost of Christmas past. Tongue tied and with an ache in my back I sat there, prepared to just get through the recording with nothing more on my mind than filling the space and getting away, I was surprised to find myself liking the class, laughing at the antics of my friend Tolu and leaning forward and looking for ways to contribute to the class.

Funmi Iyanda's charm had worked its magic on me, as it had on the guests and the rest of the life class...I guess that's the reason why we all love her and have followed her 12 year long career on TV.

Guest blogger - Bill/Tolu

So Paul Wolfowitz is figuratively caught pants down huh? Pity really, l do like the man, the World Bank is not one of my favourite institutions but Wolfowitz had recently inched towards slightly more progressive policies in the area poverty eradication. Now as a Nigerian, l am inclined to say abeg what is the big deal about giving your girlfriend and her pal a juicy leg up (no pun intended)? That is not only acceptable behaviour here, it is an unspoken law cast in iron and sworn on an oath to Ogun (my people no dey fear to lie to God but dem dey fear the gods well well). In fact as one friend of mine once
said, if a married boyfriend does not "settle" you ika ni (he is desperately wicked). Which explain why my good friend Nuhu Ribadu who usually has an evangelistical fervour with sticking to the letter of the law (l beg no involve me in the controversy of the notorious list, l no know book) was quick to support him. Wolfowittz knows that he operates in a different world where the law and the systems are superior to the individual, one in which Blunkett had to resign because of a tiny favour a married girlfriend.

Even as l concede that one should not expect people in high political office to be saints, l do understand why such indiscretions are not tolerated. It is the issue of equity or the appearance of equity in all things. Zero tolerance means people try harder because it is so easy to degenerate to open nepotism, favouritism and blatant abuse of power that is our national mantra. Paul Wolfowitz knows this, which is why his 2ic has already resigned. It is not about sexual morality, it is about equity and protection of institutions of trust. I still think Wolfowitz is cute.

Have a vice free weekend or at least don't get caught.

Talk about serendipity. 4pm yesterday l returned to my office after doing 5 hours in the studio to record the show, l had just done a show on the Darfur crisis and was feeling emotionally drained. I got on the computer to check my mails and keep a vigil for bellanaija's (still trying to be 1st) weekend post. Amongst my correspondence was a chain mail (l hate them) from a dear friend of mine. They were iconic images of poverty with a message for us to be thankful to God for your lives and not to waste food and water as well as a warning not to break the chain. Maybe it was the exhaustion but this was the reply l sent her

"l have seen many of these pictures before and l am shocked when people profess not to knowing these realities. Even more vexatious is the call to thank God for what we have, and ourselves. How totally selfish! Such pictures should inspire us to work for societies and a world where such atrocities are not allowed to happen. God did not sanction that this happen to any body and that we did not experience or are not experiencing it is often a matter of chance i.e. not being born at the wrong place and the wrong time. The Pulitzer winner of the last picture committed suicide not really because he wasn't thankful for his life but probably because he was wracked by his inability to save that child. We can save children like these, we can eradicate poverty globally if we thought less about ourselves".

After a couple of hours, l finished work and gave up the vigil. 6am today and l go back to Bella and wade into the controversy around her post on celebrities giving back so l know this charity discourse is pursuing me. This therefore is my widow's mite.

As a background let me state that my first television show 12 years ago was on street children and quickly "degenerated" into a rescue mission for runaway and stolen kids (story for another day). A defect in my journalistic instinct is an inability to see people as just story. We are currently working on the story of a 6 year old that was raped and we will not air the story unless there was a way to bring justice and succour to that family. Therefore in the past twelve years l have used TV as a billboard for change, often being the first and consistent media promoter of thought, stories, issues and projects along those lines. I have never accepted payment for such, not even a hamper ☺. Given such a background, people are often shocked when l say l don't believe in charity and quickly add it to their "Funmi Iyanda is crazy list". However what l mean is that the word charity like the word tolerance, accords the bestower a sense of superiority, a salve to the ego, which has nothing to do with the true emotions that promote change. Also if we all did our bit in the universal scheme of things without undue avarice (many state policies in Nigeria are an implementation of the board resolution of companies owned by a few favoured ones) we will have fewer "charity cases". During a keynote address on the relevance of the Singaporean experience to Africa in 1993 Lee Kuan Yew spoke tongue in cheek abut meeting the Nigerian minister of finance Chief Festus Okotie Eboh in 1956 and how the chief had told him that he was eager to leave politics to devote time to his business; a shoe factory and that he had increased taxes to protect the viability of the shoe factory. Injustice happens because some people perpetuate it but mostly because many people allow it. Every time we refuse to stand up for systems, structures and thought that strengthens a society's ability to grow and prosper the majority; we create a few hundred more "charity cases". My other pet peeve with the charity tag is that it is often seen as an occasion, something we do at certain times of the year or at a point in our life or when we have certain resources or attain certain visibility or position. The need for intervention arises everyday all around us and everybody can help, right here, right now. The question should not be what are celebrities giving back but what are we all giving back? Often times it is not the books (these are welcome as are our time, knowledge and skills) we donate but the important decision we make everyday in our offices and homes and how it affects others.

My biggest charity peeve are the ones who are profiting from the poverty, ignorance, lack and disease of the very ones their ilk had created with selfish policies down the decades. They are the "inspirers". They set out from day one to inspire, role model and educate the rest of us. That is open fraud. Bill Gate who own one of the biggest, most powerful charities in the world set out to build computers, charity found him, Oprah just wanted to do a damn good talk show about issues and challenges and people, charity found her. In its true self, charity finds you. You cannot appoint yourself an inspiration or a role model or a hero, others bestow this upon up you when they are inspired by your body of work, actions or utterances. Nigeria is full of motivational speakers, role models and inspirers but very little innovations, inventions and true interventions. It the same "so much God so little good" scenario. The shame is that a lazy, poor and easily buyable media promotes such whilst ignoring the true silent workers of charity. They are silent usually because they have no time, money or mindset for mindless promotion. They also are usually people who do it only because it needs to be done and because they cannot rest unless they were doing something about it.

(Crazy week, living on adrenalin and popcorn so why don't l share this article l wrote 8 years ago for TEMPO magazine with you?)

Sorry the first paragraph was missing when posted

Perhaps, it is time to tell you about my first trip to Ghana in 1995. It was some months to the 1996 Nations Cup Competition scheduled to hold for the first time in post apartheid South Africa. I was part of a crew that was supposed to document the preparations and spirit in the sixteen countries that qualified for the championship. Ghana was one of them, so my colleague Kunle a cameraman and were to go to Accra. Now I must tell you about one of my favourite nay, my favourite person a certain old Ghanaian called Mr. Laud (pronounced lord). Aside from being a sweet person one of my greatest fans and of course the only one who can read my hand writing, he is also one of the unluckiest people I have ever met. It is a running joke amongst us all that he had seen all the ill luck there is to seen in one lifetime. He has fallen off a moving train and a Molue and an okada and survived all. He has lost his money to tricksters, fake landlords and 419ers. He has been robbed often and thrown out of his house too many times to recount, actually, his last house was burnt down with all his possessions on one occasion and his wife left him overnight. Worse has happened that I don't think I should mention, that is, if I haven't said so much already. We love him and we never forget his birthday, for he was born on the 13th of February! The point for this story is that our Mr. Laud had wanted to return Ghana forever but every time he saves up enough money and is ready to go, something unlucky happens to stop him. So, it was decided that for that assignment he would go with us both as guide and as a treat to him. We flew whilst he went ahead with our money by road. He was to book our hotel, get a car to ferry us around, set up our interviews before we arrive.

On arrival at kotoka Airport in Accra, Mr. Laud was waiting quite all right but he had only arrived Accra hours before us. He had spent four days on the road; he was arrested, jailed and robbed by the customs officials. I had a hundred dollar note on me and we had a one-week assignment to carry out, Should we get back on the next plane to Nigeria? Not so, Ms Iyanda. I was young, eager, stubborn and determined to do the work {I have changed ko? ;-)} I persuaded Kunle to see it as a great adventure, secure in the erroneous belief (and seconded by a Mr. Laud who had not
been to his country in over a decade) that my silly hundred-dollar note will take us far because I thought the Ghanaian economy was still lying cold in the grave.

It did turn out a great adventure; we stayed in a seedy little room, which had no lock, no water, a rickety fan and insects galore. We lived on a diet of garri, salty water and fried fish with occasionally watery beans and yam for the week. We had to get Mr. laud's cousin to drive us to the city centre everyday from where we walked, lugging cameras and bags to book interviews, do interviews and film the sights, We did run into interesting people, some coke heads and prostitutes at our hotel and Mr. Laud's sister but my most enduring memory is that of this hopeful footballer who ran the length of the bridge near the central market every night at 9 pm. I noticed him on our second night on the way to the fried fish place; he had to train in the nights because he worked during the day. His hope and determination was humbling for me, he did not even have running shoes.

The sports minister was out of town when we arrived but by the day before we were scheduled to leave he returned. We decided to see him since we had completed almost all our assignment but his interview. It was a risk, since we knew that meant a day and half of starvation and a slim chance of getting past protocol. Alas, we were ushered into his office without much ceremony. This man received us and gave us a jeep to take us to Obuasi Goldfields (50kms of great scenery from Accra) to film the football team and the new stadium of the company. We had our
first decent meal of the week at Obuasi, returned to Accra, conducted the interview (teeth clenched as l had PMT on top of our woes) and the minister gave us a car to take us the airport on time to catch our flight back to Nigeria. Incidentally, we never used the materials we laboured for in Ghana because; Abacha pulled Nigeria out of the championship. However, we still share fond laughs over that hundred-dollar trip to Ghana from which I returned thinner, darker but victorious. It was black coffee no sugar, no milk but oh what an adrenaline rush.

Back in the days when l did the local daily 2 hour live breakfast format of the show, one of the things that kept me going was the many segment presenters I had found to work with. The totally insanely hilarious mama and papa nothing spoil, the sports whiz kids, the cuddly cook aunty Mopile, the twitchy IT guys, the mischievous Dr Ogaga. Oh the days of innocence. Goes without saying that it was a tough show to do and not very rewarding financially but our passion and resilience kept us going.

The entertainment and fashion segments had the largest turn over of presenters as the boys and gals got more and more successful in their individual careers. It was one large TV family and it is my unending joy that all who have left NEW DAWN are incredibly successful in many spheres and scattered around the world. One of them is Sade Popoola who came to me one day and quietly said she was taking her children and leaving the country back to England to refocus. I didn't argue as l could see she was at the point where stepping back to go forward was necessary. We have kept in touch on and off over the years so you can imagine my joy when Sade called me and said to me, Funmi I’m on to something, l'll mail you. When l saw what Sade was up to, l kept grinning like a fool at my silent computer even as the goose pimples rose on my arm. Yeees! l thought, Sade has found the light at the end of the tunnel and put it into stylish bags. The idea is genius in its simplicity and l keep wondering why no one else has done it before now. What do you think?

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Two things that kill me about Nigerians. One, the insane search for Nigerian food once they step out of Nigeria even when they are returning to Nigeria the next day. The other is a similar lack of interest in the history, monuments, arts, culture and lifestyle of the places they visit. Now l know generalization is a form of intellectual laziness and there are many exceptions to this rule but most of those exceptions are not in government delegations. I have been to two Olympic Games, two world cup finals and several athletic meets around the world. When I'm lucky l get a company to sponsor a travelogue, other times l skimp and save to get there. Been doing this since l was 25. I am of course a failed athlete as l am athletic in build but never did any sports or exercised in my life until three tears ago. I love the unalloyed display of the great capabilities of the human body and spirit (not to mention the superb physiques on display, oh those swimmers' body) as well as the opportunity to experience other people, cultures, arts and life. At each and every such meet over the past decade and half l have noticed that most other Nigerians l run into especially those on government delegations neither attend the events nor have interest in anything other than shopping and whoring.

So it was that in 2004 we were surrounded with sports, culture, history, gastronomic excellence, and sensual stimulation of epic proportion in Athens but my 9ja brethren (ratio of 8 to 2) were usually to be found either eating pepper soup and haggling with human trafficked Nigerian prostitutes on the Idumota look alike, rather sleazy geroniom (renamed Nigeria) street or they were esconded with same at a certain island resort 45 mins from Athens. One such official mistook me for a Nigerian athlete and started to rub my knee under the table until l delivered a kick in the region of his groin. The plight of the Nigeria female athlete is a story for another day.Anyway, l thoroughly loved Athens, the hot weather, the beaches, the laid back sensual Mediterranean lifestyle, the food, the islands, the night life and of course the museums and the majestic Acropolis. Athens heaved with the living and the living dead but l couldn't find other Nigerians to experience it all with as most l spoke to did not share my fascinations for trampling around museums, flea markets,
restaurants, clubs and the notorious hedonistic nudist island mykonos. l therefore threw myself into experiencing Athens from a worms eye view all alone armed only with an expensive NIKON camera and a sun hat. Everyday l went from the different stadia to either the museums, the market district or the beach and by evening l ended up at the fabulous Psiri club district stumbling from jazz clubs to salsa clubs to hip-hop clubs high on nothing but adrenalin and the joy of being alive and of course incredible Greek cuisine which can still be bought at 4am side by side old couples holding hands right before l hail a cab to take me back to my apartment for a 3 hour sleep before l start again the next day. Not once did l feel unsafe as a woman on my own. Of course l had read about the seedier districts and stayed away from those but imagine a single young attractive female mostly in shorts and tank top, cavorting around town with an expensive camera slung around her neck in any part of Nigeria. It is one of the reasons l laugh when we begin to claim that we can hold such international competitions.

All of these thoughts came to mind recently when l was trying to explain how hostile the Nigerian environment particularly Lagos is to women, children and older people. It is hostile to all humans but especially hostile to the female humans. Once l was driving through Ebute Metta around 10pm and everywhere was dark as usual save for flickering lanterns from food peddlers near the mosque at Evans square. Most people had been scared off the streets by insecurity that is highly aided by lack of electricity. I remember Ebute meta of my childhood, where you can read by the street light at 10pm and there was hot tuwo to be bought at 2am on the way home from the cinema or disco clubs (ok so l was too young to do the club and cinema but l saw my sisters and their boyfriends go out with the afros and bell bottoms and longed to grow up so l could do same). That Ebutemetta is long gone, of the people on the street that night last week 98% were male. On any Sunday or public holiday, the spaces at street corners and under flyovers are taken up by boys playing football, no girls in sight. The question is where are the women? How do women (especially young poor ones) exercise, play or socialize in the city where you can't even walk? Think about it, how many public (where dem dey sef) office or even home toilets are designed with the woman's need in mind? When last weekend l, my designer friend Remi, married doctor friend Bose and young lawyer friend Tayo got dolled up and piled into one car around midnight to go dancing at LaCasa, it was the twitching curtains of our neighbours that reminded us of how unusual this was, of course our neighbours think we are either mad or immoral women going straight to hell. It is not only unsafe but not acceptable particularly with older or and married women. This is norm in many other places including Accra and Togo where young girls and older women dress up however they like and go out alone or in groups at night without fear.

I was transported back to my Athens experience when l saw the fabulous film 300 recently, in fact on the eve of the gubernatorial election. I sat there watching with mixed emotions. On one hand l was enthralled with the photography and the marriage of art and technology that went into the production. On the other hand l experienced the same eerie sense of awe l felt walking through the old plaka city and the Acropolis in Athens even as the story of the great brave Leonidas (my fav Belgian choc brand is named after him and the bods of the actors in that film was yummy), the Spartans and the Persians unfolded in cinematic beauty. The Greek myths, stories, gods and history would make great retelling in Yoruba. Imagine that scene where Leonidas kicked the Persian emissary into the abyss (cue KONGA's song "eju won si kanga", throw them in the well ) shouting this is Sparta! There are many parallels to that story and our current reality (as we have refused to leave 200BC in our mind). The paedophilic, immoral, amoral bribe taking spiritual elders, the patriarchal, sycophantic, easily manipulated state council, the preference of ceremonies over function, the strong but acquitisient women. The only thing we don't have or have killed are those great, passionate, thinking, strong Spartan warriors lead by a charismatic heroic leader. I sat and watched the film and l prayed to the universe for such a leader for Nigeria on that Night. However even more so l cheered at a scene that would resonate with most women in Nigeria and a scene l am convinced need to occur in Nigerian to lead a new reality. The devious prime minister
had trapped the queen into having sex with him to save her husband and the kingdom. As a woman, she had nothing to exchange for a chance to stand before the council and plead that they go against the advice of the bribe taking paedophilic (unknown to or unacknowledged by the people) elders and send in the troops to assist Leonidas and the 300 soldiers but her body which she humiliating did. On noticing that her words had begun to sway the council, he steps forward and accused her of adultery and whoring. Of course the council turns against her but instead of whimpering away in shame, she grabs his sword and impaled him to death spilling the bribe money he had himself received from the Persians along with his blood. This led the council to finally do the right thing. Look if you haven't do go and see the movie.

I, on behalf of all long suffering agreeable Nigerian women can tell you that we know how she felt, this society lassos you, reels you in and pulls you to the ground and then turns around to call you names. The average girl in Nigeria has even fewer opportunities to fully explore her physical, mental and creative capabilities; she is honoured for little else order than glorified slavery either to a husband, father, parents, siblings or society. Once she deviates from the norm or is forced to use the only thing (what is corporate marketing other than thinly disguised prostitution) society leaves her with, same society turns around and calls her a prostitute. Even the saintly education minister and former finance minister were called Baba's girlfriends. My question is, when will Nigerian women stop thinking that by being quiet, godly, wifely and unobtrusive, they will gain respect? It is only when we turn the blade in the flesh of the oppressor that all will know how we hurt and then we may be able to mobilize the young, the sane and even the reluctant by the sheer force of our refusal to bow no more to walk a new walk that might help build a society where a single female tourist can experience the beauty of our land and lifestyle without fear. A society where borderline statutory rape of minor is not considered cultural once the offending bastard offers bride price for the 13-year-old child.


Have a great weekend people and BTW,Mrs. Somebody you go girl, you can do it, l am watching and hailing you o.

Other pictures here