Domestic violence: The plight of Nigerian Women

“When after one year of marriage there were still no children, the painful journey that sent me to my grave started. I went from specialist to specialist, ingested every kind of pill that promised to boost my fertility. As my desperation grew, so did pressure from Kevin’s family. My horror-movie life story started playing out; the horror-movie life that has sent me to an early and cold grave from where I write this letter to my husband…

“My heart bled. I wept bitterly…Even when you threatened me with a knife, twice you did that, I still felt unworthy of you and very deserving of your hatred. Even when you would say: “I will kill you and nothing will happen because you have no one to fight for you”, I kept on struggling to get you to love me because, Kevin, your validation was important to me.

“Recalling the abusive words, the spitting, the beating, the bruising, the knifing and the promise that I would not live long for daring to forget to buy garden eggs for your mother, an insult you vowed I would pay for with my life, I knew then it was over for me. There was no rationalizing needed any longer. Even the blind could see …You did not want me in your life.

These are the parting words of Ogochukwu Onuchukwu who died on the 27th of February, 2012 (complete letter can be read at www.ogorip.com).

Ogo (as she was fondly called) is not alone, the increase in incidences of domestic violence show that more women are rapidly becoming victims and dying in silence.

In a society where, the voice of the average woman is stifled by male chauvinists and drowned in the echoes of customs and traditions, it is worrisomely becoming common place to find women falling at the fists of men they ought to trust with their safety.

Perhaps the biggest irony of it all is that the victims of this violence, encourage and sustain it by enduring silently and maintaining a self-destructive yet deceptive mien of marital bliss.

Adline Umuokoro (not real name), a divorcee, is one of the lucky few who made the escape from an abusive union but spent 18 years of her life trying to ‘save’ her marriage.

Giving reasons why she decided to stick it out, putting her life and that of her children on the line, she narrates: “When I married the father of my children, I had no idea that he would turn around and become the person that dealt with me the way he did. I met him when I was doing my Masters abroad and he used to behave like a white gentleman, very polished. When we came back and decided to stay here (in Nigeria) after our marriage, things started changing.

“At first, I thought it was because of the change in environment but as time went on and I began having my babies, the insults kept increasing. The man would flare up at the slightest thing and then after a while, he just stopped caring about me and the kids. It got to the point where when I lost my job, he would refuse to give me money for foodstuffs. The day I approached him about his behaviour was the first time he slapped me. From that day onwards, he would get angry over one little matter and we would start fighting even in the presence of my children.

“I did not just want to pack my bags and go because, I know that every marriage has problems so felt that we could work it out and I wanted my children to grow up with a father figure plus I was scared about how I would survive alone with three kids. So I decided to bear it. Until one day when he kicked my daughter and she fell from the stairs and hit her head on the ground, that was when I knew that this man would kill us. So I ran for my life,” she said.

Adline is one of the few who, in the face of danger found the courage to leave. Many others have neither been so brave nor lucky.

In spite of the Domestic Violence Laws enacted by the State to protect women, it is evident that very little is done to enforce it by the judiciary and Police and very little is known about these laws by members of the general public, victims and violators alike.

Surprisingly, more educated women are willing to suffer this humiliating condition as compared with their low income counterparts. Most endure, believing they have nowhere to run to. Research shows that a large percentage of women who are victims are not prepared to report to the Nigeria Police or non-family members for fear of stigmatisation.

Explanations abound as to how young women get caught in this choking form of relationships but one thing most people agree on is the fact that the signs of a potentially abusive spouse are usually evident before the dotted lines of a marriage certificate are signed.

 People get married for all the wrong reason, says Bisi Akanbi , a Nutritionist and marriage Consellor. Stating this as one of the cause for domestic violence she continued, “Many times, when talking to young couples during courtship, it is almost the same as talking to a sheep. When you ask them if their partner has any fault, they will swear that he is perfect because they want to marry quickly. They close their eyes to his bad traits and then after marriage when he starts to show them pepper, they will claim the man has changed which is often not true. He has always had the tendency but they refused to investigate his behaviour.”

Admist all the heat generated by domestic violence, the role of ‘Ministers of God’ cannot be pushed to the back-burner as more often than not, seemingly ill-fated unions are encouraged to thrive in order to preserve what they term a ‘holy doctrine’.

Pastor of Christ Global Ministry, Enoch Bodunrin, expresses, “The Word of God says ‘and two shall cleave and become one’, so when there is a case of violence, we try to find the root cause of the problem and see if they can solve it instead of trying to destroy what God has joined. If the two parties are willing to make amends, then there will be progress but if both of them do not agree, it is advisable for them to stay separate for a while. You cannot just ask a man to divorce his wife like that because they have invested a lot to get married in the first place and the interest of all the parties involved are at stake. Besides, the bible is against divorce.”

Holding a different view, Deacon Gboyega Ajala of In His Word Evangelical Ministries, Ipaja who has been married for thirty-seven years posits, “Man has a divine order from God to love and cherish his wife just like Christ loved the Church. If any man born of a woman is shameless enough to raise his hand and strike his wife or any other woman for that matter, then he deserves to be publicly stoned. Hitting a woman is just a reflection of his weakness and he does not desrve to be called a man.

“Any woman who is married to such a person should not wait to be told twice. If she is smart and loves herself or her children, she will pack her bags and go so that she can be alive to train those children. No man born of a woman will beat up any of my daughters and get away with it here on earth!” he continued.

Joy Oyinlola who serves as an Information Technology consultant for a multi-national firm says, “It is no use staying in a marriage where anybody will maltreat you either as a man or as a woman. We know the bible says marriage is till death do us part but that does not mean that you should allow your husband or wife to be the one that will bring the death that will part both of you. The minute you see him raising his hand, run and don’t look back because the next time, he might use a bottle instead of his hands.”

Offering advice on immediate steps that should be taken in the incidence of domestic violence, the Executive Director of Project Alert, Dr. Mrs Josephine Effah-Chukwuma explains, ‘The first and very urgent response by a domestic violence victim is to ensure the safety of herself and children. These could include running to a safe place outside the home; or even locking herself and children in a room in the house and then calling for help from the police, a friend, lawyer, neighbour, family member or even a Non-Governmental Organisation.”

The Domestic Violence Law serves as government’s way of protecting victims as well as punishing erring abusers.

Out of 36 States of the Federation, only 4 including Lagos have passed laws against this crime, while the Bill remains unattended to in our male-dominated National Assembly.

According to the Deputy Governor of Lagos State, Mrs. Adejoke Orelope-Adefulure, the State government, in line with the Lagos State Protection Against Domestic Violence Law of 2007, has taken some bold steps on issues of domestic violence by establishing a 176 bed-home and shelter for victims of domestic violence and human trafficking at Ayobo-Ipaja. The home has provisions for protection, counselling, medical care and vocational training unit that will help to economically empower victims and make them self-reliant.

(as published in The Nation Newspaper on the 1st of April, 2012)

The notorious dust-bin estate

Rita Ohai writes on the lifestyle and challenges of inhabitants of Africa’s biggest slum.

Children scantily clad in thread-bare under-ware litter the narrow roads of Nosamu Street as football ‘tournaments’ roll in full swing. Shouts of excitement pierce the air as one of the players strutting around bare-feet weaves the ball into the goal post made from stones. Road-side shops and food-stands stationed on wooden planks across the open gutters abound as weary people young and old struggle to make enough pocket-change to put a hot meal on their family tables.

This is a place where the stench of open sewers, garbage and frustration fill twitching nostrils, where houses with rusty roof-sheets are crammed as close to each other as possible as far as the eye can see, a place where the quest for survival is at its highest and where the average young girl is expected to become a mother before her eighteenth birthday…this is Ajegunle, home to a multitude.

The ‘Jungle’ as it is popularly known serves as a microcosm of Africa’s most populous nation as it juggles an eclectic mix of ethnic groups and religions who manage to co-habit harmoniously despite the harsh living conditions they face.

Gbenro, bus driver and a resident of Onibaba street, gives insight on how the average person survives in this city: “Life is ‘AJ’ is not easy but ‘man must hustle’. Everything in this place tough because our Government does not even care about the poor people living here that is why we depend on ourselves to make things work. Not everybody can eat three correct meals in a day because of how hard life is here that is why you see a lot of people doing all kinds of things to feed.”

This quest for survival has led to an increase in prostitution as small-scale brothels also known as ‘ashewo joints’ teeming with inviting young girls dressed for the occasion will meet the curious eye of a visitor on tour around the major streets of Ajegunle. Vincent Ezeilo, a jewellery seller at Boundary Junction who has some of these girls as customers, explains why prostitution is a norm, ”It is not all the girls that do ashewo work but most of them are doing it because it brings quick money for them and a lot of guys like to visit them. For example, if a guy wants to do ‘short-time’, he will pay like N300 but if you have a customer, she can give you for N200 or N250 depending on the person. All the girl has to do is to make sure she does not ‘carry-belle’ because that one will not chop for nine months (he laughs). Some of the girls don’t like living that kind of life but they don’t have any option that is why they are doing it.”

Although the town is located on the outskirts of Lagos, near the sea, residents are forced to live with the constant challenge of water scarcity as water from surrounding this part of the State is heavily contaminated with sewage and refuse. This scarcity has led to the boom in the water selling business. Bilkisu Iyanu Ahmed who has to fetch water from a well lamented in Yoruba about the lack of water and the high cost of purchasing it, “It is rain water we usually use but if rain does not fall, we will go to fetch water from the well but we cannot drink that one because of sickness. If you just bring the water up, you will be seeing some things floating inside so we use that one to do house work but we buy the one that we drink from one man that has bore-hole. He sells one big bucket for N10 but if it a 25-liter gallon then we buy that one for N20 upwards and that is what other people are selling and it is too expensive for us because we are using money to buy water that is supposed to be free for everybody.”

Chika Boniface whose manages his father’s water business on Mba Street expresses, “We are selling water because it is money that we use to maintain the pumps and NEPA (now known as Power Holding Company of Nigeria, PHCN) does not give us light so we need to use generator to pump the water. If we give the water away for free and anything happens to the tap, none of these people will bring out one kobo to repair it that is why we have to sell.”

He further blamed the Local Government officials for squandering money allocated for the development of the area, “If the Local Government people properly use the money that the State is giving them for the development of this area, you will see that they will put enough taps everywhere and we will have regular light. Right now, they give us light once on a blue moon, we don’t have good roads and nobody comes to clear the refuse dump yet they always come here to collect one tax or the other. If it is not radio tax today, it is shop permit tomorrow. We are tired of all these things.”

In spite of the harsh living conditions, this section of Lagos State is popular for producing some of Nigeria’s greatest musicians and footballers. Stars like Daddy Showkey and Taribo West have their pasts rooted in Ajegunle. This probably accounts for the sense of pride its inhabitants have for the area.

For a community with statistically over five million residents facing unimaginable poverty and economic hardship, there are hardly reported cases of wide-spread violence associated with other parts of Lagos metropolis. Motor-bike rider, Uwem Efiok, explains how they are able to co-habit peacefully: “The reason why we don’t used to have too much problem in this place is because it is ‘everybody mind your business’ that we do here. If it does not concern you don’t put your mouth so that nobody will disturb you. Even though we are plenty living here, we know ourselves because nearly all of us attend the same church or mosque so that helps us to live as one family.”

a christmas rabbit

Rita Ohai writes on the

misconceptions surrounding the birth of Jesus Christ and the dwindling festive traditions in Lagos, Nigeria.

“I will blow ‘banger’ that day.”

That was the response of eight-year old Kamal, the son of Mr. and Mrs Adebiyi who are residents of Gowon estate, when asked how he planned to spend Christmas.This innocent response in more ways than one echoes the thoughts and expectations of children across the country who are determined to ignore the ban on fireworks against all odds.

Also speaking with wisdom beyond her age, Primary two pupil of Modern Day Nursery and Primary School, Esther Ibeh sheds light on what she believes is the essence of the season, “Christmas is a time when Jesus was born so we will go to church and do party at home.”

With schools closed for the session and the holidays in full swing, parents are saddled with the responsibility of creating memorable experiences for their kids during this festive season but this might be an uphill task in view of the harsh economic conditions.

 Adewoye Sumonu, a trader in Oshodi whose daily sales has not witnessed any significant increase in the last one month expresses, “I have been selling shoes for more than nine years in this market but this is the worst year I have experienced. Usually, as from the last week of November, a lot of people will be coming to do their Christmas shopping before the prices of things shoots up but this year, we are entering the third week of December and everywhere is just dry. I have not even been able to go to Idumota to buy goods to stock my shop because I have not finished selling the ones I have.

In a voice couched in pain, he continued, “My rent is almost due and I have not even been able to make enough sales to pay my children’s school fees in January talk less of getting money for Christmas.”

On the hand, Emma Oguejiofor, a spare-parts salesman in Ladipo, who makes the effort to travel each Easter and Christmas season is determined not to let the ‘bad market’ affect his plans for the holidays: “In the east where I come from, it is very important for everybody to come back home for Christmas because that is the time when all my brothers will gather and see ourselves at least once in that year. So even though market is not moving as we want, I will at least make sure that I save something, no matter how small, that I will take home to my family.”

However, this decline in festive tradition has not always been the case as Mrs. Utibe Udo, a retired headmistress, shares her childhood memories: “Things have not always been this bad because I remember in those days when I was younger, Christmas was the time to eat and drink as much as you want. As kids, we were tax collectors. Every time a visitor came to our house, we would pretend as if we were angels so that they would give us money which we would use to buy all kinds of sweets and fireworks.

“On Christmas day, my brothers and I would assemble in front of my mother’s room to collect our ‘Christmas cloth’. After Church, I would join my friends and we would hop form one uncle’s or auntie’s house to other. Whether we knew the relative or not was not important, as long as the person lived in our neighbourhood and one member of my group of friends knew the person, we would dance to the adult’s house and they would give us food and money. Sometimes, our parents would take us to Badagary Beach or Kingsway and we would have a lot of fun but all those things are difficult to do these days because with all this kidnappings and ritual stories, public places are no longer safe and there’s no money for people to spend anymore.”

The Origin of Christmas

Each year most Christians spending a large amount of their time preparing for Christmas, after all its Christ-mass. Decorated trees, greeting cards, seasonal music, Santa Claus and parties bring warm feeling to those who celebrate it.

Even though this day is widely celebrated around the world, only a very few people actually know its origin as is reflected in Harriet Ebhohon’s clipped response when asked. She says, “I know that Christmas is the time when Jesus was born.”

Re-iterating Harriet’s claim, David Eyop, a missionary evangelist at Christ Covenant Missions, Akowonjo expresses, “Christmas is a not only the time when we celebrate the birth of Christ but it is also an opportunity for us as Christians to reflect on the life he lived and try to correct our ways so that we can enter the New Year as better people.”

In spite of the widespread assumptions tagging the 25^th of December to be the birth date of Christ, biblical and scientific evidence proves otherwise. Documented history and facts sourced from the internet, theological encyclopaedias’ and libraries show that the early Church leaders decided they merely needed a Christian alternative to rival popular pagan-solstice celebrations as at that time, the Cult of Mithras celebrated the birth of their infant god of light on the very same day.

Christian elders chose December 25th as the date of Christ’s birth and held the first recorded Feast of the Nativity in Rome in A.D. 336.

This largely over-looked portion of Christian history is probably the source of controversy between conventional Christians and sects like the Jehovah Witness, Unitarians, the Puritans of New England and a host of others.

Elsie Ukalagu, a tailor and mother of two children, who was began worshipping at The Kingdom Hall after marrying her Jehovah Witness  husband, explains why they do not partake in most Christian celebrations: “We do not celebrate Christmas because it is wrong. Many people say that they are “honoring Christ” in when they are celebrating Christmas but the problem is that God does not say this is acceptable to Him. Actually, He plainly commands against it. Keeping Christmas dishonors Christ! He considers everything about it to be an abomination! It is a pagan tradition that they just turned upside down to call Christmas and if you even check the day Jesus was born you will see that it was not even on that 25^th (of December) that they are talking about. So there is no reason why anybody who calls him or herself a true Christian should partake in such a thing.”

Regardless of the vast archaeological claims, Operations Manager at a popular Nigerian Bank, Eunice Egbochulam, is of the opinion that date of birth is of no relevance rather, the focus should be on the essence of the Saviours birth and His sacrifice for humanity.  She says, “I think trying to prove when Christ was born is unnecessary. People should rather focus on why He was born in the first place. We all know that in those days, it was difficult to tell the actual timing of an event because in those days, they did not used to keep records so it is possible that they date may have been mixed up.”

Intense prayer session at a Crusade

Yomi Aboderin, a travel and tours agent who resides in Ilasa area of Lagos lives beside a vibrant worship centre. Anytime members of the church congregate for what they call ‘unified prayer session’ at least once a week, peaceful sleep eludes Aboderin and other neighbours. Narrating the ordeal he goes through every week, he says: “The church on my street has night vigil every Friday. They call it ‘pass over night’.

The choir starts warming up from 7pm with ‘music ministration’ till around 10pm when the prayer will be in full motion. By the time it is midnight, you will just be hearing them screaming ‘I say die now!!!!’. ‘Die now’ is what you will hear till day break and then next week the demon that they killed the previous week will resurrect again and they will ‘die’ the demon again. All this while, the volume of their loudspeakers is at the highest so that the devil that is worrying them can hear them very well and die. What they fail to realise is that there are humans who are simply just trying to catch some sleep and are not planning to die anytime soon (he laughs). I would be glad if they either turn off the noise or carry their vigil somewhere else.”

Living with the noise

Aboderin is not alone, Grace Mba, an elderly woman who runs a victuals shop near the Egbeda Central Mosque is exasperated at the way religious groups conduct their affairs. According to her, “When I initially acquired this shop, this building beside me was not being used as a mosque. However, about a year and half later, the house next door was converted into a mosque and after a while they moved their giant speakers outside. That was the begining of the trouble. Now, from morning till night, all you hear is ‘Allahu Akbar’. In the past they would just use the microphone to announce their prayer time and then they would go silent but now, they will announce the prayer, recite all their prayers and even preach. The place is now busy all the time. I wonder whether they ever put into consideration the fact that other people who are not Moslems also stay here.”

When asked if she had taken the step to lodge a complaint to the mosque authorities, she replied, “Who will listen to you if you complain? At the early stage, we used to gently tell the Alfa who in person can be a nice man when he wants to be, to try and reduce the volume of the speakers since we knew asking them to turn it off was not an option. This man will make all kinds of promises and jokes about it but the very next day, it is the same throughout. They are claiming freedom of expression but let them ask themselves if what they are doing is fair.” Patience Ejei who recently gave birth to her second child has had to struggle with getting her child to adjust to the noise created by the 52 Road area Mosque in Gowon Estate. She posits: “I am a nursing mother with a three month old baby who has a habit of keeping me awake at night so the only time we both have to rest is in the day but that is when these our Moslem brothers want to say their prayers. At times, I would have put her to sleep after a lot of effort, only for these prayer people to start singing their song and she would wake up and start crying all over again.”

Many residents of Lagos have complained about the nuisance of some worship centres who have made life difficult for their neighbours . This might have spurred by the Lagos State Government to shutdown some branches of The Redeemed Christian Church of God and Mountain of Fire Ministries located in Ojo. Although the churches have been re-opened after the intervention of some religious leaders, the level of noise produced by many religious houses seems to be on the increase.

Reacting to these allegations of noise pollution, Pastor of Victorious House Assembly in Agege, Pastor Joshua Adebayo says, “The method of putting loud speakers outside the church is for ministration purposes. In the days of old, it was the town-crier’s job to walk around hitting a gong with a stick. This was their mode of passing the King’s message across to the villagers. In like manner, the modern day church uses the speaker to spread the Good News of Jehovah so that they can come to Church and renew their spiritual lives.”

When reporter asked him if he was not concerned about the level of disturbance his external loudspeaker were causing, he said, “I do not think it is a disturbance because nobody has come to complain to us yet. I am sure that if they feel the sound is too high, they would have let us know but they haven’t. Besides we try not to turn the volume of the speakers too high so that everybody can hear it at a comfortable volume.”

The traffic melee

In recent years, it has become common place for regular users of major intra and inter-state roads to spend hours languishing in traffic snarls caused during events held by religious organisations. Emeka Ejezue, a business man who has fallen victim a couple of times says, “It is selfish for a man to constantly force his fellow man to adjust his plan to suit his own. That is what we experience every first weekend of the month on Lagos-Ibadan express way where motorists sit in traffic for more than three to four hours on a journey that should take about fifteen minutes. That is where cars will start to over-heat or develop one fault or the other and drivers will be sweating and suffering because a bunch of people want to go for camp. It is a reflection of the wicked nature of human beings, it is pure man’s inhumanity to man.”

In a voice couched in pain, he asked, “How can you expect your prayers to be answered when you are not even putting the life of your neighbour into consideration? If they know they want to go to the ‘mountain’ to pray every month, couldn’t they have built their camp far from this road that they know is a major one which a lot of people use, in order to reduce the kind of traffic? Yet, when they come to preach to you they will be commanding you to love your neighbour and be practising the gifts of the Holy Spirit whereas they do the very opposite.”

Citing the inadequate availability of land space and the need to propagate the Gospel as a reason many religious establishments are found without proper parking spaces, Deacon Ajayi of Triumphant Church, Ikeja states, “I do not think any serious person would intentionally set out to inconvenience his or her colleague or neighbour, talk less of a church. It is pretty obvious that when you look around Lagos, you will hardly find land at an affordable price, so what most churches do is get a space according to their budget and have members park their cars by the side of the street with the help of ushers who direct traffic.”

He is of the opinion that people should focus less on where churches are sited but direct attention to the teachings they give their members adding, “There are churches around with very big compounds and hi-tech gadgets but they do not have anything to show for it in terms of producing believers who are strong in their faith,” he continued.

Churches are not the only culprits as each time the Nasrul Fathi Society of Nigeria (NASFAT), an islamic society, holds its programmes along the Lagos-Ibadan expressway, the same level of traffic chaos is experienced. There have been reports of people held in traffic on the road for hours.

Dealing with the problem

In spite of the previous efforts made to curtail this growing menace, it is apparent that taking decisive steps to ensure this trend is curtailed is of essence. Adebola Shabi, General Manager of the Lagos State Environmental Protection Agency, (LASEPA) states that his agency has begun to checkmate this problem: “Every area has its acceptable sound levels, for example in the day residential areas are not to exceed 55 decibels and 45 decibels at night. We have been educating and sensitizing these religious houses on how they should manage their noise. We ask them to enclose their spaces and pull down those speakers and many of them have been complying because some of them have been signing Memorandums of Understandings (MOU’s) with us. As for the traffic matter, the ideal is that before any prayer house is built they should have a Physical Planning Approval so that things like parking spaces can be put into consideration but the truth of the matter is that over ninety percent of these religious houses whether they are mosques, churches or shrines do not have this and we are coming after them.”

Although officials of LASEPA claim to have the noise and traffic situation under control, Rueben Arugba, a lecturer insists, “Our state government is partly to blame for this problem because if they put their feet down and start to punish all these organisations which have turned themselves into nuisance with their activities, most of all these things will be history. They should place a heavy fine on these organisations every time they obstruct traffic. Urban planning is also important. I do not understand why there should be a church on every street when most of these churches are usually half-empty on Sundays. All these mushroom establishments should be demolished and re-located to the outskirts of the community so that when people want to pray they will do so without offending anybody and when others want to rest in their houses, they can do so in peace.”

 The question many are asking is how does the government hope to tackle this menace in a country where religion has turned to a divisive force among a disunited, angry and frustrated populace?

With incidences of road accidents on the rise, mixed reactions trail the use of motorcycles, popularly known as okada, as a means of transportation. RITA OHAI writes.
The sound of screeching tyres and blaring horns is deafening. Carbon fumes from exhaust pipes pollute the air. It is a busy Lagos road with heavy traffic. In the midst of the action is the ubiquitous commercial motorcycle, popularly called “okada.”

For many, it is a fast means of transport. One of them, photographer and pharmaceutical sales representative, Julius Egwumba, said: ‘I have been taking okada to work for as long as I can remember. It is not as if I can’t take a bus from Iyana Ipaja to Ikeja but the roads are too blocked because of traffic; so to beat time, I will have to use okada.’

Chioma Agbarakwe, a business woman, gave the same reason for using okada. According to her, ‘Taking okada is a normal thing for me because my business makes me move around a lot and since I do not have a car yet, I have to use okada.

‘I prefer using it (okada) to buses because of the kind of traffic we experience in Lagos. Many times, if you make the mistake of taking a bus on a long distance journey in Lagos and you do not leave your house at least four hours before schedule just get ready to sleep on the road’ .

She added jokingly, ‘Not only will you get there late, you will just be frustrated throughout the journey because the buses are usually in such a terrible state, whereas on okada sweet breeze will be blowing you.’

In spite of the positive points stated by these okada users’, many of the road accidents recorded in the country annually involve okada drivers and their passengers. According to the coordinator of Arrive Alive Road Safety Initiative, Mr. Ike Okonkwo, over 12,000 lives are lost yearly on the nation’s roads to commercial motor cycle accidents with about 30,000 seriously injured. Uchenna Ohaedoghasi, an NYSC member serving in Nasarawa State identified some of the factors which cause these accidents: ‘Most of these okada people do not even bother to learn the basic traffic rules, so you have a situation where you are driving on the road and they just overtake you on the wrong side without even trafficating. They also drive at ridiculous speeds that sometimes you begin to wonder where they are flying to.

‘Their level of impatience is alarming and when they eventually get involved in accidents, they find it hard to accept that they are the ones who caused it. Rather all the okada people around will gang up against you and insist that you pay their hospital bills.’

However, Kabir Adeoye, a computer software analyst, argued that passengers sometimes contribute to the cause of accidents: “We agree that these okada riders are very reckless but the truth of the matter is that more often than not, it is the passengers that push these drivers to exceed their speed limit. In many cases, the passengers shout on the drivers to hurry and take unnecessary short-cuts. At other times, you see people sitting on motorbikes on express-ways with their helmets sitting on their laps but when the accident finally happens, everybody will start screaming the driver’s name which is unfair.”

Bad roads are also to blame for okada accidents, said Grace Onuoha, a physiotherapist. She said, ‘As much as we know that using okada for transportation is risky, it is also important for us to consider the state of our roads. Many of the roads we take on a daily basis are in terrible shape and the government is not ready to do anything about it. Imagine a case where someone lives in a swampy area where the road is only wide enough for a bicycle, that kind of person has no choice but to use an okada.’

The increase in the use of okada has created a booming business with large numbers of motorbikes bought and leased by the owners to unemployed drivers on a daily basis for profit. According to Tunji aka Freestyle who works as a part-time bus conductor and okada driver, “Okada business is good business because no matter what happens, you must find something to chop for that day. That is why our big Chairman will buy plenty okada that he will share to all the riders very early in the morning around 6a.m. From there we will run around and carry passengers but in the night we will take the okada back to our oga, from there we will give him his own Rajaa (daily monetary cut).”

He further said that many okada accidents are caused by Abokis (local term for Hausa men) who pay little attention to traffic rules. “If you check around, you will see that it is all this aboki people that like to have accident. Even when we go to council for meeting, they no dey hear word. If you tell aboki, ‘no follow this side’ that is the time they will want to follow that place, so they are the cause of accidents.”

Disagreeing with this claim, Princewill Ekezie, argued, “Accidents can happen to anybody. It just depends on how you manage yourself when your are on the road. If a person is rough on the road, no matter where they are from, that person can have an accident.” The notion that okada riding is an occupation reserved for the brash and uneducated just might not ring true in modern-day Nigeria. Ekezie is a History graduate who drives okada in the Oshodi axis of Lagos. He explained: “I finished from Enugu State University of Science and Technology (ESUTH) in 1998 but when I came out I searched for a job for more than three years. Time was passing-by and I had to survive so I tried some other businesses then in 2004 I settled for okada and I have been driving it since.”

On the level of skill required to drive an okada for commercial purposes, he said: “To ride okada is not hard. If you know how to ride bicycle then in one week the person can ride it (okada). It is just experience that matters.”

Usumanu Mele who hails from Maiduguri, Borno State, but makes a living as an okada driver in Egbeda, Lagos, considers himself a professional, although he has had barely two months experience with driving motorbikes: ‘I came to Lagos from Maiduguri so that I can provide food for my family in Borno. My brothers were already doing this business here so three months ago I decided to join.’

A doctor who works in a government-owned orthopaedic hospital in Lagos State painted a picture of the risk involved in the mode of transportation: ‘The advent of okada as a means of transportation is in my opinion a major disaster. People out there who patronize okadas for any reason need to come to the A and E (the Accidents and Emergency ward) to see the kind of suffering that victims of accidents are dealing with. Most of the severe surgical emergency injuries I attend to in the hospital are as a result of okada accidents. The injuries range from open bone fractures to head wounds which result in unconsciousness and even death.’

He added, “Also the cost for treatment is overwhelming. Many times when these patients come in, they get to spend between N25, 000 for a simple injury which requires a Plaster of Paris or above N150, 000 for surgery which will require implants for broken bones.’

He gave first-aid tips in case of an okada accident, saying, ‘Passers-by can help control the amount of blood lost by covering the wound with a clean cloth and applying a little pressure. It is important that they do not tie the wound because that can cut-off blood flow to that part of the body. In the case of a bone fracture to the arms or legs, they can make a splint with cartons and pieces of wire or cloths and tie around the affected limb.’

Emphasizing the need for helmets while riding on motorbikes, he said: ‘If you must use an okada, then it is important for you to use a helmet. All over the world, the use of helmets have been known to reduce the mortality and morbidity of okada accidents. This does not mean that the accidents will not happen and that people will not be injured, rather, what it means is that the size of the injury will be reduced.’

In a bid to allay the fear of the spread of lice by people who refuse to use the helmets, the doctor said: ‘A person will have to wear an infected helmet for a very long journey before the lice can be transmitted. A short ride cannot give you lice besides this is like choosing between the devil and the deep blue sea, you need to decide which is more important, the possibility of getting lice or being involved in a life threatening accident.’

Recently in Bayelsa State, Arrive Alive Road Safety Initiative, in collaboration with Chevron and the Federal Road Safety Comission (FRSC) distributed over 20,000 helmets to truck and okada drivers. The Bayelsa State FRSC Sector Commander, Mr. Baba Aliyu, in an interview vowed that the sector will ensure full compliance with the use of helmets. FRSC officials in other parts of the country had also promised to deal with okada riders who flaunt the helmet-wearing rule.

In some parts of the country, with crimes such as armed robbery and kidnapping on the rise, curfews have been put in place affecting okada drivers. In Lagos, for instance, commercial motorbikes are not allowed beyond 10pm. Jonas Agwu, the Lagos State FRSC Sector Commander spoke on this development, saying, “In Lagos State we have launched a renewed commitment to applying judicial processes in the prosecution of traffic law offenders and okada riders are no exception. In the last three weeks we have arrested and prosecuted 29 okada riders in the court of law and this will be a continuous process. The curfew has been in place for a long time and this is being enforced because of the risk associated with night-time, that is why FRSC officials usually hand over their posts on the roads to the Police who are armed enough to handle this risks.”

Rita Ohai writes on the unfriendly weather changes, impact and how to prepare for future occurrences

As the rains began to pour in the morning of July 10, little did many residents of Lagos State know that the shadow of destruction had stealthily braced their doorsteps.  Many were caught unawares as the light showers suddenly turned heavy. Human activities were halted and properties destroyed after about 18 hours of torrential downpour. The rain was unrelenting in its down pour reminiscent of the biblical Noah’s flood. Over 20 people were confirmed dead.

The total lack of preparation on the part of the people of Lagos threw the city into a state of pandemonium as everyone began pointing fingers at one another.

Prosper Okonkwo, an Architect resident in what the Cable News Network (CNN) has described as the most expensive slum in the world, Victoria Island, had driven his family to church that Sunday morning but had to push his car through the flood only to be met with a gut-wrenching sight in his home. He narrates: “While I was taking my family to church that Sunday morning, I noticed that the clouds had turned a little grey and so I knew it was going to rain. Church service had already started when the rain began and I had no idea it was going to rain for as long as it did. When service ended and the rain still had not stopped, my wife and I decided to head home and everything was fine until we got to a street not too far from my house.

“First, my car’s engine packed-up because water had entered the carburettor. Since we weren’t very far from the flat and my wife’s younger sister was with us, we decided to push the car home. It was while we were pushing that my sister-in-law reminded us that we had forgotten to close the windows facing our backyard as water usually soils the rug from there every time rain falls but by the time we reached our gate I saw that the entire compound was filled with water. I live on the ground floor so you can imagine how my house would have looked like. The level of the water was so high that my chairs in the living room were soaked. We lost most of our family pictures, clothes, shoes and some important documents that were lying around in my bedroom.  It is just unfortunate because even though it has cost me so much money to replace some of the things that were damaged, there are some personal belongings that money cannot buy like my wedding pictures,” he expressed.

Echoing Okonkwo’s grief, thousands who were displaced around the city have struggled to re-locate out of their flood prone neighbourhoods to better climes without success. This is the plight of Titi Adegbite’s family who still reside in Agege despite losing most of their belongings in the flood. She says, “The area where we live(d) before that rain on Sunday was near the canal but when the rain fell and carried plenty of our load, my dad started looking for another house for us outside this Agege area but we have not been able to find because the cost of rent in all those places are too expensive that is why we are still staying in this place.”

In Katsina, rainfall which lasted about three hours killed seven people including Al-Amin Rufai, a primary school pupil and pulled down over 120 houses in towns like Kofar-Marusa, Sabuwar-Unguwa, Kofar-Kaura and Katsina Cikin-Gari.
Despite the level of damage caused by the flood and the persistent warning given by the National Meteorological Centre, inhabitants of other coastal cities appeared to have turned a blind eye and deaf ear to the warnings. Two months after the harrowing flood in Lagos, disaster struck in the ancient city of Ibadan. More than 100 lives were lost, scores of children were declared missing, while properties worth millions of naira were destroyed.

Co-ordinator for the African Region of an internationally renowned pro-Climate group  350.org, Samantha Bailey, said that the harsh weather conditions witnessed in Nigeria and other parts of the world is caused by the general rise in the level of carbon emmissions produced by individuals, industries and government as a whole. According to her: “The reason why we are having more frequent natural disasters such as floods is due to the increase in atmospheric carbon from 350 parts per million (which is the maximum the earth can handle) to the present state of 390 parts per million (ppm). So we see that our planet is already 40 parts per million above the capacity the earth can handle and because we have crossed that boundary, the earth’s climate will not be stable and human survival rate from natural disasters will continue to decline until we reduce carbon emmissions to 350ppm.”

According to Bailey, the high presense of carbon in the atmosphere is melting the glaciers and ice-caps in the North and South poles which in turn is causing a huge rise in sea and atmospheric moisture level thereby causing more damage during rainstorms and floods. She said, “Although natural disasters like droughts and flooding are not new, the change in climate is increasing the severity and speed. For example countries like Ethiopia that used to experience droughts every ten to fifteen years now suffer from far worse droughts every two years and Nigeria has just begun to experience these harsh impacts of climate change in the frequent flooding, desertification in the North and ocean surges around the coast.”

From eroding coastlines to depleting fish stocks, the effects of climate change is being felt along West Africa’s coastlines. Some of the human activities carried out by Nigerians which have been fingered as causes of environmental pollution are gas flaring which depeletes the ozone layer and oil-spill in the Niger Delta by oil-producing companies, deforestation and cattle over-grazing in the North, dumping refuse in water drainages and erecting buildings on water channels.

Mr. Abayomi Oyegoke, the Chief Meteorologist of the Central Forecast Office at The Nigerian Metrological Agency, Oshodi, stated that the increase in the level of rainfall experienced in the country is caused by the high density of moisture carried by the South-Easterly trade wind from the sea. He also explained how incidences of flooding occur: “When the earth surface or soil absorbs moisture to capacity, the remaining water on the surface will run-off over the surface. It is when this run-off water is left to accumulate without any proper drainage channels that cases of flooding arise.”

He further noted that although there have been changes in the country’s climate with respect to the time of occurrence of the rainy and harmattan or dry season, a general cessation in heavy rain fall is expected to take place towards the end of November.
In a bid to mitigate the unfavourable impact of climate change on the environment in most flood-prone parts of the country, state governments like Edo and Lagos have begun to take decisive steps to save its residents from the gory eruption of future environmental disasters.
The Lagos State Commissioner for Environment, Mr. Tunji Bello, during an inspection tour of Lekki and Somolu areas of the metropolis said that the demolition of buildings and other structures blocking drainage channels across the state would be a continuos process. According to him, the primary purpose of the demolition “is to enable the drainage channels to properly discharge into the lagoon and avoid a repeat of the July 10 flooding which claimed lives and properties.”

Respite from the fury of the climate seems not to be on the horizon as the Nigerian Metereological Agency, Abuja has predicted that heavy rainfall are expected in Ibadan, Calabar and Bauchi between September and October.

However, Nigeria is not alone. All over the world environmental changes and climate change seem to have taken a new twist. Flood in China, mud and landslides in Nepal, hurricane and cyclone threats at every corner of the world.

The United Nations Secretary General, Ban Ki-moon said there was the need to step up action to fight global climate change. He said the phenomenon was responsible for the debilitating drought that is ravaging the Horn of Africa and causing severe flooding in Australia. He called on those who are still in doubt about global warming to reconsider their stand.

According to him, “By 2050, the (world) population will reach nine billion. That is a 50 per cent increase compared with 2000. By that time we will have to reduce greenhouse emissions by 50 per cent.” But the question is: is there any hope of reducing green house emission with the expected bloated population?

As part of the move to draw the attention of governments and individuals to the causes, effects and solutions for climate change, 350 Nigerians will hold Global Day of Action across the country from the 19th to the 24th of September.

Basic steps individuals could take to protect themselves from the negative imapcts of climate change include turning off tap water and  switching off all light bulbs and electrical appliances when not in use, reducing the number of times they use their cars for short distance trips, keeping drainages blockage-free and putting pressure on the government to implement environmental policies.

Corp members saluting on the parade ground

Youth Corps  members who officially wore their ‘jungle boots’ for the last time at the Passing Out Parade (P.O.P) which held during the week spoke about their experiences while serving their Motherland. Rita Ohai reports.

Under the sun and in the rain…Nigeria we serve”As the Batch ‘B’ Corp members sang the NYSC anthem for the last time, a glorious feeling of jubilation filled the atmosphere. Family relatives and friends watched from the sidelines as the ‘corpers’ stretched their vocal chords. The expression plastered on the faces of many read ‘freedom’. Others wore the empty look of uncertainty, their graduation from the Corp signaled their induction into the job hunting population.

Amonia Karibo, a Batch ‘B’ ex-Corp member serving in Ekiti State posits: “It’s a bitter sweet experience. Although it’s a good thing to be able to live with people from other parts of the country and learn their culture but there’s no place like home. I’m so glad it’s finally over.”

The graduate of Microbiology recounted some of her experiences while serving in a land thousands of miles away from her family in Port Harcourt: “I really didn’t know what to expect when I was posted to Ekiti but secretly I had hoped that it wouldn’t be very different from PH. When I got here, all that hope just vanished into thin air.

“Initially, I was faced with the language barrier issue. Most of the students and some of teachers here cannot speak English. Passing along even the most basic information in the school where I taught was a challenge. I found out that the people here prefer the laid-back lifestyle. Majority of the workers are either teachers or they work in the Government House which is sad because there are only very few businesses around making it’s really difficult to find places like supermarkets when you need something,” she stated.

Karibo, like many other Youth Corp members who participated in the INEC registration and voting exercise said, “Many of us who participated in the INEC exercise have not been paid. They owe different people various amounts of money. I am yet to receive the remaining N14, 000 allowance they promised to pay us. Some other people are being owed higher amounts.”

While Corp members in Ekiti State still have an axe to grind with INEC, Leerabari Tebira, who served in Delta State expressed: “We were happy when they eventually paid us our INEC allowances because we had waited for so long that we thought it would never come again.”

One of the silent yearnings of a ‘corper’ is to retain their position in the organisation they were posted to. However, Leerabari, who served in a rural town, stated in shock, “Why would I want to be retained here? Who would want that kind of thing? I am leaving this place as soon as possible.”

The ex-Corp members serving in states like Lagos and Abuja tell a different story. Amarachi, who hails from Abia State, narrates: “I graduated from Abia State University (ABSU) but I purposely wanted to serve in Lagos because I want to get a good job after service. Now that we have done our Passing-Out-Parade (P.O.P), the next thing on my mind is to start giving people my C.V.”

According to her, some of her colleagues had begun job hunting months before the expiration of their one-year National Youth Service tenure. “I even started looking for a job very late. Most of the people who are in my Community Development (C.D) group were already going to meet different companies for jobs and a few of them got it. I just know that I don’t want to go back to Aba empty-handed so I will try my luck here first.”

Okadu Azibayam, a graduate of the University of Port Harcourt refused to show up in camp after he discovered the state he had been posted. He said “I was posted to Zamfara State when I graduated from school and I refused to go. I would rather miss out on one year of service and re-apply next year than go to a place where the chances of loosing my life over a flimsy reason will sky-rocket.”

Re-iterating the need for the cancellation of the National Youth Service Corp (N.Y.S.C) programme, Ruky Sesebo, a Batch ‘A’ ex-Corp member says, “Taking part in the Youth Service programme at some point in Nigeria’s history had its benefits but now that we have cases were the Government cannot secure the lives of its children, it is no longer worth it. People are being paid peanuts and can barely survive on the stipend they are given. Corp members are forced to live in terrible conditions and the Government is doing nothing about it. In light of all this abnormality, the programme should definitely be scrapped.”

An Abuja based Corp member, Tobi Ogunwobi, who is serving as a Dentist in a private clinic takes a different stand: “I am more in favour of reforming the NYSC rather than totally scrapping it. I strongly believe that Corp members should be able to choose which geo-political zones they would want to serve in. I am also of the opinion that only indigenes of zones with a history of violence should be sent to those areas and the welfare package of Corp members should be reviewed because it’s unfair to pay a graduate N9,500 in this age when that amount can barely feed a person for a week”

Records show that over 4,000 Corp members have died during their service year since 1999. More than 11 of them were brutally murdered during the 2011 elections. In states such as Bauchi, Kaduna, Kano, Adamawa, Nasarawa, Benue, Gombe, Sokoto, Plateau, Niger, Katsina and Delta, dozens of young ladies have been raped and brutally molested.

In Rivers State, at the Passing-Out-Parade of Batch ‘B’ Crop members, it was announced that 5 Corp members had been confirmed dead. Another five who were supposed to partake in the parade had been kidnapped by unknown gun-men. The kidnappers are requesting a ransom fee of N100 million from the State Government. The kidnapped Corp members are yet to be released.

Rita Ohai sheds light on the plight of the average trader and customer conducting business at the market. 

A cross-section of Olayeni street

“Sister, which phone you want? I get original Nokia, Samsung, Blackberry, Sony Ericsson and Motorola. Anyone you want dey”. The clarion call of the business men and women on the streets of the largest information Techonlogy market in West Africa, Computer Village.

With the scorching sun beating on fore-heads, sweat-soaked shirts clinging to flesh and the stench of the struggle for survival oozing from human pores, excited and weary shoppers press their way through the thick cluster of moving bodies and
vehicles littering the streets of the Silicon Valley of West Africa.

A first-time visitor on tour along Ola-ayeni and  Otigba Street will be met with the sight of transient showrooms – pieces of cartons placed on the floor and on cars showcasing an array of second-hand phones and accessories on display, situated as close to the middle of the road as possible.

Ruben Arugba who sells and repairs laptops and serves as the Secretary General of his union laments about the high cost of the rental shops: “The tenement rate around here has skyrocketed over the years. Most of the shops around here have rent fees that
range from about N200,000 at the Police Plaza to N1.6 million for a year at most of the other shops.

“It might be because of the large amount of money generated in this market on a daily basis that the landlord’s think they can just increase the rent whenever they feel like. Apart from that the place is a very good place to do business. Here, everybody
understands each other”, he stated.

However, Silver Iroadiogwu, a phone accessories trader who doubles as the Financial secretary of the Jonathan Oni Plaza union takes a different stand: “When I came here about ten years ago, this place was known for computers alone but after the introduction of G.S.M in the Nigerian market, a lot of people started flocking down here to sell phones, software’s and other gadgets.”

“This would have been a good thing,” he says “if not for the way the Government treats us. They treat us like we are not making any input into the Nigerian economy. For example, practically all the shops in computer village, make use of generators nearly all the time. I can categorically tell you that here in computer village we hardly get light for more than one hour every week. For the kind of business we do, we need constant light and spending hundreds of thousands of naira on diesel and fuel every week is a huge burden. At the end of the day, it just makes things unnecessarily expensive for the buyer.”

A major thorn in the flesh of business men at the center is the high amount of dues dealers are mandated to pay on a monthly and annual basis. It is reported that apart from the waste management, tax and PHCN bills they pay, they also are expected to remit “Omonile” fees to a crop of young men who tag themselves as indigenes of Ikeja. These touts in turn remit some of the
money to their ‘Chairmen’ who disburse the funds amongst their subject as they deem fit. Mr. Silver who believes these touts serve as a hindrance to the growth of the market states “The ‘Omonile’ boys really make our lives difficult. It is because of these boys that some of our customers have refused to come to the market to buy goods instead they insist that we must carry the goods down to their offices before they buy anything from us and this is really causing bad business for us”.

Bullet who is tags himself as an Independent Marketer states “In this place if you can’t beat them you join them because if you don’t you will be frustrated. All these people who call themselves ‘Omonile” are only looking for ways to be identified. They do not mean to cause any harm to any body, just give them what they want and they will leave you alone”

Even with the visible presence of the Police station in the ‘village’ there are regular complaints of pick-pocketing, bullying and swindling carried out by the ‘floor boys’ as well as the “agbero’s”. One of the victims of this form of mischief Sunday Acheru, a 29 year-old graphic designer narrates “Last year, in December to be precise, I thought it was time to change my phone so I
went to computer village to get another one. On getting there, I went round the major shops as I normally do in order to get the original but on this particular day, I don’t know what happened to me. I just felt that the prices they were giving me was too expensive and I didn’t have enough money on me.

“So while I was arguing the price with a seller in one of the shops on Oremeji street one man I saw standing beside the shop told me he could get me the phone at a cheaper price that was how I believed him. I don’t know where he produced the phone from but it looked exactly like the one I saw in the shop. I didn’t even bother arguing with him too much because he wanted to collect N15 000 instead of the N25 000 the others were asking for. He told me he wanted to go and get a nylon bag to help me pack
the phone and I agreed. Mind you, he was still holding the phone when he went to get nylon. After he packed it, it didn’t even occur to me to re-check the phone.

“I was busy feeling cool with myself when I got to my office so when one of my friends who works in my department asked me to show him the phone I bought, I brought it out of the pack to insert my SIM card.”

Agitated, he continued, “You will not believe what I saw inside. Do you know that when we opened the phone it was Fu-fu we saw inside! Heaven knows that I was ready to injure somebody that day. I quickly ran back to the computer village but the boy had disappeared. Everybody I asked kept telling me they didn’t know the boy. I felt like a very big fool. I have marked that boy’s face because anywhere I see him again, I will beat the living daylight out of the boy.”

Incidences like that of Sunday’s occur on a regular basis and occupants of the market express that the Police officers turn a blind eye to the high level of crime. A 26 year-old graduate of Banking and Finance, Gbenro, who sells shoes at the market
enthused, “This place is a jungle. Anything can happen here so you have to shine your eye because as you are calling the Police to settle you matter, they will be collecting bribe from you.”

He alleged that: “They even cooperate with the touts because when those boys finish taxing everybody around here, they will go to the Police station to go and give them their share. So what do you need the Police for?”

In disagreement, a member of The Nigerian Police Force stationed at on Otigba street at the ‘village’ who pleaded anonymity posits, “Most of the claims these people are making are false. If you go to our station you will see the number of cases we deal with on a weekly basis. The main problem is with the touts and traders here who like to take laws into their hands, instead of reporting matters to us they wait until a small issue becomes a major problem before the report the
matter.”

He also said that due to the amount of fear accrued to the touts and the high level of secrecy observed by the ‘Omonile’ and their cult groups, the Police were more often than not, hindered in carrying out their duties. He denied claims of bribery against the members of the Police force. All efforts made to speak with the Officer-in-Charge of the district proved abortive.

Messy, unregulated, and wild, this digital bedrock which serves as the pillar of Nigeria’s Internet powerhouse offers a tinge of  hope to unemployed youths who against all odds are determined to put food on their tables. A manager of one of the computer sales and repair shops in Computer Village, Chidi Illodibe states: “Here, some people are graduates of more than 5 or 6 years without any job. What they do is that they attach themselves to a technician and from there, they learn the skill by watching their master repair gadgets.

“Definitely, if one is interested in the business, the person has to have a love for computers. Then you have to enroll for training for at least four months. After that you may want to start their own business or they may squat with their master until they have enough money.”

Even as investors continue to scamper for the next available space to put up structures in Computer Village popularly called Otigba market, it has been affirmed that the much talked about relocation of the market remains non-negotiable. Officials of Computer and Allied Products Association of Nigeria, CAPDAN, disclosed a few weeks ago the Government’s determination to
move the market to the proposed permanent site at Kotangowa in Ijaye local government area of the state would be carried out as soon as the new site is completed.

Ernest Souwari, a home-appliance seller on Oremeji street believes the news of relocation is an inconceivable rumor. He expressed his displeasure at this initiative undertaken by the Government: “They have been telling us they will re-locate us for many years but till today nothing has happened. If they move us, it will become a major security matter for us because when we move goods from the airport to this market (Computer village) we know the amount of risks we face everyday talk less of travelling all the way to Kotangowa.”

“It will become easy for all these thieves to attack us and the cost of transportation will also add to our suffering. There’s also a very high chance that most of our customers will leave us because of problems like traffic people will face to get to the new site. We are pleading to the Government not to destroy what we have worked so hard to build”, he pleaded.

 Rita Ohai unveils her encounter as she explored the vast lands of Iwo, Ejigbo and Osogbo in Osun State.

Mud house along Iwo road

Excitement and eager anticipation filled my bones and pounded through my blood stream as I boarded the bus heading to Osogbo. After waiting for a little over two hours for passengers to harken to the constant yelling of the hoarse voiced conductor, with the help of the bus driver, I began my slow-paced adventure to a land of beauty yet to be explored.

Sitting in the vehicle, thoughts of unlimited measure flittered through my mind but nothing prepared me for the shocking discovery of the challenges that faced the drivers who ply this route. Trying really hard not to be caught playing the role of a ‘peeping Tom’, I watched as the bubbly, round-faced driver slipped N30 into the hands of policemen at every check point on the journey.

With stone-hard expressions, the ‘security officers’ (regardless of the rank) slipped the cash into deep pockets and in some cases offered various amounts as change to the driver should they receive sums of money larger than their stipulated fee.

As rubber met asphalt, mammoth expanse of under-utilized land interspersed with large rock formation which stretched for miles loomed before weary eyes. Comparing this scenery to the average over-populated street or road-side in Lagos would have been a ludicrous attempt. The timeless potential of these portions of land could serve as a goldmine for any dying economy, thought this reporter as I began to draw a mental check-list of the many industries that could grow from its proper use.

Having spent three hours on the road, all the passengers heaved a huge sigh of relief as the bus came to a final stop at a filling station in the heart of Osogbo. Wanting to put what was left of day-light to good use, I decided to head for the next point on my itinerary, a government facility called the ‘State House Annex’. Coming from an environment like Lagos where almost every human littering its street was impatient and aggressive, it was a surprise to find passers-by as well as okada riders who were patient and courteous enough to carefully explain hazy directions.

The orderly bustle of the town saps the energy out restless souls as the people go about their daily activity with a sense of serene purpose, never in a hurry. I was also soon to find out how relatively cheap the cost of transportation was in comparison with that of other major commercial cities across the country.

With my bag hanging from my shoulder, I employed the services of an avaricious okada rider who looked as if he was going to faint when I offered to pay him the amount he was charging as his fare. I quickly learned that the average cost of a bike-fare was N30 and any trip that required you to pay more was better handled with the aid of a small, bug-like bus called ‘korogbe’.

Although the premises being visited boasted of large buildings, it was akin to a ghost town as very few people were seen conducting business there at a few minutes past 1pm. This, in more ways than one, spoke of the work ethic of the staff.

Nightfall soon began to spread its dark blanket across the sky and the hunt for a comfortable shelter to spend the night became intense. For a town that does not have so many visitors knock on its doors, the rundown state of most of its hotels is to be expected. Whatever the hotels and relaxation spots lacked in finesse, they made up for in prices as an average single room costs about N4,500.

At the break of dawn, it is not an unusual sight to see a farmer and his children wielding cutlasses on a bicycle heading for their farms. Heading to Ejigbo town from Osogbo was an amusing trip as nine passengers were crammed into a very old Peugeot station wagon that looked like it would fall apart at the slightest jolt.

As we crawled over the poorly maintained roads connecting both towns, with stoic expressions we kept trying to ignore the constant and nearly violent gyrations of the vehicle. One is bound to observe the peaceful scenery and the almost absent presence of vehicles on the roads. Passengers were seen sitting on their luggage’s, mostly crops, with forlorn faces.

A tour round the ancient town of Ejigbo would present the appreciative tourist with antique African building built with red mud either left bare or plastered with cement. The amiable people of this town are a large educated group who not only speak English and Yoruba but French also. This is probably as a result of their age long connection with French speaking countries like Togo and Cote d’Ivoire.

Iwo town, although more urban looking than Ejigbo shared the same affinity for traditional, Fuji or Akpala music. Most of the shops visited and the buses entered had this form of music blaring through their speakers. One who is not used to so many musical instruments clashing at the same time might fail to understand the beauty which this kind of music holds.

I was robed with a sense of nostalgia as I boarded a bus returning to Lagos. Knowing that ahead of me lay a city saturated with people living the ‘rat race’ made me yearn for the solitude of these towns. I guess I’ll always carry beauty of the sights, sounds and people of Osun in my heart.

As my sojourn as a Corps member destined to serve my great country, Nigeria, in the ultimate national duty began on the 2nd of April, 2011 little did we know that the journey would be filled with overwhelming twists and turns. Having taken part in the Voter’s registration exercise, most of us who had been crowned with the ‘exalted’ title of INEC ad hoc staff glowed from ear to ear in anticipation of the excitement the scheduled election day promised to birth.

The training exercise had taken place and the names of the successful candidates had been shortlisted and displayed for all interested parties to behold. A few of the people who for one reason or the other felt insecure about making the list began administering ‘special favours’ to INEC officials. The fruits of their labour did not go to waste as ‘ghost-names’ began to appear and disappear at the whim of the officers-in-charge.

A few days to the commencement of the House of Representatives and Senate elections, we , the glorified ad hoc staff members, were ordered to report to our various wards, collation centers in modern day lingo in Lagos, 24 hours before the election day.

Starry-eyed and eager to please, many of my fellow corps members saddled their bags, donned their boots and marched to their wards with a unified mission in mind; To preserve and defend the electoral mandate. However, they hoped that while they were busy helping to usher the country from one democratic era to another, their basic needs such as a place to sleep at night would be met.

More than a few were shocked when after sitting outside under the scorching sun and subsequent cold for over five hours, at about 11:30 p.m, news filtered in that all the ad hoc staff present were doomed to spend the night with the naked sky as our roof and the hard sandy earth as our beds. Many refused to believe they had been taken for granted by the same country, they were putting their lives on the line for. They stayed up all night biting their fingers.

Others , including this reporter, tried to make the best out of the situation by scouting for as many planks of wood, tables and chairs to use as makeshift beds. Necessity became the mother of invention. The resilience of the patriotic spirit blossomed that day.

Spurred awake by basic human instinct as well as the traumatic sleeping conditions, bodies began to stretch and yawn as early as 3:30 am. Without much else to do at such an ungodly hour, people began to share stories, bags of sachet water and toothpaste.

The moment finally arrived when at about 6 a.m, out of the blues, our supervisors and other INEC officials materialized. Scrambling to our feet and smacking our dusty bottoms, I and other staff members pushed the memory of that night’s drama to the backburner. We fanned the embers of our enthusiasm until the entire atmosphere oozed of restrained excitement.

Ignoring the stench of smelly mouths and armpits we pressed forward craning our necks and ears as our supervisors dished out orders at will.

“I want all my Presiding Officers in the classroom right now” he yelled.

Like bridled horses, we did our master’s bidding. Once the working materials had been assigned, we were dispatched to our various polling units. Accreditation began and so did the confusion.

Presiding Officers with little or no experience in customer care had to effectively calm down irate voters who either did not see their names on the voter’s register or their political parties on the ballot papers. People blamed INEC for their disenfranchisement and since the ad hoc staff members present represented the electoral body, they poured their anger on the officers. It was a comedic scene.

Relief washed over many of us when just as we were about to commence voting, news of the postponed election reached us. Now we knew what we had gotten ourselves into. This was no child’s play.

On the 9th of May, the day of the re-scheduled elections, many of the ad hoc staff members defied the rule of being at their wards at least a day before election commenced and arrived on the morning of election day. Memories from the previous week’s moonlight episode ran fresh in our minds.

Since we had the previous weekend’s experience tucked in our belt, we cajoled ourselves into thinking we were better prepared to handle all unforeseen circumstances. However, many of us were delivered the ‘sucker punch’ when the Presiding Officers in some wards were called aside and told by some of their bosses to co-operate with some of the political parties at the sum of N2000 per week. Many of the needy officials gave-in, a miniscule few turned down the offer.

By accepting to play ball with the ‘party agents’, the INEC staff involved was duty bound to register non-eligible voters and fill as many ballot papers as possible regardless of the number of people accredited.

Ad hoc staff members who refused to be bought were subjected to hostile working environments. The looming threat of having their ballot boxes snatched or being physically attacked lay before them constantly. Some Corps members in other parts of the country were killed. It took a decisive show of courage, strength and will-power to enforce and sustain sanity but at the end, the sense of accomplishment felt was worthwhile.

Our allowances have not been paid in full as we are still being owed a full-day’s wage. Judging by the lackadaisical manner in which the Federal Government and the Director General of the National Youth Service Corps has handled the widespread death of Youth Corp members serving their country, it is largely in doubt if we would rise up in answer to their ‘clarion call’ whenever the bugle sounds again.

Rita Ohai explores the growing obsession with mobile phones among adults and teenagers.

PING!!!

Head bowed and fingers clacking away at a miniscule keypad, Ahmed, the 21 year-old sales man at the boutique barely acknowledges the presence of a potential ‘customer’. Oblivious to events taking place around him, he grins sheepishly at an incoming-message on his palm-sized gadget.

Excitedly, he types an appropriate response at a fervent pace. The girl down the street he had spent the last 3 months wooing is finally giving in to his advances. ‘Today must be a good day’, he says to himself

Engrossed in his online ‘toasting’ expedition, he is ignorant of the fact that the stranger scanning the row of shelves has anything but decent motives on her mind. A loud crash sends him flying out of his seat. The stranger had dropped a shoe. Apologising profusely for her clumsiness, she hurries out the shop.

Nothing looked amiss, until later in the evening, when his Oga declared an expensive wristwatch missing. All hell is let loose as Ahmed begins a frantic search for the luxury item. His meagre monthly salary is due in 3-days. With his boss ranting like an aggrieved woman, he is at his wits end. His once vibrant romantic emotions fizzle into thin air as he tosses his phone on the seat across the counter.

This cuts the picture of the type and depth of relationship many people especially teenagers have with their cellular devices. It is now common place to find young people walking on the streets or sitting in lecture halls and churches chatting on their phones, barely paying attention to their environment.

Among the young generation of phone users, it is largely viewed as a fashion faux pas when a person is seen with an ‘outdated’ type of phone. In a bid to fit in with the teeming crowd of youngsters brandishing expensive phones, a lot of people succumb to peer-pressure and go to extreme lengths to purchase theirs.

Shola Durojaiye, a 300-level student of Olabisi Onabanjo University explains: “These days the kind of phone you carry determines the class of people that will be willing to hang out with you. Carrying a tight (in vogue) phone like a BB (Blackberry) is very necessary because it can be really embarrassing when someone asks you for your BB-PIN and you say you do not have one.

“From that moment people will just treat you like you are razz (do not belong) and they’ll start looking down at you. If you have a chinco (substandard) phone do not even bother bringing your phone out in public and always put it on Silent because if it rings out, your rep (reputation) is dead.” 

When asked how these undergraduates are able to afford the purchase and the high cost of maintaining these gadgets she said, “We normally get the money from our parents or older relations but some folks in school actually get the money from hiking the price of their school fees and textbook money or do some small runs (business) so that they can meet their target.”

Second runner-up at the National Olympiad Competition for Secondary Schools, Olisanonso Ohaedoghasi takes a different stand: “It’s good to own a phone that can do ‘cool’ things like chatting, internet browsing and stuff like that but I don’t think people need to go out of their way buy to those phones. At the end of the day, you’ll see that half of what most peeps (people) use those kind of phones for are not really that important.”

This increase in the demand for exotic phones by youngsters invariably translates in the increase in amount of bills parents are forced to pay. This  gives people like Joyce Mbagwu, a business woman, cause for worry as is evident when she says, “If you do not buy them the handsets, they will not let you rest. When you eventually buy the phone for them, you will have to keep paying maintenance bills because they will continue to ask you for money to buy recharge cards. Sometimes it seems as if they are not even concerned about where the money is coming from.”

While other parents spend time complaining, some mother’s have found a way to put their  children’s hunger for technology to good use. Mrs. Foluke Adeoye, a mother of four, posits: “I am a mother to three hyper active boys who always want to have the latest toys in town. Even my baby boy who is in J.S.S.1 has joined the two older ones in giving me stress. First, it was the craze over computer games like Playstation, all of a sudden my first son who is in S.S.2 came home one day and began demanding for a phone as if his future depended on it.”

The smart mum, however, decided to bargain with her kids. Here’s what she did: “I knew that I couldn’t keep saying no for too long so I attached the basis of his getting a phone to his school grades.  I told him he would get a phone only if he aced his exams. I guess that pushed him to do well in school because he was at the top of his class by the end of the term. Now my other kids have followed suit especially my last born who is determined to own a Blackberry before he resumes school next term.”

Although many young people see cell phones as luxury tools, adults tend to claim their usage is based on necessity. Seun Coker, a 39 year-old banker narrates: “I own an iPhone not just because I can afford it but because aside from making phone calls there are some apps (software applications) that the phone has which I work with on a daily basis.”

In a society where owning a mobile phone can be a lot of fun especially for those who are on the move all the time, the level of convenience experienced when using the text message, camera, e-mail and Blackberry Messenger applications cannot be over-emphasized. This  probably explains why phone dealers like Ernest Suowari, a shop owner  in Computer Village, smile to the bank on a regular basis.

Ernest says, “Since I started selling phone in my shop, every day I go home with profit because of the high turnover in this business. If you check around Computer Village, you will see that plenty people are selling phone. It is because people want raining products and we give them what they want.”

However, it is not all rosy for the purchaser of cellular phones as the many benefits of buying a cell can turn sour in light of societal pressures and other related adverse effects.

Dr. Angela Etteh, a Doctor who specializes in Family Medicine states: “The down-side of mobile phones range from addictions all the way to cancer. People generally do not think that ‘phone addiction’ is such a bad thing but when you find out that you can’t sleep at night because you have to make mid-night calls, you can’t rest in the day because your phone is always ringing and even while driving, you find that most of the motorists are busy checking their phones or answering phone calls which exposes them to road accidents then, you’ll see that being addicted is a huge deal.

“When some other activity starts to eat into the time required for rest, the brain starts to get tired easily and this will affect a person’s ability to think effectively. It is especially harmful when teens and younger kids are involved with phones because most of their internal organs, like their brains, are still developing and cannot withstand the high Radio Frequency (R.F.) waves emitted by these machines making them vulnerable to cancer. To have an idea of what happens internally, imagine putting your brain in a microwave and allowing it to cook gradually.”

This compulsive mode of communication with peers encouraged by the excessive use of mobile phones and other engaging forms of recreational technology is viewed by many experts to be the root cause of the decline in the Intelligent Quotient (I.Q.) of youths.

The good news is that most of the negative effects arising from cell phone use can be avoided if certain control measures are taken. Dr. Angela proffers: “It helps to use your ear piece and speaker as often as possible so that you can reduce the amount of radiation that hits your brain. Also try to turn off all phones at night or when you want to sleep so that nothing disturbs you and because you have slept well you’ll be able to achieve more the next day. It’s also important to keep your phone as far away from your body as possible and try to limit children’s access to handsets.”

Walking around Idumota market that hot Friday afternoon was not my idea of fun. The sun was beating down my neck, my armpits were sticky from the mixture of sweat and deodorant and to make matters worse, I was hungry. However, in light of my mission, I pressed on in my search for the perfect birthday gift for my childhood friend and flatmate. After roaming around the market for what seemed like an eternity, I finally spot this pair of amazing stilettos.

“Madam, well done oh! This shoe na how much?”, I asked  as I approached the store, pointing at the masterpiece.

“Fifteen thousand naira but because say you be my customer, take am for twelve”.

Shock!

I nearly stoned the woman with my bag. Unconsciously, I began analyzing the kind of damage buying this shoe would do to my civil servant salary. All kinds of thoughts went through my head…

 What if I buy it and she does not like it? How will I survive for the rest of the month? Is this girl even worth it? I thought to myself.

And then I remembered how many times  Chioma had come to my rescue when people made fun of my big nose. I rushed out of the market in search of an ATM machine, withdrew some cash and grudgingly returned to purchase the shoes.

The minute I walked into the apartment our shared apartment, I saw Funmi wrapping a gift. Funmi was our pretentious, cocky and final flatmate. I didn’t like her much.

“Hey girl, what did you get?”, I asked.

“Nothing you can afford”, she said as she giggled.

I rolled my eyes, kicked off my slippers and stormed past her into my room.

*                       *                      *

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday…”, sang Funmi and I excitedly as we barged into Chioma’s room.

“Hip, hip, hip…hurray”, we yelled as we pounced on her bed.

Shoving our gifts under her nose, we sat back and watched her tear away the wraps like a little child. Apparently, Funmi, had gotten her this ‘newly’ invented, ‘one-size-fits-all’ lace wig.

I had heard of Brazilian and Canadian lace wigs but this ‘one-size-fits-all’ was a first for me especially when it made use of elastic bands in place of a tape or adhesive. While Chioma ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ over her new treasures, I dreamily stared at the lace wig wondering when such a good thing would come my way.

Funmi caught my stare, leaned over and whispered to me “Original lace, sixty thousand naira”

Abeg shift! Who asked you? I thought to myself, saying it out loud would have made me seem like a bad belle.

Chioma who was oblivious to what was happening cued in a CD and began doing the ‘booty-shake’ to Scape goat by D’Banj. Funmi and I forgot our ‘beef’ and joined the groove. Hips and hands were flying in all directions.  It was a typical ‘girlie’ scenario.

The three of us had planned to have dinner at a new eatery in our area. At the last minute, Chioma decided to wear her new wig.

“Is it fine?” she asked me.

“Of course, now. It’s as if she measured your head”

“It’s a ‘one-size-fits-all’…imported!”, Funmi pitched. I wrinkled my nose.

Anyone who had seen us would have thought Funmi was the celebrant as she waved and smiled at practically everybody on the street. It was as we battled through Lagos traffic on Okada that the unthinkable happened. I saw a black hairy object which was flying in the air land in a pool of mud. Someone began screaming.

“Yeeeeeee!”, it was Chioma, who was on a bike in front of mine was screaming at the top of her voice.

Heads were poking out of cars. Pedestrians forgot about their journey and stopped to watch the unfolding drama. Chioma was nearly in tears from the embarrassment. I looked behind at Funmi and saw confusion written on her face. Instead of stopping her bike, she just continued like she didn’t know who we were.

I rushed to Chioma’s side and asked her okada man to turn around and take us home. As we made our painful exit, a guy picked up the wig and shouted

“Come and take your property oh!”.

Everybody began laughing at us. I bent my head in shame. We spent the rest of the day in front of the television set, sulking.

Funmi didn’t return until the next morning. Luckily, Chioma and I had not left for church. I was putting finishing touches to my make-up when she waltzed into the living room.

“One-size-fits-all, original lace-wig”, I said mischievously.

Funmi hissed and ran for the safety of her room. I burst in uncontrollable laughter.

Lace-wig indeed!

The flaps of the curtain danced haphazardly as the cold harmattan wind blew through my window. The soothing sounds of trumpets filled the air from my stereo as Dave Koz did justice to the instrument he was playing. I lay almost curled into a ball as I snuggled under my blanket. This was one of those mornings’ where the thought of getting out of bed seemed like a really bad idea. As I decided to spend a little more time in bed, the pleasant yet vibrant thoughts from yesterday filled my mind….

*                                          *                                                     *

“Merry Christmas!!!!”, Gbemi, my flatmate, screamed into my ear. I barely had my eyes open when I felt the blanket yanked from my body. As I struggled to regain possession of my cover, she flung the curtain open and pounced on the bed in one swift movement. My sleep had been ruined!

“Wake up, jor!”, she said as she nudged my shoulder.

“Leave me alone, ahn!”, I grumbled throwing the pillow over my head, hoping this would drown out the noise she was making. I was fooling myself.

“Abeg stand up”, said Gbemi as she landed a hot slap on my buttocks, grabbed my feet and dragged me out of bed across the room towards the door. I had to fling the pillow aside as I used my hands to support my upper body. We cut the amusing figure of a ‘human wheel barrow’.

“Gbemi, are you crazy?”, I yelled as I was dumped on the cold kitchen floor. She was grinning like a Cheshire cat and before I knew it, I began smiling too. Soon, we were gasping for breath as spasms of laughter wracked our body.

“Collins and Ebuka  said they’ll be here in an hour”, she finally said. Suddenly it hit me that today was Christmas day and my flatmate had planned an outing for us and our boyfriends

“What time is it?”, I asked.

“Nine o’clock”, she said.

“Ah!”, I said as I  jumped up. “I don’t even know what to wear. Have you had your bath?

“Nope”, she said. I made for the kitchen door but she read my mind and got there first. I was still in hot pursuit when she slammed the bathroom door against my face.

“Cheat!”, I yelled and then remembering I had not chosen an outfit for the day, I sauntered into my room. Throwing the wings of my wardrobe open, I began the daunting process of choosing something to wear. I finally decided to put on a yellow flower patterned top and shorts when I heard Gbemi scream.

“Boma, I’m through”

“Is the water too cold”, I asked.

“Nah, it’s just right”, she said. Trustingly, I walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. I should have known better. Sharp stinging cold water battered my flesh.

Gbemi, I thought.

I heard a knock on the door. The ‘boyz’ had arrived. I dashed out of the bathroom, threw on my clothes and was barely done with my make-up when Ebuka poked his head through the door. He looked dapper in his jeans and Polo tee-shirt. Ebuka and I had been dating for four months.

“Hey babes, you ready?” he asked.

“Almost, come in”, I said slyly.

He took a step in and then changed his mind.

“I’ll wait with Collins”, he said and left the room. I sighed.

Once we had breakfast, fried yam and eggs, we bundled ourselves into Collins’ car and set out to paint the town red.

Avatar never felt so real. The cinema’s big screen made the 3D experience worth it. Since the beach was nearby, we decided to stop over at Kuramo. There was barely a place to sit as people and horses milled around. Gbemi suggested that we make the best out of the rowdy situation, the outing was her idea after all. She transformed us into ‘party-crashers’ as we hopped from one beach party to the other, dancing and saying ‘hi’ to people we barely knew.

At one  of the parties, we were served small chops and drinks. The taste of the chicken was heavenly and since I had eaten more than my fair share of food for the day, in all ‘razzness’, I decided to save the chicken for later. When I thought no one was looking, I wrapped the meat in some serviette paper and dropped it in my purse.

We stayed out well into the night enjoying every Christmas moment. By the time we headed for home, it was boxing day. Not long after the ‘boyz’ dropped us, Gbemi and I while recounting the day’s event, dozed off on my bed.

*                                    *                                      *

….Smiling as the memories filled me with warmth suddenly, I remembered the chicken I had left in my purse. I reached my hands out to touch the floor but felt nothing. I sat up and looked round the room, searching for my purse. The red fabric close to the door caught my attention. I closed the distance between my bed and the door in three strides and excitedly yanked opened my purse.

 As I felt the insides of the bag, I noticed that the object wrapped in the serviette felt leaner. I pulled out the wrapped object and peeled away the soft paper. Right there, in place of my chicken flesh were cracked chicken bones! In my confusion, I turned to face a grinning Gbemi.

“Who stole my chicken?”, I asked.

She burst out laughing.

The screeching of tyres, the blaring of horns, the yelling of bus conductors and market women were an indication of life at its peak, at its fullest…an indication of life in EKO!!! The young lady clad in a worn tee-shirt and a pair of brown coloured distressed jeans could not help but stare in awe at the overpopulated streets of Ojota. The bustle of life swept her of her feet and filled her heart with a sense of overwhelming joy. Ignoring the stench of garbage and heat pervading the atmosphere, she craned her inner ear to listen to the voice of the wind and all she could hear was, A FRESH START!

            Adaeze, a 19 year old S.S.3 student of St. Maria Secondary School in Emuoha, Rivers state was tired of the boring monotony of an existence she had to put up with in the beautiful and serene town of her birth, Emuoha. The proud and temperamental daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Agbarakwe was a gem to her parents and an icon of to her friends. Born, like her elder sister, with a wooden spoon in her mouth, Adaeze was made to toil the earth for the living. A radiant beauty, she was given special attention everywhere she went. Few people passed through her community without hearing of ‘the beautiful flower’ of Emuoha. Men sought her company, women begged for her friendship. She was used to being treated as special, she was a spoilt child. Life would have been perfect for her if she had not been born to so low a status, she knew it and longed to get out of it.

            The profession of love pouring forth from Emeka’s mouth came as no shock to her after all she understood the effect she had on men, men of all ages. She had mastered the art of graceful rejection and she made good use of it. Yet Emeka sang a different tune to her, or so she thought. He was the son of a wealthy cocoa merchant who visited her community regularly in his search for large supplies of cocoa. Emeka was his father’s help and confidant, a man well grounded in business.

            On a hot Monday afternoon, tired from walking from one plantation to another, he set out for home, an exquisite hotel located in one of the few ‘big man’ areas of town. Half way through his journey he saw her, glowing as brightly as ever, surrounded by adoring girls, her classmates. From the way she and her friends were dressed he could tell that she was returning from school. He was shocked by the fine symmetry of her hips and legs, the gentle pout of her lips, the freshness of her skin and the African fullness of her bossom. ‘What manner of beauty is this?’ he thought to himself. Watching her pass by in the glare of the scorching sun, he made a resolution to get to know her. Forgetting his previous claim of exhaustion, he followed her from a safe distance paying rapt attention to the route being taken lest he miss his way on returning from his mission.

            On reaching the junction leading to her house, she bade farewell to her friends and resigned herself to walking the rest of the distance alone. Emeka saw this as his chance to make his move. He approached her and with the sleekness of one who was used to playing the game of love with the gentle hearts of women, he showered her with praises, promises and finally a few wads of naira. Adaeze was used to hearing the praises and false promises but never had such gestures been laced with money, clean and bountiful. She gave him her attention and he knew he had sealed the deal. She agreed to meet him at his hotel room the next day after school and they parted ways. Maybe her passport out of poverty had arrived, she thought to herself, maybe her chance at a new way of life was in full view. She intended to grab it with both hands. Walking on air, she ran home to the safety of her mother’s kitchen where she was to pound yam for the family’s lunch. Emeka on the other hand could not believe the good fortune he had been blessed with and he was determined not to let any mishap foil his plans. The next day at school, she could not wait to cross the school gate. Emeka had decided to cancel all business dealings for the day. Adaeze arrived at his room as planned and right before their eyes a relationship blossomed.

A month later, Emeka’s stay in the town had come to an end. He had drank his fill of business and other activities, it was time to move on. To Adaeze’s dismay and hurt, he intended to move on without her. A week after Emeka’s departure, she decided to address the feeling of physical discomfort that had come over her. To her utter surprise, she discovered she was pregnant with Emeka’s child. She considered the shame, the ridicule, the disappointment on her father’s face upon hearing the news and at that point saw the uselessness of her beauty and every other thing she had held high. The trauma was not something she was ready to live through. She made up her mind to leave town and start over and only one place came to mind, Lagos, the land of liberty, milk and honey. Armed with a few pieces of clothing and money she stole from her mother’s stash located in the kitchen behind the water pot, she set out on her journey.

…Lagos was all she had heard it to be and more. This city was to become her home. With nowhere to lay her head she sought refuge on a bench just outside the Ojota motor park as she pondered her next move. Tired from the journey, she dosed off only to be jolted from sleep much later by a hot slap. Confused and scared, her eyes opened to behold in the darkness, a group of hard-looking thugs, four in number. She tried to explain herself, pleaded for mercy and begged to be released…all on deaf ears as she was subsequently beaten and raped. This became the routine. She was held prisoner by the thugs and traded occasionally for cash. She lost her baby during one of the battering sessions and with her baby went her sense of self worth. Remembering all she once was, her impoverished yet comfortable home, her doting parent and her endless string of admirers. Remembering all of the wrong choices she had made she burst in tears singing the heart wrenching hymn ‘where do I go from here?’.

Wedges whether they are angled or rounded, made of leather, tough cloth materials or synthetic rubber are masterpieces that showcase the dexterity and creativity of cobblers. Wedges, a work of art, is a testament to the growth and eccentricity of the fashion industry which has evolved from the days of tight and non-pleasurable heeled shoes to the modern trend of comfort-first, flat soled yet classy shoes. These type of shoes, the wedges, are an embodiment of the solutions to the needs of the twenty-first century woman…no wonder I had to go to the stall at Idumota to buy one for myself.

It was sitting right there on the shelf, it’s leather shining brightly in the afternoon sun like a recently polished gold coin. The mere beauty of this pair of shoes drew me to it like a magnet would attract iron fillings. The stall manager, upon sensing my interest, jumped to his feet, picked up the shoe and with a mastered grin, urged me to try on the shoes, a request I readily gave in to. My dainty feet slipped into the shoes with so little resistance that any observer would immediately conclude the shoes were made just for me. The thought of parading my new shoes before all the ladies at work flashed through my mind and a smile played at the edges of my lips. I tried not to give away my feeling of excitement to the shoe seller lest he doubles up the price in a bid to make a large profit off an interested buyer, I am not entirely sure I achieved the feat as without hesitation he opens his mouth and says ‘madam, na five thousand naira last’, with a look of shock on my face, I exclaimed ‘five thousand naira for a pair of wedges? You must be joking!’. He baits me with silence as a hunter would bait a prey, I resist with a look of feigned nonchalance.

Turning the shoes in my hands, I closely examine them, looking for signs of weakness and hoping to get an edge over the seller and suddenly a shinny piece of material glued to the inner layer of the shoes with an inscription reading ‘made in Italy’ caught my attention. These had to be shoes made to last, I thought to myself, not the type that wears out after a few trips in the rain. The strong feel of the leather and the firm grip of the sole at the base helped to assure me, after all, Italian shoes are known to be of good quality. At this point, I knew I had been won over and with a half-hearted effort at bargaining, purchased the pair of shoes at four thousand naira. I left the stall without a sense of regret, with the new pair of shoes in my bag and a deep hole in my pocket.

The feel of comfort and satisfaction I experienced while wearing my new pair of wedges the following day gave me a boost of confidence. At work, I became the centre of attention as all the ladies stared at my new shoes with eyes green with envy and when I thought it could not get any better, my employer’s wife called my attention as I was about to step out of the premises’ gate at the end of the day’s work and asked me to help her get a pair the next time I go shopping. Two days later, six girls were putting on their pair of wedges and grinning from ear to ear just like I was. While preparing a brief for my employer, one of the ladies slipped behind my desk and whispered these words in my ear ‘I have been wearing these pretty shoes all day yet they are painless and very comfortable’ and with a wink, I reply saying ‘with shoes this good, who needs the ankle-killing heels anyway?’. Wedges…what a walking pleasure.

Ballet-flats whether they are angled or round, made of leather, tough cloth materials or synthetic rubber are masterpieces that showcase the dexterity and creativity of cobblers. Ballet-flats or simply Flats, a work of art, is a testament to the growth and eccentricity of the fashion industry which has evolved from the days of tight and non-pleasurable heeled shoes to the modern trend of comfort-first, flat soled yet classy shoes.  These type of shoes, the flats, are an embodiment of the solutions to the needs of the twenty-first century woman…no wonder I had to go to the stall at Idumota to buy one for myself.

It was sitting right there on the shelf, it’s leather shining brightly in the afternoon sun like a recently polished gold coin. The mere beauty of this pair of shoes drew me to it like a magnet would attract iron fillings. It was round tipped, flat-soled and above all it was brown, my favourite shoe colour. The stall manager, upon sensing my interest, jumped to his feet, picked up the shoe and with a mastered grin, urged me to try on the shoes, a request I readily gave in to. My dainty feet slipped into the shoes with so little resistance that any observer would immediately conclude the shoes were made just for me. The thought of parading my new shoes before all the ladies at work flashed through my mind and a smile played at the edges of my lips. I tried not to give away my feeling of excitement to the shoe seller lest he doubles up the price in a bid to make a large profit off an interested buyer, I am not entirely sure I achieved the feat as without hesitation he opens his mouth and says ‘madam, na five thousand naira last’, with a look of shock on my face, I exclaimed ‘five thousand naira for a pair of flats? You must be joking!’. He baits me with silence as a hunter would bait a prey, I resist with a look of feigned nonchalance. Irritated by his refusal to change his mind and with a deep sense of regret, I walked away.

            Fuming seriously at the arrogance of the salesman, I barely notice the pool of muddy water from yesterdays’ rain positioned in front of me. Thinking about how little my job paid me and how expensive it is to look good in this country, I stomp ahead with furious determination, that is, until I heard a splash and felt water rising up my trousers. The day could not have gotten any worse or so I thought. A collection of young men turned ‘agbero’ sitting idle due to the  lack of jobs saw this as their opportunity for some entertainment. They laughed at me till their sides ached and till my eyes stung with unshed tears. Pulling my way through the mud, I beckon a child hawking ‘pure-water’ at five naira per sachet to sell one to me. Offering her fifty naira, I saw the look of confusion rest on her face. She was not sure about the amount of change to give me. Simple mathematics had failed her.  This got me thinking about the level of educational decay in the country and the moral injustice carried out on this little girl by her parents. In a bid save my time, I frantically search my bag for some change and offered her five naira instead.

            Walking on the streets of Idumota in a pair of wet trousers and slippers on a hot day brought out the worst in me. It did not come as a surprise when in my frustration I shoved an innocent ‘aboki’ out of my way.  He must have been a really civil person because he just looked at me with disgust pasted on his forehead and walked away. Trying to cover up my silliness, I pretended to dust off some imaginary dirt in the air. I must have painted the picture of a mad woman.

In my unhappy state of mind, I continued my march out of the market until I saw the very same shoes smiling at me on the shelf of another shop. Pulled by curiosity and the lust for all things beautiful, I went into the shop. Remembering my previous experience from the ‘arrogant salesman’s’ shop, I defiantly ask the madam for the price of the flats. She gracefully ignored my bad attitude and politely asked me to sit down. She placed the shoes in my hands for me to inspect. Turning the shoes over, I closely examine them, looking for signs of weakness and hoping to get an edge over ‘madam’. Suddenly a shinny piece of material glued to the inner layer of the shoes with an inscription reading ‘made in Italy’ caught my attention. These had to be shoes made to last, I thought to myself, not the type that wears out after a few trips in the rain. The strong feel of the leather and the firm grip of the sole at the base helped to assure me, after all, Italian shoes are known to be of good quality. At this point, I knew I had been won over and with a half-hearted effort at bargaining, I asked for the price. In a tone as soft as feather, she says ‘my sister, na four thousand naira but because na you, I go sell am three thousand naira’. I could not believe my ears. The combination of her great attitude and the attractive price sealed the deal for me. Without arguing, I purchased the pair of shoes at three thousand naira. I left the stall feeling really good with myself, with the new pair of shoes in my bag, ignoring the deep hole in my pocket.         

The feel of comfort and satisfaction I experienced while wearing my new pair of flats the following day gave me a boost of confidence. At work, I became the centre of attention as all the ladies stared at my new shoes, eyes green with envy. When I thought it could not get any better, my employer’s wife called my attention as I was about to step out of the premises’ gate at the end of the day’s work and asked me to help her get a pair the next time I go shopping. Two days later, six girls were putting on their pair of flats and grinning from ear to ear just like I was. While preparing a brief for my employer, one of the ladies slipped behind my desk and whispered these words in my ear ‘I have been wearing these pretty shoes all day yet they are painless and very comfortable’ and with a wink, I reply saying ‘with shoes this good, who needs the ankle-killing heels anyway?’. Ballet-flats…what a walking pleasure.

I walked into the living room with a tray of cookies and juice in my hands. My husband, Akin, lay on the couch reading a business journal. My three year old daughter was painting apples on a sheet of paper on the floor with her doll sitting beside her. The noise from the television set was deafening. Akin loves noisy environments, he says it helps him think clearly. Glossy magazines I had been reading were littered around the love-seat which had a blanket tossed haphazardly over it. It was a windy day. A day meant to be spent at the beach with friends and family. Not a day to be trapped in doors. I would have suggested the idea of going out and having some fun but the recent turn of events forced me to keep my mouth shut. Funmi, my daughter abandoned her painting project and rushed to have her share of the goodies. Akin on the other hand, clearly ignored the food and its bearer. The coldness of his attitude made me yearn for my sister…

My sister, Moji and I share a very deep bond, a bond that even my marriage to Barrister Akin Bakare could not quench. This bond has been nurtured by twenty-five years of heart-felt love and commitment. She cried with me every time my father, in his state of drunken anger, used his belt to scar my back for very flimsy reasons. I fought for her every time she was ridiculed in school for her stuttered speech. We stuck together against both of our elder brothers, Dayo and Yinka, who constantly tried to butt us around. We were friends. We were partners in crime. We were soul mates.

Our dedication to each other was cemented a long time ago, one a Friday morning, just after one of my father’s tirades. I was in my room, bent over in pain with tears pouring down my face. I cried wishing my mother was alive. My mum had died in a car accident two years ago while going to return a dress she bought for me. I had rejected the dress because it was green in colour. I wanted a yellow dress. My father blamed me for her death and never let the opportunity to show his dislike for me pass him by. My brothers were too young and too scared to stand up to my father. My sister who was two years younger than I at eleven years of age was my only source of comfort. I was not surprised when she walked into my room on that day, locked the door behind her and lay my head on her shoulder. She wiped the tears from my face and suddenly I felt better. I was filled with so much warmth that I wrapped my hands around her. We did what we saw adults on television do. We have never stopped being physically intimate ever since. We did not think what we were doing was wrong. My sister and I simply thought it was another way of expressing our love for each other. I was certain other people would not understand how we felt so I asked her to keep it a secret, our secret.

Moji who was my chief bridesmaid is finally ready to walk down the aisle with the man she thinks she can tolerate as a husband. It is not a case of love for her because she gave her heart out to someone else years ago. She gave her heart to me as I gave mine to her. I should have been happy for her as she was for me. I should have given her all of my support as she did for me. Yet all I feel is a deep seated fury towards this man. This man, Shina, who is promising her the world is threatening to destroy what Moji and I have by taking her half way around the world to settle down. He is proposing that they move to Canada. My sister who has never left the shores of this country is excited at this opportunity. I on the other hand, is trapped in a marriage here in Nigeria with a husband who puts his political ambitions before his family.

I knew I had to do something fast to change Moji’s mind about leaving the country with this man. On a weekday just after Akin had left home for work and I had dropped Funmi off at her nursery school, I begged Moji to come over to my house. The minute she sensed the worry in my voice, she told her boss at the insurance company where she worked that there was a family emergency she had to take care of and left the office in a hurry. When she arrived at my house, I sat her down and told her my concerns. She listened to me patiently and tried to assure me that everything would be fine. I was not convinced. I decided to remind her of what we shared and soon our clothes were littered on the floor of my living room. We were so engrossed in our activity that we did not hear the front door open. Moji opened her eyes and saw my husband staring at us. He had forgotten his phone in the house and had returned to take it with him. We scrambled into our clothes. He stood still in shock. Moji ran out of the house. I knelt down to beg him but I guess that was what fuelled his anger. He gave me the beating of my life after which he stormed out of the house. He did not return home for two days. Funmi kept asking me for her daddy and I just played dumb. I was not looking forward to his return. I was expecting the worst.  

Akin returned to the house reeking of alcohol. He did not say a word to me as he walked into the shower. I was very scared and sat as close to the door as possible, in case I had to run for my life. He came into the living room and sat facing me. I could not bring myself to look him in the face. I did not care about being married to him but I knew that he would take my daughter from me if I tried anything silly. After staring at me for what seemed like ages, he said ‘ Toyin, how long has this been going on?’. I knew there was no point lying so I told him everything. He simply stared at me in disgust. I felt sorry for him. I could not imagine being in his shoes. I may seem a bit foolish but I actually hoped he would understand. When he finally spoke again, he simply told me never to mention what had happened to anyone. He intended to stay married to me for as long as he need to. I was dumb-founded.

After his declaration, he picked up his keys and left the house. I dared not ask him where he was going. I quickly called Moji to let her know the shocking news. She was surprised and yet afraid for me. I spent days trying to reason out why a person as cold as Akin would still want to be married to his lesbian wife. I did not get to know the answer to that question until the following weekend. I was dusting the shelf of the living room when a picture on the front page of the newspaper caught my eye. It was my husband, standing beside the national chairman of his political party. Akin had just been declared the governorship aspirant of his party for the state. The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall in place. Akin knew that if the world found out that his wife was a lesbian who practised incest with her sister, it would jeopardize his political career. He was willing to tolerate being married to me so that he could punish me every day.

…I have become a prisoner in my home. I never go out without his permission. He has taken away my phones and car keys. He has stopped giving me money. He taunts me at every opportunity he gets. My body regularly tastes the strength of his fist. I feet my past replaying itself only this time there was no one, not even my sister to comfort me. My sister has not been to see me since that fateful day. She does not have the nerve to face Akin again. I suspect she will go ahead and marry Shina. At the rate at which I am transformed into a punching bag, I just wonder if I’ll be alive to attend the wedding. I cannot leave my matrimonial home because I want to be as close to my daughter as possible. Please tell me what to do to make things right.

The sun has come up and I am sitting by the window that is still foggy with the dampness of the early morning rain. I am a terrible sight this morning, still dressed in my nightgown and my hair flying in all directions. The temperature of the  air conditioner is set as low as possible. I am hoping the chill from it will seep into my bones and chase away the uneasy feeling crawling within me. I hide here in my room as often as time and chance will allow me. Beyond the door to my room, down the corridor lies the source of my agony…

It was early October and my mum, Mrs. Inyang, was in good spirits as she prepared breakfast for my dad, my brother, Koko and I. The sweet smelling aroma of a well prepared meal sent us, the kids, jumping around the house in excitement as we awaited the great feast. Dad hurriedly got dressed for work and urged Koko to quit jumping on the couch and hurry with packing his books for school. A few minutes later, mum called out at the top of her voice saying ‘Food is ready, oh!’. Scrambling down the stairs, I found Koko already seated and dad making his way to the dining table. The look of the spaghetti was as good as the smell promised it would be, it was heavenly. Once we were seated and the grace was said, we dove into our meal. We were all carried away with the bliss of eating until mum cleared her throat and giving my dad a wink, she said ‘ Ima and Koko, I have some great news for you’. With looks of expectations written all over our faces, we craned our ears. I began to envision a surprise gift, a nicely wrapped new wristwatch or maybe a we were finally going to take that trip to the zoo she had always promised us. One look at Koko’s face told me he was lost in his own fantasy land. Just when I thought she had changed her mind about telling us this good news, she said ‘ You are both going to have a new brother’. It was not the kind of news we had been expecting but it was good news all the same. I rushed round the table to give her a hug and she held me close for a long time. Koko not knowing if it was manly enough to give people hugs simply stayed where he was, grinning.

Once we were through with breakfast, my dad and mum set out for work. He usually drops her off on his way to work. Every day, I walked Koko to and from school which was a walking distance from our home. Koko was a primary four student of Everday Montessori Primary School which resumed at eight o’clock each morning and closed at one o’clock in the afternoon. He was the captain of his class and so had to be early and punctual. He was not a very good athlete but what he lacked in height and build, he made up for in brains. He was an exceptional student who excelled in all his subject. I was awaiting the results from my just concluded Junior WAEC examination and got to stay home alone on school days. Sometimes, I visited Aunty Bunmi who ran a hair salon two houses away.  Since Koko and I were the only children of our parents, we spent a lot of time together, playing and fighting. I loved my family a lot and another brother did not seem like a bad idea. Honestly, it actually seemed like a great idea to have someone else to fuss over. I could not wait to tell Aunty Bunmi this latest bit of information.

Once I returned home from my brother’s school, I cleaned the dishes. Leaving the house unlocked, I ran to the hair salon and began narrating my news to aunty. I guess this is why I am sometimes called ‘radio’. I was so engrossed with telling my story and eventually watching some movies on her small black television that I lost track of time. I was half way was through my third movie when it suddenly occurred to me to check the time. It was three o’clock. Koko ought to have returned from school. My parents would return from work in about an hour and I had not yet prepared lunch. I rushed home hoping to find Koko. I checked his room and saw no sign of his school bag and shoes. My heart skipped a beat. I ran out of the house knocking on my neighbours’ doors, asking the same questions, hoping to find an answer. No one had any useful information to offer. I began to weep. Naked fear had found its way into my veins. Just when I thought things could not get any worse. The butter cream colour of my father’s Peugeot 504 car came into view, pulling its way leisurely towards our house. I knew I was done for. With nowhere to run, I prayed for the ground to swallow me. I was scared.

Dad parked the car in front of the house. As mum stepped out of the car, she took one look at my teary face and knew something was amiss. She hurried to my side and asked why I looked so worried. Not knowing what her reaction would be, I took a step back and with a shaky voice said ‘I cannot find Koko’. She looked at me like I had gone mad. My father, trying hard not to panic, asked me to explain what I meant. I began to weep profusely as I recounted the incident to him. Once I was done telling my story, mum in her fury landed a hot slap on my face. She demanded that I produce her son. I was lost. Dad decided to take control of the situation and ushered us into the car. We drove to Koko’s school. There were a few people in sight. No one had seen my brother since the close of school. my mother started screaming at me. My dad ran out of the school gate hoping to squeeze some answers from passers-by, trying to organize a search party. I shamelessly sat on the floor of the school compound.

A few minutes after the school premises was thoroughly searched, the security man pulled my dad aside and told him that he just heard over the news that a vandalised pipeline not far from the school had caught fire. Bodies had been badly burnt and many feared dead. Without thinking, we rushed to the site. The horrible smell of burning and decaying bodies assaulted our nostrils. Some volunteers tried to quench the fire to no avail. The fire fighting team of the government had just arrived. They were pulling people’s bodies out of the danger zone. Agony was written on everyone’s face. The people who had been trying to scoop fuel from the leakage had been hit the hardest. All that was left of many of them were charred pieces of bones. Some of the onlookers had survived but with grave injuries. Their cry for help was heart wrenching. It was among this group of people that we searched. It was among this group of people that we found Koko and two of his classmates. My brother’s chest, arms and legs were burnt beyond recognition. He face was wrinkled with pain. He could barely speak.

We rushed Koko and his friends to the hospital. The doctor who attended to Koko said that he would live but with serious health complications for the rest of his life. The fire had destroyed most of my brothers speech organs and surgery would have to be performed to fully restore the use of fingers. Upon hearing this, my mum broke into tears. My dad held her close. I stood alone, devastated. We later learnt from his classmate, Chuka, who sustained injuries to his back, that at the close of school, they had decided to make the trip home themselves after waiting endlessly without being picked by their guardians. On the way home, they saw a throng of people with buckets and gallons hurrying down a path. With childlike curiosity, they sought to find out what the frenzy was about. When they arrived the scene of the activity, they found hoards of people scooping fuel into containers. They stood watching for a while and just as they decided to leave, they were hit with a wave of fire. All he remembers after that moment was feeling excruciating pain.

….Koko has since returned from the hospital. The scars from that incident are boldly drawn on his body. He has not yet regained the use of his fingers. The nurse who visits him daily says proper use of his hands may take a while. He barely smiles anymore. Sometimes, I hear him cry when I pass by his room at night. My parents do not speak to me anymore. Every time I see them looking at Koko, I feel their resentment towards me build. I do not like being the cause of so much pain. I wish I had not gotten carried away with watching television that day. I wish I had picked him up from school on time. I wonder what I can do to make this right. How will I continue to live with the consequences of my actions staring me in the face?

           The sound from the television set was barely audible. The ceiling fan was rotating at full speed. Pictures of Obi and I littered the bed and a very cold plate of yam porridge lay on the floor, untouched. Rays of sunshine flooded the room through the open window. It was barely one o’clock in the afternoon yet I felt exhausted. I had lost my hunger for food….I had lost my hunger for life. In my hands was a portfolio of the tourist sites of Australia, a land so far away that the thought of an existence in this foreign country seemed like a long forgotten dream. Looking up, an image on the mantle caught my eye, it was my wedding photograph…

            Five years ago while walking  along the corridor to my class room I stopped to greet my friend, Chika, who was talking to a guy I thought was a classic snob. I found out eventually that I was wrong about him because Obi not only ended up being my friend but also my boyfriend. He was my class mate and just about a year older than me but we shared so much in common. He treated me like I was special. He stuck with me even when I did not deserve it. He helped heal my broken heart. A heart torn to pieces by my first and true love, Tony, a working dentist who travelled to Scotland leaving his birth country behind, leaving his family behind, leaving me behind for good or so I thought.

             After four years of dating, my relationship with Obi, amidst all the obstacles placed in our path by our mothers’, blossomed into marriage. I was a very happy bride and when he said ‘Toyin, with this ring I wed thee’, I felt my heart would burst with joy. I could not wait to carry his child. About three months into our marriage while returning from work, I stopped to pick up my husband’s shirt from the tailor. Right there in the shop, looking right at me was Tony. The sight of him knocked the wind out of me. We were speechless. Tony led me out of the shop and began apologising for what he had put me through. He told me he only began to appreciate what he had after he had lost it. He begged me to take him back. I showed him the ring on my finger. He looked broken and I felt sorry for him. He wanted to see me again and so did I. That meeting was the first of many. With each meeting, I felt buried emotions resurface and before I knew it, I started looking forward to each second I spent with him. I tried to be as discreet as possible because I could not bear the thought of hurting Obi. Tony and I started to get physically involved with each meeting. I felt guilty about being adulterous and after six months of my illicit relationship Tony, I decided to quit playing games and focus on my marriage. Tony was so understanding that when I spoke to him about it, he agreed and with me. I was torn inside. I had fallen in love with Tony.

               While at work one day, Obi fainted and was rushed to the hospital. The doctors’ revived him and delivered the shocking news. Obi had acute pneumonia and had developed some complications with his lungs. We were assured he would be fine. He was discharged after two weeks and actually started feeling better. A few days after his discharge, I noticed that he began coughing and each time he coughed, little drops of blood were seen on his handkerchief. Being a reserved person, he did not talk about his health issues as much as he should have. I began to fear the worst and asked him to see a doctor. He made me promise never to tell a soul especially his mum for fear that she might begin to panic, worsening her state of health, she was hypertensive.

                One sunny Saturday afternoon, Obi was in high spirits and decided to spend some time with the guys, playing tennis. I thought about Tony a lot more often since our separation and was yearning to see him again. As soon as obi was out of the door, I picked up the phone and dialled Tony’s number asking him to see him one last time. We planned to meet at our usual spot. There was no time for me to have a shower as was the norm and so I quickly got dressed, wearing my best lingerie and drove as fast as I could to his house. I was barely half-way through the door when Tony grabbed me and held me close. I felt at peace within his embrace and without a shadow of doubt knew I had made a mistake marrying Obi. We spent quality time together that day and held on to each other as it would be our last time together as lovers or so we thought. I cried my heart out on my way home. As soon as I got home, not wanting to raise any suspicion, I had a bath and prepared dinner for my husband.

                  Obi came home about an hour later dripping with sweat and full of life. Giving me an account of how the game went,  he rushed into the shower and got himself ready for dinner. I tried to look happy. I was breaking up inside. He asked me to go swimming with him the next day and after what I had done, I had no choice but to agree. We went to bed early and just when he was about to sleep off, he whispered in my ear the very words that would haunt me for life. He said “I’m blessed to have your heart”. To stop myself from screaming, I smiled and turned my back to him. If I had known what was to come. lf I had known those would be his last words, I would have held him close through the night. I woke up the next morning feeling refreshed but my husband lay by my side, dead.

                  Obi was buried according to traditional rights. I watched my husband being laid to the ground and all I felt was the loss of a good friend not a soul mate. Tony was my rock through this period. He held my hand when tears of guilt and shame threatened to tear me apart. He was around me so much that people started to ask questions but I didn’t care because his presence was all I needed to get through each day.   

…For three months I lived in a state of shock, denial and above all, guilt. The doctors say Obi put a lot of pressure on his lungs by playing rigorous tennis early that day causing complications which led to his death. I believe the doctors’ report, Obi’s family especially his mum do not. They believe I killed their son in his sleep and are bent on making me pay for a crime I did not commit. They have taken away the home I built with my late husband and are threatening to take my life too.

                 Tony is aware of all that I am going through and has asked me to relocate with him to Australia. I want to give in to his request but I am worried about the shame it will bring to my family. I am worried about what my pastors’ will think. I am worried about my future with Tony. I feel frustrated with having to defend myself every time before Obi’s family. I want to be free of this void of loneliness deep within my heart. I might be ready to give up just about anything to be with Tony and be free from Obi’s family but is running away with him is the right thing to do?

As chidren, we often take the love care and comfort we recieve from our mothers (birth and adopted) for granted. We ignore the fact that she had an option- an option to give us life or ignore it, an option to accept responsibity or to play ignorant, an option to love or to hate, an option to share…you finish the rest.

More often than not, the total realization and appreciation of their worth, first as women and later as mothers dawn on us (the kids) long after the travail of rearing and nuturing have taken their toll.

I spend a lot of time these days going through the motions of life and I can’t help but wonder (seeing as my time to wear the shoes draw nearer with each second) how much pain from the neglect it is they (mum’s) have to carry, how much tears it is they shed every night in anguish, how much hurt it is they have to hide from the world. Isn’t it funny how easy we think it is and how eager we seem to be about getting to play the very same role our mothers dread.

Oh yeah they love us and will do anything for us…go the extra mile, climb the highest mountian or if necessary, kill the president but do we ever try to make the appreciation, affection and consistent display of love the balm the soothes the pain?

I have made the decision to make life easier for my mum, u could join me and do same…it should be fun.   

it was my birthday yesterday and I had a swell time…if u missed out on the gig, not to worry, u’ve 70 years of birthday partying to make up for it.