It is all in the road. Rwanda’s renaissance all lay on top of her sprawling roads zigzagging through the edges and horror of genocide to create an amazing infrastructure that is set to create a Rwandan decade. The road that brought me to Kigali started all the way from Mbarara, a southwestern town in Uganda, 2 hours from the border separating both countries. The road before the shantytown that separates glorious Rwanda from the pearl of Africa was bumpy, dusty and uneven, just like the country I was leaving behind, where I had called home for 7 months. For now, let us return to Rwanda and her roads.

As soon as the jaguar like bus made its way into the border of Rwanda, the differences in both countries became clear. The smooth roads brought comfort as the traveller’s eyes are gently roused to the majesty of Rwanda’s countryside. The hills rose and fell with each mile, watching over the roads with dispassionate grace. The sun, oh the sun, sat far behind a mountain, the glow of her departure setting in multicolored eeriness over the weary mountains. The natural beauty of this country is at best eerie when one compares this to the horror it is trying valiantly to overcome. Rwanda is beautiful, the phrase slipped past many tongues in the bus as we made our way into the heart of Kigali.

In 1994, more than 1 million Rwandans were stabbed, hacked and raped to death in a blood soaked orgy that lasted for more than a month. Millions were killed because of their artificial ethnicity and stunned the world into complete inaction. Rwanda, like they say, went to hell for 100 days. Mothers were forced to shoot their Tutsi children; fathers were forced to watch as their daughters were violated before the impending slow death. Young children smashed against walls that forever hold their innocent screams in folds of clay. The world watched and remained silent. However, the civil war that brought Rwanda to its knees also gave this country the grace and will to fight hades back into his cave. Rwanda is back and it’s gleaming like the true diamond that it is.

The mornings after the genocidal rampage ended, the now sleek roads of Kigali were soaked in blood and intestines sprawled across deserted cars and homes with open doorways. The people’s monument to their horror, the Genocide memorial center, tells all these tales in graphic pictures that turns stomach and rows of skulls silently sitting underneath transparent Plexiglas.  Were those not heads that once moved to music? Mouths that laughed with delicious pleasure now hung open in gaping judgment to what Rwandans did to themselves. Eye sockets tell you how you let this happen. World, you let this happen.

So months later, the hero of this story, Paul Kagame, a Tutsi himself, did what is so rare and can only be compared to the absolute grace of that other African Hero, the Madiba. General Kagame stopped the revenge that the world expected. He went back into the history of his people and found a way to teach forgiveness while driving accountability into the fabric of Rwanda’s new dawn. He taught his people to look forward but never to forget what happened. He led. Underneath these gleaming roads, lay skulls that sacrificed themselves in a blazing inferno that engulfed this country. They died, but not in vain. For them, this new Rwanda was created. Their bloods, oil to keep the fire of rebirth from burning down. Days later, I made my way south to Kibuye, a province even more beautiful and imposing than the casual grace of Kigali. Kibuye hosts majestic mountains rising from the sea, tarred roads lifting into mountain peaks and falling gracefully into the valleys of Lake Kivu. The wounded core of this country is soothed by the gentle waves of the transparent lake.

I will not tell you about the coffee sales to Costco and Starbucks that transfers huge percentages of revenue to the pockets of Rwandan farmers, the 6% annual economic growth, the law and order, the universal health insurance plan, the creativity and acute brilliance in public policy. But I will tell you what this country taught me. Rwanda taught me of redemption, that even when things fall apart, humans can recreate new histories off of the mistake of their past, that horrors can be healed but not forgotten, that vengeance is preventable and that the Rwandan renaissance is truly the hope of Africa. This is a lesson for South Sudan, as the newest country on earth dips its fingers into the hell that is revenge and also for my first country, Nigeria, as it searches desperately for lasting peace.

Above all, I learnt that even when you have been stuck and hurt by life’s many letdowns that you can start again, and do better this time. That history is only a teacher if you are willing to learn its strident lessons.

If Rwanda can do it with such grace, well then, so can I.

____

Temie Giwa has a BA in Political Science and Masters in Health Management. She lives and works in Ruhiira, Uganda.

Be like the Road itself.  A poem by Kola Tubosun for the Sentinel Magazine. http://www.sentinelnigeria.org/issue3/poetry/kola-tubosun.htm

In the past few months, I have heard all sorts of stories about the unfortunate massacre of Muslim faithfuls in Jos, Plateau state in central Nigeria on their way to the Eid prayer in September 2011 and how their flesh was roasted and eaten by Berom youths. I thought “roasted and eaten” was a metaphor of sorts so I never paid much attention to it. Even when I heard there was a video on Youtube that captured the “roasting and eating”, I never bothered to make a simple Google search to verify the incident because I just refused to believe it had happened. Then I saw the said video posted on Facebook today, I watched every frame of this unbelievably atrocious video clip with absolute horror and revulsion. I am not only incensed and disgusted by the new low some Nigerians have sunken to and how far they would go in their hatred and fighting in the name of religion, but I am very worried and disturbed by the deafening silence of our leaders, especially our Christian leaders and sections of our media over this inhuman, savage, despicable and barbaric act. [Video here]

This other video shows the Berom youths dismembering the roasted body of one of the victims. In some scenes, the decapitated and roasted heads of victims are impaled and bandied about as the youths brazenly take pictures and videos of their barbaric acts. It is very gory and gruesome, viewer discretion is advised.

There are graphic pictures of this massacre and cannibalism HERE.

In the clip above, you can see Berom youths visibly excited, in jubilation and at times cheering as the smoke billows from the roasting flesh of the “enemy”. Their “joy” is clearly conveyed in an audio interview with a BBC reporter Rob Walker who witnessed this cannibalism. You can find an account of the event HERE. At a point as the flesh is being roasted, someone says in Hausa language “…ni zuciyan na ke so…” meaning: “I want the heart”, while another person goes further to ask “…ka sa gishiri?” meaning: “…did you put some salt”? The large crowd’s visible complicity and excitement as they eagerly anticipate their cannibalistic feast marks a descent in our collective sense of humanity in Nigeria. What I find most ironic is that these butchers and party are communicating in Hausa language, the language of their slain “enemy” or rather, their “meal” and not their own native berom language. The presence of a police vehicle in the area where the “feasting” and cannibalism on slaughtered Muslims is taking place raises questions. The police should be protecting people, maintaining law and order and stopping any criminal activity from taking place, shouldn’t they? Of course as this video shows, this is not the case.

By far, the most worrying aspect is the deafening and resounding silence from the media and religious leaders considering this was an incident that occurred in late August while the video was posted September 2011. Even when this premeditated massacre of Muslims happened, very scant coverage was given by the Nigerian media which have shown more often than not to be very biased when it comes to reportage on sectarian crisis. There have been complaints on the media hurrying to use screaming (and sometimes exaggerated) headlines of Muslims killing Christians but hardly giving adequate or fair coverage when Muslims are the victims such as the virtual lack of coverage of the planned and premeditated massacre of hundreds of Muslims in Zonkwa, Southern Kaduna during the 2011 post elections violence by most media agencies. It appears the Nigerian media have decided there is only one type of victim, the noble Christian who is usually ambushed whilst worshipping in Church or in the dead of the night by a gang of marauding, sword-toting, gun-wielding bearded Muslims in a near murderous trance, chanting “Allahu Akbar”. Anything that goes contrary to or falls outside the purview of this dominant narrative is rejected and would never be entertained, published or broadcast. As a result, such crimes against hundreds of Muslims go underreported or even unreported.

The silence of religious leaders, especially our very vocal President of the Christian Association of Nigeria (CAN) Pastor Ayo Oritsejafor on this matter is heart breaking. This is especially because the CAN president is one who is never reluctant to vociferously bare his mind on burning national issues, whether declaring his support for the removal of fuel subsidy, declaring that Nigeria is on the brink of religious war or asking Christian faithful to protect themselves using “whatever means”. As Oritsejafor seems to have lost his voice on this occasion, one wonders whether he hasn’t heard of this barbaric act by people claiming to be acting on behalf of Christianity, or perhaps he hasn’t watched the clip? I would give Oritsejafor and other Christian leaders the benefit of doubt that perhaps they have not heard of this incident. In that case, I hope Christian leaders would not hesitate in coming out to condemn this savage act in its entirety for it certainly does not represent the image or behaviour of majority of Christians. And this is not only restricted to Christian leaders as some of our intellectual elite such as Professor Wole Soyinka or former aviation minister Femi Fani Kayode who haven’t wasted time in writing volumes on Boko Haram — sometimes using it interchangeably with Islam as if Boko Haram represents Muslims — have kept silent over this despicable act.

This incident clearly marks a new low in our collective sense of humanity as Nigerians and Africans. For heaven’s sake, we are in the 21^st century, where our peers and counterparts in Brazil, China, India and Malaysia are becoming more productive, reducing poverty, broadening their perspectives and even competing with developed countries in economic productivity whilst we are too busy killing each other, demonizing each other, narrowing our perspectives and eating our “enemies’ ” flesh in the name of religion which we have perverted and twisted. The unfair coverage given to such needless killings by our sectional media and some of our religious leaders because some victims or events do not fit the dominant narrative that has been created for such pose the greatest danger to our peaceful coexistence. We seem to forget that no life is more precious than the other and that every human life wasted is a loss to all. But with the way things are going in Nigeria, I am reminded of the Orwellian case of “all animals are equal but some are more equal than others”. How long can we continue like this and how long will we continue plunging further into this abyss?

—–

Editorial: The full post, with pictures and embedded videos, is published here.

Ladipo Oye-Somefun

The scoring system I am using will be around four areas:

1. Does the piece educate the reader: ie inform with evidence (Score: 3/10)
2.  How knowledgeable about the topic is the writer and does he share that knowledge (Score:2/10)
3. What are the key points (Score: 4/10)
4. Is there any follow through on points raised or does the writer use the scatter gun approach (Score: 1/10)

Total Score on an average calculation: 2.5/10 

Does the piece educate the reader: ie inform with evidence

Mr Kolawole moves in and has access to the most elite parts of Nigerian society.  These include people at the height of business, politics and media. Therefore when I picked up the piece to read it I was looking forward to being educated by someone knowledgeable and also to know the key points about the whole fuel subsidy issue.

I understand that journalism has to be populist in order to be commercial, however I think a duty to educate remains.

The piece is fairly comprehensive and touches on a broad range of topical issues affecting Nigeria. However I am disappointed that I have not learnt anything new.  The article is riddled with anecdotal comments about 1) private jets on a terminal; 2) over-invoicing; 3) fuel subsidy as an incentive for rent seekers.

I would have expected to be “schooled” on these issues with comments backed by evidence.  Nigeria has experienced tremendous economic growth over the last decade and therefore it is quite possible for people at the top of multi-billion naira enterprises to lease jets.  The comment about over-invoicing is left dangling without any further explanation.  People who have not run businesses or sat in a business studies class may not understand what over-invoicing actually means.  In addition Mr Kolawole accepts the fuel subsidy as incentive for rent seekers without discussing the intricacies involved nor using examples from other Nigerian administrations or overseas.

I feel rather than be educated, this piece may infuriate the casual reader who may be angry at the GEJ regime without actually knowing the reasons why he should be angry.  If we must debate fuel subsidy then it would be better to have a more knowledgeable readership.

Score: 3/10

How knowledgeable about the topic is the writer and does he share that knowledge

The piece does not appear to display or demonstrate the writer’s knowledge on the issues at hand nor does it show whether any comprehensive research was conducted or carried out.  The use of the royal “we” and lack of mentioning or describing specific sources further weakens any claims to knowledge. There is a plethora of populist terms which further alienates the reader: “government” ; “buccaneers”; and “fuel importers” amongst others.  Specifics would have strengthened the case being made.

Score: 2/10

What are the key points

The piece is strong with regards to the key points.  It quickly identifies these within the first two paragraphs.  I believe these to be 1) social contract between the ruled and the rulers; and 2) behavioural economics.

These two key points are highlighted and interrelated.  The ruled as sovereign provide the rulers with space and resources to carry out their duties, while the rulers have a duty to create an environment where the welfare of the ruled can be improved upon.  Whether this means the rulers allocating resources on the behalf of the ruled or providing a framework for the ruled to provide these for themselves.

The rulers having campaigned and won elections have made a case of their credibility and credentials to the ruled.  They have claimed competence and understanding of the social contract.

In respect to behavioural economics, the piece touches upon this when it mentions the opportunistic pricing behaviour of transporters as well as the ability of rent seekers to put pressure on the social contract through allegedly corrupt practices.

The piece does lose marks though because it does not explicitly set these key points out.

Score: 4/10

Is there any follow through on points raised or does the writer use the scatter gun approach

At this point it is instructive to recall the title of the piece was : “How not to remove fuel subsidy”; the piece could have been much improved if it focused on one or two points and followed through.  I do not believe there was consistent follow through.

The reader is left to run a gauntlet of different threads.  These threads vary from a feeling of being cheated by political elites, comments about the inefficiency of the fuel subsidy regime all the way to government officials reportedly flying first class.  Once the reader’s mind has settled down he is then met with four narrations which are provided as a conclusion.  These narrations on their own could stand and form four separate articles, each with sub-topics.

The lack of any serious follow through on the various points raised has, in my opinion, weakened what could have been a good article.

Score: 1/10

Ladipo is a qualified accountant and MBA holder. He works in Corporate Finance in London.

——

Abimbola Agboluaje

Total Score: 1/10

Mr. Kolawole is guiltier of obfuscation than economic illiteracy. One was very glad about a year ago, when Mr. Kolawole, who used to be fully in support of the fuel subsidy, changed his mind and turned against it. In this article, he is guiltier of obfuscation than economic illiteracy. He has succumbed to what Lucy Kellaway of FT once described as WET – Weak Excuse Syndrome. Let’s go through the detours and diversions in Simon Kolawole’s article:

1. Mr. Kolawole writes “….I am pro-subsidy (it may be fuel or something else).” He justifies this on the grounds that 90 % of Nigerians live on less than $2 a day and because we “would be courting trouble to declare that every single thing should be left to market forces”. He adds, even in “extremely capitalist countries”, they don’t leave everything to market forces, they provide a “bundle of safety nets for the vulnerable”.

Almost every word is misleading or untrue in some way. Many people live on $2 per day not because they need more subsidies but because resources, which could be spent on stuff that will “tempt” businesses to invest and create productive employment, are being frittered on subsidies. Likewise, Nigeria is so poor because the state meddles in everything (steel mills, paper mills, palm oil mills, banking, aviation, telecommunications, lands, construction etc), sucking up and wasting resources. Nigeria didn’t become poor because things were abandoned to “market forces”. In “extremely capitalist countries”, they target subsidies towards the poorest e.g. people riding to work in decent comfortable buses rather than those riding in personal cars, consuming fuel which could be sold abroad for higher prices and used to obtain foreign exchange and develop infrastructure.

So when Mr. Kolawole writes “The closest thing to social security that people enjoy here is the fuel subsidy”, it makes one wonder what sort of “social security” is consumed by the better-off (probably less than 10 % of Nigerians living in a few cities consume 85 % of the fuel subsidy.)

2. Mr. Kolawole writes “In Nigeria, there is virtually nothing for the people. The rich and the powerful gather like vultures and tear into the national treasury at will, leaving the people high and dry. They ride all the cars, own all the houses and eat all the food. At our expense, of course! ”

Again, the implication here is that market forces are to blame. When people become extremely rich without creating jobs, they are not “exploiting” the masses in the classical sense, i.e. extracting labour in factories or plantations and keeping too much of the surplus value created. They are simply stealing and this plunder is much better facilitated by opaque policies that place billions of dollars in the drawers of bureaucrats and politicians.

3. Mr. Kolawola also has a problem with those who argue that the best way to eliminate the corruption associated with the administration of the subsidy is to remove the incentive for it i.e. the subsidy. In his thinking, the “removing the incentive for corruption” argument is invalid because, amongst other reasons, “…if we have to follow it through, we may soon privatise our rotten police force”. This is the best of Nigerian “economic journalism” which feeds public thinking about policy i.e. “arguments” that are perplexing because they are superficially logical but which you know to be complete baloney immediately they leave someone’s mouth or pen. To extend Mr. Kolawole’s logic, a big and/or over-extended state with deep and diverse economic powers is not a problem conceptually or in reality – all its managers need to do is suddenly summon the reserves of discipline they have kept unused since 1960. For him, whittling down the economic roles of the state is a cowardly and unworthy shortcut.

4. And it gets worse. In his January 22 piece, Mr. Kolawole takes issue with Sanusi Lamido Sanusi’s distinction between subsidizing consumption versus production subsidy. He argues that when he rides his car to work, he is involved in “production”, so he is entitled to the fuel subsidy just as the barber and pepper grinder. This is just something you expect pepper grinders to say in their own defence. Why on earth should the Government subsidise The Editor of ThisDay to get to work to “produce” this sort of article! Well, here’s the injustice of it: 30 people (artisans, market women, unemployed etc) on a bus to Apapa = 3 litres of subsidized fuel. I person (well-paid Editor blowing air conditioner) riding in his car to Apapa = 2.5 litres of subsidized fuel. And those pepper grinders? These are just human shields used by well-off Nigerians to defend the fuel subsidy-the poor have the most to gain when the funds (even if 50% of it is stolen) are redeployed to schools, hospitals, mass transit schemes which middle classes will not use.

5. Then Mr. Kolawole throws the final howler “Agriculture is heavily subsidized in Europe. Every farmer gets financial incentives to keep farming…When agriculture is subsidized, the produce is cheaper. Everybody who goes to the market to buy carrots or milk enjoys the same low prices”. What agriculture subsidies does for everyone in Europe is raise prices by paying a guaranteed income to farmers, that is why cheaper imports have to be kept out through high tariffs. And this is sustained by politics, with the the farm lobby pocketing politicians to do their bidding (nearly half of the European Union’s budget is spent on the Common Agriculture Policy through which farm subsidies are administered). What the state does is to help the poor buy the food through subsidies, food stamps, tax credits etc. And better-off citizens who are hit with income tax of between 30-40 % pay both for the farm subsidy and welfare (Nigerian equivalent pay only tithes). There is always someone somewhere paying for a free lunch!

6. Simon Kolawole is a very fine and insightful writer when he writes about what he knows very well – politics and history. His view on the fuel subsidy has reverted to the populist fare of Nigerian journalism. His second piece contained the usual critique of the imperial remuneration of Nigerian politicians, yet he states in the same article that he is “thoroughly impressed” by David Mark, the Senate President who is rumoured to enjoy a remuneration package of about N600 million per annum, because he “acted as a good mediator and seasoned crisis manager…” in retaining the fuel subsidy (though at a reduced level). Shouldn’t the number 3 citizen of the country have a view on his party’s critical economic policies? Mr. Kolawole can celebrate the messy and appalling end to the fuel subsidy saga because he has no clear view of the cost to the Nigerian economy, or the role subsidies and other forms of economic interventions play in promoting corruption.

Never rely on a WET!

Abimbola writes from Lagos, Nigeria.

Boko Haram

Over the past few months, what had then been assumed to be low-level insurgency by Boko Haram has gradually become a clear-cut case of terrorism with the use of more powerful bombs and even suicide bombings. The response of the government to deal with this situation has been slow and somewhat ineffective. There is not only an over-reliance on pure military tactics, but it has also exposed the soft under-belly of the vulnerability of Nigerian security agencies to deal with modern-day security threats. A country such as Nigeria has no known foes in the form of countries, hence all our security threats are internal. However, none of our agencies at present seems to know how to solve them: the police force is grossly ill-equipped and improperly trained, our intelligence agencies seemingly under-staffed and our military better suited to fighting conventional wars and conventional armies. Even worse is that Boko Haram seems to have infiltrated some or all of the security agencies.

One of the numerous ideas that have been suggested to the government by some people to deal with this situation is that of negotiating with the terrorists, and possibly offering amnesty, as was offered to the Niger-Delta militants by the late President Umaru Yar’adua, which before then, seemed to hold Nigeria by the jugular. However, this idea has failed to convince me. While I concede to those in support of this idea that they have good intentions, it seems not to be rooted in the realities of the situation at hand. Let me explain:

To start with, it is wrong to compare the Niger-Delta militancy to the Boko Haram situation. They are not exactly the same. While the former is rooted in economic struggle, the latter is driven by what they believe to be a religious, sacred duty. The Niger-Delta militancy, which is for greater share of the oil revenues of their land which has also made them lose their farmlands and fishing waters due to environmental pollution enjoyed the support of the people they claimed to be fighting for. That struggle did not start with Mujahid Asari-Dokubo or Ateke Tom, but right from the 1960s with Isaac Adaka Boro to Ken Saro-Wiwa in the 1990s, both of whom were convicted and executed by kangaroo courts. The militancy merely gave flesh to a long-ago struggle. This is however not to justify the violence that they carried out. Contrastingly, while Boko Haram claims to be fighting for Islam in general, and for Northern Muslims in particular, they have very little support among their ‘constituency’. Matter of fact, a lot of Northern Muslims have fallen victim to their senseless carnage.

Besides that, those who suggest that since Yar’adua was magnanimous enough to offer the Niger-Delta militants amnesty, President Goodluck Jonathan should also do so to Boko Haram seem to look at this from entirely an ethno-political angle. Yar’adua did what he did as the president of Nigeria, not as a northerner. In the same vein, whatever actions President Jonathan makes would not be as someone from the Niger-Delta, but as the President of Nigeria.

Additionally, we have to ask ourselves whether the Boko Haram sect themselves are willing to dialogue. Not only has their list of demands been expanding since they resurged in late 2010, the condition that their self-acclaimed leader, Abubakar Shekau, has laid down, that President Jonathan ‘repent’ and become a Muslim pending any dialogue, shows that they clearly do not want any dialogue. Either that or we assume that Shekau was showing us he has a sense of humour amidst this serious crisis. Their initial demand in 2010 was that they wanted justice for their slain leader, Sheikh Mohammed Yusuf’s extra-judicial murder. Next, they expanded it to include that they were battling the government for their attacks on Muslims in Maiduguri and to avenge for the killings of Muslims in Jos in the perennial ethno-religious crises. As at writing this piece, they have expanded their demands once again to now including giving an ultimatum, long expired, for all Christians and Southerners to leave the North. This is not to also mention their insistence that they do not believe in the constitution, that the Federal Government is unislamic and must be replaced with one which is, and that Sharia law must be made the supreme law in the land and implemented fully.

You can see a similarity with Osama bin Laden’s al-Qaeda, which started in the 1970s in Afghanistan as a force fighting the Soviet Occupation. After scoring victory against the Soviets, they then made ridding the Arabian Peninsula of the ‘infidel’ American forces their mission, and later on, bringing down ‘the Great Satan’ and establishing a global Islamic caliphate. These are people who believe that their campaign of blood-shedding is divine and would not stop unless they have succeeded completely or are dead. For them, it is all or nothing. To live is to wage this ‘Jihad’, while to die is to ‘gain paradise’. How then do you begin to ask them to dialogue and negotiate, or even to accept amnesty deals?

Furthermore, any offer of dialogue by the government constitutes, in my opinion, that they admit that there is some credence or justification to the ‘struggle’ of Boko Haram. The snag with their demands is that these are things which cannot be negotiated in our country. You cannot ask all the Christians or Southerners in the North to leave, nor can you replace the constitution of a multi-religious country with Sharia law. What can you then offer them that will make them lay their arms? Money? They are fighting for a ‘divine cause’. Surely, they cannot be bought. Anything short of their full and complete demands will not be enough for them, and surely we cannot give them that.

Lastly, if ever there was to be dialogue, this should have come when this sect started making a resurgence, when their demand was just to get justice for the murder of their leader, albeit one who was waging a war against the state too. That demand is a realisable one. Right now, any negotiation would be with the Nigerian state negotiating from a position of weakness, as they would be perceived as obviously having been pushed to the wall. It would be a big embarrassment if an entire country is strong-armed in negotiations by not even another country, but a terrorist group.

In my opinion, the best way to deal with this situation in the short-term is to find a way to cut off the head of the organisation and gradually watch the body die, while at the same making sure that another head does not grow out. Let our intelligence agencies follow the money trail that sponsors them and cut off their financial supply to starve them of funds. Also, let them find out where the top hierarchy of the sect are, and either arrest them or eliminate them.

In the medium to long-term, we should strengthen our security agencies so that emerging threats are nipped in the bud before they become thorns in our national flesh. We should also make sure that the economic situation is never one ripe enough as to make for the easy recruitment or radicalization of people, especially young people, into such terrorist organizations.

How we end this terrorist threat will set a precedent for how we handle future situations. I pray we set the right precedent and also send the right message to those with terrorist ambitions.

ONE: The aftermath of the attacks in Kano that targeted police stations, immigration offices, the local headquarters of the secret police claiming at least 143 lives continues. This could possibly be Boko Haram’s deadliest assault so far. President Goodluck Jonathan has promised that Boko Haram will be brought to justice but so far, his tactics leave much to be desired. While apparently 158 suspected members of Boko Haram  were arrested in Kano last week, government officials and clerics gathered for peace prayers. A Boko Haram spokesperson revealedthe reasons behind the group’s attacks in Kano stating that they had given warnings in the second week of December 2011. According to this spokesperson, Qaga a lot of ‘their people’ (including women and children) are being killed and tortured in Kano state by security agencies. Thus their violent attacks were an act of revenge.

President Goodluck Jonathan has challenged Boko Haram to identify itself and state its demands clearly in a move to initiate dialogue with the group. It appears he may have not come across the video of Boko Haram spokesperson explaining the motives behind their attacks and issuing new threats. Again it seems that President Goodluck does not know how to go about dealing with Boko Haram, that or he is deliberately refusing to make details on the group available to the public. When asked about links between Boko Haram and al Qaeda, he responded; “There is a lot of evidence there is linkages … no doubt about that. Meetings are being held in north Africa, the movement of people in these places have been monitored and noticed. The level of involvement and probably in terms of funding and equipment, I do not know.”

TWO: The events in Kano also brought to light the anger local youths felt towards both Boko Haram and the government. On Wednesday last week, a crowd of angry youth singing praises for Boko Haram and promising to kill any police officer overran a police station that had being bombed the previous day. While there were youths who vocally expressed disapproval of Boko Haram’s terror campaign and called on leaders to put a stop to them, on the other hand were the jubilant youths taking advantage of the chaos and confusion.

THREE: Last week, there were even more explosions, this time in Bauchi where eyewitnesses confirmed that they heard three loud explosions during the night. However these explosions are being attributed to a faulty electric transformer. The explosions were said to have gone off near IBB square, Jahun area and near a railway line in Bauchi township. It has yet to be confirmed if these explosions were the work of Boko Haram or due to the faulty transformer. At the same time a police station in Tafawa Balewa local government area and another military checkpoint was attacked.

EIGHT: Moving on to more positive news, a Nigerian horticultural project aimed at empowering horticulturists, farmers and cooperatives with mobile technology for remote crop irrigation has won the Orange-sponsored African social ventures prize. This technology will allow the horticulturists and farmers to improve productivity while preserving water resources. The winners were declared in Cape Town, South Africa on Wednesday.

NINE: Despite the protests, the explosions, the shootings and killings, Nigeria’s economic outlook for the year is positive with a solid growth forecast. The Nigerians economy is expected to grow around 7% this year thanks to the solid performance in industries outside the oil sector.

TEN: Sunday Okpere, a Nigerian, built a car using locally sourced materials

When Atidé^[1], who is called Eddy by his school mates in his small town near Edinburgh, visited Yorùbáland during Easter vacation, he was told that his uncle had lost his job a couple of days ago. When he asked what the senior man had done wrong so that his boss had fired him, he only received blank stares. “Your uncle is a great man; he worked the whole day for his boss and he is smart, indeed he is!” they said, “Don’t you see that this is the work of ìyá àgbà^[2] who wants to destroy our whole family?” Atidé was confused, “Why should grandma do such a thing?” “Ayé is envying your uncle’s wealth”^[3], his youngest aunt tried to explain to him in different words, but again he did not understand. Therefore she decided to tell him straightforwardly what the cause of all this trouble was, “Some cruel woman used evil powers against your uncle.” Then, looking a bit frightened, she grabbed the cross she wore around her neck and glanced to the door as if she was expecting somebody entering. At the same time everybody else suddenly and in a big rush left the room. Atidé and his aunt were the only ones to remain. A couple of minutes later he asked, “You think it was àjé^[4]?” His aunt seemed to have some problems speaking because when she opened her mouth this time, no sound came out, but she finally managed to nod in response^[5]. Atidé thought about this answer and, since he had learned in school that witches were only ordinary women who were just unlucky to be blamed for somebody’s misfortune, he could not but wonder about what he just had discovered. ” … but, ìyá“, he dared to question his aunt, “witches don’t exist. Maybe the boss just did not like bàbá^[6]?” The response of his father’s sister came with a disapproving shake of the head, “Áà-á!^[7] Your parents didn’t teach you anything over there in London!” and she sent him to go with his uncle to the babaláwo^[8] so that he finally would learn something. In fact, she did not even let him stay as long as to get his shoes, but instead made him leave immediately and barefooted. As he walked to her brother’s room, he heard her chanting in the parlour.^[9]

The uncle was a big, bold and very friendly man, always wearing a colourful robe and a matching cap. He told his nephew that he was planning to see the babaláwo in a couple of minutes and indeed, two hours later, the two left the compound. Atidé by now wore some shoes he had borrowed from one of his cousins, and the two headed southwards. While they were trekking to the babaláwo‘s place, his uncle told him that he already had been to his church and asked the Pastor to pray for him ^[10], but that now he didn’t want to wait anymore. Therefore a stronger power was needed. He continued telling him other stories, of how the babaláwo had helped him or somebody else of the family. “You know, when my oldest daughter got sick when she was just a few days old, I went to the babaláwo and he gave me some oògùn^[11] for her. I also gave her some medicine I had gotten from the òyìnbó^[12] doctor and together with the other one, it healed her in an instant.”^[13] Atidé strolled alongside his senior relative and listened fascinated. “Do you remember as well, when you had this big exam last year and I told your father not to worry? Do you know why I knew, you would come out with flying colours?”, he asked the boy. “Yes, because I am a clever kid!” “Well, that too, but see the babaláwo here in the village had thrown the òpèlè^[14] for you and, after listening to his words, I knew everything would turn out fine.” His nephew nodded, after all, hadn’t the uncle been right about the result of his examination?

A short time later, they entered the ilé oògùn^[15]. Atidé grumbled a bit since his uncle had ordered him to take off his shoes before stepping inside. “Don’t be disgraceful,” the senior man advised him a bit harsh, “If the babaláwo wasn’t an old family friend, then probably we would be entering with our backs first or not at all!”^[16] Sitting in front of them was an elderly man, who smiled in a friendly way at his guests. “E káàbò!^[17]” the babaláwo greeted. “E kúùròlé o^[18], aborúboyè^[19]!” they greeted in return, first the uncle and after a short pause of silence his nephew repeating the words. “E jókòó!^[20]” the babaláwo asked them to sit down with him on a mat and started the consultation by giving his client a coin. The boy watched fascinated how the piece of metal changed hands and how the uncle started to speak to it, holding it to his mouth and murmuring silently so that nobody else could possible understand the words^[21]. As he finished the babaláwo picked up something from the floor that reminded Atidé of a necklace made out of a string, eight shells and some other ornaments. The fact that it had no clip in order to close it behind the neck, made Atidé wonder what it really was. The babaláwo held that item up in to the air with his right hand. Then suddenly he threw it on the ground. For a long time, so it seemed to Atidé, he stared at the chain, before he started to speak. He told a story^[22] in Yorùbá. The boy, who did not know much of this language, had trouble following the tale, but what he understood was the following: “Once upon a time, in a remote village, the people elected a king. When the babaláwo was consulted ^[23], he gave the surprising answer that only a stranger, arriving with a goat and two chicken would be suitable to be the next oba. The village was shocked, but finally everybody agreed to wait for the promised stranger for a full month. Towards the end of this period, when all the important, and in fact the unimportant ones as well, were already seeing their chance within reach, a man arrived in the village. He led a goat and carried two chickens in a cage that he wanted to sacrifice for the local deity following a recommendation of his own babaláwo. When he entered the sight of the village people, they surprised him by kneeling or throwing themselves on the ground before him. This habit to welcome a stranger seemed very odd to him. He continued his way to the babaláwo and everywhere he passed by, the people showed the same kind of respect. He thought, they must have heard of my reason to come here though he still found the behaviour weird and exaggerated. His journey ended at the shrine where the babaláwo already had been waiting for him and now disclosed him the reason for the high respect he had been given. So the stranger with the goat and the two chickens became the ew óba of the village and indeed he fulfilled his job in a excellent way and was liked by all the people.”^[24] Following a short pause after the narration of this story, the babaláwo gave the uncle some instruction for a ritual that the later was advised to perform at home. It consisted of oògùn^[25] as well as some incantation. Again, Atidé was not able to understand the whole. A couple of times he managed to catch the phrase “E bá mi wásé“^[26], which was about the only he managed to understand. When the consultation was over, he asked his uncle puzzled about the outcome and the later answered in a very optimistic mood, “Soon, you’ll see it, I am going to have a new employment, and this job will be even better than the last one.”

Atidé didn’t actually believe him, but he thought, “What harm could it possible do?”, and nodded again, but two weeks later nothing yet had changed.^[27] The only thing that was different now was that the first wife of his father’s elder brother, with whom he stayed, did not let him play with the children of her younger co-wife^[28] anymore. Atidé had always fooled around with the three tall boys and their cute baby sister. Only sometimes he had joined the games of the first-wife’s only child, Rèmílékun Ojútelégàn^[29]. Knowing that Rèmílékun Ojútelégàn had passed away only a few weeks ago, he wondered if this was the reason why his aunt kept such a strict eye on him. Nobody knew of what he had died, especially since he had been such a strong kid due to his mother’s excellent care, and maybe she feared now that the same might happen to her nephew. On the other hand, his aunt had never liked seeing him hanging around her co-wife’s children too much. She had always preferred that he played with her son who -and Atidé still wondered why- had not been liked very much by his half-brothers.^[30]

Days afterwards, he was to find out the reason behind his aunt’s order, overhearing a conversation when everybody probably thought that he was already deep asleep. He heard the furious voice of his aunt agitating against her younger co-wife. Puzzled, he noticed that she called her “grandmother”, till he remembered that this was just another label for a witch. Then he heard that his other aunt actually just was being blamed for her husband’s misfortune as well as for the barrenness of his first wife and the mysterious death of her only child.^[31] At once Atidé was wide awake and almost without his own will stepped towards her protection, “That’s not true! Ìyá Adébólá^[32] is a very kind woman; she would never do anything like that!” but he was just a child, so nobody paid him attention in this matter

A couple of weeks later, Atidé returned to England and nobody had mentioned the topic again before his departure, but his parents who called home every once in a while told him what happened next in his uncle’s compound. In this way it was, Atidé got to know that his aunt, the one who had been accused of witchcraft by her senior co-wife, actually had left. Atidé did not know whether it was because the family had driven her out or because she could not stand the nagging of the other woman anymore. Anyway, shortly afterwards, his uncle’s first wife become pregnant again and even before one could see her belly grow, her husband had succeeded being employed in an important position. Atidé was not sure whether to take it as a coincidence or as the proof of ìyá Adébólá’s guilt. Nevertheless from that day on he cherished a habit he had learned from his experience with the babaláwo and to which he still hold on many years later, when his uncle led his company’s strand in Ìbàdàn, and it was this one: When ever Atidé had a problem he opened his purse, took out some money and told it all to the queen who with her golden smile seemed to get him through all the trouble life was giving him.

Bibliography

Awolalu, J.O. (1979) Yoruba Beliefs and Sacrificial Rites. London, Longman.

Barber, Karin and Akin Oyetade (1999) Yorùbá wuyì. London: Hakuna Matata Press.

Simpson, G.E. (1980) Yoruba Religion & Medicine in Ibadan. Ibadan: Ibadan University Press.

Endnotes

[1] Atidé is a Yorùbá name meaning “we have arrived, we are here”.

[2] Ìyá àgbà is Yorùbá word that refers to a witch but without actually saying the word àjé (witch). Its literal meaning is “grandmother”.

[3] Ayé means “world” and is another way to mention a witch without addressing her directly.

[4] Àjé is the Yorùbá word for “witch”. The belief in witches at the time of the story (about 1980) is very strong among the Yorùbá, in fact among Africans in general. Any misfortune events might be explained by witchcraft, including problems at work (Awolalu, p. 81, l. 3-9). Though “Islam, Christianity and Western education” teach differently, they were not able to diminish this idea, and people of different background still accept it as true (Awolalu, p. 84, l. 21-26).

[5] The word àjé is generally avoided in order not to attract the anger of a witch, which could have overheard the conversation (Simpson, p. 75, l. 27-28).

[6] Ìyá is the Yorùbá word for mother and bàbá for father but they are actually used for any senior relative not only the parents.

[7] Áà-á is an exclamation of disapproval.

[8] Often the babaláwo is a diviner, priest and healer in one person (Awolalu, p. 73, l. 2-16).

[9] It is believed “that witches overhear even private discussions about them and thus may be angered” (Awolalu, p. 75, l. 27-28). Therefore Atidé’s aunt though she is Christian now fears the revenge of the witch who already has brought ill fortune to the family by causing the man of the house to lose his job.

[10] Even Yorùbás who believe in Christianity seek the help of a babaláwo trying to use all possible assistance for their problem.

[11] Oògùn is the Yorùbá word for medicine. It is only used for native medicine though, which is a combination of the “power in the medicinal preparation with some other power which is invoked and without which the medicine will be worthless” (Awolalu, p. 74, l. 7-20).

[12] Òyìnbó is the Yorùbá word for “foreigner”.

[13] The belief that the patient won’t recover without the traditional medicine is very strong. Therefore, despite the fact that they might be “taking advantage of the improved medical facilities”, Yorùbá tend to use traditional medicine as a complement of the treatment they are getting from the western medicine. Furthermore, sometimes when a patient can’t be helped in a hospital, even doctors send them “home for treatment in the ‘native way’” (Awolalu, p. 89, l. 17-36).

[14] Ó pèlè is a Yorùbá divination method that is mentioned and explained later in the story.

[15] Ilé oògùn is the Yorùbá word describing the place where the babaláwo is working.

[16] Kólá Túbòsun, a third year B.A. Linguistics student at the University of Ìbàdàn, told me that clients of the babaláwo usually are asked to remove their shoes and that some “eccentric” ones even ask them to enter with their back first.

[17] E káàbò is a greeting used to welcome guests or family members returning home.

[18] E kúùròlé is a greeting used during the early evening. Sometimes o is added to make it sound more melodiously.

[19] Aborúboyè is an address used when speaking with a babaláwo. About the respect a babaláwo usually experiences, Awolalu writes: “While the good medicine man is loved and respected by all lovers of things beautiful, the wicked and bad medicine man is feared and hated by all” (Awolalu, p. 74, l. 27-29).

[20] E jókòó is a way to offer somebody a seat. Literally it means “sit down!”

[21] The client tells his problem to a coin, but does not tell it to the babaláwo. Therefore the divination is either done without the diviner knowing the cause for it being needed or he is acquainted with it anyhow, either through being well informed about his client or by getting the answers directly from the deities.

[22] This is now the òpèlè divination method referred to earlier in the story. The side the shells on which the shell fall, tells the babaláwo more or less what he has to narrate to his client. Since they are many different combinations and the babaláwo has to be able to recite the correct verses for each of them, this work demands a very good memory.

[23] Before any import event, as for example the election of an oba, Yorùbá like to consult the oracle god, Ó  rúnmìlà (Simpson, p. 73, l. 4-9).

[24] The story being told to Atidé’s uncle is made up by myself though it is possible that one like this one actually exists.

[25] The oògùn could be made out of the following materials: “tail feathers of a parrot, feather of a agbe (woodcock), feather of àlùkò (another species of woodcock), hair of an albino, hair of a new-baby, and sand from the sea and from O sun (a large river).” They then would be mixed with native soap and the client be advised to bath wit it (Simpson, p. 87, l. 1-5).

[26] This method is described by Awolalu as an example of an incantation. It is used by a person seeking a job and the belief is that who ever follows the step, meaning using the oògùn and the right words will “surely secure a job”. The sentence Atidé was able to understand is “E bá mi wásé.” which means “help me look for a job”. It is repeated a couple of times in the incantation (Awolalu, p. 71, l. 5-9).

[27] When using any preparation from the babaláwo, one has to observe certain rules and taboos. If one does not, for example by visiting a “dirty place” like the latrine although having been instructed not to, the preparation will lose its power (Abolawu, p. 73, l. 35-29). This time, since it involves an incantation, it is also important that one says the right words in the right order. Any alteration would render it uselessness. If there is a set of action to be carried out, they have to be followed exactly, too (Awolalu, p. 78, l. 18-21). Therefore the lack of success could be blamed to the uncle who might have done a mistake during the ceremony.

[28] Some Yorùbá men, even Christians, live in polygamy.

[29] Rèmílékun is a Yorùbá name meaning “(God) has stopped my crying”. The meaning of the boy’s other name, Ojútelégàn, is “the scorner has been put to shame”, these names have been kindly suggested by Túbòsun after I had described him the circumstances of this character’s birth. The names reflect the long yearning of his mother for a child and the scorn she received from her environment due to her childlessness. It also shows her joy and pride when she finally gives birth to this boy.

[30] The competition between children of the same father but different mother usually is very high while children of the same mother stick together.

[31] Anybody who behaves differently from the accepted norms could be accused of witchcraft, especially when his or her behaviour is regarded as a threat to the society. On the other hand, sometimes a denunciation of witchcraft is a “result of jealousy”. Such an accusations might even happen within a family for example when the children of a co-wife prosper better than one’s own, especially in this case since the cause for the death of the first wife’s only son was not (yet) discovered. (Awolalu, p. 87, l. 23-27).

[32] Adébólá is a Yorùbá name meaning “we have come to meet wealth”.

____________________________

Anja Choon is a PhD student in Field Linguistics at the School of Oriental and African Studies. She also works as a research assistant in the ICE Nigeria Project at the Westfälische Wilhems – Universität. The story “Why Atide is Talking to a Coin” was written in 2003 as an assignment for the Yoruba Language and Culture class at the University of Birmingham. Anja loves the Yoruba language and hopes to speak it fluently one day.

Claire, now they make the mannequins with long legs
They give them huge buttocks and big breasts
But they leave their lips thin and their noses aquiline
They dress them up in damask and head-ties
They do not forget the fans that go with social events
But they leave them without panties and without bras

Claire, you warned me to keep my eyes straight
To watch out for oncoming traffic and rushing bikes
But the mannequins blow me kisses and whispers
They call out my name and wag their tails in my nose
When they tear off their dresses they reveal nothing hairy
Just the rotundities and the sadness in their lined eyes
Claire, now they remake the mannequins sturdy for hardship
They have removed the vibrating engines in their bellies
Though cast in plasticine, they are rendered immobile
Their huge breasts and big buttocks do not dance in the air
They stand in the open, nipples taut, come rain, come shine
Dead to the cacophony, dead to the spectacle of the streets
Claire, now they unmake the mannequins without limbs
They are shaved clean but bear manes of Indian extensions
They will not know pleasure, they will not know pain
They are frozen in the first pose they strike, their heads tilted
Claire, now they make the mannequins rather broad-hipped
They give them fat lips but sharp long noses, their eyes bright
Their lingerie is bunting on the streets on the night of carnival
They are succour for the dead, a diversion for sufferers
Claire, they remake them strapping for the lean days ahead
They unmake them with heavy breasts that give no milk
They make them with long legs and shave off the Indian hair
Claire, they won’t take the mannequins away from the streets

________________________

Benson Eluma writes from Ibadan.

For a country that holds my childhood memories, Nigeria is very much like a childhood sweetheart. We met under controlled circumstances (for me, birth) and like children our love was innocent. With hardly any demand from either party, we simply enjoyed each other’s company. When our circumstances changed, we were physically apart but tried to keep in touch. We eventually drifted apart, wondering at times, what the other person was up to. So that when circumstance once again brought us back together, we raced with arms wide open, anticipating our embrace.

Our reunion had its shares of Oohs & Aahs because our memories were still intact. However after all the catching up, we stepped back to examine ourselves: one person looked better, the other worse. One person spoke of new experiences, the other grunted about the same old problems. It ended up being a disappointment. But how so? This reunion was supposed to reaffirm my decision to put aside any form of love that developed between me and the other countries in exchange for a labor of love with the one the nurtured me. Instead it left me with the reality of a faded glory, lost love on the brink of becoming obligation.

So what do you with a childhood sweetheart who has changed so much and looks nothing like they use to? Who refuses to move on, worsening instead? After your awkward reunion you begin to question their ability to keep you fulfilled. Do you give in and adopt their bad habits? Do you move on to others who will develop you or do you wait, tolerate and hope. It’s not a black or white situation but in the words of Onyeka Onwenu & King Sunny Ade if you love them, you’ll wait.

He had been watching his son since he started the game. The boy had been chasing a red-head lizard for about thirty minutes, and now he had finally got him. He held the wriggling lizard by the tail and went outside. Still holding him he came back into the parlour of their room and parlour apartment with a bowl and a forked stick. His father wondered what he was going to do with them but he did not ask him anything. He did not want to say anything.

The boy went to a corner of the room and took some water with the bowl from a large, half-full container. That water, his father remembered, was fetched last night after standing in the queue for over an hour. Still he said nothing. He did not say anything not because he did not want to disturb the boy, but because he already knew that he would not get any response. If he asked the boy would probably simply pack his things and go out of the room to continue somewhere else. Instead of asking he decided to watch quietly from where he sat.

Their relationship was strained, very strained. He always tried to be good for his son but he never made it. He knew that the boy respected his mother far more than he did him. Of course, that was expected. For some time it had been his mother who had been providing for him. In fact, he had stopped coming to his father for anything because he knew that he would not get anything from him.

He was a seven year-old, primary school boy. He was not old enough to understand, or to even want to understand, what the case was with his father. His father had become a pest of sorts to him. If he were given a choice he would have loved not to have a father; a mother was enough. The man was a hopeless drunk. Whenever he was drunk he would come home and beat him and his mother. How could a man like that be called a father? Two nights ago he was carried home by some of his less drunk drinking partners who were laughing deliriously as they banged on the door to wake his wife. Throughout yesterday he was sick and could not go out. In the evening he did his first domestic chore in over a week: fetching three buckets of water.

He once had a job, but that seemed a long time ago. The boy could vaguely remember when his father would come home as early as seven in the evening and bring things for them. Sometimes he would bring bread and suya, and they would all sit together and eat a meal that was not even part of the three regular meals of the day. His father and mother would talk about their works. His mother was a petty trader and she would sometimes tell her husband that her wares were almost finished and he would promise to give her some more money.

He could also, through a now very foggy memory, remember the night his father came home with a letter that he gave to his wife after she asked him why he looked sad. When she read it she knelt down and started crying and asking God why he let that happen to her. The boy could remember that he asked why she was crying, and that she replied that his father had been sent away from work because the owners of the company had sold it and the new buyers did now want too many workers.

However, what he remembered very well was that his father started coming home drunk not too long after he was laid off. He used to go to look for work but after a while the only place he went after leaving home was the small corrugated iron-covered structure down the street. There, his friends would buy him drinks. Then he started beating them.

His father watched with shock as he placed the lizard in the bowl, careful enough to leave his tail only after securing his neck with the forked stick. The lizard fought with all his power but he pinned him down with all the anger in him. The lizard opened his mouth to breathe but water rushed into it and he quickly closed it. When he could no longer bear it he again opened it, and then, as before, he quickly shut it. All the while the lizard was thrashing in the bowl of water. After thrashing for a while he became still.

When the boy stood up and turned to face him, his father saw a dark and sweet smile on his face.

_____________________

Olumide is a Berlin-based Nigerian anthropologist. He is also a NigeriansTalk coordinator.

Yesterday, a petition surfaced online questioning the casting of Thandie Newton as (most likely) Olanna. Twitter, listservs and Facebook discussions have animated this issue to a point of distraction. Here is a portion of the petition:

Igbo people, like any other people range in physical characteristics as well as complexion. However, the majority of Igbos are dark brown in complexion. Igbo people do not look like the bi-racial Thandie Newton. Thandie Newton is an accomplished and talented actress in her own right. However, she is not Igbo, she is not Nigerian, and she does not physically resemble Igbo women in the slightest.

From casting Morgan Freeman as Mandela in Invictus, Don Cheadle as Paul Rusesabagina in Hotel Rwanda, Elizabeth Taylor as/in Cleopatra, Forest Whitaker as Idi Amin in The Last King of Scotland, and Louis Gossett Jr as the former Egyptian president in the miniseries Sadat, Hollywood has always pushed the boundaries of role-play. Elizabeth Taylor was not semitic or was Louis Gossetts Jnr. However, the Egyptian government  protested when Louis Gossett Jr, a black American was cast to play their past president whom they deem to have been anything but. The lead role in the famous broadway production Fela that took the world by storm for all of last year was played by Sahr Ngaujah, an American of Sierra Leonean descent.

So here is the question: is this a case of letting performance justify the means, or is there something wrong with casting an American in the role of an Igbo woman. Nevermind that there are very many Igbo (and Fulani/Yoruba/Edo) women who have lighter skins than Thandie Newton. Discuss.