LOST GRASSHOPPERS

Two invading birds perched on our windowsill
One from the south,the other north.
Each parting its beek in pitched tones
Chirping,calling the grasshoppers.

The local birds,the tiny little canary,steeped in red pride,grayish stripes of lovely pittle,
Sought to fight back,but
Overpowered,pitched its tent and beat a retreat.

And the invading birds plunged against each other,
simmered in rage,fighting still,
The victim grasshoppers,lost to primodiality,
Brought out their humanness
The dust yet to settle,and the grasshoppers,tattered and battered
wallowed bare fangs.

The local canary watched from afar,
braced up in folded arms,watching the folly of the lost grasshoppers
smiling but grieving from inside
Surprised by the urge to give in to servitude…

(Musings of a Lost Mind)

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Breakfast With Delinquents

The sun was just emerging beneath the morning mist as we drove into the gates of National Boasters School,Kaduna. The gravelled driveway was deserted,and the far-flung fields green and mowed. The building is old and rotten,cobwebs dark as coal knitting into camps of eggs. A choking filthy stench,stomach-churning,issuing from the half-opened windows.

Dressed in our khaki knickers and led by our Legal Aid Clinic president,we moved noisily in procession towards the central building,hosting the administrative structure of the school. We were greeted at the wide corridor by the Principal Instructor,who took time to lecture us on their ‘dos & donts’. After the welcoming lecture,we were taken round the dormitories that stood silently amidst tall trees. The rooms were no different from the other buildings,the painting worn out with sun,inscriptions of names,in ink and marks from candle flames,of past students everywhere,the common feature of most boarding schools .

The inquisitive that I was,I asked to be shown recreational facilities for the students,to which the bewildered instructor shake-d his head with a stifled smile. “No,we don’t have them here,”he said half smiling. “But we have football pitch….”
“Only football pitch!”,I exclaimed cutting him half way through his words. He smiled and continued down towards the dinning room where we met with other corps members to proceed to the Hall,the venue of the lecture.

The lecture was brief but engaging as we took turns to answer questions from the inmates,though we had been warn not to address them as ‘inmates’ but as students. It was during the Q & A session that a student asked a question that was to haunt me for days. The student asked of what to do if born to a prostitute and people used that to stigmatise against you. Of course,there was no direct answer to that question. But it provided a food for thought as we have many of such cases. We only attempted to offer what we thought would soften the boy.

Their problems varied and dimensional. My friend Umar could not help asking if they had any psychologist because most of the questions asked were psychological. Although we were convinced to believe there was one,we did not see any. And that was supposed to be a reformation centre for convicts less than 18 years of age and delinquents. For the rest of the day,I could help remembering their condition in those dirty dormitories.

Much as I dreaded their situations,I was turned between dreading their situations to believing their opulence compared to the Almajirai(s) roaming our streets in tattered clothes. I will gladly recommend that those almajirai be taken to such reformation centres and tamed. They are humans with equal rights to aspire to anything in life. But for now,let’s go to the rescue of those children fast ageing yet do not know where their lives are heading to.

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THE MADMAN AT THE CENTRE

I think I was born with my doubts! But too much exposure to Taju may have staked up some tendencies to maturity;a feeling,was it a quest for unity with oneself? Intense as the feelings incised upon my lost mind,there was this sticking obstinance not to give in to the charlatans of Joda.

With sunken-eyes,sun-darkened skin,a storey-tall maze of bushy smelly hair fast forming ponytails,you could mistake Taju for a madman. There was always a swamp of flies buzzing about him as he moved about his kingdom. He would sit beneath the shade of a large neem tree,muttering his banter of incantations that made no sense,sometimes,rambling into some unfathomable rave of some sort about a plot of land taken away by Audu. There was no particular drift to his harangue;it was always many things jammed together.

There was a heap of disused tires,made to support his zinc-made hut,old rotten bowls scattered across the vicinity of his kingdom. Taju had a refutation for taking long swoop after obstinate children throwing stones at him. It so happened one day that my best friend,Aminu,the most headstrong of us all,so ran out of luck and Taju caught up with him…God! He had the bashing of his life.

I always laughed to a cry whenever I remember that rather unfortunate encounter. I was not at the scene,but from what I heard,Aminu had fainted and slumped into a long comma that many thought he would not make it after he was rescued. For the rest of the day,we sat cross-legged by his hospital bed sobbing,palms supporting our jaws like some mourners bereaving over a departed loved one.

Taju could be violent sometimes,but with me,he was always different….

To be continued….

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BARMANI CHOGE (1943-2013)

THE HELL NO! NOT CHOGE!!

I was on my way back from Bauchi yesterday night when a friend called to tell me that Hajia Sa’adatu,the legendary Barmani Choge, a popular Hausa women musician, praise-singer, and perhaps the highest record sellers of all Hausa women musicians, had passed away. By the time he called, I was a little way past Unguwar Fulani, negotiating those sloppy sharp bends of plateau, with her most popular song “Duwai wai” blaring throughout the car and Hamisu Soba was beside me warning of answering calls at such high speed. Immediately the news was broken, I slid my toes off the accelerator and pulled over. I quickly put a call through to Funtua to confirm the news,but couldn’t get through. I allowed Hamisu to take over the driving and continued trying till I got a friend living just across the road opposite her house in ‘Kududdufin Yaro da Gari’, in Funtua who confirmed her death.

The death of Choge(1943-2013) finally marked the end of an era that started and ended with her in Funtua,my ancestral hometown. Funtua of 1990s was what you could call Bariki (Barracks),as it had all the complexity of barracks life. It formed a base and settlement for all and sundry,people from all walks of life,”the good,the bad and the ugly”. And B.S.C.G was the centre of it all as it provided the stage where the late Alhaji (DR.) Mamman Shata Funtua,another legendary praise-singer and arguably by far the best of all Hausa musicians; composed, performed and rendered most of his songs. It also served as a sanctuary for women of easy virtues, and that attracted visitors who would later make it a home. And Garba Liyo with his “Goge”,another central figure of that age,holding sway with his crew in Sabon Layi the second stage in those days, his lulling flute men, his subdued stilting voice added all to the glamour and serenity of the town. Our former house was not far from the stage where Garba Liyo used to perform his magic, and my dad would always warn my mum not allow us get near that devilish place. We would sit in our parlour after dinner cross-legged, but the flutes and the shriek of the goge would be issuing inside in pitched tones from the open doors and windows. Although I was too young to understand the lascivious voluptuary of those days, the smoking women passing by our doorstep and men reeking of cigarette smoke holding women by their buttocks, I still consider those days as the most exciting moment of our lives as young men. Perhaps that was what forced my dad to sell his house and move down new Funtua for that was the end I saw of Garba Liyo.

Barmani Choge was born in 1943(5) in Funtua,Katsina State. She started up as an in-house musician,specialising in Amada a popular Hausa traditional musical genre of praise-singing that involves light beating of calabash gourds steeped in a pool of water to produce a rhythmic beat,to which the head singer sings and dances. Choge popularised this genre that by the time she came to limelight performing in public performances, she was a force to reckon with. She put up several appearances throughout Hausa states,including other non-Hausa states of Borno,Adamawa and Minna in Niger state. Throughout her life,Choge became an enigma,a force to reckon with,who chose to tread on paths no other Hausa woman had dared to tread, a woman that made a place in history for herself. And although she withdrew from public performances towards the end of her life because of old-age and her compositions seemed to have receded in appeal and depth,she was still the favourite of the highly placed in society,with that her lush comforting voice.

Choge was a social reformer who occupied most of her life with plight of women in Hausa Muslim society,encouraging them to be strong and self-sufficient. Although she had a few number of compositions to her credit,and all in praise of highly placed women,the only exception was perhaps her song “Ku Kama Sana’a Mata”in which we saw the social activist in her,appealing to women of all classes to stand up to the challenge of modern life and engage in profitable businesses, she was still the best at what later came to define her life as an advocate of change. In “Sakarai Bata Da Wayau”, Choge established her place as feminist, not in the sense of modern day opportunism of our so called feminists–some of whom you would not want be left alone with in a room for fear of being sexually harassed by them,but as a women’s rights activist, imploring women to stop being idle and depending on other women. This call she made in a highly pitched satire against highly placed women that used to be her favourite themes and who took other women for granted by the mere ecstasy of being privileged. In “Wakar Duwai wai”,my second favourite song,she praised women’s buttocks as source of power and attraction. In that song, we saw Choge as a societal deviant, talking vulgar in public, of sex and sexual performance, something considered indecent in Hausa tradition. And she never pretended to lace it up with Hausa, something she could have done to cover the rawness of the words. But the words were clear, and so clear indeed, for you could feel the jolt of her voice as it trailed up the verses.

And like the beginning and end of a rainstorm,Funtua reached its peak and began to subside, the storm became droplets, so spherical, drizzling till the sky became clear of any speck of clouds. Garba Liyo went first, and just before Ahmad Sani, the Yarima of Bakura, could light up the fire of Sharia that was to finally smoulder up prostitution in that axis, Alhaji Mamman Shata followed Garba Liyo in 1999. And then Sharia came to Katsina in 2001 to finally put an end to the sacrilegiousity that was B.S.C.G. and Sabon Layi. It was like destroying a legacy,but we could not help it as people continued to watch performances by visiting Hausa musicians secretly. And as it happens anytime they use God as a means to an end, they dropped Sharia halfway few years after. And just yesterday, without any notice, Choge went the same way. And she brought it all to the end. May she find peace.

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Moonchild's Temple

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Watching ‘Africa’s largest TV network’ sucks. That is why Nigerians, supposed proud owners of this unwieldy beast called the NTA, do not bother. They, like most humans of appreciable self esteem, do not fancy mirrors that project their hideous warts and hairy moles in 3D.

 Seriously, understanding Nigeria’s problem is not rocket science. And you don’t have to read Chinua Achebe’s seminal piece, The Trouble with Nigeria to figure it out. If you still have the heart to examine what the trouble is with the ‘Giant of Africa’ all you need to do is subject yourself to the torture of watching the NTA. Not in lethal dose, just enough to shed light on things. Consider it, if you like, a sort of purgatory for sins done against your country, say handing out that N20 note to the policeman at the road block, or receiving it, or making away with drugs…

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Plea Bargain Or Daylight Robbery

PLEA BARGAIN OR DAYLIGHT ROBBERRY

The other day I visited a journalist friend of many years and was rather shocked to find my friend literally inhospitable. The introductory “hows” went well as usual. But as our conversation sauntered down the sloppy roads of Nigerian politics, my friend minced no words to let me know how much he derided lawyers and Nigerian Judiciary. So emotional was my friend that he even forgot to see me off as he used to.

The crux of the argument was the ruling of Justice Abubakar Talba that sentenced John Yusuf Yakubu,the Pension-Fund ex-convict, to two years imprisonment with an option for fine. And the journalist was so mad that he could have none of my attempts to clarify some misconceptions, which in my opinion betrayed the lay man in him. Forget that journalists are universally notorious for embellishing facts, just to sell many copies and often complicit, too complicit for that matter, in the loot that goes behind doors. But I do not blame him, for apart from bare naivity of his take on issues with passion, there was honesty in his justified anger. And it is only fair that I recognise that.

Justice Talba might be complicit in the light sentence that he gave the culprit, but EFCC is all to be blamed for charging the accused under the Penal Code Act of the Federal Capital Territory, Abuja. EFCC arraigned John Yakubu Yusuf and others on 22-Count-Charge, to which he entered plea bargain for 19 and pleaded guilty to the remaining three. And as the concept goes, the other charges were dropped and he was convicted on the three that he had pleaded guilty to. Each of the three carries a punishment of two years, with or without option for fine. Now, here is where my suspicion of complicity came in. Justice Talba could have sentenced Yusuf to six years imprisonment to run consecutively and without the option of fine, given the gravity of the offences. This he did not do, but went down the gutter with his ridiculous concurrent sentencing with option of fine of N250,000!

But you do not blame Justice Talba alone,you blame the system that accommodates “plea bargain”, that dubious concept that allows criminals go scot free,swinging their arms in their loot, with little or no blemish at all. I, sometimes, feel of democracy as responsible for the mess we see around us much as I see our incompetent politicians responsible for it. But at others, I see these strange concepts, strange indeed, as shackles to development and accommodative of corruption. You dare not to approach Chinese with this strange concept of “plea bargain”! But here,the corrupt Executive, accomplice Legislature and a complicit Judiciary, welcomed it with both hands.

Perhaps it is high time we went back to our customary laws against stealing, oh is it misappropriation you call it, and made the necessary changes to safeguard our treasuries. I never bought this concept of plea bargain. I have always seen it as a way of domesticating graft and impunity. People that could have gone down for their lives elsewhere are walking our streets freely, courtesy of plea bargain. Olabode George,Tafa Balogun, Saminu Turaki, Igbenedion Lucky, Cecilia Ibru, a certain Erastus Akinbola et cetra, et cetra are all people that coud have been cooling their feet in prison elsewhere. But we live in a country where plea bargain can easily exculpate one of all his blemish with just a return of few millions to the government. How sad.

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My Homosexual Neighbour!

The shout came through the open window.”Thief! Thief!! Thief!!!”. I jumped to my feet and made for the door. From the distance,I could see a crowd of ten or there about,gathered round a short man,shouting”wayyo! wayyo!!”. The man kept screaming as I quickened my steps. It was a friday evening,I was in a kaftan. And the moment I got to the scene,the man fell to my knees begging,”Alhaji! Please,help me! sun kusa kashe ni”,he said in Hausa,half sobbing;meaning that ‘they have almost killed me’. The man was bleeding severely that I feared he might die.

It happened that the man at knees wanted to have “sex” with our house guard,Emmanuel. That he had been disturbing Emma to have sex with him and that if he cooperated he would buy him a Blackberry. When the pressure became too much,Emma agreed to sleep with the man. But Emma was still nervous and had to tell his brother,Friday,who persuaded him to bait the man to his room.

And so it went. Friday and Nathan,a fellow guard of our neighbours,armed with heavy sticks,hid in the dark as Emma lured the man into the dark room. The agreement was Emma should relax and undress and allow the man to also undress. However, a little argument ensued as Emma became too nervous and hesitated to loosen his trousers,and the man became suspicious of the whole situation and tried to take to his heels.

Emma screamed and the two brothers lurking in the dark descended on the man with heavy sticks,clubbing the hell out of the desperate gay. The beating became unbearable and the man started shouting “Thief! Thief!! Thief!!!”. By the time I got to the scene,the man had slumped down from the beating and was gasping for breath.

I hold a very strong view against homosexuality,but that beating was anything but human. I could not report them to the police,because I would still have been the one to bail them out. And now that a bill against same sex marriage has passed second reading in the National Assembly,what happens to those who take law into their hands like Friday and Nathan?

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HOLD ME BACK (NIGERIA)–Rick Ross

Perhaps the only act of patriotism out here is to protest any show of ‘disrespect’ to the green-white-green flag or to those beneath its shade. Ah,why should anybody care about the thieving politicians,the civil servants conniving with ministers to rob nigerians,when Rick Ross could be easily turned into a scapegoat for daring to film in Ajegunle and Muson in his latest release?

Why should anybody care about the rogues in Victoria and Banana Islands,the fraudsters in Lekki and Aja,when Rick Ross could be grilled for refusing to cover those opulent places,those dreams of all,reality of only few? Oh yes,why? Why blame the government that turned its citizens to beggars,extending hands meddled in pus,forcing Rick Ross to wrinkle his nose from the filthy stench as he gave out alms to the unwanted citizens?

That is about the best thing in us,always protesting sacrilegious utterances,protesting South Africa’s deportation of Nigerians even at the face of our dubious characteristics,calling Ghana names for sending Nigerians back home forgetting that we first drove Ghanians home,’Ghana Must Go’ saga just a couple of decades or so. And now,these racial Arabians–good for nothing kleptomaniac reds,these leisure-seeking belligerent Saudi Arabians detaining nigerian women for hours. This is the most disrespect of the highest order.

When Idris Abdulkareem released his hit album”Jaga-Jaga”,Obasanjo was the first to call for his head,followed by the National Assembly. Now Rick Ross,who was in Nigeria on a tour a couple of months ago,released a new song “Hold Me Back(Nigeria)”,exposing the wretched life Nigerians are living in slumps like Ajegunle,despite the replicating rich life few big shots are living in Lekki,Island,Ikoyi and Aja;and we have started calling for his head.

We all know the right place to direct our anger,but we are looking the other way,trying to crucify a man who has nothing to get by filming Ajegunle and certainly nothing to lose by not filming Lekki. The right place to vent our anger is at those who turned us into second class citizens in our own country,not Rick Ross.

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A TALE OF TWO LOVERS

The sky was overcast,already drizzling as our plan taxied down the shiny tarred run-way. Lagos was rumbling with thunder,warning Makoko suburb residents to keep their children indoors for ominous storms threatening to break loose. I was arriving just in time to see the torrent October rains flooding Lagos of all its brims. Although I had been to Lagos several times before,this was no ordinary visit. I was coming to meet Nkechi,the love of my life.

My flight from Kaduna to Lagos was delayed an hour late for reasons best known to Arik Airways. But did I care? I was so excited that I would fly for the first time. I sat in the lobby with my eyes darting side to side,watching all the trooping passengers hurrying up to catch their flights. For the rest of the hour,I was just swinging my head to the click of the sliding doors whenever they swung open,scanning for a familiar face to show off my pride. Just as I saw a figure much like a classmate of mine,the programmed female-toned voice went up; my flight set to depart. And soon we were airbone.

Much to my surprise,except for the stewards prowling across the aisle hawking fresh meat-pie,pizza and a host of other snacks,almost everybody had fallen asleep fast snoring loudly through the deafening sounds of the engines just a little over 20 minutes after taking off. How could I sleep up my ticket without having a good time for my money? I shifted a little in my seat and leaned back to loosen my seatbelt,stretching my legs,I brought out my book and was soon lost to Adichie’s “Half of a Yellow Sun”. And for what appeared to be split second,the voice went up again. And this time waking us up to put on our seat-belts,to get ready for landing. As the plane nose-dived down,I looked through the dimly tinted windows,straining my eyes to catch glimpse of the city just emerging beneath the spherical droplets pelting against the wings.

The lobby was crowded as we queued up in front of the conveying belt waiting to pick our luggages. I picked my luggage and pushed through the thick crowd of passengers to the main entrance. And there at the far end of the building,standing under the shelter of light roofing sheets,was a lightly built tall woman,probably in her middle twenties waving at a moving taxi. The taxi-driver apparently did not notice her. She seemed new to this maddening world of a city where everything was a rush. I moved close and offered to get a taxi for her. I introduced myself as a student just arriving to Nigerian Law School.

Her face lighted with a grin at the mention of Law School. She raised her eyebrows in disbelief,chin nudged forward,lips parted,revealing her snow-white gapped-teeth,surprised by the share coincidence of our meeting. It turned out that Nkechi was also arriving for the same programme. There was something particularly intriguing about Nkechi,stirring your curiosity to the fore,making you wanting to know more about her at first sight….

An excerpt to be continued…….

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