ktravula - a travelogue! » Religion

Exceptionalism is Overplayed

Kola — Mon, 28 Nov 2011 04:26:42 +0000

There is this weird notion that Americans are exceptional among peoples. It is one of the oft-repeated catch-phrases one would most likely find among politicians these days. Something like “unlike our president who believes that we’re just like every other country, I believe that as Americans, we are exceptional.” I have paraphrased Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney, but he’s not alone. Heard repeated again and again, it often begins to sound something like this, between two children on a playground: “My daddy will beat the hell out of your daddy!”

Here is a problem though: the vapid mantra has been taken so seriously by many citizens that a leading politician now thinks that it is something with which to impugn the credibility of an opponent. “Hear that America, he thinks that you’re human like everyone else. I, however, believe that you’re supermen. You’ve always been.” Before this post is accused of being anti-American, let me give a few more examples of these delusions of exceptionalism as I’ve found them all around the world:

Nigeria is the giant of Africa (said to a tone/attitude of superiority derived from nothing else than the fact that one in five persons on the continent today is a Nigerian or that the country has produced some of the continent’s most accomplished citizens.)
We are the chosen people (an oft-repeated phase associated with Judaism and Jewish identity. According to the bible, this conviction could be traced to hundred of wars and pogroms in the bible led by the leaders of the nation-states acting on direction of God. It is also a source of immense national pride).
A ji sebi oyo laa ri… (a saying from the Oyo people in Nigeria, translated fully as “Oyo is known only to be emulated. Oyo never emulates anyone.”)
We’re the superior race (from Adolf Hitler and the Third Reich)
Arab Exceptionalism (“a phase that prescribes that Arab nations are immune to economic modernization and democratization, or that these concepts form part of the ‘clash’”)
Polygamy is an integral part of our culture/Homosexuality is not a part of our culture. (One of the many vacuous polemics that surface around the African continent whenever any of those issues are raised in public discourse).
“Rang de Basanthi” (Hindi: “Colour it saffron” – a badge of nationalism, pride and racial exceptionalism among Indians to the exclusion of everyone else).
Once you go black, you never go back (A disgusting racial aphorism. Use google.)
I’m a man: that’s what we do/Don’t tell me what to do/What do you expect? (Gender exceptionalism?)

There are many more across different world cultures that I have come across but now forgotten. A thing common to all of them is the belief in a particular world outlook accepted as superior and as defining of the people who hold onto them. American exceptionalism, of course, falls into the same category as all of those above, and it is the reason for this post. The concept is usually defined this way: “Here is a country exceptional in its creation and survival, as well as its role in world affairs.” It is usually bonded with a demand for indemnity from all accountability. “Can’t you see? I’m American!” American television personality Chris Matthews, in debunking the Republican “slight” of anti-American exceptionalism on President Obama, often uses this defence: “Can’t you see? Didn’t you listen to the man’s election speech? He said that only in America was his story possible. President Obama himself is a product of American exceptionalism. Look at where he came from and where he is now…”

Where Chris Matthews got it wrong however is the better end of the same spectrum of Mitt Romney underhanded sneakiness. While America is really no more exceptional among other countries of the world with less colourful starting histories or world presence nor its people any more important than people in more obscure parts of the world, it is also not exceptionally unique just because a bi-racial young man from a poor home and a single mother could become its president after a long history of slavery. I agree however that these make for a very spectacular (albeit empty) polemics. There are a few more examples of such exceptionalism: Mother Theresa moving from Albania to live in India in service of the world’s poor, or Susane Wenger – an Austrian woman, who spent all of her creative life in the groves of Oshogbo learning and teaching art and spirituality (and in dying there become one of the forest’s eternal goddesses).

The undeniable fact is that humans will always thrive wherever they find themselves. The story of Steve Jobs making it out of an almost hopeless beginning to become an accomplished entrepreneur could equally have happened elsewhere (perhaps with much less flair). The son of a carpenter from a victimized culture becoming the most famous, venerated, victim of capital punishment (by crucifixion) is as much a story of Jewish exceptionalism as is the story of a black African from post-colonial Kenya making it through the ropes to become a PhD holder in the United States a case of Kenyan/African exceptionalism, as is the story of a previously obscure princess from a repressive patriarchal culture growing up in the world’s ugliest war finding herself, due to a series of coincidences, as the queen of a large empire on which the sun never set – a case of British exceptionalism. Here’s Brazilian exceptionalism: defy all odds of a third world/developing country and win gold in (almost) every World Cup in which your country participates.

My conclusion here – as might by now be clear – is that there either is something of a human exceptionalism – defined by great success in spite of all odds – common to every culture and people on the face of the earth, or there is no such thing as exceptionalism, and we’re all just as unique as we are different. Nationalism and patriotic/religious credos are usually more disingenuous than the words in which they are couched tell us, and they have not always led to an improvement on the condition of human well-being. Politicians should therefore find something more stimulating to spend their time talking about, as should all blindly-following fanatics.

Meeting Eshu

Kola — Mon, 21 Feb 2011 18:26:53 +0000

Today a well-dressed man with a Sean Connery/Salman Rushdie look, beard, and an eerily similar Wole Soyinka/VS Naipaul voice walked into the language lab. He was accompanied by a colleague in the department who had brought him there to use the computer. I’d heard a little about him from the departmental emails. He is one of the prospective employees brought to take a tour of the department and meet members of staff. He had come earlier before I arrived at work. He stands a chance of being a new addition to our staff so I went to speak with him.

“Where are you from?” He asked after I’d introduced myself.

“Nigeria.”

“Bawo nee.” He said, and I was suprised.

“A dupe. How did you know this. Have you ever lived in Nigeria?”

“No. I’m from Brazil.”

“Wao. I didn’t know that you speak the language there.”

“Yes we do. The Yoruba religion is very big in Brazil. It’s a huge huge thing.”

I knew this, but was still very impressed. Then he went on.

“Do you know Shango?”

“Waoh.”

“And Orisha.”

“I’m impressed.”

“And Oshun.”

“Interesting.”

“And my personal favourite – Eshu*!”

“Hahahahaha.”

“I tell everybody about Eshu, especially the Christians I meet, and they look at me like an evil voodoo priest.”

We went on to talk for a few more minutes, and he then showed me a youtube video of a performance of the Yoruba religious worship in Brazil. The songs are a mixture of Portugese and Yoruba. One could pick out many Yoruba words, phrases and expressions in the song. The costumes however are a mixture of European and African. The drums were distinctly African.

The short conversation has given me a new appreciation of religion being the most enduring bearer of language. We’ve seen it with Latin and Catholicism, Arabic and Islam. Now we’re seeing it with Yoruba and Candomble.

It is was all just very interesting to me.

_____________

* Eshu is the Yoruba god of mischief, lost in the translation of the English bible into Yoruba as the devil himself.

Goodwill Towards Men

Kola — Sat, 18 Dec 2010 08:43:16 +0000

If I could, I’d get a Santa hat to wear around this little town. The smell of snow and the colour of lights around houses in the neighbourhoods comes with a pleasant feeling of Christmas. If I could, I’ll get a Santa hat like the big American guy I saw early today at Walmart. He wore a pair of jeans, a tee shirt, and a Santa hat. He was not Santa Claus. Santa Claus doesn’t exist. He didn’t look good either. He looked goofy. But he had a Santa hat. If I could, I’d buy a Santa hat. But I won’t. I’m done with all things hats.

Hats are so last year, aren’t they? Let me leave that to Mohammed and Ameenah to project their Africanness wherever they go in the United States. They’re our new royalty of cultural exchange (although she still would not budge to my constant nagging that she takes off the religious head covering and replace it with something more culturally authentic – You’re Yoruba, for goodness’s sake. Get a Yoruba head gear. You’re and not from Saudi Arabia; and he would never stop complaining of how people become automatically distanced whenever they discover that he’s Arab. I wouldn’t suggest to him to wear a turban to class for his students either. Actually, now that I think about it, I would. Isn’t that the whole purpose of the exchange? Now that would be something). It is an interesting time to be here, learning good new lessons in cultural exchange through the eyes and experiences of some others standing at a different front line. Ameenah is Moslem from Nigeria. Mohamed is Arab from Morocco. Same continent, same religion, different people, a different outlook on life.

If I could get a Santa hat, I would. It is cold, and my hair (two months old) will soon become unable to provide needed protection. If my brain does eventually freeze itself off, I will have myself to blame, and lose the ability to do anything ever again. I should get a hat, again, truly. Ignore the fact that the last three I bought all got lost after the very first time I wore them. I ran into poet Eugene Redmond today on campus, almost by chance. An African-American writer from the United States, I met him in 2002 on the campus of my University in Ibadan and what struck me the most about his appearance was that he was always wearing an African-designed hat. Today was no exception.

If I could, I would get a Santa hat if only because it is the Christmas season. I could keep my head warm and fuzzy, and delight in the season, with goodwill towards men.

Coffee with the Quakers

Kola — Mon, 18 Oct 2010 22:14:52 +0000

A guest post by Adeleke Adesanya

Anyone looking in through the glass from outside would think we were just having a coffee break, while working on a Sunday. We talked about politics, heard a first person account of the civil demonstrations against planned cuts in child services. Someone brought up the issue of expected redundancies at the museums and I wondered whether it would have been preferable to charge entrance fees for adults instead. The majority did not seem to agree with me. I was having my first meeting with the Quakers of Birmingham, otherwise known as the Society of Friends. They are a religious organisation, founded in the 1630s and infamous for being non-conformists. But I am getting ahead of myself.

In the middle of the healthy debates, an elderly lady asked me if I had attended a Friend’s meeting before. I said, “No”. Truth is, I had attempted to find their meeting place the previous week but had a difficult time locating them and arrived just in time for coffee. I decided not to partake then. Their meeting rooms are tucked discretely into the middle of Bull Street, at Birmingham’s commercial centre. The premises, without any signage, are better known for hosting seminars and business meetings. Inside, the decor was stylish in a minimalist, business like fashion.

The elderly lady asked how I heard of them. I told her of a handbill I had received in my post graduate student induction pack. But once again, the truth is a bit more complicated. Many years prior, I read Charles Colson’s Born Again. The lasting impression that book made on me was that President Nixon was a Quaker. Later, I found out, President Hoover was also a Quaker. They were arguable the two most unpopular US presidents before George.W.Bush. Both of them demonstrated placid sedateness in the midst of the worst public storms and they credited their faith for the fortitude to stay calm. I was intrigued; what made these guys tick?

I got a clue when I joined them for worship last Sunday. It was devoid of any ceremony; we sat for an hour in easy silence. Quakers believe God is an inner light that should speak to us as we wait on it. Sitting in meditative silence, they waited to hear. I was informed that sometimes, someone who was inspired will speak up but that did not happen on my watch. It was a refreshing silence, so humbling to listen in prayer for a change. The challenge was, of course, not in abstaining from speaking but in quieting the mind. Anyone who has taking part in meditation would know that thoughts seem to wait for one to be calm before intruding. But I can imagine a habit of silent meditations being useful in dealing with worries. After the silent service, there were some brief announcements, and then we had coffee together.

A first time visitor would like to ask Quakers when their service starts. They like to say it is immediately after worship stops. Quakers have been conscientious objectors throughout their existence and made history as a result. They founded Pennsylvania to escape persecution. They were pioneers in the anti-slavery and women’s rights movements.They still campaign against the death sentence. Perhaps, in the UK, much is made of their past because today they have shrunk in size, numbering 25000. The meeting I attended had only eleven members in attendance, excluding myself. The other thing I was made to realize is that English Quakers have an inclusive, flexible and unwritten theology that now includes atheist Quakers. What struck me most about them was what was absent; loud prayers, direct exhortations.I left feeling I had spent a Sunday morning rather well and thinking, I could do this again. And that was one more item off my “Things to Do before I Die List”.

Believing, at the Synagogue

Kola — Sun, 17 Oct 2010 09:21:49 +0000

On Friday, I found myself in a Synagogue, wearing a yarmulke, holding a siddur, browsing a Talmud, and reading the Torah in original Hebrew. This doesn’t happen to me every day. It has in fact never happened before. A few minutes earlier, I had just concluded a tour of the city’s biggest Cathedral, and hours earlier had driven the current Fulbright scholar, teacher of Arabic to a mosque for his Friday prayers. All I knew about the Jewish faith was from the few books I’d read, the few movies I’d seen, and the few conversations I’ve had with people who should know and those who shouldn’t, and the Bible.

The bible tells more, of course, and then less. The bible has Jesus, the apostles, the miracles, the disciples and the revelation. But, as I’ve learnt, one can’t be a good practitioner of Judaism by just reading the Bible. It just doesn’t say as much as necessary. That’s where the Talmud comes in. It’s the Torah explained, and this comes in handy especially since people of the Jewish faith don’t believe in Jesus, his divinity or his impending return. He’s just one guy that passed through the world like any other person. The Torah is just another word for the five books of Moses, “the entirety of Judaism’s founding legal and ethicalreligious texts.” And oh, the Torah is not a book. It’s a scroll, a large one, and everything on it is hand-written, in Hebrew (and I think in Aramaic as well). Whoever wrote this one I saw has a very good and regulated handwriting.

It was equally fortuitous that the synagogue visited was not an orthodox one, because, as I found out, the beautiful singing and instrumentation that got me most impressed by the Shabbat service is not a common part of Jewish Shabbats. It’s found only in liberal synagogues. What’s more, it had a woman lead. I didn’t verify if she was the woman rabbi or just the choir/singing leader. All I remember was being transported into realms of believing as she sang, and strummed the guitar to accompaniment of another guitar and a fiddle. The whole service itself was half singing and half reciting, much like a Catholic mass (minus the singing and instrumentation).

The Shabbat (sabbath) starts at Friday evenings and ends about 25 hours later. During this period – commanded by God to be kept holy by all believers – Jews are not expected to use fire, go to work or use electricity. It is for this reason that the only picture I took while in the service was of the siddur, and was my last while in the premises, in respect of the preference of the worshipers. While we were in the Synagogue library, I had to put on the light, and put it off later too. Those laws are strictly respected. If I would ever return to another one of those Shabbat services, it would most likely be because of the music, and the whole attitude of homeliness that one feels while there, even though – amidst a room full of people of a different race and skin colour, it is not hard to be spotted as a wandering stranger. What made up for that were the smiles and warmth of the people who all wanted to know about us and where we came from.

It was surely a fun time, definitely enlightening, as the five other students I went with confirmed. “Shabbat Shalom,” we said.

Meanderings

Kola — Sun, 18 Jul 2010 14:36:32 +0000

The task of making comparisons between states and towns along the roads to the North of Nigeria would soon inevitably fall on anyone undertaking a task of going around the country – Africa’s largest by population. Are there much differences in population, order, electricity, internet access, and a general sense of well-being? Are we that much different after all no matter where we choose to live, or do we differ only because we speak different languages or pray to a different invisible man than the other person? The answers are not that difficult if only we apply ourselves to discovering it.

The young man in whose house I slept for two days in Kaduna finished from the University in Zaria in 2005 and served in the same year in Edo State. I had never met or spoken with him until that night when I showed up at his door with another friend and asked to stay overnight for the period of my footloose tour of his state. The young man at the motor park who negotiated by bike ride with the hausa-speaking rider within my first five minutes of arriving in the state was of the same breed. Oblivious of the fact that we had indeed been in the same car through the ride from Abuja to Kaduna and never haven spoken even once, he gladly got me towards the right direction, all for a handshake, “thank you” and a goodbye smile. Human goodness, I say.

In countless meanderings around places around the world, I have encountered the same kind of optimism and open-heartedness even from random strangers, and it has never ceased to amaze, and to delight. If only we could all live together as one, all the days of the year. While eating lunch yesterday and getting prepared to head out, there was the news flash on television that nine (or ten, depending on who you ask) people have again been killed in a fresh case of violence in the city of Jos. Over what? Religion?

Of all the things that should cause violence, shouldn’t religion in a sane world be the least relevant, especially since none of us is really sure? But what do we have? Moslems pray to Allah to help them destroy their enemies, and sometimes even lend him a hand. Christians sometimes do the same, praying for God’s help to vanquish the unbelievers. To paraphrase George Carlin, one of these groups would be fucking disappointed. Could it be… everyone? Is love for neighbour so hard to conjur in a world where we have succeeded in dominating nature and pretty much everything else?

Forgive my rant, all I wanted to say was that I love what I see in most of everywhere I have been around the country. Kaduna reminds me of Ibadan, but not in every way. Ibadan is too rowdy, and so is Kaduna city, with rickety buses and loud bus conductors who speak only the local language. But as far as scerenity is concerned, Ibadan has much much less open land areas along the highways than Kaduna does, and politically, my city seems far less mature. End of rant.

On Freedom

Kola — Wed, 26 May 2010 12:00:01 +0000

An interesting perspective on Facebook’s “double standards,” religion, Islam, tolerance, and freedom of speech. What do you think?

To Draw or Not to Draw Mohammed.

On That Nigerian Guy

Kola — Sun, 27 Dec 2009 10:32:53 +0000

Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab is a 23 year old man from a comfortable home in Northern Nigeria who attends a university in the United Kingdom. He’s now notorious for trying to denotate an explosive device on a plane. I have tried not to talk about him before now, but who am I kidding? It’s in the news on every station and the word “Nigeria” pops up every time. Even on twitter, the words “Nigeria” and “Nigerians” have now become trending topics. By now we know that his father is a Nigerian banker who had warned the US about three weeks ago about his son’s suspicious affiliations. Well, three weeks ago, the US was busy debating the Tiger Woods story to pay attention to an errant Nigerian…

On a more serious note, that idiot from Katsina state has given the rest of us a bad name, as if we didn’t have enough troubles of our own already. Think of how many people are now subject to more restrictions because of a foolish act by one unthinking idiot. I’m happy that I am not travelling to anywhere soon, but I don’t envy those who are, and who are from Nigeria. I’m disgusted enough with having to remove my shoes, jacket, sweater, and even belt every time I try to board a plane. Now, they’d probably want to search my anus as well for firecrackers since I’m from a country whose name is now popping up now and then beside the word “terrorism”. For many Americans, it must be hard to see us in any other light now, except the people from whose country the terrorist came from. On the bright side, this takes the shine of “Nigerian Internet Scam”, if only for a minute. Heck, it even takes the shine off the death of South Africa’s anti-apatheid writer, Dennis Brutus, who died on the 26th December. Very sad indeed. (Update: another Nigerian passenger was arrested today Sunday the 27th because he spent one hour in the airplane bathroom on a similar flight, and was “verbally disruptive” – read Nigerian “uppity” – when questioned.)

Since the story broke, I’ve been trying to look on the bright side, trying to find the laughable side to it. Yesterday, I started looking for verses in Nostradamus’s predictions that mentioned “Nigerian”, “Christmas” and “terrorism” in the same sentence. No luck. I hope that soon, my search engine will come up with something I could use. For now, my hope is that if or when the suspected “Nigerian terrorist” is eventually convicted, he will be taken straight to Guantanamo to have a taste of the American countryside he so desperately desires. He can do with himself over there whatever he wants. Only for his sake, I will be petitioning the President Obama to keep open that detention facility indefinitely. We do not want the fool in any prison in Illinois like the president is planning for other Guantanamo inmates, and I’m pretty sure that they do not want him in Nigeria any time soon as well. Don’t take my word for it, check out this Facebook Group that has been set up primarily to throw the disgraceful Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab under the bus, virtually, since – the horror of horrors – we are not able to do it physically.

At age 23, I was struggling to get a University degree rather than of playing around with explosive firecrackers. At age 23, I’d never even been on a plane before. Well, there’s a lot you can do if you’re a spoilt kid with a privileged background. Who cares for common sense when you can easily and effortlessly disgrace your family and country with one thoughtless act of jackassery in a foreign country?

D is for Dogma

Kola — Sat, 12 Dec 2009 09:39:27 +0000

It began as a mild argument about whether one could precede every sentence with “The bible said…” and where I stood was “Not every part of the bible can be quoted as being representative of Christianity, spirituality, or the mind of God”. The person who immediately became my opponent was none other than (Let’s call him X), my fellow Fulbright colleague (also sometimes known, mostly as “pastor”).

His his first response was “You are wrong! You can start EVERY quote from the bible with “The bible said” because ALL the words in the bible are words from God.” Now this argument is very suspect, and never fails to amaze and amuse me because I am familiar with the bible as a collection of texts that include not only historical accounts, prophesies, fables and inspirational writings, but also poetry and personal letters. As a religious book, it is a document that holds the faith of the followers, but as text, it is also a collection of words on which a certain authority has been stamped by the church as representative of the faith. So I said to him, let me show you a part of the Songs of Solomon, I think it was Chapter 4 vs 5:

“The bible says – to use your word – ‘Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies.’ Right?”

“Oh no,” he responds, jumping with all visible agitation, “the Songs of Solomon are not as carnal as you have read it. They are a representative of the love of God to the church.”

What?

“You wouldn’t know,” he continued. “you are not a spiritual person. You are only trying to use your knowledge of books to analyse spiritual things. The Songs of Solomon are God’s message to the church.”

I have heard this argument before, and I like the rationalization given to portray the lyrics of Solomon’s love poems are possessing a higher import beyond their face value. But they are just words. They are seductive lines written by a rich and content king to many of his almost uncountable number of wives and mistresses. They definitely are the least representative of the mind of God to man. I could not imagine Jesus being flattered by reference to women’s breasts as representative of his thoughts towards mankind. No no. So, I told my friend that, and he was really furious. He perspired heavily, shouted, and jumped around so much that with a little push, I feared that he could have fallen down right there.

The argument escalated in pitch and intensity, in the open lobby of the Hyatt Hotel where the four of us stood idling away before our proposed excursion around the city. The more everyone intervened with a point that seemed to punch a hole in our friend’s righteous argument, the more livid he became, shouting this time at anyone “How would you all know? You are not born again. I know because I am. It is a spiritual thing…” And then he added “Everything in the bible is the word of God to us, and I believe them all.”

Here, I asked “Everything in the bible? Even the part that says you shouldn’t eat pork, in the old testament?”

Here he hedges a little, unable to find a right answer, and says that “that’s in the Old Testamant. I will not argue with you. You are not born again. You cannot understand the spiritual things of the bible.” He was livid. The argument took turns and angles, until he eventually stormed out of the hotel to get some air, but mostly to avoid more opportunities to explain why he should be trusted as an authority on a subject that is obviously not mainly spiritual, but practical. We were all supposed to be scholars, free of the clutches of dogma, but it was a moment of enlightenment to discover that we were not all. And it was sad. Here was a particular case of the first ill: “I’m right, you’re wrong” quickly escalating (and degenerating, I should add) to the ignorant condescension of “I’m righteous, you’re dumb.” The last and usually brutal stage of such unchecked arrogance is, as Nigerian Nobel Laureatte Wole Soyinka puts it clearly: “I’m right, you’re dead!” If we had given to it, who knows how physical the argument could have become (between us two friends no less) on that floor of the Hyatt Regency.

No, not money, fanaticism is sometimes the root of all evils.

Eid El-What?

Kola — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 06:01:45 +0000

Unlike my Nigerian folks, I did not have any holidays on Monday and Tuesday to celebrate the end of the Moslem fast. If I was back home in Nigeria, I’d be home resting on Monday while I ran late trying to meet up with a class. Reham the Egyptian celebrated her Eid festival in the quiet of her flat while all her folks at home stayed back from work to rest and feast. In Nigeria, there is a public holiday for every religious holiday from Christmas, Easter to the two Moslem Eid festivals in the year. On a curios but worrying note, there is no public holiday (yet) for any African traditional religion!

There are no Eid holidays in the United States for obvious reasons: it is regarded more as a Christian state when it’s not being seen as secular. The actual reason is that there are too many holidays every year in the country, and none of them have to do with religion. That’s what I think at least, because Christmas is all about the festival, the movies and Santa Claus, and less of the birth of Jesus Christ. No one knew when Jesus was born precisely anyway. The December 25 date was only arbitrarily picked by one dead pope to signify a day of the year for followers to remember. Neither is Thanksgiving any more than a celebration of life, health and family. The formerly large purpose of gathering to praise God for a bountiful harvest must have been overtaken by the fact of growing skepticism in religion and belief in God, and the decline of subsistence or commercial farming based solely on the variables of nature. Science has ultimately come to the rescue, and I have a feeling that the God of thanksgiving may not be as large a guest at the dinner table as he used to be.

Now, let me say here that I haven’t had my first Thanksgiving in the US, and I’m looking forward to it, especially the holiday it provides. The above thoughts are merely random, perhaps reflective of the state of belief, religion and God in today’s America. Ben, my flatmate, doesn’t know whether an afterlife exists, nor does he put much thought to its existence, or that of God, because to him, it will be worse if one does good only because of a selfish desire to be accepted in the afterlife than a genuine willingness to help other people. I find this reasonable.

In my country Nigeria on Monday and Tuesday, there were days of rest from work. I like to see it as a much deserved holiday for the hardworking citizens, and not just a sacrifice to some God after a thirty days ritual of fasting. But if it makes people happier to believe it to be just so, I possess no right to deny them the privilege. When Christmas comes in December, there will also be a holiday season for the Nigerian Christians to have their own moments of feasting and sharing, which is another component of religious holidays in Nigeria. Will America learn anything from the demarcation of holiday days for religious breaks in Nigeria? I doubt it. I seriously doubt also that it ever needs to. If permitted in America, every known and registered religion will sue for its own holidays and there’d be no days left to work. Let us do with Martin Luther King Holidays, Halloween fun shows, July 4th holiday, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Labour day, and a few other distinctly American holidays, and we can all go our ways. Problem is, once in a while, a yet unadapted foreigner from a multi religious country like Nigeria will show up in America, and come late to class on a normal American Monday, thinking all the while that because his folks at home are on break, he should also be too.

ktravula - a travelogue! » Religion

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