What a Wonderful World

This video of the song by Louis Armstrong is one of my best of all times, for obvious reasons: it shows Sachmo himself singing his most famous tune live on stage. I’ve heard the song remade by so many people from Rod Stewart to Michael Bublé, but nothing beats the deep baritone of the father of Jazz.

The song’s lyrics however is another matter, as much as they speak of hope, of beauty and the wonderful world we have. Against the background of wars, natural disasters, diseases, and people killing each other for no just reason, it is very hard to sing this today without a sense of irony. I saw a video yesterday of a bunch of apparently drunk Nigerian soldiers shooting captured but unarmed civilians to death in one of the latest ethnic crises in the country. Why, I wonder now, is hope and optimism so very hard to conjur. It is a wonderful world, yes? But since when? And for whom?

Enjoy the song and ignore my attempt to drag you into my own contemplations.

Today in Nigerian History

Today, forty-four years ago in Nigeria, a few army majors took steps towards what they felt was the right direction in righting the wrongs of a new nation. It was the first major step towards our division, and the many other troubles of the nation. On this anniversary of that extraordinary event in the life of my country, after a civil war, several military coups, and amidst the many effort in pursuit of a lasting solution to the many problems as a nation, let us remember the sacrifices of these men, and the very best of their aspirations.

(Image source: google analytics)

We’re No Longer At Ease

Here is the text of an open letter released by Nigerian Writers in reaction to the current political situation in Nigeria. Over thirty writers have currently signed up to the letter which has this morning been released to the media. It calls on concerned Nigerians to add their signature, and support, in a comment box beneath. You can also listen to and download an audio version by clicking on this link: audio. I support this because I think it represent some of the best aspirations of all Nigerians in pursuit of happiness, good health, success, and aspiration for country worthy of its name and one that lives up to its potentials. I like the introductory paragraph, especially.

An Open Letter from Nigerian Writers

Nigeria’s failure to make the progress commensurate with 50 years of nation-building is not just a failure of leadership. It is first and most catastrophically, a failure of followership.

As ordinary Nigerians, we have failed to create an environment where good leadership can thrive. By glamorising fraud and ineptitude, we have created a country hostile to probity. Our expectation from Government House is mediocrity, so that good government surprises us pleasantly and excellence continues to amaze us. Instead of an environment of accountability, we have fostered sycophancy. We have been content to follow every stripe of leader, from the thief to the buffoon. The consequence is that for months we have been happy to be ruled even in absentia.

Today, we say, no more.

Protest is not a dirty word. Even babies have a voice, long before they learn language or discernment. The child that is too docile to cry when it hungers or ails might die in the hands of the most benevolent mother. A leadership, however benevolent, requires an intelligent, demanding, and courageous followership to excel.

It is the responsibility of every Nigerian to voice the legitimate expectations of nation and to establish the standards to which our leaders must be held. We must expect great things from this country, so we must look for the leaders who can deliver. There is an acceptable standard of leadership, and then there is an unacceptable standard. We must honour leaders who excel, and censure leaders – at every level, and in every arm of government – who betray our trust.

If failure is not censured, there is no incentive in pursuing excellence. If sacrificial leadership is not recognised, then leaders of merit will not come forward, and the heroes in our cenotaphs will be the very architects of our failure as a nation. Although we are justly famous for our generosity of spirit, for our ability to forgive and forget the gravest transgressions, Nigerians must also now boldly condemn the errors of leadership, and end the complacency that has brought us so low as a country. The only reason for the existence of political leaders is to offer service to nation. Leadership is not an end in itself. It is a privilege to serve your country; leadership is not a right to be served by your country.

Today, Nigeria stands on a precipice. Behind us is a history that can push us, irrevocably, over the brink. Yet, we are writers. If we bring anything collectively to society, it must be the imagination and the inspiration to bridge impossible gulfs. Today, we must plumb our history, not to evoke despair, but to inspire resolve. Today, we call on Nigerians to hold hands across the trenches of our deep divisions and, somehow, find the resolution to dream again. Let us, as ordinary Nigerians, reject the ethnic fictions that local despots have used to colonise this country over the past five decades.

Let us dream a simple dream made fantastic by our present circumstances. Let us dream of a Nigeria that works, that evokes pride, and that inspires faith. Let us dream of a Nigeria of servant-leaders and sacrificial statesmen, a Nigeria which calls the best characteristics out of ordinary men and women. Let us call on that capacity for renewal to bring opportunity out of this crisis.

Let us recreate the excitement – and the possibilities – with which we approached the Independence Day of 1960. In 50 years, the resources and destiny of this great country have been hijacked by private carpetbaggers and adventurers. Let us take back the sanctity of our polls. Let us rejuvenate the recall process. Let us police our resources, our leadership. We must liberate Nigeria anew. Today, we must take back our country.

As writers, the past and the future are fertile fields for the work of our imagination. Today, in this love-letter to our nation, we call on all Nigerians to take authorship of our nation’s next 50 years. Our destiny is in our own hands. Shall we write into it a bigger civil war? Another half-century of mediocrity and international disgrace? Then we need do nothing.

But if we, the people of Nigeria, must write an inspirational epic of a humbled nation on her knees, who, breaking free of bondage, soars into the keep of eagles, we must begin by demanding only the best of our leaders. In the days and months to come, we the people must find our voice, our votes, and our true values. And we must make them count.

Thank you.

(Culled from African-writing.com)

Just Like Old Times

“There are three major reasons why I wear this cap wherever I go, around the University, and when I come to class as I will from now on. I’m about to tell you.”

That was one of the first things I said to them them, a few seconds after I walked in to the full class where a horde of quiet, curious looking faces of attentive students stared back at me, none of who knew what exactly the class was going to be like. It was just like old times. They gave me rapt attention, they smiled when they had to, they had random looks of wonder and intrigue. But they probably had never seen anyone wearing this kind of cap before. It’s African, made of the finest aso oke, from Nigeria, West Africa. The class was full. I had prepared only seventeen copies of the syllabus, hoping that there would be at least fifteen students in class, and I’d have a few to spare. There were nineteen of them. No kidding! The twentieth student signed up a few hours later. This is a long shot from my previous nine students of the Fall semester! I took in the sight of them, fidgeted for a few seconds, and found a way into an introductory talk that was meant to put them at ease while providing an insight in the content of the course, and what it would take to pass, and to enjoy.

“The first reason why I wear this cap is that it is cultural. Yoruba people like to complement their dressing with a matching cap.”

Before I told them where I’m from, I first asked them to take a guess, and none got it right. So, I wrote it out on the board, and I heard a gasp, and random giggles. “Yes,” I said, “By now, all of you are familiar with the name of this country since Christmas day, right?” They all agreed. “Well, what you probably didn’t know,” I continued, “Is that we have over 250 ethnic groups, and over 500 languages. You also didn’t know, perhaps, that Yoruba – the language you would be learning for the rest of this semester – is spoken by over/about thirty million people both in Africa and all around the world. We have also produced a Nobel laureate in literature.”

“The second reason – as you can guess – is that it’s winter, and I don’t want to kill myself by exposing my head to the harsh cold weather”

They laughed at this one. It was the first victory. “It’s true,” I continued, “I’ve never lived in any place colder than 20 degrees Celcius before. It’s a wonder that I’m still alive now in a temperature of sometimes minus twenty.” That seemed to shock and surprise a few of them, and I continued. “Has anyone of you heard of a singer called Sade Adu? What about the musician called Seal? Oh, you have? Good. Does anyone know who Hakeem Olajuwon is? He played for the Chicago Bulls, I think. Oh yea, many of you do? Nice. What about Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje, that very dark-skinned man that played an Egyptian mercenary in The Mummy Returns and a French Legionnaire in the movie Legionnaire? He was also in the first seasons of Lost, I think.” I counted them and smiled. “Well, great,” I said “one thing they all have in common is that they are Yoruba, originally from Nigeria. Are you excited already? In this class, we shall learn everything we can about the Yoruba people, their culture, way of life, and language. And the first step in that knowledge is that we all must have Yoruba names. Yes, indeed. I’ve told you mine, and you’ve told me your American names. Now, you have to go and look for Yoruba names, their meanings, and why you want to bear them. Go online, ask friends, read books, but by Wednesday, we will all begin the necessary steps to become Yoruba citizens. Who’s excited already? Great!”

“Well, the third reason is that I sometimes forget where I left my comb in the room when I wake up in the morning…”

And so it begins, just like old times!

Politically Correct?

And so today after a lot of soul searching and repentance of past sins of unpatriotism, I am back with a new list of bumper stickers. This time, they will be nice and politically correct, for those who like to see the good and the positive. Now you have no more excuses for not making them up as banners or stickers and putting them on your cars, mugs, shirts, doors and fridges.

The current news, as dumb as it is is that Nigerians, along with other nationals “of interest” will now be subject to more more enhanced searches at airports. It’s dumb not only because it attacks the symptoms of a disease and not the diseases itself while casting the “doctor” in a very bad light in the sight of his patients and colleagues, but because it also seeks to create more enemies – or at least, less friends, inadvertently. The fact of the matter is that “enhanced” airport searches have never solved any problems. Never ever. It only humiliates the guests, and breeds mutual suspicion. Before this December incident, every passenger on American planes have had to remove their shoes, belts and jackets before boarding. The terrorist got wise up and took to using the underwear. If we’re asked to remove our underwears at airports now, the person determined to cause havok will simply think of new means to do so. What’s more, Nigeria has never been a state sponsor of terrorism, so what’s the point? If I were an Al-Qaeda strategist, I would be thinking like this today: this would be a very good time to shift attention off of Nigeria, Yemen and Pakistan to other poor countries of the world where we can recruit impressionable kids like Umar Muttalab for our next attack. Thankfully the new TSA requirements in the US does not include full body searches for those other countries at the moment. With any chance, we’ll get this one through, and take a few thousand lives. Duh! Why am I the only one thinking out of the box? Is it just because I’m from Nigeria, or because it’s true?

Now here are the bumper stickers you should see:

  • I am a Nigerian. I have words for “kill”, “maim” and “slaughter” in my local languages, but none for “terrorism” and “terrorist”, and none for “snow”. What does that tell you?
  • I’m a Nigerian, one of the happiest people in the world. Going to heaven now is the least of my aspirations.
  • I’m a Nigerian. I do not need to make a point with my life when Jesus has already done so.
  • I am a Nigerian. America needs not be afraid of me. I’m still trying to get her visa. (Thanks Yemi)
  • I’m a Nigerian and not a terrorist. I have other things to worry about.
  • I’m a Nigerian. If I can’t lay down my life for my country, why would I give it up for your militant God?

… among many others that, again, we can make up as we go along.

But the bumper stickers probably won’t make sense right now that in another dumb development, the country’s elected representatives have resolved to sever ties with the United States unless it takes the country’s name off the list of the United States’ top security watch list. What? They even gave an ultimatum. Talk of misplaced priorities. Talk of silliness in top government circles. Talk of pouring scarce fuel on an already open but unwanted fire. Whatever happened to silent, common-sense, underground diplomacy? Now, more than the Mutallab incident on Christmas day, this is one news item that makes me ashamed, not of my country, but of its leaders/rulers. And this comes just when I thought I could be optimistic for once. Shame!