BUSINESS AS USUSAL?
Sometime last week the online edition of the punch news daily reported that the umpire of Nigeria’s electoral body, INEC, Professor Attahiru Jega, was on a foreign tour of a number of countries! While over there, Professor Jega is to carry out first hand inspection of the facilities of a number of foreign firms bidding to produce election materials like the ballot papers needed for the successful conduct of the 2011 polls in Nigeria. The report adds that local firms will also be considered in the bidding process and a choice will be made after due consideration of factors such as the capability of the firm, cost, quality as well as security.
As I digested the contents of that report, I shook my head in disbelief and sorrow, but I am quickly reminded that the country in question is Nigeria, where it seems normalcy is eternally confined to the dustbin!
You will wonder why INEC would even consider bids from foreign firms! The last time I checked, there is the government agency called the National Security Printing and Minting Company of Nigeria (I believe the name speaks for itself). I believe that it handles the printing of our national currency; the naira and it should have been handed the task of printing these election materials without a fore thought! It makes economic sense, poses less of a security risk and should be a source of national pride that these election materials be produced here in Nigeria! If Nigeria is to achieve her desire of becoming the twentieth largest economy in the world by the year 2020, it will only happen, when we take calculated, steady and incremental steps toward achieving self sufficiency, especially when opportunities like these present themselves! Until we effect these changes in our national mind-set, it may continue to be business as usual!
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Saturday, January 22, 2011
ZONE POETICA
THAT DAY WILL BE MY LAST
Whenever I lose the urge
For living and life
When the zest of each day
Escapes from between my fingers
Like the final solemn offerings
On a darkened night
When I can no longer
See the wood for the trees
And mind’s eye is dream-blind
When I cease to enjoy
The simplicities of every moment
Weighing them by the
Yardstick of burdened expectations
When penning down boundless thoughts
Lead to an imprisoned existence
When I commence that slide,
Into the intractable cycle of numbness
I WANT THAT DAY TO BE MY LAST
Whenever I lose the urge
For living and life
When the zest of each day
Escapes from between my fingers
Like the final solemn offerings
On a darkened night
When I can no longer
See the wood for the trees
And mind’s eye is dream-blind
When I cease to enjoy
The simplicities of every moment
Weighing them by the
Yardstick of burdened expectations
When penning down boundless thoughts
Lead to an imprisoned existence
When I commence that slide,
Into the intractable cycle of numbness
I WANT THAT DAY TO BE MY LAST
Zone Poetica
TRAJEDY
(DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF CHIEF GANI FAWEHINMI S.A.N, S.A.M, 1938-2009)
The man died
Perhaps from the exhaustion
Of journeys he alone embarked upon
For the countless years
Others watched on, passively
Numb to their existence
His was a mission in persistence
Unable to show concern
For their manufactured states
He tried a change of slates
Weep! Weep! Weep!
Under this same sun
Where he earnestly sought
To clothe naked backs
And minds…
With the attire of dignity
Indeed the man died
At knife’s thrust in his back
By the same hands
These are now under restive chins
They wonder if the frontiers, despised
He fought so hard to push back
Were always in their hearts
Not without!
(DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF CHIEF GANI FAWEHINMI S.A.N, S.A.M, 1938-2009)
The man died
Perhaps from the exhaustion
Of journeys he alone embarked upon
For the countless years
Others watched on, passively
Numb to their existence
His was a mission in persistence
Unable to show concern
For their manufactured states
He tried a change of slates
Weep! Weep! Weep!
Under this same sun
Where he earnestly sought
To clothe naked backs
And minds…
With the attire of dignity
Indeed the man died
At knife’s thrust in his back
By the same hands
These are now under restive chins
They wonder if the frontiers, despised
He fought so hard to push back
Were always in their hearts
Not without!
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
WHAT A DAY!!!!
WHAT A DAY!!!!
One sunny day, while feeling sunny on the inside and walking determinedly toward the bus/stop in order to board a bus to keep an appointment, something caught my attention, fully! Fully in the sense that I had earlier noticed it but gave it nothing more than a glance! In addition, as I drew closer, the inscription on the number plate caught my eye-‘The Pride of the Federal Republic of Nigeria’- and it immediately dawned on me that I was astride what could pass as a motor vehicle!
It looked like the product of a restless mind nay spirit, impatient with the stunted potentials of the Nigerian state. It seemed to resonate the belief that given the required time and resources, Nigeria could put her own car, indeed her very existence back on track. And the vehicle itself was a bold statement- its body, I think was made from aluminium or some derivative, put together here and there; reflective of may days work at a panel beater’s, for its shaft system, an improvised network of water pipes were employed as well as other parts that must really be seen to be appreciated. Couple this with the futuristic space shuttle like shape of the vehicle and you have in your palms, a blue-print of development and growth for the present and years to come!
I immediately set out in finding the inventor, maker or fabricator (which ever term catches your fancy) among the gathering throng of onlookers. I found him, crouched, fiddling with one of the tyres. I introduced myself to him and requested his permission to tke photographs He said in the Yoruba Language-”Oruko mi je Kenny! Se journalist le yin je?” ( My name is Kenny! Are you a journalist?) I reply in the negative but tell him I’m interested in his work. He grants my request and I began to shoot away! So here, my good people, are panoramic servings of something that has the potential to cause a drastic change for the country( my only regret was using my phone’s camera):
Now this is the part where you could decide to pull out a gun and blow me to smithereens! And for good reason too. After taking those shots, I walk up to Kenny and we exchange telephone numbers. However because I had an appointment to keep and was really pressed for time, I thought I successfully saved his number on my phone. I discovered later in the day that I had not. Mortified and speechless, I have since done penance and have not stopped pricking myself for committing such an egregious mistake!
So please join me in keeping fingers crossed, in the hope that Kenny contacts me soon. Until then I promise to keep pricking myself!!!
One sunny day, while feeling sunny on the inside and walking determinedly toward the bus/stop in order to board a bus to keep an appointment, something caught my attention, fully! Fully in the sense that I had earlier noticed it but gave it nothing more than a glance! In addition, as I drew closer, the inscription on the number plate caught my eye-‘The Pride of the Federal Republic of Nigeria’- and it immediately dawned on me that I was astride what could pass as a motor vehicle!
It looked like the product of a restless mind nay spirit, impatient with the stunted potentials of the Nigerian state. It seemed to resonate the belief that given the required time and resources, Nigeria could put her own car, indeed her very existence back on track. And the vehicle itself was a bold statement- its body, I think was made from aluminium or some derivative, put together here and there; reflective of may days work at a panel beater’s, for its shaft system, an improvised network of water pipes were employed as well as other parts that must really be seen to be appreciated. Couple this with the futuristic space shuttle like shape of the vehicle and you have in your palms, a blue-print of development and growth for the present and years to come!
I immediately set out in finding the inventor, maker or fabricator (which ever term catches your fancy) among the gathering throng of onlookers. I found him, crouched, fiddling with one of the tyres. I introduced myself to him and requested his permission to tke photographs He said in the Yoruba Language-”Oruko mi je Kenny! Se journalist le yin je?” ( My name is Kenny! Are you a journalist?) I reply in the negative but tell him I’m interested in his work. He grants my request and I began to shoot away! So here, my good people, are panoramic servings of something that has the potential to cause a drastic change for the country( my only regret was using my phone’s camera):
Now this is the part where you could decide to pull out a gun and blow me to smithereens! And for good reason too. After taking those shots, I walk up to Kenny and we exchange telephone numbers. However because I had an appointment to keep and was really pressed for time, I thought I successfully saved his number on my phone. I discovered later in the day that I had not. Mortified and speechless, I have since done penance and have not stopped pricking myself for committing such an egregious mistake!
So please join me in keeping fingers crossed, in the hope that Kenny contacts me soon. Until then I promise to keep pricking myself!!!
ZONE POETICA
SENSING
Touch! Touch! Touch!
And take hold of those dreams, visions
Inherited, to be bequeathed
Defying seeming intangibles
Confronting the strongholds of deities
See! See! See!
Through those windows of contention
Realities hidden from the sages
Whose admissions, though myopic;
Will form the basis
Of our liberating re-illumination
Taste! Taste! Taste!
The guile of deception
Recipes of malignant taskmasters
Intent on perpetrating the slave game
We set off on a counter course
On the path of hope and belief
Hear! Hear! Hear!
The prodding of inner self
That island of calm and stability
In a sea-like cantankerous cacophony
Endeavour to listen to the essence
Sure guards against falling prey to the phony!
Smell! Smell! Smell!
The freshness of a new beginning
Bought by the sweat and blood
By those who pushed back, defiantly
The frontiers of fear and repression
Touch! Touch! Touch!
And take hold of those dreams, visions
Inherited, to be bequeathed
Defying seeming intangibles
Confronting the strongholds of deities
See! See! See!
Through those windows of contention
Realities hidden from the sages
Whose admissions, though myopic;
Will form the basis
Of our liberating re-illumination
Taste! Taste! Taste!
The guile of deception
Recipes of malignant taskmasters
Intent on perpetrating the slave game
We set off on a counter course
On the path of hope and belief
Hear! Hear! Hear!
The prodding of inner self
That island of calm and stability
In a sea-like cantankerous cacophony
Endeavour to listen to the essence
Sure guards against falling prey to the phony!
Smell! Smell! Smell!
The freshness of a new beginning
Bought by the sweat and blood
By those who pushed back, defiantly
The frontiers of fear and repression
Saturday, January 8, 2011
ZONE POETICA
RETROSPECT
The months trudge heavily,
The whistle is sounded, and the rumble is unleashed
Untold billions commence the journey
In different directions, with one destination
The weeks wind up
On their own accord
And the stage is set, with its props
Along with all performances and renditions
Singing their swan songs
The days come, with reminders in hand
To all who will care to listen
“Make hay while the sun shines”
Becomes the pantomime
To make or mar us
The hours will creep up on you
Stealthily, unexpectedly
Like a fast moving locomotive
You either shape up or be shipped out
The seconds announce their arrival
With a gait in their stride
Sparking a frenzy
Hearts and hands clutch at and believe in
The last stanzas of songs of hope
In fulfilling dreams, realizing ambitions
The moment emerges
All time seems to freeze, momentarily
We are readied for an outer-body experience
Witness to a myriad of past events
As they scurry to the land of no return
“WELCOME TO A NEW YEAR”
The months trudge heavily,
The whistle is sounded, and the rumble is unleashed
Untold billions commence the journey
In different directions, with one destination
The weeks wind up
On their own accord
And the stage is set, with its props
Along with all performances and renditions
Singing their swan songs
The days come, with reminders in hand
To all who will care to listen
“Make hay while the sun shines”
Becomes the pantomime
To make or mar us
The hours will creep up on you
Stealthily, unexpectedly
Like a fast moving locomotive
You either shape up or be shipped out
The seconds announce their arrival
With a gait in their stride
Sparking a frenzy
Hearts and hands clutch at and believe in
The last stanzas of songs of hope
In fulfilling dreams, realizing ambitions
The moment emerges
All time seems to freeze, momentarily
We are readied for an outer-body experience
Witness to a myriad of past events
As they scurry to the land of no return
“WELCOME TO A NEW YEAR”
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