Yes, "No means No", but what about YOU?

There is a reason why cars have brakes, so the driver can apply them if he ever needs to stop the car.

A car without brakes is almost like a death wish for the driver and any other passenger that gets into the car with them but sometimes, you can be in a car and not even know there are no brakes...

Or the brakes "fail".

One day a few short years ago, I had gone to Wuye in Abuja on what I now know was a wild goose chase. I had gone in search of something I never should have followed up on when I first missed it.

Well, I needed to make my way back home sometime past 11pm and there were no cabs plying the streets. There was a hotel open nearby and even though my partner suggested we spend the night at the hotel, I was a bit uneasy.

We lived in Abuja in a location less than 15 minutes from Wuye. Why spend the night in a hotel when it was not a romantic getaway? We could make it back home if we tried.

The hotel receptionist agreed with me that it was worth a second try, and he had the number of a guy who knew a guy who knew a guy, who had a taxi... so we called them up and waited for the cab to arrive.

It was now about 12 midnight but we wearily got into the cab and I settled into the backseat for a brief snooze before we got home. I was therefore blissfully unaware of any incidents that might have offered in those few minutes of sleep, until we got to a stretch of road that had speed bumps (also known as speed breakers) on them.

Without pausing for air, the cab sped past them. I almost lost my tongue that night and the rude shock of chomping down on the tongue (which by the way is my redeeming feature), jolted me out of sleep.

I sat up and asked, "na wetin, what is it?"

My partner who was sitting in front and looking visibly worried replied, "nothing" while the driver apologised. According to him, he didn't know the speed bumps would be there.

Strange since he accepted to take us there claiming he knew the route well.

Less than a minute later, we ricocheted off the next set of speed bumps and all thoughts of sleep deserted poor me like rats jumping a sinking ship.

"Haba oga, can't you see the speed bumps still? Use your full lights na!".

"Yes ma."

But I noticed the hushed and frantic consultations going on in the front of the car and began to seriously worry. The road was part a major link road and part access route to some residential estates so the government had thought it wise to minimise "stories that touch" by installing speed bumps right in front of entrances to the estates.

Two set a few metres apart before every approach to the estate.

Another set of speed bumps would come up soon and then the entrance to put estate.

The cab driver sped over these ones too like he was "eating the speed bumps like yams". Cheezos!

My voice rose as I asked in panic, "Oga what is it now? What is going on?", but it was my partner that turned to me and answered, "Vee, no brakes!"

Holy Mother of God. I crossed myself and began to panic, then forced myself to remain call but sat bolt upright, watching the road. After the next set of speed bumps, we would take a sharp left turn across a usually busy road, to get into our own estate; which by the way had a long drive in, past a bridge with a bonafide river and a pair of what we refer to tongue-in-cheek as gates, manned by what we also refer to tongue-in-cheek, as security men.

Heart pounding as we took the next set of speed bumps without pausing for breath, I clamped both hands around my heart metaphorically speaking, as the driver and my partner cut the steering sharply, and we bounced into the driveway to the estate.

The car bounced along as we screamed every religious exclamation known to man, and I think God had our back that night. The "estate gates" were wide open, the entry bar was raised and the "security men" were seated on plastic chairs, legs raised against trees and walls, snoring. There would be no barrier to our zooming right into the estate like hell's devils on speed.

I noticed my partner trying to ask the driver to make a left turn to take the road to our house once we got into the estate and I balked at it. "No", I screamed, "let him drive straight ahead".

I felt that was a safer course with a car that was out of control, than making any sudden moves that I feared would flip the car.

So we raced in, the driver all this while was furiously "pumping" the brakes. 

The road into the estate was a little bumpy at the time and suddenly, the car stopped. Then with the same speed, began to back itself right out of the estate.

We all began to yell. There was a river just before the estate gates remember?

My partner placed his hands on the steering and together with the driver, they struggled to contain the car. On that high speed, we reversed right out of the estate, navigated past the river and began the slightly hilly climb back up the highway.

Perhaps it was that slight incline that helped.

I was worried about the "monument" holding the estate signage and the fact that we were going to be backing right onto a link road used mostly by tankers, trailers and luxurious buses at that time of night.

Luckily, God was still looking out for us...

Just as we got to the monument, the car lost steam and stopped. Rolled forward a bit (at this point, I began to fear we were going to speed right back into the estate), and then shuddered to a halt.

I ignored the cries of "wait, wait" from both the driver and my partner, and threw myself out of the car. Without pausing for breath, I turned to the driver: "oga, which kain devil be this?"

"Madam sorry, na the brakes fail."

"E fail abi your motor no get brakes before?"

"Na so e dey do sometimes."

"You know say na so e dey do na hin you dey use am carry passenger?"

"Madam no vex, I just say make I try my luck."

"Try your...".

I couldn't believe it.

And I didn't want to react.

Cos if I reacted, there would be a crime scene.

So I just walked away, back into the estate.

You would expect a car to have brakes, but somehow we had found ourselves in one that didn't. I didn't know the cars had no brakes, my partner didn't know at the point he entered the car, but the driver knew and kept quiet about it.

He wanted our money and he might not have known it, but at that point if anything had happened to us, it would have been "premeditated" for him - knowingly putting us in harm's way.

But we would have been injured or worse still, killed. God knows I was traumatised by that event and for a long while, avoided cabs. If we had had worse outcomes from that night, any attempts to reprimand the driver or get him punished, would have been after the fact.

The deed would have been done. People would have been injured. Lives would have been lost. Psyches would have been tampered with. Any "justice" received afterwards would have been like a slap on the wrists, doing little or nothing to assuage the effects.

Brakes on a car is a bit like the "no means no" gene in men. Every man is wired to have one but some fail and in some cases, the man simply refuses to apply the brakes when it is needed.

You do not knowingly stand in the path of a speeding car because you assume it should have a brake and the driver should be able to apply it when he sees you are not willing to get out of the way, you look out for number 1.

And number 1 is YOU.

You stand out of the way of a speeding car and if it still goes out of its way to follow you and knock you down, then it might bring sweet satisfaction to see the driver brought to justice - that is if you survive the resultant accident.

A small child could be forgiven for not knowing that they should get out of the way of a speeding car. Not so an older individual, particularly one with some knowledge of how car mechanics work. There would be no excuse for your standing in the way of a speeding car whose brake condition you are not aware of, then turn around to yell "accident" and insist, "no means no".

Yes, I am a anti-rape advocate. I spend my adult life advocating against rape and against victimising rape victims, but I am just going to get into the shower with this random drunk man I just met (with my phone in hand), and assume that while we were both naked in a warm shower - he would understand that "no means no".

Also because my nude body should not excite him because it is my body not his.

So, I accept his invitation to take a warm bath together. At no point, do I recall saying no to him, I have my device ready to blog the incident as soon as it stops happening... but I was "raped".

Because "no means no".

Sorry Amber Amour, but all you succeeded in proving with that little charade of yours, is that you are an irresponsible character who should be nowhere near anti-rape advocacy.

I wouldn't allow you in a room with teenagers because you do not understand responsibility, safety, limits and boundaries.

You would teach little girls and teenagers to stand in the way of a speeding car, one whose brake conditions you know absolutely nothing about, and expect not to get run over.

Because one of the cardinal rules you should be teaching in anti-rape advocacy, is "safety first".

Yours!

Not that of the aggressor.

Here's a backlink to the Amber Amour story... read and weep for all the wrong reasons..http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-3387273/Activist-27-live-blogged-RAPE-social-media-just-minutes-alleged-violent-sexual-assault-took-place-set-example-survivors-need-speak-up.html?ito=social-facebook

Picture credits: wikihow, carmodguide.com, blog.brakecenters.com and dailymail.couk

Take Seven for the Fat Girls...

Sometimes being fat is fun... until you have to find clothes that fit.

Sometimes, being fat is not so fun and most of that comes from biting down hard on your tongue to stop the obvious retorts to some gaffes you hear from the socially disadvantaged bunch.

Take Seven completely clueless comments NOT to make to the fat girl, and what but for the grace of God (and our teeths chomping down on our tongues), your ears would be ringing with.

Take 1  You are fat!

You reckon? I can swear I was a size zero when I left home today. You mean I am fat now? For real? Chai, diaristgotuo!

Take 2  You shouldn't be eating that.

 Why? What is the problem? Is it poisonous? Am I going to die if I eat it? Or perhaps just this one thing stands between me and an extra 10 pounds? Would you rather be eating it? Because if you ask me, you should be getting some fat between your skin and bones.

Take 3  Are you planning to eat again?

 Errrrrm, no. I just want to worship this plate of food right here in front of me and let it know how its presence is contributing to world peace in these troubled times.

Take 4  You should take this tea or take up that exercise?

 Really? You should get a brain!

Take 5  That was how this friend of mine lost one million kg.

 Good on her. That was how this other friend of mine learnt to mind her own business. One day like that, she "chooked" her mouth in a matter that did not concern her and the original owner of the matter rearranged her face.

Take 6  You'd be so much prettier if you were slimmer.

 Funny you should say that, I was just about to observe that you'd be considered more intelligent if you kept your unsolicited opinions to yourself more often.

Take 7  It takes a lot of determination and will power to lose weight.

 You don't say? For real? Any available stats on how much determination and will power it takes to receive sense? Gerrarahia.

Seriously folks, if your opinion was not solicited and the fat is not about to suffocate you; If your food is not missing and you do not suspect the fat person in front of you is about to eat you up, please keep the fat shaming opinions to yourself.

You might never understand the struggle, which is real by the way. Or perhaps, you might just be an extremely clueless and tactless someborri.

In which case *in Pastor Chris Oyakhilome's voice* "Here is some sense. Take it, take it.... rrrrrrrrrrreceive it!"

#LetsBlameJonathan

See, I am not just playing a #LetsBlameJonathan like Alhaji Lai Lai Mohammed, this is a serious sontin for me. I need to take pictures of my food while cooking it, because this is what this generation is all about. Who knows if a potential husband material is out there watching my Facebook timeline? How will he know that I am a full six yards (sometimes less one quarter yard) of wife material, if I cannot put up step by step pictures of myself cooking aesthetically perfect (but gastronomically disastrous) dishes?

Ees eet gud laik dat?

http://www.sabinews.com/30161-2/

Crying Relief With Onions

I don't like onions.

And the simple reason for that is that they are just about the only food I prefer to eat while in it's raw state.

Once I find a piece of cooked onion (whether glazed, fried, caramelized, in stew or soup), I go completely off the food and it takes a lot to get me to keep whatever portion I have eaten down.

Okay, over time and with the impracticality of finding onionless food in restaurants and other people's houses, I had to find a way to adjust. What came easy to me then, was picking out the onions from the food and piling it on one side of the plate.

Jollof rice, soup, beans porridge, yam pottage, moin moin... wherever the onions hid itself, I would find it and i would pick it out.

So, how do I manage at home?

Ta daaaaa...

I blend my onions in bulk. Buy the lot, peel the lot and blend the lot!

Don't you just want to tuck in? Looks like ice cream, yeah?

Advantages:

1. You only get to cry while peeling and slicing onions, just once. Subsequently, it is a crying relief to cook straightaway without needing a handkerchief.

2. No onion strings.

3. A smoother onion flavour.

4. Always readily available, just pop out of the freezer and into the pot (or dish).

5. You can store the way you need. So for instance you can store in cupfuls for your stocks, soups, stews and heavy duty cooking - read jollof, porridge, etc; or you can store in tablespoonfuls for your one-mouth dishes, omelettes, seasonings, etc...

Like here...

Stores in ice cube bags (ice cube trays work as fine too but I pass because they don't cover and the smells tend to mix up).

So, nice way to store your onions if you ask me. Also helps to work around that pesky situation of onions rotting in the rainy season.

PS: If you are my friend, please always preserve onions this way. That way, you wouldn't have a whole load of picked out onion string to irritate the heck out of you whenever you have me over for a meal.

Please?

Tenkiu'.

Facing Down Nigeria's Ghosts - Enuma Okoro

OP-ED CONTRIBUTOR
Facing Down Nigeria’s Ghosts


CHRISTINA HAGERFORS
By ENUMA OKORO
DECEMBER 20, 2015
ABUJA, Nigeria — Before my grandmother died in 2010, she gave each of her 17 grandchildren a crisp one-pound note. It was an unceremonious gift, without lectures or reminiscing. She opened my hands and firmly pressed the bill into my palm. “You must keep this,” she said, before following up in Igbo: “Inugo?” Do you hear me? “Yes, Grandma,” I responded. “Thank you.”

Later, in another room, I looked at the note more closely. The bill was beautiful, with its antiquated font and soft, mint-green coloring with brown highlights.

One side had a palm tree standing tall in the center, bordered by intricate calligraphy. Across the top were the words “Republic of Biafra.”

To my grandmother, it was an invaluable offering, worth more than her thick coral necklaces or her gold embroidered George fabrics.

She wanted her grandchildren to have a piece of Biafra, the short-lived country that she and millions of others from our Igbo ethnic group had attempted to create as a refuge from the newly independent country of Nigeria, setting off the civil war of 1967-70, also known as the Biafran war.

Since relocating to Nigeria 16 months ago, I am learning anew just how complex is the history of my country. Nigeria has never really had a single national identity. Ethnic tensions existed ever since 1914, when British colonizers amalgamated more than 250 ethnic and linguistic groups into a new country.

But in the years after Nigeria declared independence in 1960, the three main ethnic groups — the Hausa-Fulani in the north, who are mostly Muslim, and the Yoruba in the southwest and Igbos in the southeast, who mostly practice Christianity or traditional religions — jockeyed for power.

In 1966, the situation exploded when a coup and counter-coup led to ethnic violence. Over 30,000 Igbos were killed between July and September of that year. In May 1967, feeling unprotected by the Nigerian government and at risk of genocide, the Igbos of the southeast declared independence. A civil war ensued.

On Jan. 15, 1970, after two and a half years of brutal fighting in which more than one million Nigerians died, Biafra ceded to Nigeria. Overnight my grandmother and other Igbos who had survived the war became Nigerian again.

The previous years were painful for my grandmother, and the process of renegotiating her identity as a Nigerian was, too. The Biafran pounds that she kept stashed away for 40 years before passing them on to her grandchildren were emblematic of an important part of my grandmother’s identity as an Igbo.

Most Nigerians of my grandmother’s generation have kept their memories of that difficult period to themselves. In the decades since the civil war, there hasn’t been any public reckoning of the ruptures that led to it. There are no national memorials, except for the poorly funded and run-down National War Museum in Umuahia, a city in the former Republic of Biafra. Besides the all-inclusive Armed Forces Remembrance Day to honor soldiers who have fought for Nigeria in conflict and war, Nigeria holds no officially sanctioned days of remembrance to honor civilian casualties.

There have been no meaningful truth and reconciliation commissions. There is little in Nigerians’ collective memory to acknowledge that we once turned against one another and divided our country in two.

The memory of Biafra, like the memory of the brutality that brought the country into being and the conflict that followed, has become a ghost haunting our country’s pretenses of national unity. From the opinions written today in daily newspapers to the vitriolic comments made by traditional rulers from some ethnic groups, it is clear that many Nigerians still hold ethnic allegiances ahead of any unified nationalism.

Nigeria’s refusal to acknowledge the most divisive part of its history is why the same fears and rivalries that created the climate for the war still fester today. There is a very real risk of history repeating itself.

In October, the Department of State Security arrested Nnamdi Kanu, a pro-Biafran independence activist. He was charged with conspiracy and being part of an illegal organization for his work with Radio Biafra, an underground radio station. In the weeks after, protests sprung up around southeastern Nigeria calling for his release — and for the region to secede once again. What began as nonviolent demonstrations turned bloody on Dec. 3, when the Joint Military Task Force, made up of army, navy, police and civil defense troops, opened fire on hundreds of protesters in the city of Onitsha in the southeastern state of Anambra. Between nine and 13 people were killed. (The number is still unclear.) Soon after, news emerged that angry protesters had set the central mosque in Onitsha on fire in retaliation.

Political leaders from both the north and the south have made halfhearted attempts to address the concerns raised by the protests. The federal government, for its part, said that they were “economic.” Last week, Mr. Kanu was released on bail but the charges against him remain in place.

Though Nigerians’ views are mixed on the separatist cause and the protesters’ tactics, many see the current agitation as symptomatic of deeper national wounds, that if unattended to could have dangerous consequences for the whole country.

“The issue of Biafra is something we can never forget, neither our children nor our great-great-grandchildren after our time because it is part of history,” Chief Joseph Achuzia, a former Biafran leader, said recently. “The problem Nigeria is facing now is the inability to come to terms with the reality.” He’s right. What a nation permits itself to remember about its past creates the boundaries by which collective identity is established.

There will never be any hope of national unity if Nigeria cannot acknowledge the tragedy of Biafra and the civil war — and deal with the consequences. There needs to be public discussion around what it means to be Nigerian and what the government can do to lead the country in experiencing itself as one nation and one people.

Ethnic groups from the north and the south fought before independence in 1960. Before the first coup, during the civil war, and after, Igbos have felt the threat of economic, social and political marginalization. The new pro-Biafran protests are led by youth who have little memory of Biafra or the brutality and horror of the civil war. And yet fears of oppression under the current government remain.

During the March 2015 presidential elections, a majority of southeastern Nigeria voted for the political party of the incumbent president, Goodluck Jonathan. Many Igbos feared that Mr. Jonathan’s challenger, Muhammadu Buhari, a northern Muslim Fulani who led a military coup in 1983, would act on a latent hatred for Igbos, despite his promises to rebuild the country’s “broken walls”...

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/12/21/opinion/facing-down-nigerias-ghosts.html

Take Seven for Christmas...

If you are a child of the late 70s and early 80s, then like me you are most probably holding yourself from spiralling into depression as Christmas approaches.

What is this season?

Is this how to "do Christmas"?

You were not "inform"?

Biko, #BringBackOurChristmas o.

Somehow, Christmas doesn't quite seem like Christmas these days and no, it is not because we are now adults and the ones who have to sit with glasses perched on the tips of our noses while we "add and subtract" on a Casio calculator.

Because, "after the Christmas comes school fees o, school fees... school fees...".

It must be way more than that. Anyway, don't know about you, but here are seven things I miss the most about Christmas past:

1. Christmas Carolling: No, not these fanciful ones where you go and sit in a fancy church and have a fancy band and fancy musicians and comedians entertain you over fancy refreshments, this was the real koko.

You and a band of friends would spend a few days (or weeks if you have too much power), putting together a Christmas "choir"; troll the streets from house to house, belting out mismatched tunes at the top of your croaky voices; then hang around until the homeowner comes out with a few nairas for coca cola.

Those were the days.

2. Christmas cloth: If you don't get to "sew Christmas cloth", then you don't know what you are missing.

Your parents would find 20 yards of the same Ankara or brocade material, and the entire family would march off to the tailor's at least two full moons ahead of the 25th of December.

Come Christmas morning, the entire family with well pomaded hair and faces would march off to church, looking like a pair of cut out paper men holding paper hands.

3. Christmas chop: See, it was not about the jollof rice and goat meat, it was about starting your Christmas cooking at least one week ahead with the snacks and pastries; then starting the jollof the night before, and completing the cooking around 4 am on Christmas morning.

Then, irrespective of your ajebo status, getting a tray of different Christmas chop loaded on your head and trudging from house to house to deliver to your family friends.

My mum held pride of place as the first to finish with cooking and have her steaming Christmas chop in her friends' houses before the cock crowed.

4. Christmas goat: You know, this should be number three.

The careful selection of the goat a few days before christmas.
The tethering of the goat at the front of your house (your neighbours must observe and acknowledge say you no dey joke).
The fattening of the goat for a few days.
The slaughter on Christmas eve after night mass.
The singeing off of the fur.
The cutting up of the bits.
Pepper soup with the intestines.
Fried and stewed goat meat
Jollof rice and goat meat.

Omo forget o, goat meat is the king of meats!

5. Christmas "yawo": Again this is one Christmas activity that does not care about your ajebo status.

From morning till night, you are permitted to trek the entirety of the country (or until you run out of breath), going from home to home, parking yourself uninvited on any spare chair you find and waiting for number 6.

6. Christmas dash: Also known as "brother gbaarum christmas".

When you get to each and every one of your destinations as seen in number 5 above, first comes the Christmas chopsin: rice, chicken, goat meat, salad, chinchin and "minerals" (soft drinks to the uninitiated).

Then when you are done eating and drinking, this is also the one and only time of the year you are permitted to shamelessly beg for alms.

"Uncle/aunty/brother/sister gbaarum christmas", and out would come the shiny naira notes.

This is one of the few seasons in Nigeria when you buy naira with naira in order to appease gullible terrorists disguised as children. We were so "wise" then, that we preferred four shiny N5 notes to one shiny N50 notes.

We could count one to four.

And we knew that four is greater than one.

We were rich o, but only at Christmas.

7. Christmas breath: if you woke up on boxing day anything less than constipated, then you obviously did not have a good Christmas.

You are a learner.

The trick was to eat so much of a combination of all sorts from so many different homes, that your parents would spend a mini fortune on Andrew's liver salts and laxatives the next day to clear your stomach. They would also spend the equivalent of your proposed inheritance on air freshners to clear  the stench of  your rotten breath from the house.

And your local chemist can still make it to the village before the New Year in time to pick a wife from the left overs.

The ones the "innit" boys from "the abroading" did not pick.

What are your Christmas experiences like? Then and now, which do you prefer? Let's hear your stories.

What's holding you back?

There are very many factors that could determine your life status and progress and achievements along life's journeys, and top of the list are your village people.

You keep getting fired from every job you hold, it has to be your step mother or that poor defenceless old woman whom society has pushed to the little hut just on the edge of your village.

You can't seem to catch a break, every opportunity is filled just before you have a chance to grab it - your grandmother is a witch, she inherited it from her own grandmother who inherited from her own grandmother (ad nauseum).

You fall in and out of relationships like a carelessly tossed rubber ball, there is this old woman in your village who is so powerful that just by projecting evil thoughts, she can cause random person A (that is YOU), whom she perhaps has never met in her entire miserable life, to keep losing love interests over and over again.

Or so your shaman says.

Interestingly, these old women are never powerful enough to attract the elixir of eternal youth, the fountain of wealth and the assurances of a good existence for themselves and their probably as wretched families. Society needs a sin eater and who else do we blame for everything that goes wrong in our lives than the most obvious, most defenceless suspects.

After all, Nigeria has a white witches association and they meet in Benin - typical!

So, when you find yourself falling out of the umpteenth job or missing the quadrillionth opportunity or reeling out the gazillionth hard luck story, please do not sit yourself down to a private meeting of two (you and your conscience), and take a brisk walk back through the common denominator in all the misfortunes and missed opportunities you might have had - blame your village witches. Perhaps your personal attitude and work ethics have got absolutely nothing to do with why you are where you are.

Like time for instance: what relationship do you have with time? Do you give it as much respect as it deserves or do you treat it as a mere suggestion?

"Let's meet at 9 am", do you interpret that as - "try to be here at least five minutes before the appointed time" or "you know, you can start brushing your teeth at 9 am. Then send me an sms 15 minutes after and then in 30 minutes installments thereafter blaming everything but the culprit - you".

Time, and your relationship with it, can make or mar you.

What about your word? What does it mean when you say you are going to do something?

Is your word something you just spit out casually? Have you developed and honed flippancy to a fine art and dispense generously whenever you feel the need to "keep a conversation going", or is your word your bond?

Pretty soon, people are going to honestly avoid you when they notice that your words have no weight and absolutely no meaning whatsoever. They would rather see an honest attempt to stick to your words however inconveniencing, than rigmarolling around what should to all intents and purposes, be a verbal contract to deliver.

And then attitude - divas are supa, but a team player is best!

I remember someone once asking me in a management training, at what point his own goals should begin to supersede company goals...

"Goals like what"?
"Growth".
"Alongside or outside the company's career path plan"?
"Huh"?

In simple English, check in your "personal goals" at the door. This is a tricky one and I would try to elaborate a bit further.

IF your personal goals are at variance with the company goals, check them in at the door. Your goal is to help the company achieve its goals and beyond. Anything that threatens to derail the corporate goals could be termed a "conflict of interest".

Ambition is good, but how ambitious should you be within a corporate entity? How do you strive to achieve that ambition? Your personal gains and growth should come as a consequence of helping the company achieve its corporate gains and growths and not seek to annihilate everything on your way to personal glory.

So that means you work with a team - not against the team.

It also means you work within the company policy - not at variances with it.

For sure it means you can bend the rules and stretch them as far as they can go, provided you have the results that would prove you right in taking those liberties - don't break the rules.

Most importantly, if you feel the need to take over the position of a CEO, if you find it difficult to be subordinated to, if you are unable to work with a team - then it is time to "move your ministry to the permanent site" - resign and run your own show.

2015 is on its way out and in a few days, we would be ushering in a brand new year. Take a few honest minutes to introspect on what has worked for you over the years and why. If you have also been consistently failing (or failing to meet your goals), then you more than anyone else, owe yourself an honest introspection.

What habits do you need to retain going into the new year and why? Which ones would you need to drop and why? Any habits that need tweaking? Any skills that need polishing?

YOU are the common denominator in all your life's experiences and situations. You just need to be honest enough to realise that first.

And perhaps top on your New Year resolution list, should be giving your village "witches" a break.

Believe it or not, if they had all those supernatural abilities you ascribe to them, they would rather concentrate on finding ways to get Otedola or Dangote to write a will and leave them a huge chunk of their estates; than winching a sorry ass, broke ass churchrat who is not even co-ordinated enough to keep one messenger job in one decrepit organisation or the other.

No be yab, but even village "witches" suppose get ambition.

PS: How come most of the village witches whose flights crashland into high tension electric poles in and around a certain region in Nigeria are women? You mean after the housework and hustling to feed the home and having to put out for oga whether they are in the mood or not, they tumble into bed exhausted at night and instead of sleeping, take off on their brooms for some sort of meeting or the other? For real? Where are the men? No dulling biko. This is an industry you also need to come and dominate please.

Tedx Jabi: Determination, Drive, Discipline.

Ujuaku Akukwe: TEDx Jabi Licensee
Kicking off the event...

"How long are we going to be here mummy?" my daughter asked as we drove into the Sheraton Hotel and Towers venue of the TEDx Jabi.

"Maximum one and a half hours, I am just hear to listen to Sola Kuti and soon as he is done, we can leave," I replied.

We were not prepared for a long stay, we had a few other things to catch up with, I had an appointment for about an hour after the event was billed to start so we hoped it would be a quick one: in and out at the speed of light.

If wishes were horses...

DJ Fusion: Sierra Leonian wonder kid.
He built an entire radio station from scrap.

Listening to young DJ Fusion from Sierra Leone as the video of his talk at the TEDx Teen set the mood for the day, I snuck a peek at my ten-year-old daughter. She had been fiddling with her tablet and waiting for me to tire of the event so we could leave, she was engrossed with the video.

Almost at the edge of her seat, she watched with rapt attention as the 15-year-old spoke about how a found fame pursuing his hobby, building a radio station out of scrap.

That video was the perfect way to set the tone for the event as I had noticed in the hall, a row full of students from one or two schools in Abuja.

Ronke Bello: Head Sports Desk at Naij.com and
sports journalist. Nice outfit, can we kidnap your tailor please?

Ronke Bello, Head of Sports on Naij.com was the first speaker. Well, her bubbly personality was visible just under the edges of her presentation but was sadly stifled by nerves?!?!? Perhaps! Not a good way to follow up the brilliant video that he kicked off the event, perhaps she would have fared better as a mid way speaker?

Anyway the man whom I had come to hear speak, Sola Kuti, came on next and everyone perked up a little. His topic Good Governance: The Killer of Corruption, was guaranteed to tug at the heartstrings of every Nigerian seated in the hall.

Sola Kuti: His presentation was so on point, it needed
some cheesy Western music playing in the background.

Sola had the experience of being a one-time gubernatorial aspirant for Lagos State, as well as setting up small entrepreneurships in his day job as a Small Business Consultant. He was therefore able to expertly bring in a fresh perspective to the corruption dilemma in the Nigerian space, dissecting the issue and solutions from different angles that had the audience break into appreciative applause from time to time. I guess the killer punch for his presentation after he had clearly shown the difference between "corruption of need" and "corruption of greed" was, "If the government is serious about fighting corruption, then they would need to first eradicate poverty".

Simple!

My name is Kiki James and I am a misfit!
Re-inventing charity in Nigeria

Laila SMD: We must not all be entrepreneurs.
Some of us can find our purpose and fulfillment
in rendering complementary services to entrepreneurs

TEDx Jabi offered a wide and interesting array of motivating speakers. From Kiki James who spoke about the challenges in setting up a charity organisation and finding donors to help the poor, and the triumphs she found along the way; to Laila St. Mathew Daniel who encouraged attendees to "empower your weaknesses all the time and not your strengths because in your weaknesses lie your strength."

The roll call of speakers included the maverick Charly Boy (real name Charles Oputa and fondly called Area Fada) who closed the show with a big bang in his characteristic way; Buffy Okeke Ojiudu who expertly wove his presentation on "Understanding your Purpose", around the Lion King animated series; the immediate past minister for youth and sports development was also present and then... how do we talk about Sadiq Dambatta?

Sadiq Dambatta - Young. Determined
Driven. Disciplined. TripleD!

Young, spell-binding, witty and entertaining, this young man chose the theme for this year's TEDx Jabi for his keynote speech. Speaking on "Determination, Drive and Discipline", he assured all that it is in following your passion through to achievement, that you derive a satisfaction that cannot be quantified.

The verdict from most of us? Sadiq is Bae.

First standing ovation of TEDx Jabi 2015? Check!

The students from Aduvie College and Olumawu Schools were not to be left out. They put up drama sketches and expressed their thoughts in spoken word presentations that me wondering at a point how they could have amassed such deep perspectives at such young ages.

Another maverick Onyeka Nwelue walked on stage barefoot and apparently, without the permission of his village gods who promptly cut off the sound supply to his microphone and started flickering around with the lights.

Onyeka Nwelue: Whether you like it or
not, I am a University Professor without
a PhD

"Haba", he protested, "dem don follow me reach here?"

After Onyeka's village gods had been pacified and they restored his ability to use the microphones, he had the audience rolling in laughter with his presentation as he freestyled between English, his native Igbo and pidgin.

The Professor of Modern Languages and Cultures at the University of Hong Kong spoke about how he would tour the world - only 27 years old, he had visited most of the countries in the world - teaching for free. He closed his session by asking the audience what their passions were and what would they willingly do for free to make the world a better place.

At this point, you must have worked out that our planned "hit and run" turned out to be a "stay and bear witness", small wonder considering how rich and well packaged the event turned out to be. Arik Air who had thrown its corporate weight behind the event should be proud that it had contributed to the magnificent outing. One could not help but ask why the next edition of TEDx Jabi could not come a bit earlier.

So, aside from the little fact that the event had not adhered strictly to time, kicking off some ten minutes behind schedule; and the other tiny fact that my personal preference would have been for a punchier start (perhaps Laila SMD); TEDx Jabi was for me, an excellent way to spend an entire Saturday (that is if you do not have party jollof rice calling your name at a wedding or birthday party o - party jollof rice is bae).

And for my daughter, at some point during the event I turned to her and asked, "can we go home now?"

"Why?" She protested, "what are we going home to do? I am having fun here!"

Abi o! Lol.

As the 2015 edition of TEDx Jabi themed "Determination, Drive, Discipline" drew to a close, and the audience networked on their way out, I knew I would not have any problems persuading my daughter to accompany me to the next edition, she was already chomping at the bit for it.

Well done Ujuaku Akukwe, TEDx Jabi licensee.

Kudos Arik Air.

And big ups to all the panelists for making this a super awesome session.

PS: You can follow the hashtags #TedxJabi #DeterminationDriveDiscipline and #TripleD to follow loads of quick snippets from the event, and watch out for the videos on YouTube.

Networking at the event

Buffy Ojiudu - Simba knew WHO he was, but it
took the prompting and guidance of the wise old Rafiki for him
to discover his purpose. That was the drive he needed to succeed.

Onyeka Nwelue and John Bethuel Ezeugo: Self-taught guitarist
now a music coach and instrumentalist

Also at the event: Bolaji Abdullahi
Fmr. Minister of Sports and Youth Development

If you call me who I am not, I am not bothered.
You cannot determine my story - Charly Boy

Making new friends

Meeting new people

When you lose the right to be different, you lose
the privilege to be free - Charly Boy

First he took a picture OF the audience, then
a selfie WITH the audience - Charly Boy.

More faces from #TEDxJabi

Sola Kuti, Ujuaku Akukwe and a guest at TEDxJabi

Diet killers...

Hands up ladies on a diet...

Hands up ladies on a diet who have friends working hard behind the scenes and right up there in your face to sabotage the diet...

If all you have are "supportive" friends who ooh and aah at every nano inch you lose; and pass the cardboard cookies just as you are about to reach for that decadent slice of red velvet cake, then sorry love, you are not on a diet.

You are not on a diet until you have had that truly concerned friend who keeps pushing you to take one extra shaki, eat an extra slice of cake, have an extra scoop of ice cream...

She urges you on to eat and drink and be merry after all, "no one knows tomorrow".

She is the first to hold your hand when you climb on the scales and to your shocked dismay, the scale "broke up" and is now maliciously adding on the kilos.

She will comfort you and assure you that all these diets do not work anyway, better be fat and happy than skinny and miserable.

"But I want to be skinny. I will determine my mood when I get skinny but for now, can't I just squeeze into a wardrobe full of size 16s if I want?"

"But you know you don't have willpower na," she reminds you. That other time you were trying to lose weight on GNLD, you failed.

Tianshi was a woe.

FLP was just plain awful.

Edmack? Pshawwww...

And so you believe her and tell people, "I am happy the way I am. I am fun sized and gorgeous, not every one has to be skinny, the key is to be healthy."

You see, you have never really dieted, until you are Dying Inside Eating Trash, with the equally "big boned" accomplice urging you on to eat more.

So one day, you walk into your burial ground of dreams - different shades and boxes of "wonder diets" that left your bank account wondering who brainwashed you; clothes you bought because you were "going to be serious about losing weight this one time and would fit into a size zero from size 26 in a split second"; and memories of you and your friend stuffing your faces and clowning for the camera.

Then it dawns on you - you don't really want to lose weight do you?

Your fat is a convenient crutch or else, you know what to do.

So you stand up and hobble slowly over to the mirror. You take off all your clothes and pinch a handful of belly blubber - you don't "pinch" actually, your hands are full and overflowing - and you say to yourself, "never again".

The fad diets...

The binge sessions...

The living in denial...

The not so friendly friends...

Success has so many strange bedfellows, but fat suffers from separation anxiety.

Three months down the line and as many dress sizes down and still shrinking, you are happier and healthier... the clothes fit better.

Your friend bumps into you after a long while of deliberate avoidance (on your part).

"Hah! Seems like you lost a looooooot of weight o".

She "hahs" some more when you tell her exactly how much you have shed in the past ninety days and then just as expected, she goes: "But I trust you, you do not have willpower. You will soon fall off the wagon and start eating everything in sight".

Expected, but it still stings anyway.

She of all people, should have understood. You turn and walk a few steps away from her, then turn back and watch as she waddles away.

Fat is a miserable loner. And when it feels kindred spirits drift away, it suffers from terrible, debilitating, separation anxiety.

You wait a few hours and just before you go to bed, you place a call across to her.

"Hi babe, would you like me to send across the meal and exercise plan I used to shed the weight? I miss our friendship and if you like, we can do this together".

The silence from the other end lingers for just one nano second too long and then if you had blinked, you would have missed the whispered, teary response:

"Yes. Yes please".

Something fishy...

Erm, weight loss things.

Don't know where to file this under so I gues I would just go with "those things you think would tast really yucky until you eat them and discover they are somehow "yum".

Fish (doesn't have to look as sexy as mine)
Pepper (about 2 medium sized balls)
Onion (One medium bulb)
Salt (about 1/8th of a teaspoon)
Cabbage
Beetroot.

Blend your pepper (as much as you can stand really), and onion together, mix in a little bowl with the salt.

With a sharp knife - who am I kidding, even a blunt knife will do the job - make two or three horizontal cuts across the fish on both sides. Just score the fish until knife almost meets bone on both sides.

Rub in your pepper, onion and salt paste, ensure the fish is well coated with it, stuff in the cuts you scored on the fish, stuff the gills, then rub any left over mix all over the fish.

Place in a pot on the fire on very low heat, rinse out your pepper plate with about a quarter cup of water and pour into the fish. Cover and allow to simmer on one side for five minutes, then flip over to the other side and simmer for another five minutes.

(We are Nigerians, we cook our fish to "done". In normal English, that means we cook it to stupor and until the fish shouts out for help).

Okay, ten minutes cooking time altogether, the fish should be well cooked through, take the pot off the heat and set aside. What were you doing during the ten minutes cooking time? You were keeping up with the Kardashians?

Tsk, tsk...

This is what you ought to have been doing: grating or thinly shredding your cabbage and beetroot.

Arrange the shredded vegetables on a plate and place your fish on it.

Voila...

See, you didn't need too many eengrejens and it still came out tasting fab. Na so. Diet food does not have to taste like cardboard paper to be effective.

Okay o, tuck in and enjoy!

Bon apetit!

Crimson death

It was an ordinary day the day she died, a day like every other.

Maybe if she had known she would die that day, she would have woken up a bit earlier so she could have enough time to drink ijebu garri with sugar and ice cold water. She loved ijebu garri.

She was just 11 years old, it was just 10.30 am by the clock in the parlor, she had just had breakfast of akamu and akara and she knew that if she asked mummy for ijebu garri, she would look up from her laptop where she was always tap, tap, tapping away and say

"No"

"But mummy I am hungry"

"You just ate"

"But I am really, really hungry"

"You have worms, I will deworm you tomorrow"

*sigh*

She wanted to go to heaven so she was going to die like Jesus. She lay down on the bed spread-eagled, then tried to pull up her knees a little bit in the "Jesus" pose.

Very uncomfortable.

How did Jesus manage it? Anyway, he did not have a choice, she did and this was a very uncomfortable pose. She quickly adjusted herself, "let me make myself comfortable before I die here o. Oh wait, I am dying already. Let me just adjust myself and get used to it, mummy said we should be like Jesus so we can go to heaven when we die".

The door creaked open and her mom peered in.

"Uloma, why are you lying down like that?"

"Mummy, I am dying."

"Oh my baby, what is it?"

Mummy ran in, held her close and rocked her back and forth.

She reached down and showed mummy the crotch of her white panties soaked in bright red blood.

And mummy broke into relieved laughter and hugged her closer.