Hillary Judgement

Watch this Please!

For Sherri and others who are blinded by Mrs Clinton's Gender what matters is her agenda. It is a cruel joke when the only way President Clinton can amend for his infidelity is to give his wife the Presidency. Shakespeare could not write a greater Tragedy.

LAGOS JUMP

Lelethu on Okada


First Time in Lagos Article Preview
written by Lelethu Lumkwana Features Writer for the True Love South Africa
To be Published January 2008 Issue




After flying six hours across the continent, where a strapping young man Femi, decided to play our personal in-flight host, plying us with copious amounts of Merlot and plates of jollof rice with chicken strips, our first glimpse of Lagos was through a curtain of rain, its corroded tin roofs swimming in pools of muddy water, spreading as far as the eyes could see. At an aerial glance, it seemed like a mixture of order and disorder, clusters of houses mixed with occasional grid avenues with a sprinkle of shacks across the city. Would it be the predicted nightmare or the ultimate adventure of my traveller fantasies? I didn’t know. Up until now, Nigeria had been a wild enigma, its speedy culture and robust personality almost an urban legend. Having decided to travel with two friends – Thando, who’s also a colleague and Adewale, who is from Nigeria and would be our host, I had no clue what to expect – from my friends or Lagos. If our visa debacle where our late application resulted in having to pay for an ‘emergency visa’ fee; the numerous tales we’d heard about paying entrance and exit fees in the country as well my body being racked with pain from a basketful of compulsory vaccinations (you can’t leave the country without a yellow fever card) were anything to go by, then we were in a bit of a pickle.

Our first encounter of the much-publicised Nigerian ‘sex in a dashiki charm,’ is when the immigrations officer threatens (read: promises) to lock my friend up in his room for filling in her immigrations forms incorrectly, much to our amusement and shock. Outside the airport gates, a gush of hot, humid heat greets us while a scrum of people offer all kinds of services - carrying our bags, opening the car door, hailing a taxi, you name it, they can do it. We soon learn however, that none of these are for free and under the auspices of Adewale’s suave Pidgin speak (‘Oga, I beg, we don’t need help’), we manage to escape spending our entire holiday budget getting from baggage claim to the car. Our driver, Mr Sanya is waiting patiently for us and our arrival hits a dramatic peak, when while taking in the scene and chatting away, a very heated Adewale starts barking: “Let’s go, let’s go,” sending us scurrying into the car, bags over heels. It later turns out that far from turning into an aggressive stranger, our host was hurrying us because we were parked in a clamping zone. As he puts it, in Lagos you either do business or you become the business.

MISSION (IM)POSSIBLE
Our first stop is in Ibadan, a bucolic city which lies about 100 kilometres outside of Lagos and our host’s hometown. Here, we attend a wedding, celebrated with no less than five ceremonies, which means conjuring up five different outfits, much to the fashionista me’s glee. Having heard about the notorious Lagos traffic, we’re fully prepared to spend the better part of the evening on the road but surprisingly we wade through the traffic easily, passing images of men and women wearing a mixture of traditional buba (top) and shokoto (pants) suits and corporate clothing walking home; while street businesses selling fruit, meat and fish rush to make closing sales or the transition into night trade. At every street corner, billboards advertising everything from cellphone networks to religion (‘Befriend Jesus Now’) adorn the city. On the road, every second or third car is either a Mercedes Benz G-wagon, a black BMW 3,5,7 series or a Hummer (we even spot one which operates as a taxi) and the über important are led by convoys of security cars while riding in bulletproofed cars. I can feel my heart thumping loudly in my throat and the airport that frazzled me a moment ago, seems a distant refuge. Spotting repeated religious messages is as irking as it is comforting (Never Fear God is Near); while our host’s constant reassurance and Mr Sanya’s skilful handling of the okadas (taxi scooters) snaking though the cars also brings relief. When we suddenly come to a complete standstill in Sagamu, a commercial centre that oil tankers have turned into a trailer park, we meet a veteran Nollywood actor who advises us on which detour route to take to Ibadan. This experience soaks up the last residues of travel tensions in the car and we return to our original camaraderie.

WEDDED BLISS
In Ibadan, we head straight to the after party for the traditional wedding, with no time to freshen up. To christen the city, our host decides to take us to a roadside suya (braai) where we have our first meal in Nigeria - heavily spiced meat that has been hung up to dry in sunlight and then braai’ed until it is crisp and brown. News of our arrival is the talk of the party where each of the guests, depending on whether they are friends and family of the bride or groom are dressed in colour coded Nigerian attire – the men wear grey and black buba and shokotos while the women look mesmerising in long A-line dresses with short puffy sleeves, complete with touch-the-sky, oleander shaped headwraps. Clad in jeans and vests, we’re obviously underdressed but it doesn’t seem to matter as everyone welcomes us with warmth and curiosity, liberally affirmed with an endless supply of wine and cognac. A live band whose signature style is juju - a fusion of African drumbeats and steel acoustics is our entertainment for the evening and on each song, the main singer playfully chants a guest’s name, cajoling them to dance on stage while being serenaded by the band. We spend the night at Davies Hotel, a boutique hotel with a distinctly contemporary African aesthetic: high walls, ethnic chic artefacts and a thatch roofed bar area outside where we enjoy a nightcap and some suya.

The next day, the church wedding is an explosion of carnival colours and Lagos personality, with guests wearing mostly matching but customised garb, all with a touch of pink. Just like in Mzansi, there is no such thing as a guest list at a black wedding so guests arrive in hoardes, filling the room to the brim. The reception is something of an indoor Mardi gras and we dance with strangers of all ages, the flirtatious currency being people randomly dancing up to you and sticking Naira bills on your clothing if they like your moves. From 18 year-olds to 80 year-olds, Nigerians are an exuberant, sensual and graceful people with a deep reverence for one another and an overflowing love for life and having fun. Everywhere we go, photographers take pictures of us and our vanity gets the most of us before we are told that we actually have to pay for the pictures. Thousands of Naira’s poorer, we set off for Lagos, the main course of our holiday, via a scenic route of farmlands, villages and a fish town.

LIVE IN LAGOS
Lekki, our home for the next week is a suburb is a microcosm of the rest of the Lagos– patches of Tuscan style houses and mansions immersed in shantytowns, street vendor structures and formal shops. As if to welcome us, the electricity goes off, something that will see us having many candlelit dinners during the week. The chef of the house, Mr Joseph has laid a spread that is guaranteed to pile on whatever excess kilos we’d tried to shed before the holiday.

Trying to cram Lagos into one week proves impossible but we do get a sumptuous taste of Lagos living, starting with cocktails at Churassco, a popular cylindrically shaped lounge bar, which sits on the lagoon. Today, the place is empty because of Ramadan month (in Lagos, 50% of all residents are Muslim). Nevertheless, the Lebanese bartender works his magic, keeping us entertained with his experimental cocktail mixes and party tricks, stripping me of all my jewellery, which he graciously returns as we leave.

Throughout the week, we travel through the city’s jam-packed roads to its lavish restaurants, guesthouses and exclusive clubs. Because Lagos’ structure is concrete skyscrapers on mire, almost like Sandton City plonked right in the middle of Alexander, going anywhere feels like going on a treasure hunt and finding some of its best-kept secrets. Like Yellow Chilli, a must-visit tourist eatery in one of the city’s business hubs, where we eat authentic Nigerian cuisine like Amala, which looks like brown pap with spicy ewedu and beef soup, which has a sticky texture because of the yam flour ingredient. Later on, after whinges of needing to eat real chocolate, our second host, Hakeem (who’s really an angel sans wings) takes us to Chocolat Royale, an ice-cream-cum-chocolate parlour that would put Häagen-Dazs to shame with its array of delectable French chocolate and ice cream. That night, we dine at Maroccaine, a Mongolian Barbecue restaurant where you choose your meal’s ingredients from a buffet of raw foods ranging from chicken to fish, turkey and beef as well as stir-fry veggies, made on a massive wok shaped stove while you wait. Although a classy joint, Maroccaine provides ‘eat as much as you can’ dining and customary in Lagos, you can buy an entire bottle of alcohol and take it home if you don’t finish it.

Our second last night in town proves to be full of surprises. After having lunch at Double 4, the city’s oldest restaurant, where we are served by its’ restaurant’s veteran waiter, who has been working there since it opened, we head off to a non-descript shebeen shack where Hakeem breaks his fast with grilled catfish while we sample some Guinness stout. Tonight’s party spot is none other than Fela Kuti’s shrine, built by his son Femi in a dilapidated warehouse in downtown Lagos. Every Thursday, Femi and his band perform for local fans, bringing alive an entire music economy where entrepreneurs and hustlers can sell everything from beer, palm wine, cigarettes, suya, t-shirts, as well as Femi and Fela Kuti’s CD’s. Standing next to Fela’s shrine is an ethereal experience and for a moment (or maybe because of the whiff of ‘lala’ all around me), I feel his spirit while an avid fan concurs by sprinkling water on his picture, which sits with his shirt hanging above it as well as other memorabilia from this iconic muso. The night comes to a climatic end, as Femi sings a sexually charged song, him and his dancers gyrating fiercely on stage, while he screams: “I dey come, o” (I’m coming).

Friday is a full day as everyone from new friends to people who’d like to meet ‘the girls from South Africa’ want an evening out on the town with us. First, we have sundowners at one of the most an invitation only club in Lagos – Club 288, where we bid a chic farewell to the city over bottles of Moët et Chandon. Mixing with some of the country’s most prominent businesspeople we are forced to take a stand on why exactly it is that Nigerians are treated so badly in South Africa, when in fact the country supported Mzansi during apartheid, even to the extent of taking in and paying for South African exiles’ expenses during those years. The only answer we can mumble is that perhaps not many people in South Africa know this. After the political soiree, we head to News Café at The Palms, an upmarket mall that boasts exclusive boutiques such as Tiffany Amber, indigenous bookstores and coffee spots and cyber cafes. Here, a live band doing classic cover songs like Yvonne Chaka Chaka’s Umqombothi gets us into the swing of things. In the wee hours of the morning (that’s when the real party begins) we go to La Casa, a nightclub whose bouncers’ snobbishness almost put us off, save for our friend flaunting that we’re from South Africa. Inside, party people get down to the DJ’s fusion of local and international hits (think Rihanna’s “Umbrella” mixed with Nigerian’s Faze’s “Loving You Everyday”). It’s not uncommon to see perfect strangers grinding as if they were in the boudoir and then casually parting ways after the song is finished. As the time nears Hakeem’s early morning Muslim prayer (3am), we decide to call it a night and head back home.

Our last day is perhaps the only time I ever feel the speediness of Lagos – up until now the Lagos flow is, well, the Lagos flow but for some reason, with only 12 hours left in the city, everything seems to be happening too fast. Before we know it, it’s mid-afternoon and we’re at the craft market, perusing through rows of art, jewellery, clothing, Nollywood DVD’s, African artefacts and other garb, trying to get last minute gifts for friends and family. As we drive to the airport, an air of melancholy hangs in the air. After spending nine days in Lagos, we’ve almost settled into city’s pattern of endless possibilities and excessive but endearing rawness; a cultural collision where everything and anything can happen; both the blessing and the curse of Lagos. We’re all trying to act as if this was just another holiday, something we’ll boast about at media do’s (“I’ve just done Lagos, darling) but deep in our hearts we know that things will never be the same again. That is until the customs officer at OR Tambo reminds us that the countrywide suspicion of our now favourite African metropole still exists: “Nigeria! You were on holiday in Nigeria?” he says making disapproving clucking sounds. Welcome back to Mzansi, girls.

Purple Reign Over London, welcome to Soultown (Part 1)

In September Prince a.k.a Roger Nelson, a.k.a the Symbol or even a.k.a His Royal bad Funk Self rocked London O 2 centre for 21 days. It was the thing of which Legends are made. You see growing up in the late 70s and early 80s there were two camps that mattered in the world, did you moon walk for Michael part of a raging, hollering teen mob with hysterical sensations and Jheri curls tangled nappy hair. The other side was were you an edgy raincoat wearing tough, with emergent broken voice reading naughty auntie Sylvia with Prince music in the background. Parents worried about the latter, whether they would ever get out of the funky, edgy material full of dense sexuality and freaky past times. I was always down for Prince like I was for Eleniyan, Omo Reverend Asa Igbo, Fela Kuti. You see I was a DJ and cupped the Dirty Mind album before most and there it was this young freak in raincoat and underwear on the album cover or was it being stylistically naked riding a winged horse. There was a lot of rumours in Right On Magazine (you know I read that religiously) that he was a recluse but it confirmed something almost unheard at that time for a man 19 or less he had played all the instruments on his debut album. Michael to me was soppy seconds a crooner without the funk but Prince was the real deal. Even when Rick James played himself with his coked out feud with him there were those of us who stood at crossroads around the world offering all manners of sacrifice for untold reconstruction of his anatomy. Then came Purple Rain the film and movie. I watched it somewhere in Ealing Broadway with a Black British girl, Cynthia who took my refusal to snog her as evidence of my Suegbe nature and lack of street smarts. This was in spite of my black zoot pants, the ever present trouser chain (And you thought it was invented last year) and my lavish crushed silk trench coat (of course in black). No Sh****ng . That was my summer style that also rocked University of Ife all year and was promptly rewarded with invitation to the senate to defend allegations of possible gang affilations. Thankfully the truth out and being stylishly black thankfully did not end up being labeled a criminal.

Fast forward to earlier this year I was in Las Vegas on business and missed out on Prince in residence in spite of my best efforts even willingness to pay up to $300. I thought that life had dealt me one of those cruel blows that you only wish on relatives who have been pain in the butt to your parents and you have grown up to inherit. You feel me?

Now we are in September fast forward to the O2 centre. I had purchased two tickets for my crazy cool middle son and myself but there was the Missus demanding Conjugal rights. At the risk of not catching nooky for a while, guess who stepped with me. The opening act was Beverly Knight and she was something special. Never truly rated her until that night then her energy and powerful voice cleaned away the Thai Food replacing with an hunger to be funked out of my skull. By the time Prince came on the crowd was baying. Now this crowd was an exquisite mix of nearly four generations, i saw a man not a day under 60 with a Symbol tattoed to his arm. I was in the rafters away from the stage and the is a story about the flat fee for all tickets but not for now. Unlike most concerts this was a true Diversity the only thing missing was Hijab wearing sisters and they were sorely missed even though the room was dotted with brothers whose beard rivaled Samson's. Prince took the crowd into a musical experience turning them into rainbow children. I went hoarse, over 40 and the last time i had so much fun there was a four poster bed and many party games. He rocked and Funkdafied everyone. Most stood for the next almost two hours doing the between chairs bop. There was Maceo Parker blowing up a storm like James Brown never died and Fela was still giving Yabis at the shrine. In the end I shook my head at two things, one was the Justice of Providence, life is not a 100 meter Race but a marathon. Here was Prince who became the butt of many Jokes as the symbol and Michael who spent most of that period the King of Pop. In this century Prince is actually the King of this turbulent times, a musical genius and virtuoso of the stage. If only Americans understood when he says ' People say I am rude, I wish there were no rules, I wish there was no black and white.....' The second was this was the power of passion and excellence that people really need for the 21st century not wars and rumors of impending conflicts.

I walked away from the concert I promising I would be back with my son. If he wanted to play bass he had to see the best and never mind the you must have degree bullshit that i propagate all the time. Excellence is not about school but about how you use your talent and opportunities. Watching the man opened up a world of possibilities that i knew but never truly appreciated. Missus Ajadi was equally ecstatic had it had nothing to do with asserted conjugal duties. This pint sized man brought the Funk to a new level and rocked all our worlds right out its middle class, middle age respectability. I had to be back.

Then with my middle rocker son in tow we did London and my edgy Soho jeans shops before the concert. Now here was a 40+ with 14 year old in tow trapezing through the back streets of London seeking the perfect T shirts. It was a blast and we got a few 'antique' ones. By the time we arrived at the concert we had journeyed through life. As it is usual with my kids he took the opportunity to tell me I was confrontational in the best way of course. He attested to the fact that I always disrupt complacency. A little hard but most likely true. This time the opening Act was an ex from one of the British Female Groups she was laughable and forgettable. I know i love stretch marks on my women but i also like waist to hip ratio and a certain feisty disposition. She reminded me of days working the doors at the Ritzy club in Cheltenham on 'granny night' with newly initiated single mums worse for wear and make up in the quarter to the after stage. Her Tattoos stood out like angry effort at rebellion living a life of their own in spite of the skin that gave them home. The Royal Purpleness came to the rescue and we were at the front row. My son had never really been keen on Prince but he came to my conclusions. This man he said' Can stop wars'. From the mouth of babes and the young eh! It was another complete sell out and once again we stood throughout with rendition after rendition of classics and new songs. Now my son sees himself as the only Black boy that cannot dance but there he was shoulder rolling with the best all inhibitions shed like our jackets . We even rocked to ballads that had my boysquarters bed singing the songs of delight. it was a night of very little memories and rocking to the sound of now. Time passed too quickly and after a couple of encores we needed to catch the train home. Now for our life and those who were present there will always be the question about whether you saw the 21 days of Prince in London. As we say Who no Know he go know , Who no Sabi he go Sabi. He rocked.

Corporate Insight

Text in here

Interview with Passion TV , UK

When life collides with the blog

It has been quite sometime since I posted anything about the world around me. Sometime since last insights especially revealing my peculiar angle on things. In that time and space many things that I would like to open up to you has happened. First the Nigerian junior soccer team are World Champions in the under 17 World Cup without any loss throughout the competition. No Long thing as we say in Lagos. They were a team coached by a Nigerian coach whose stoic response was as un-Nigerian like as could be found in this world. In the same period the Female senior soccer team imploded in the World Cup in China despite being the perennial African champions. Like their male senior contemporaries in spite of individual talent and promise their organisational skills and ability to cooperate delivers so little. Is there something that is available to young Nigerians that gets lost in transition into adulthood? Consider this, the country has won the under 17 World Cup the third time. Yet there are those who question their achievement saying that they abused the age limit. Is it possible that they still have the belief in possibilities at their age while the older people are more likely to be cynical? Don't we reduce ourselves and our world to the charred remains of reality we associate with being Nigerians? Can we get onto that soon?

It is the Month of Ramadan and even though I do not practise Islam there is a lot in it that I hold onto from my childhood. The fasting and Zakat (giving to the poor) especially. It never ceases to amaze me how truly giving Muslims are. In the Nigeria where I grew up it was always stunning to watch what happens to the poor and needy when Muslims and Muslims came out of worshipping in mosques and churches. It is always the kindness and concern of Muslims that makes most mosques a place where beggars choose to sit. Of course that was a sign of how dirty Muslims were to the kids in my Catholic school. Anyways there is a passage in the Koran about the Prophet Musa or Moses and the Al Khidr in Sura Al- Kahf it is quite a story that reveals the power of emergent nature of Gods wisdom. A must read on leadership and one that will be explored before the end of Ramadan.

In the same space and time there was the story of the Jena 6 who were charged initially for second-degree murder for a schoolyard beat down of their white schoolmate. Their school had been the site of racial conflict between white and black pupils and there had been similar situations where black kids had been beaten by groups of whites. There was no permanent damage to the victim even though six against one especially unprovoked is quite much. It matters however because of the prosecutors aggressive charges. Bear this in mind Americans make up 5% of the world population but around 25% of people imprisoned of which nearly 40% are black. There is also abundant evidence that blacks do not commit more crimes than whites however they are more likely to face the police, more likely to be charged, more likely to attract serious charges and more likely to face hard time. Sure an angle on Race or Racism again but hopefully with a new twist. for example is it not time to move beyond marching as a strategy for highlighting inequities. How about voting for Barack? America will never be the same again.

I also travelled to three countries in the same period. Spain, Nigeria and South Africa there will be more on the latter two much later. As for Spain my brief visit to Madrid left a bitter taste in the mouth. It is quite a beautiful city with incredible sights as well as safety. Saw people lying on the grass in parks as late as 11pm. The city however seemed to be full of humourless people whose response to black people suggest a greater self loathing than many Europeans exhibit. Look out for my take on the final pelantheologist and genetic confirmation that all human beings that have ever lived, are living and will live are all Africans.

Then there were the concerts. I saw Prince twice that itself is a full posting. The two times I realised that there could never be a fuller exposition of human excellence at any art, craft or science than this man at his best. I needed to see it again so that I could confirm it was not a fluke. Anyone who can rock a British crowd on their feet, 20,000 strong from beginning till the end with their passion on the display is a sheer miracle worker. It seemed this happened in the full 21 days he rocked the O2 centre in London. I suppose this might seem a lower ranking in the order of spectacle but it was nevertheless a real pleasure to watch Olu Onabule the self styled Mayor of Soultown at the Stables in Milton Keynes. He was pure class and a true soul singer in the class of a Bobby Womack. He also deserves a posting of his own. Nigerians like him are increasingly rare, comfortable in his skin and expressing his power as well as skill with such respect and finesse not the brash in your face demeanour of the Lagos big boys. I like how he uses humour in self deprecating ways the big black mans survival strategy in the UK. He does it quite well though. He brought up memories of the 80s when we Nigerians were celebrated not vilified. The warm nights at Gulliver’s in Park Lane and parties across London no ill fame achieved we just brought the funk and a lot of money.

There was Mr Sarkozy’s speech in Senegal as a ‘friend of Africa’. Many online say with friends like him who needs enemies. Is he truly that bad? My views as usual will be given later. It looks like we are headed for another Clinton White House and somehow it does not feel right. How can two families rule a so-called democratic and open country for 20 years with the prospect of another 8 years? If this happened in Africa there would be calls for sanctions and isolation. More troubling is the character that quite a few US Internet users show in their commentary on contemporary issues online. It is scary to read their language for each other especially on the issue of Race. There is something extremely ugly in the US psyche that is exposed by the Internet and I sincerely hope it is not contagious. There is also the corporate decision to keep Senator Obama out even in a place like South Carolina, which has a healthy diversity that should play well for him. Is it possible that his African ancestry is so disconcerting to Black Americans? That would be such a shame but there are too many commentators from Black America who are decidedly against his candidacy.

Finally the Nigerian Government and its Attorney General is this man for real? The man is certainly going to be a massive burden on the government. I hope the President has people around him who know a little recent Nigerian history. He should review the Presidency of Alhaji Shehu Shagari an honest, humble and unassuming person like him whose preferred style is not too dissimilar. I hope by the time there is posting on this matter might have moved in a better direction. We will see. On an aside I had a little excursion to Funmi Iyanda’s blog to challenge her promotion of Ma Ramutswe books by Mr McCall Smith and she wondered whether I had read any of the books. I have actually done but a few years ago when I decided that I could not support the denigration or negative stereotype of Nigerians. I know in the archives of this very page I have written a piece on power of stereotypes so there will be no revisit. As usual Life has been kind, God has been forgiving and Love unrelenting.

Open letter to Mr Sarkozy

A Response to the Speech of President Sarkozy of France at University in Dakar Senegal in July.

Dear Monsieur President,


Africa has been a platform for many European pronouncements over the years from your predecessor General DeGaulle, the now celebrated wind of change speech by British Prime Minister Harold Macmillan and even the pronouncements of the now disingenuous Tony Blair. History will judge whether your speech was one that set a new standard for sheer audacity. First let me say I am no fan of your politics or even yourself. In my own values anyone who would call other human being, Racaille or use immigration as a wedge issue is beyond the pale. Sir, no offence but it seemed that because you are a short man you over compensate in trying to act like an Alpha male. Maybe the idea is to bolster your credibility as well as your authority but is it working? Which brings us to your speech in Dakar during your recent African visit. Your comments has led to quite a firestorm and a much-celebrated source of polarization even a lightning rod for many racist views in blogosphere. Is that what you intended?

Let me summarise what I understood you as trying to say because most of the emotions generated by what you said comes from how people analysed your intention. On the other hand you appear to be a little clumsy or uncaring in your choice of words. Nevertheless I understand you as saying the following, colonialism as well as colonialist was an arrogant enterprise but mostly driven by good intention which delivered some benefits in infrastructure to the continent with some very painful psychological consequences. Africans you say most take responsibility for where they find themselves and use both traditions to fuel their future rather than analyse the past. Like I said the specific language you used was both exhilarating and stupid. People never remember what you said or even how you meant it but they never forget how what you said made them feel especially if it reduces rather than elevates them.

My take on what you said can wait a little whilst I address the indignation from your perceived patronising attitude. It galls many thinking Africans that even the most ill informed amongst Europeans in particular and the West in general feels qualified to analyse and intervene in African affairs. The only qualification they seem to require is good intention. Whether the designer scruffiness of Bob Geldof or the lost girl psychology of Angelina Jolie people are tired of self-appointed white saviours. The black ones are not doing any better whether Oprah or Will Smith their most egregious act to us include the wheeling in and out of Mr Mandela. In spite of his advance age their demand for photo opportunities has now become trite that it reduces the Mandela brand. We, Africans might be materially poor does that truly mean that we are worth less as human beings? So you have come in a long line of unsolicited advisers whose concerns are at least unsolicited and at best self serving, Most depressing is that no African no matter how well informed dare provide such advice or even commentary on your affairs.

Mr President what you had to say was deeply touching in parts. When you said
“ I have come to tell you that you should not be ashamed of the values of African civilisation, That these values do not drag you down but elevate you, that they are an antidote to the materialism and individualism that enslave the modern man, that they are the most precious of inheritances in the face of the dehumanisation and homogenisation of the world.”
I had tears in my eyes as I read it. It is a message that strikes at the heart of African underperformance and the core of our psychology of low expectations. It makes us reject the wisdom of our context as well that of our ancestors for pre-processed thinking from the west. We exchange them for borrowed ideas and approaches that never work because everything depends on context not just content for success. It seemed a masterstroke worthy of the best child of African. One whose memory of sucking from the milk of her humanity would never sees her in any other way than as the dignified mother of all.

If your speech had finished at that point then the ignorance you exhibited about colonialism would have been forgiven. I suppose as the President of France you could have researched King Leopold’s actions in the Congo. His brutality set standards that were to be followed by the RUF in Sierra Leone. If you bothered you could have found out the Concentration camp experiment on the Herrero people by the Germans and should have read about Samuel Wittboi. This also laid the foundation of what would happen in Auschwitz during Second World War. You maybe do not know that an entire generation of African leaders were exiled, killed or in other ways destroyed to enable the Colonial project. Leaders like Jaja of Opobo, Eshugbayi Eleko, Ashathene and his family, Overamen of Benin amongst many others who stood up for African institution as well as possibility. They would have been bulwarks against the total brainwashing that would follow. You could not have forgotten about the brutality of your own people in Algeria, surely not. Your comments about bridges, rail tracks et al forgets that these were exclusively from sources of commodity and crops directly to the coast. On this analysis you did a poor job, for if you must stand to lecture the youth of Africa you should do your homework.

Then you said,
“The tragedy of Africa is that the African man has never really entered history. The African peasant, who for centuries has lived according to the seasons, whose ideal is to be in harmony with nature, has known only the eternal renewal of time via the endless repetition of the same actions and the same words’.”
You gave with one hand and took away with another. Sir do you not count Egypt, Kush, Axum, Zimbabwe, Ghana, Shongay, Mali kingdoms as part of Africa? All at their height puts into shadow some of your best and brightest history. Do you see all these as works of aliens? Did you know in Timbuktu there are manuscripts that depict the universe and the position of the planets centuries before Copernicus or Galileo understood any of these? Where would Europe be if the Moors of Al Andalus or Andalusia did not give you script and sciences? These were African people who translated the thinking of the Greeks that you know depend on for intellectual legitimacy. Granted we are nowhere close to where we were in our estimation or that of the world. Your statement is a gross over simplification and the worst kind of stereotype of the peasant African. The are many egregious things you say afterwards including
“Africa's challenge is to stop forever repeating and going over things, and to free herself from the myth of the eternal renewal; it is to realise that the golden age that she always harks back to will never return for the simple reason that it never existed.”
The shame is most Africans do not bother enough about the past they therefore repeat the pattern not because of an understanding of what has gone before but for the opposite reason.

We, Africans of course are co- creators of the reality we live and sole benefactors of its consequences. We cannot therefore afford to blame others or wallow in self-pity. On the contrary the future you talk about in your final statement is ours to lose. We are now in a period of turbulence and discontinuity an age when the adaptiveness of mind and action is the foundation of success. The times no longer favour the rigidity of thinking, servitude to engineered solution or overdependence of efficiency of hardware. At the same time knowledge and information is freely available.

This Africa that is such a source of pity and disdain might be materially poorer and this might well continue for a while. She will however take her place as the source of solution and ideas in this complex times. I pray that you our ‘self styled’ friend will live to see that day. An Africa confident to dream outside the misshaped ‘reality’ others will use to imprison her mind. An Africa of productivity and dignity based on who we are rather than what we own. An Africa where the majesty of humanity is the celebrated value rather than its ability to replicate consumer opportunities. An Africa where all her children look to shining Equator and the glistening chocolate skin that it has toasted and they say , thank God I am born an African.

Is it it a lack of Ideas or Vision?

Today Mr President in Abuja you gave a detailed explanation of the reason for stopping the Central Bank Board from pursuing the so called 'New Naira' policy. The briefing Sir, is eminently logical, the evidence is absolutely convincing and the position you took is fundamentally sound. It is clear that the Central Bank through its Governor overstepped its legal boundaries and in fact by not consulting with key stakeholders especially the Presidency acted in a very unwise manner. All government executives serve under the primacy of the office of the President and irrespective of their opinion serve at the pleasure of your office until your tenure ends legitimately. So sir, you have formal authority over the Executive governance of Nigeria. Your position would have greater credibility if this press release was your governments first and only public utterance on the matter but your triumphalist AG could not help responding like a bull in the China shop. He expressed your position with the sensitivity of a sledge hammer against the ridge of a hook nose. As a result the CBN Board and Governor as well as the AG have created the perception that this is a turf war undermining confidence in Macro economic management and organization of the country's affiars. Unfortunately perception that the CBN is independent is far more important for this purpose than that the Presidency is right. This should have been handled discretely and with wisdom. But we are where we are.

Sir. on the basis of where we are and my reading of the statement from the Presidency we are confronted with your own failure so far. Like any talented and driven member of any team Professor Soludo has enthusiastically laid out an economic vision of which the new Naira policy is an element but by no means its only plank. It is bold, coherent and in fact inspirational in my opinion. If your only response to it is to challenge it on the basis of its financial efficiency and its compliance with due process as well as rule of law then, these are areas where with remedies. It means you have no problem with the vision but with the methods for achieving its result. I suspect this is not truly the only problem here. Is it possible that part of the problem is that you are yet to set out anything as bold and imaginative as this CBN position? That if you have set the agenda for your administration it has not generated the same level of passionate debate and engagement. Is it possible that it is something you are slowly working your way towards and this might have stolen the thunder?

Nigerian needs you to step to the plate . Rule of law and due process are key processes but they are not inspirational vision that motivate the talented to go beyond the call of duty . We need to be inspired as Nigerians and even if did it in a wrong manner the CBN got people out of complacency and towards dialogue with passion. We will not wait forever and hiding behind due process et al will not suffice. We are waiting for you to move us beyond the duty to respect your office towards the excitement to live for your vision. You do not have a lot of time left. Your credibility depends on it.