ARISE, O COMPATRIOTS! NIGERIA IS 52!

It is unusual to find a fifty- two year old who depends on his or her parents.  Hardly any culture in the world supports this. At fifty- two, it is expected that you have long established your place and are furthering your cause with posterity at the back of your mind.  Youths might be prone to do things for the now but this is not the case with a fifty-two year old. The future becomes important. How it will end becomes a matter for thought.

Nigeria is fifty two. Granted, the life cycle of a nation differs from that of a human being, but we can still learn some crucial lessons from the latter.  On this occasion of Nigeria’s 52nd independence anniversary, I will focus on the lesson of self dependency that we can find in the life of most fifty-two year old humans. This is the point in our lives when we as a nation should desist from looking to a parent and begin to look within for solutions. We are the people of Nigeria. We are the nation, all 150 million plus of us.  We have focused too long on the government as our parent. We have not taking parenting as a role we play but as a role a few others play for us. This has got to change, if not for the fact that it has not worked over the years, then for the plain fact that we are fifty-two years old today.

“The government should do this”, “The government should do that “. We have to minimize such statements at this stage of our lives. If there are no jobs, we have to create them, whether it is on the President’s agenda or not. If a government is not responsive to its duties, we have to learn at fifty- two to stop complaining in our newspapers and within our household conversations, and learn to unseat such government. We have to learn at fifty-two to steer our Ship and decide where we are going. We have to learn to stop a few from driving their personal interests under the pretense of running a democracy.

Compatriots, arise! We are the government, we are the economic planning committee, and we are the job providers! Fifty-two year old people shouldn't wear diapers or be fed from feeding bottles. We don’t need handlers expect we are handicapped. Are we? Yes, in knowledge. We don’t all know enough, so some people have told us blue is black, but hopefully, not any more. We are fifty-two.  

This is a wake up call. “They” are not the government. “We” are the government”.

Let me add some instructive humor with this story I heard yesterday. It is the story of a young boy who heard that a wise man was to visit his village. The wise man was said to know all things and possess the answer to every question. The boy decided to prove the notion false. The boy went into a bush and caught a small bird. He held the bird in his hands, placed his hands behind him and went to see the wise man. He arrived before the wise man with his hands still behind him, and then he asked the wise man:

“Sir, the animal I am holding behind me, is it living or dead?”

His plan was to squeeze life out of the little bird if the wise man answered “living” and produce it living if the wise man answered “dead”.

The wise man looked intently at the boy and said “Son, the answer is in your hands”

Nigeria’s future is in our hands.

Arise, O Compatriots, Nigeria’s call obey!

Happy Independence Day to all Nigerians!

INTERVENTION

It was a hive of activities before her arrival. Everyone was visibly excited. Every other emotion was concealed. Mummy G.O was on her way to commission the new ultra modern school building of Redeemers TEAP international school, Garki 2, Abuja. Routine school activities were disrupted and some parents ditched work to be there.  The pupils gathered in excited clusters, performing one activity or the other. Some were singing and waving white handkerchiefs in the air. Others were dressed in Yoruba inspired attires, singing welcome songs in Yoruba and performing dances of the same. There was no gainsaying yesterday, the 28th of September, 2012, that Pastor Mrs. Folu Adeboye, the wife of the General Overseer of The Redeemed Christian Church is a most respected woman whose place in the hearts of many is that of honour and admiration. 

I noticed the moment her convoy drove into the premises. All eyes flew in the direction of the entrance gate. The children sang and danced faster, obviously all that had been going on was mere rehearsal.   When she finally highlighted from the Mercedes Benz car, in her typical calm manner, anticipation became thrill.  I expected that everyone would race in her direction. I expected everyone would want a hug or a hand shake, but we all stood in awe. The aura around her was not such that left you longing for a body contact of any kind. It leaves you longing for something deep rooted inwards. Something I am not sure words can describe.  She greeted Pastor Chinedu Ezekwesili and his wife Oby Ezekwesili, (a former Nigerian Minister of Education) whose parish owned the school.  Then Mummy G.O was led straight to the new building. After a prayer session, which she led the entire crowd in; the mother -in-Israel as she is fondly called cut the tape. She prayed that God would dwell “twenty four hours” in the building. She also prayed that the pupils of the school would be exceptional types. 

Education in Nigeria has always had something to do with the church.  As a matter of fact, foreign missionaries in the colonial period were the pioneers of formal education in Nigeria.  The church is taking over again. The government has failed in Nigerian education; the profit oriented private sector has failed middle level and low level families due to outrageous fees.  The church like always cares little about profit and more for grooming children “in the way of the Lord”. A way that emphasizes morals and good character, hard work and discipline: virtues whose demise we seem to mourn every day.   

Speaking to the press after the event, Oby Ezekwesili asserted that the fees of the school are “hugely subsidized” so that “even middle level families can afford to send their children to acquire their education”.

We (I and …) celebrate the new school building and all it represents for education in Nigeria, and we look to our good selves to intervene in other parts of Nigeria in dire need of intervention. 

DEAR EMPLOYER

Dear Employer,

Yes, they are resourceful, knowledgeable, quick thinking and thorough; yet they sometimes could be narrow minded, excessively detailed and without initiative, as they their love for instructions might turn them into robots, incapable of making decisions without the “boss”.

Who knows? They are probably just bookworms without any high level intelligence.  They score high grades because of their prowess in storing book information in their heads and pouring it out in correct details for an examiner. Faced with real life situations in which critical thinking, analysis or smart decisions are required, their weaknesses become clear.

Perhaps, they are really smart and creative with high level mental productivity, even under pressure.

Dear employer of university graduates, I am sorry for starting off so abruptly without even a line of introduction. I guess my hands responded quickly to the pressure in my head. This writing is a response to a recent debate “Should people be employed based on their academic performance or based on their participation in extra-curricular activities”.

I guess, Mr. Employer that you are confused already because mere weighting the pros and cons should serve to throw you into indecision. I promise to confuse you more (I am confused myself and I cannot give what I don’t have…just read).

I am aware that every employer of labour, skilled or unskilled, scientific or artistic, desires the best. This is understandable, with profit making at the base. The question is “How do you know the best?” A quick glance at the human face would have served well but looks have proved highly deceptive.  Rarely any worthwhile employer hires a person that “looks like the best”.

With a pack of university graduates to choose from, employers have resorted to the wisdom of the good old certificate. This approach assures high graders employment and proclaims the doom of lower graders. University students have long caught this light so an air of pride and depression is noticeable amongst high grade and low grade final year students respectively.

Just when everyone thinks things are running smoothly and pressure should be exerted on students to work harder, employers sound the alarm.  It turns out not all high graders make productive members of staff, thus the dilemma.

In the first part of this writing, I examined some scenarios as regards high graders. I will now consider the lower graders.

If the certificate tells the complete truth, then they are lazy folks, apt at procrastinating and making excuses. They are never do wells with little knowledge. The smallest task would seem like an insurmountable mountain to them.

From another stance, they could be hot blooded breeds, too intelligent to be confined to classrooms and examinations. They prefer practical learning and experiences to long lecture hours. They make good decision makers because of their wealth of experience.

It could also be that they are smart people in the wrong course of study. They probably make teachable employees.

Just before I move on, I want to bring to the surface the fact that low graders are so because they don’t do what high graders do or at least not as well. This implies that they must have been doing other things but studying. Let’s call those things extracurricular activities. Any ideas? Engaged in sports, loafing around, pursuing a passion, working part time jobs, frankly the list is a long one.  But just a thought: while loafing around town, could they have made some contacts that would serve well if you employed them as marketers? Or could they have acquired knowledge about some crucial needs of people, considering such knowledge would pay off if you employed them in your product design department?

Thus the debate: “Should employers hire a graduate for good academic standing or should they throw that to the wind and seek to know how much knowledge the graduate has outside the classroom?”

I promised to confuse you and I hope I have. 

I feel like I know her. Though, I have never met her and I am eavesdropping on her conversation. She seems familiar. Should I say I know her type? The distortion of her face as she reacts to the information she is receiving from the other woman, the black handbag she is carrying on her left arm, the black shoes she is wearing. I believe she has a historical account of how she got the bag. Her type always has a story for everything. She will explain in detail the reason the shoes she is wearing have every feature they have. She has attempted to take her leave twice now and is even posed like she is about to leave, but the conversation with the other woman draws her like every story does. Her type enjoys gists. They are excited about talking about other people’s foolish actions and their own successful application of knowledge. They never talk of themselves in a bad way except they are trying to prove that they were cheated, that someone played on their innocent ignorance. She is acting like she wants to leave again. She is walking away amidst a cross fire of good bye greetings.

From her long, rather formless dress, I know she does not think much of fashion. I know she despises trendy clothes. I know “pencil” trousers look ridiculous to her. She must have criticized them a million times. She wore no jewelry.  Her brown dress was matched with a head tie of a darker shade of brown with sprinkles of gold. From this, I realize she gives a little damn about fashion after all.

I know her type. Something about the way she curved her lips and widened her eyes at the story she was being told, was familiar. They spoke in hushed tones, face to face. I could not hear it but I am convinced I have heard the story a hundred times before, just like I have met her a hundred times before.

  Questions for my dear reader (You could enter your answer in form of a comment)

1.       How old do you think she is? (What age group do you think she falls into?)

2.       Is she familiar to you? If yes in what ways?

3.       Give a brief description of the sought of person you think she is?

FINDING GOD

Where is God? You might have asked or be asking. You have heard a lot about Him from various sources, from Preachers and Christians who seem to have His contact address.

God is right there beside you. Yep, that’s right, beside you I said.

Anyone can find God when they know how. Those Preachers and Christians you believe are specially privileged are just normal people like yourself who have sought God and found Him because they sought Him the right way. You will agree with me that no one gets to his/her planned destination if they are travelling on the wrong route. In the same way, you can’t find God when you go about it the wrong way.

“And ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart” Jeremiah 29:13.

Praise God! He has told us exactly how to find Him. We find God when we search for Him with all our hearts. This entails that your heart is the search engine and an undistracted, wholehearted, soul longing for God will lead you to Him. Go to the word of God wholeheartedly, in faith, communicate with Him in Prayer and you will find Him.

THE PALE FACE OF IGNORANCE

I write of that emptiness of the eyes and lack of presence in the face that quickly makes it know that a person knows nothing about something. This one cannot be faked because the eyes will tell, they won’t be empty. If the eyes don’t, the face will, it won’t be vacant. The next time you see this look, let them off the hook. 

NEW SESSION, WHAT WILL CHANGE?

School bells that have gathered dust for the past few months are being cleaned up. Excited mothers and children parade the shopping centres and markets in search of the perfect school bags and socks. Booksellers are prepared to smile to the bank.

Every September provokes feelings in all stakeholders in primary and secondary education in Nigeria. It reminds some of a fresh round of school fees payments; others long anxiously for their new class mates, new class teachers, and wonder if so and so “will be in my class”; some others see the continuation of their work routine. September is here again and the school bells won’t let it slip by.

As schools reopen, there is a showcase of the results of renovation efforts and infrastructural improvements that have taken place during the long vacation. The smell of fresh paint and that of the newness that comes with new furniture and new equipment, fill the air in many primary and secondary schools.  Is everything really new?

Despite the jamborees and prize giving day fiestas that characterize the end of a session in primary and secondary schools in Nigeria, the sector continues to receive negative reviews from almost every quarter. As at the end of last session in July this year, the story was the same. Standards were said to be fallen. Examination malpractice was an issue, too big to be ignored. There were still quite a number of unregistered private schools, teaching what they liked. There were schools that lacked the most basic infrastructural requirements such as desks for the pupils/students, proper classrooms, laboratories, amongst others. There were clear reports that many teachers were half baked and lackadaisical. The fact that many pupils/students had lost interest in the good old act of reading was also glaring.

This September, are all these set to change? Will some resume and discover that the days of schooling under a tree are over? Are teachers and educators ready with brilliant plans of how to get their pupils/students back to the reading table?

Someone once said “It is foolishness to keep doing the same thing and expect a different result” It follows therefore that if all the concerned parties have done is close the chapter in July only to return to it in September with the same pen, paper and ideas; nothing will change and the history of negative reviews will continue.

There is definitely need for changes in the way primary and secondary education operates in Nigeria and a new session should offer tremendous opportunity for such changes to be effected. As I wish all pupils, students, teachers, parents, guardians and all other stakeholders a successful academic year, I ask “New session, what will change?” 

MAMA'S HOPE - A SHORT STORY

That Tuesday morning, I wanted to have hope. Mama said but for hope we would have been dead. By ‘we’ she meant brother, herself and I. I did not believe her, but she was convinced. “Does it fill the stomach?” I had thought, wondering.

I really doubted her, because there were long nights when killer hunger pangs threatened the reality of dawn for me. Nights when I twisted and turned on the sleeping mat brother and I shared, with no strength to cry. Such nights were many and in every instance, the hunger pangs did not pound life out of me before dawn. Instead, they accompanied me to dawn and stayed till mid-day when Mama would have hawked sachet water enough to by us food.

If hunger pangs did not kill us, what was hope? Mama said “we can lack food and live but if we lose hope, we will die”

I always doubted Mama’s philosophy of hope, casting my mind on the well water we drank (though Mama boiled it), on our one-room house. If heat was of commercial value, we would have been rich. Our one-room house was a heat factory operating at full capacity. It was one of seven so built to enrich the landlord. I believed all I was taught in health science class so I knew the general lavatory we shared with over ten other people was a death dungeon. But we eluded death. I blamed our victory on resilience.  Mama said it was hope.

But that Tuesday morning, sitting in front of our house with my back against our spirogyra coated wall, watching the clouds bleed severely, I desperately sought hope. I could hear Mama’s melodious voice from the room behind me. Like the sound of many instruments in harmony. She was singing hearty praise songs to God. I doubted He deserved praise that morning. He showed little expertise in timing. How could He let it rain at seven in the morning? Did He not know that Mama could not sell water while it rained? Had He no clue that hunger pangs escorted me through the night only to be dispelled at noon, if Mama bought food from her sale of water? How could He let it rain at all? More importantly, what reason did Mama find to praise Him? Hope. She was definitely as hungry as I and brother- who was nowhere to be seen at that moment. I assumed he was across the street with Taiwo, his friend.  Mama often said “if we have lost anything, God is the reason we have not lost everything”.  She always said the “anything” as if she was not referring to my father who dumped us three years before. I was ten years old when he moved in with another woman. Though we had but little while he was around, it became strictly from hand to mouth after his departure.

I needed what Mama had. She called it hope. Her singing voice drew nearer. Soon she was standing right behind me, still singing. I felt her tender touch on my shoulder.

“Sorry, we will soon eat” She said.

I had no idea the tears were there. They ran down my cheeks that instant. I nodded, refusing to face Mama. The hunger was not her fault. She retreated into the room, still singing.

Someone cursed the day in a crispy voice.  I glanced up at the figure of Pa Captain emerging from the apartment directly in front of ours. He stood bare feet at the entrance of his apartment which he shared with a cranky wife. His children worked and lived far away.  Sprinkles of gray hair stood out on his chest as he held the knot of the wrapper he tied firmly around his waist.

“Good morning Sir” I greeted, expecting no response. Rightly so, he ignored me and went on cursing the rain, cursing the morning, saying he wondered who God really loved. God responded in thunder and a flash of lightning. 

“What kind of wretched life is this? Rain for what? Now those stupid people will say it is because I did not come today. How will I go under this nonsense rain? Eh?”

 The lines of age across his face moved in varying distortions as he spoke. I once had a funny thought that a new line was added every time he returned from the pension office denied his money, a trend that had continued for two years.

In a moment of silence, Mama’s singing caught his ears. He looked inquisitively towards our apartment. His tired eyes moved from our door to me, again and again. I saw the question in them. It was the reason I decided I desperately needed hope. Why was she singing?

In the room behind me, Mama broke into another song, her voice raised in praise. The pensioner could not contain his curiosity and asked me

“What happened to your mother?”

Feigning surprise, I answered “nothing”.

He stood a while, his old face wearing more questions but asking none. Then he retreated into his apartment.

I shivered a little and curled up.  The thought of Pa Captain and the injustice at the pension office always came with that of my brother. Despite odds, brother performed outstandingly in his senior school certificate examinations the year before. He consequently qualified for a state government scholarship to attend the University. Things did not go that smoothly. The officials at the government office insisted on bribe before the scholarship fund could be released. With no one to fight for us, brother had been home an entire year. Despite four university admission offers and a scholarship fund. Is this why Mama sang?

Mama insisted God would not fail us. That Tuesday morning, Mama’s voice lifted in the room behind me, I bowed my head between my legs and prayed to God to give me hope like Mama, whatever it really meant.

It has been nine years. Mama was right. Hunger pangs don’t bother me anymore at night. Starks of law books do. I eat breakfast long before noon, even if I have to miss lectures to do it. My fellow students find this bewildering. They also don’t understand why I cling to hope in the face of stormy examinations. I always talk about brother and his job at the leading petroleum corporation. He pays my fees and for the three bedroom house Mama now lives in.

Never again will Mama be found on the street selling water. She can be found in her small shop, smiling to herself, being proud of brother’s university degree and her soon to be Lawyer son.

I would forever have forgotten that Tuesday morning but it drifted to my consciousness this morning. Brother is driving Mama and me to Pa Captain’s funeral. It is raining furiously. I bet that even in death, Pa Captain would curse today. 

EIGHT REASONS WHY WE GO TO SCHOOL

“When the purpose of a thing is not know, abuse is inevitable” – Myles Munroe

 Is the fallen standard in Nigerian schools a result of ignorance of the purpose of schooling? Is it an abuse? This is just another angle to viewing the problem and a step forward towards a solution. Perhaps, schooling was crucial years ago and therefore was approached with seriousness. Knowledge in time past was not common place; at least not the extent of present knowledge in science, technology, commerce, medicine, literature and other areas. CNN did not “go beyond borders”; NOKIA did not “connect people”. At some point, it was believed that the earth was flat. In the mid 1800s, Dr. Ignaz Semmelweis had a hard time convincing the medical community that thorough hand-washing procedures were necessary for Doctors. Such ignorance!

The world has advanced greatly. One crucial factor in growth and advancement is shedding off useless properties. Is schooling in Nigeria becoming a useless property? Definitely not!

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The young fellows were delighted at my mention of an interview to be recorded on my android phone. They viewed my proposal as a new game; I knew this because later in the evening that day, one of them, a sharp girl called Ify, came to me and in her light, childish voice asked “Can we play that game again?” It was not a game though; it was a research effort of mine for this article on eight reasons why schooling is necessary. I had decided to examine the orientation of my siblings and young neighbours. When I heard them playing outside, I snapped at the opportunity. At their end, they had run out of ideas as to games to play and my suggestion of an interview was a welcomed development. I was not interrupting anything. They were not sacrificing time to come to my “studio”, I was bringing some fun to their almost boring Sunday afternoon.

I gave quick instructions and asked “who will go first?” A happy boy who I have thought to be pressured by the new realms of knowledge and expectations from him – he had just completed his first year in Junior secondary school – but  from my point of view, he still has the graces of a primary school pupil. I think he is torn between both worlds. He stepped happily in front of my phone which I held up. He became somewhat nervous when the questions rolled in. He claimed he attends school “to learn more” and citied “introtech” (Introductory Technology, a subject in the Junior Secondary School Curriculum) and “science” as examples of knowledge he has acquired in school.  When I asked, “What do you want to study in future?”  He dramatically responded “Arts and craft”. He obviously did not think his response was as vague as I realized it was. Throughout his turn, he kept displaying various gestures and I saw clearly, the pressures I had previously identified.

My second interviewee was less dramatic in terms of gestures. He preferred to keep his eyes lowered and curve his mouth like the child he is. He said he attends school to “learn about things”. “Social Studies” was his example of such “things”. When I asked what he wanted to study in future, he let out a rather thoughtless “science”. I pressed for him to be more specific and we reached a compromise at “Engineering”. Off camera, he told me he wanted to be a soldier and later on confessed his desire to be a scientist (really, inventor is a better word to describe the explanation he gave). I noticed the influence of action movies and super hero cartoons.

The next one was collected and confident, perhaps because she was answering questions from her brother. She had no difficulty looking in the camera, except for occasional outside glances as she thought out her answers. She claimed she went to school to “learn”. She said the “learn” as if she meant to add “duh”. When I asked her to be more specific, she said “to learn things about the world”.  What a shame however, she later said she had learnt that “Europe is a country that colonized many countries.” Thankfully, she indentified the mistake when I corrected her that Europe is a continent not a country. She wants to become a doctor and “treat people”.

Ify was next, anxious for the excitement. She was all smiles and gave most of her answers in single words. Why do you go to school? “To learn”. To learn what? “Social Studies” What have you learnt in Social Studies? “Drugs” What do you want to study in future? “Doctor”

My final interviewee in the session did not wait to be asked before she introduced herself.  The three year old called Ifuanya played with her hands and said she attends school because  “I want to be a nurse”

I believe my interviews with these young fellows reveal a wide gap between positive and normative reasons for schooling in Nigeria. “What is” is miles away from “What ought to be”. I decided that if I went on with interviews, I would end up with who knows how many gigabytes of clichés, vague responses and camouflaged ignorance. In finding my “eight reasons” therefore, I ditched the pupils and others I hoped to interview, and went in search of what ought to be the reasons for schooling in Nigeria. I came up with the following:

Human Capital Development

Nigerians are more valuable than crude oil. As obvious as this statement might sound, the truth of it needs to reflect in Nigerian education. Human Capital refers to the pool of skills possessed by Nigerians. It entails their skills and fitness. This means human capital development will require quality education, adequate health care provisions and services, proper nutrition and other factors that affect the soul and body.  Education is in the spotlight, and I don’t intend to digress.  The acquisition of reading, writing, listening, thinking and speaking skills should be a key factor why Nigerian kids attend school. Another reason in this line should be for training in specialized disciplines.  When Nigerian children who attend school still possess a poor command of English or when Nigerian graduates are qualified with adjectives such as “half-baked”, “incompetent”; then we should know that human capital development is no longer a reason for schooling.

To transform Nigerians into informed critics

Presently, any policy of government that brings immediate gratification to the people is warmly received with little thought on its future impacts (positive or negative) and any policy of the government that will bring discomfort to the people in the short run will be staunchly opposed with little thought as to its long term benefits. Ankara material and a bag of rice is enough to get people to vote for an inept public officer. They count his gesture as a kind one and a proof of the greater things he will do.  Only his opposition cares about the source of his finance and the outrageous content of his manifesto. This is a problem I strongly believe schooling can be used to correct in Nigeria.  Cognitive skills should be taught in school, to ensure we have a smart populace that weights cost and benefit, and would not snap at Sanusi Lamido Sanusi for proposing five thousand naira note.

To ensure unity in diversity

No one should escape school in Nigeria without being made to realize that his or her country is a multi ethnic one whose continued existence would depend on a collective effort by Nigerians towards maintaining peace and unity amongst ourselves.

To equip Nigerians for Global Competition

The free market economy is wide spread across the globe and competition is the order of the day. With the emergence of globalization, borders have been broken down and the world has turned flat.  A Nigerian graduate therefore no longer competes with just other Nigerian graduates but with every other graduate in the world. The same applies to products; competition is global.  Our schools should therefore fortify school goers for global competition.

Because Leadership has been a challenge

A quick poll and ‘bad leadership’ would be the most blamed for any of the problems Nigeria faces.  The majorities of school goers in Nigeria falls in the age bracket of children and youth, and are consequently addressed as the ‘leaders of tomorrow’. Leadership training should be a core reason why we attend school in present day Nigeria, so as to equip our future leaders for the crucial task of leadership. This way, we would not reinvent a shameful wheel.

To stimulate local production

Imported goods currently flood Nigeria markets and though importation is not totally bad, when a country rich in timber and arable land begins to import toothpicks and a large proportion of its food needs, the alarm should go off.  Again, I smile before the Headmasters, Principals and Vice Chancellors; and tell them what they must do to retain relevance. They must prepare school goers to be producers and consumers of Nigerian made products.

For Exploration and discovery

It is a vast world we have around us and though a lot has been discovered about it, there remains yet more to be unraveled. Research efforts should not be mere talk in Nigerian schools. Our citadels of learning should engage in a diligent quest to explore and discover more.  Those at Stanford don’t have two heads.  

To cultivate a Nigerian society

Schools in Nigeria should impact their attendees with the Nigerian culture, the Nigerian norms and values, the Nigerian dream (if such exist). They should ensure their products come out as Nigerians, equipped for an ideal Nigerian society.

I strongly believe  the above reasons should be reasons for schooling in Nigeria and consequently should reflect in our curricula and the general way we go about the business of education.

BECAUSE I SAID SO

There is the story of a young believer who felt he was never right with God. He felt inadequate and always condemned himself. One day, while praying he felt the presence of God. He was shocked because he did not expect God to be with him, so he began to confess his sins, then he asked God “Why do you always forgive me, you should get tired, why do you forgive my sins? God replied “Because I said so”.

Your story might just resemble that of this young believer, you go through situations that make God seem far away. Yours might be sickness, poor academic performance, inadequate finance, sin, peer pressure, family problems, etc. Go search for what God has said in His word.

You have a right to healing because God said so

You have a right to be rich because God said so

You have a right to score A grades because God said so

You have a right to everything God has said.

God’s word is settled forever. Your faith should be in God’s word, Jesus said we should live “…by every word of God” [Luke 4:4]. Believe God’s word, Obey God’s word, Confess God’s word.

You have a right because God said so!                  

“For as the rain cometh down, and the snow from heaven, and returneth not thither, but watereth the earth, and maketh it bring forth and bud, that it may give seed to the sower, and bread to the eater: So shall my word be that goeth forth out of my mouth: it shall not return unto me void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it.”  [Isaiah 55:10-11]

ROSES AND SCENTS - A SHORT STORY

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Cindy was charmed by the red roses in the vase on the side-cabinet. It was surrounded by figurines in the images of birds and angels. She often stood by her mother and watched her pour scent oil from a tiny bottle on the roses.  She once asked her mother if she could take some of the oil to school and pour it on the flowers in her school’s premises. She vaguely understood when Mrs Okoroafor explained that the flowers on the side-cabinet were artificial while the flowers in Cindy’s school were natural.

She loved to stand by the cabinet and allow the fragrance caress her nostrils. It connived with the dresses she wore to church and parties, the babie dolls, her Hannah Montana school bag, and her hair ribbons to make her; though an Igbo girl, feel like the princesses in the Lady Bird fairy tale books her parents bought for her.

For Cindy, life was scented. A scent that replaced the smell of blood and flesh at the butcher’s, and the sour air that persisted at Utako market, where she often accompanied her mother. All she could see and smell was a scented, enchanted world even in third world Nigeria.

Mr Okoroafor, Cindy’s father, was an oyinbo Igbo man. Though born and raised in his fatherland, his heart danced to the beat of the white man, particularly the Americans. Maybe he loved their movies a little too much or was hypnotized by their literature.  In any case, he learnt and loved their ways. A shame he did not celebrate “Thanksgiving day”. In compensation, he never spoke the Igbo language to Cindy. He fidgeted that she would learn it and her accent would be contaminated.  He groomed her in the art of watching cartoons. He preferred cartoon characters shaped her diction. He walked out disappointed anytime he visited a bookshop. There were no new fairytale story books. He had bought all the titles the publishers had cared to ship to Nigeria. He read Cindy bedtime stories and tucked her in bed, under a pink, babie duvet.  He painted her room pink and named her Cinderella.

His wife loved the idea. They never visited her husband’s village.  He abhorred traditional practices, though her reason was different. She silently thought his mother was a grouch.

So, disgust for tradition and scores with in-laws birthed Cindy’s scented world in Abuja, Nigeria’s capital city. The clear skies of Easter holidays found the Okoroafor’s at a picnic in Millennium Park or a fun time at Wonderland. During the drives to such locations, Cindy sat at the back seat. She caught sparks in her mother’s eyes from the rear view mirror. The same glow she saw when her mother dropped her off at school.

Cindy longed for school every school day. She sang rhymes with her friends. Her cute teacher smiled all the time. It was a private school. At school, she longed to go home. She longed to see the roses guarded by formidable birds and angels. She loved to inhale... perhaps lavender.

When the sun rose, she longed for its setting.  For at night daddy would read her a bed time story. At night, she yearned for the morning; when she could eat cornflakes and watch her parents prepare for work.

Ahmed, the gate keeper terrified her. He reminded her of beasts and hideous creatures. He was very dark skinned and had shallow eyes that sharply contrasted with his skin colour. She also disliked Aunty Adaugo, her dad’s elder sister. A scarce caller at the Okoroafor’s home who came now and then to discuss their long absence from the village or pressing news she heard from there. Aunty Adaugo always complained that the fragrance in the sitting room was choking. Every time she looked to the side-cabinet, she snorted about Cindy’s mother wasting money on “nonsense”.  

Aside Aunty Adaugo and Ahmed, life was good, splendid in fact. Cindy had hopes that like fairy tales, good will triumph over evil; Ahmed and Aunty Adaugo would be gotten rid of. Then She and her parents would live happily ever after. One night, Mr Okoroafor complained of a pain in his chest.

After school on a bright Friday afternoon, Cindy found Hajia waiting at the entrance to her class room. She ran excitedly to her, wondering what her neighbour was doing in her school. The woman smiled broadly and hugged Cindy. 

“Your mummy sent me to pick you up, she is busy” Hajia said with the heavy accent of her roots. This sounded adventurous to Cindy.

As they drove home, Hajia checked up on Cindy a hundred times. Asking “Are you fine?” Cindy always affirmed and was amused at the trend. Hajia brought her meat pie and ice cream and insisted she finished it saying “you have to eat something please”. Cindy wondered at her tone. She also wondered why the woman shook her head often as she drove, curving her mouth and letting out breaths.

Ahmed opened the gate. As they drove in, Cindy glared at him. He looked back at her and she saw a certain glow in his eyes. They drove past him. When she looked back, she caught him shaking his head as he closed the gate.

Haija was about to explain to Cindy that she would have to stay at her apartment for a while but Cindy had caught a glimpse of two women in front of her house. She recognized them from church. She flung the car door open and few out with her school bag, running home excitedly. The women saw her as she approached and one of them spread her arms in invitation. Cindy ran into her warm embrace. The ladies asked how her day went at school and went on to play and joke with her. Hajia lingered closely beside them. Cindy saw the three adults exchange glances. It seemed they were up to something. A thought told her they had a big surprise for her. Without notice, Cindy took off toward the front door and when she heard the trio running after her, calling her back, she quickened her pace, excited, believing she would discover the big surprise. She beat them to it.

The smell of perspiration and varying body fragrances hit Cindy as she stepped into the living room. That was the first thing she noticed before she wondered what so many people were doing in their living room.  The faces where familiar but the expressions on them were strange. She noticed Aunty Adaugo who had her two hands on her head.  She noticed her dad’s friends, few persons from her church, and neighbours. Her mother sat between two other women, staring ahead. She did not notice Cindy’s presence until the Pastor beckoned Cindy to come to him.  When her mother looked at her, Cindy saw that the glow in her eyes was gone. She looked very sad. It was obvious the fake smile she quickly put up was on second thought. Cindy ignored the Pastor and walked slowly to her mother.  She sat gently on her mother’s lap. Mrs Okoroafor could hold it no longer and burst out in tears, wailing. Cindy was stunned by her mother’s sudden emotion. She cried too, as her mother squeezed her in an embrace. The two women beside Cindy’s mother kept speaking words of comfort and patting her shoulder. The Pastor walked up to them and said for Mrs Okoroafor to calm down. Everyone else said nothing. Mrs Okoroafor calmed herself.  Through her wet eyes, Cindy saw the side-cabinet. Someone had removed the vase of roses and the figurines. The large framed photo of her dad had been removed from the wall and placed on the cabinet. A notebook lay open in front of the photo.  The Child looked to her mother and enquired about her father. Without thinking, Mrs Okoroafor screamed that he was dead, that he would no longer read her bed time stories. She said he was not coming to them again. Then she lay back in the sofa and started wailing. It all made sense to Cindy like someone had flung a stone at the glass of her ignorance. It shattered loudly and the sound of realization would not stop playing in her head. Aunty Adaugo started repeating at the top of her voice that Cindy was only seven years old; that it was two months to Easter, and that Mr Okoroafor was her dearest brother.

That night, Aunty Adaugo and two women from the church slept in their house.  The Pastor left very late and before he left, he convinced Cindy and her mother to eat and go to bed.  Cindy lay in her mother’s embrace beneath a flower patterned duvet. There was no bed time story. There was no good night kiss. The bedroom walls were white not pink. It all felt new.

Weeks after Mr Okoroafor’s burial, the vase of roses remained on the floor beside the side-cabinet. No one noticed.  The smell of ordinary life replaced the fragrance from the scent bottles. Cindy always slept in her mother’s room.  She looked forward to neither morning nor night. In fact, she thought little about the nearest future; her heart danced between the past and the present.

Ahmed helped them turn on the electricity generator at night when there was no power supply. It took a lot of pulling and Mr Okoroafor used to do that. Ahmed ran other errands for them as well. Cindy forgot her fear for him and made haste to call him whenever his attention was needed. She loved Aunty Adaugo too. Maybe because she always brought food stuff when she visited and talked nicely to her mother. Maybe because Cindy’s mother frequently thanked her and seemed to conspire with her against the extended Okoroafor family. It could have been because Aunty Adaugo did not complain about fragrances and figurines. There were none.

Mr Okoroafor’s demise was two months to Easter. On Easter Friday, Cindy and her mother drove to the outskirts of Abuja were Aunty Adaugo lived with her family. A place Cindy had never been. They ate Jollof rice and Chicken. Cindy learnt to play ten-ten with her cousins.

The years passed as if they did not. One morning, Cindy arose to be an adult woman of repute and accomplishments. A University invited her to deliver a key note address during its convocation ceremony. On arrival at the splendorous venue, a smiling child had been positioned with a bouquet. The young girl walked up to Cindy as she stepped out of the car.  Cameras were clicking; an academic procession was waiting a little distance away. The girl raised the bouquet up to Cindy. Cindy bent and took it, tears stood in her eyes. A mixture of lavender and jasmine oozed out of the bouquet.  She hugged the child. Just before she freed herself, she whispered in the girl’s ear “They are artificial”.