‘THAT’ SLEEP

The biggest risk we all take in life and destiny is sleep. I was going through my journal yesterday and I saw one of my writings while my stay in Taraba state of Nigeria lasted. This writing was originally done June 2^nd 2009. I hope you find it interesting reading:

As I sit on my students’ bench and table in Kwambai, the sleepy village in Taraba state where I presently serve my country, Nigeria, I’m kind of remembering the photo finish that my day was yesterday. Filled with lots of activities and strenuous exercises.

The way I drifted off to sleep and landed in dreamland yesterday was shocking. Is that how we sleep not to wake up again? Na real wa O!

So all the ambitious rants and plans just end up like that. I mean it could even have finished before starting. Yes it can, at least you sleep. What happens if one day I sleep and wake up in the other world, a world farther than dreamland?

I’ve never visited there though but I know that other world is not a world of dreams, not a world of ambitions, not that world of rat race where we the hustle and bustle ends nowhere.

Do you want to know the truth? Yesterday night made me think of my life in that other world where the only thing you will not do is WORRY. That world where you don’t have to bother about paying bills – electricity, water, children’s fees, cable TV bills and even ashewo and gigolo bills.

That world where the school you attended and the level of your education does not matter. The world in which you do not need a wife to make you happy; where you do not need a girlfriend not to talk of her getting angry because you have not called her today. A world different from this in all areas and ramifications.

Truth be told, I got scared when I woke up this morning feeling so scared. What if I drifted into that eternal sleep, what would have happened? Okay, people would’ve cried abi? Is it all of them that will cry because they feel good about me? NOPE!

Many of the tears (if I get any) would be for people’s selfish end. That guy who thought we could have done something together and has now seen the hope of that faded. That beauty that has been swaying her generously loaded bust and hips to attract me would cry because she finally would not have that chance. Those folks whose moods improve when they see me would also spare me a sob or two although it will not be because they love me, it’ll be because of what they’ll miss in me.

The good thing however is that no one, I mean nobody is irreplaceable in life. Some folks would be like “you see, see where he has ended it after all the posings and formings”. “I think we told him to relax a bit and live less on the fast lane”. Some would even be indifferent, “too bad he’s dead”, they’ll say.

But wait a minute, can you try write your OBITUARY yourself? Be honest with yourself, you know where you have been good and otherwise. Your obituary is not that glossy poster they put in front of your house and office when you die, it is not what people write in the condolence register (na lie full that register). Your obituary, my obituary, our obituary does not even have to relate to what happened in the mortuary, it is what people say of the kind of life you lived – “that boy was just wonderful, why did I not allow him to get a feel of me?”, young Eves would say. A lot of other people would say other stuff like “Did he forget that the end would come one day?”

Try evaluate yourself in a very honest way. As for me, I know how mine would read; I know the BUTS and FLAWS; I know the positive side of it. What I want to do is change my buts to a more positive side so that when I sleep and wake in another world one day, I’ll look at you and you and hear you speak well of me because life after death is not the number of houses you built while you bestrode the land; not the number of girls you had; not the number of guys that chased after you; it is not the number of folks that cry before you are planted; it is even not how attractive, unique and beautiful your glass casket looks. It is what folks say after you are gone.

What will be said of you? You’re asking me? I’ll still be around for some more time but I’ll make sure people say good and remember me for good me when I just go and long after I am gone.

RETROGRESSIVE NIGERIA

 For close to the three decades that I have lived on this planet earth, I have read so many things about my beloved country (Nigeria), I have equally studied about other neighboring African countries. However, if I am asked the question which country in Africa is progressing? I will not hesitate to say Nigeria is far from progress. There has been a progressive decline in all spheres of life;  steady deceleration down the hill since God knows when.

In the 1960s, Nigeria used to be the world’s largest producer of groundnuts (averaging 712,600 tonnes a year); the second largest producer of cocoa (203,600 tonnes) after Ghana; the fourth largest producer of tin (13,264 tonnes) and the largest producer of columbite. Oil palm grew wild in plantations in the south, supplied half the world’s export of palm kernel (407,200 tonnes) and 70% of the world’s export of palm oil (152,700 tonnes).

Nigeria’s forest was some 310,800sqkm and produced timber for export as logs, sawn timber and plywood sheet were effortlessly produced and exported.

Rubber was grown by peasant farmers and increasingly in plantations and was particularly processed in the local factories. The ancient livestock industries of the north used to provide the neighboring countries with about 3,000,000 animals, mostly cattle, slaughtered annually. As a by-product of the livestock industries, there was an old valuable trade in hide and skin. As a matter of fact there was a particular type of skin that was incorrectly called ‘Moroccan leather’, which comes from Nigeria.

Hmmm, I don’t need to spend much time on the present because it will be a waste of precious time but for the sake of emphasis, let me point out a few points. Despite the fact that oil palm originated from West Africa (possibly Nigeria), Malaysia is today the largest producer of oil palm. Unconfirmed historical account has it that Malaysia picked their first palm kernel seed from Nigeria. As of today, Malaysia and Indonesia jointly produce about 80% of the world’s oil palm.

In 2009, Ivory Coast led the chart of the world’s producers of cocoa, supplying about 30% of the cocoa produced in the world. Cocoa is now the economic engine of Ivory Coast with a share of 40% of the world production.

As at 2010, China was known to be the leading world producer of cotton, wheat, gold, rice, tobacco, aluminium, steel and cement. India has taken over the market of groundnut as they have been the largest producer for years now. India is also taking the lead in cattle and milk production.

I have tried to console myself that we at least have crude oil, but when last I checked the rating, Nigeria was 15^th on the list of crude oil producers in the world. I hope I won’t be wrong if I run a conclusion that Nigeria past leaders till date all of them put together are nothing but wasters, looters and planless leaders.

It has got no better with the present crop which leads or rules us, as the case may be. Under their watch, the debt profile of the country has again risen to a whooping 1.2 TRILLION NAIRA in just ONE YEAR!!!.

It has therefore become pertinent to re-evaluate and ask ourselves what the fate of generations yet unborn is. While I grew up, things rapidly went from bad to worse and we presently are on the way to experiencing the worst. How can we get out of this quagmire? I have asked and found very little answers.

The easiest way to get out of this mess and re-trace our step back to the path of greatness is to ensure that people with the power of love and not love for power are voted into elective positions in the three tiers of government.

Thinkers and not dullards. Clueless leaders that cannot differentiate their right hand from the left should be flushed out of our government and replaced with intelligent and selfless leaders, those that can stand head to head and shoulder to shoulder against corruption and corrupt practices. A set of breed without greed.

Long live the Federal Republic of Nigeria!!!

Agunbiade Olusegun Caleb

I have not reached my destination but truth is I am not where I used to be and I am proud to be a student of the department of continuous learning, faculty of never ending improvement, great citadel of success

Facebook Comrade Agunbiade Olusegun Caleb

Twitter @dunamiscrown

TARABA MEMORIES: LESSONS THAT SHAPED ME FROM A YEAR IN THE VILLAGE

Today makes it exactly three years that I finished a stage of my life, that stage in which I learnt a lot of lessons that prepared me for the phase in which I presently am. I was so cocksure my posting would land me in the oil rich Rivers state. I had my industrial training at the Federal Livestock Department and my boss had assured me that she would gladly welcome me for my one year national service. My Dad was very open to that Rivers state idea and set machinery in motion.

I had forgotten that some states existed in the entity that my beloved Nigeria is. I did not even think I will find myself in any other place apart from the south. Lo and behold, my posting came in August of 2008 and I heard Taraba. “Tara-what”, I screamed to my friend who broke the ‘sad’ news to me on phone. “You possibly did not see it well jare. It would be Rivers or Plateau”, I boasted banking on my ‘sure runs’. Truth be told however, I spared the news some thought. “What if it is actually Taraba?”

My eventful Taraba life started with a mixed three weeks in the school which served as our camp. I had by then come to settle for just one thing – “make it as much fun as you can”. I started by meeting different people; some great company, some others sucked real bad. The first of the lessons in camp was to add to what I already knew about level-headedness and being good natured as much as possible. It got me many friends, even against my wish as I had wanted to be with me, alone with myself.

I had wanted a place directly related to my animal science field or a tertiary institution but I was handed my posting letter to Sikas Model Academy, Takum, a five hour bumpy ride from Jalingo. Little did I know that my own Takum was in the interior. A village called Kwambai which back in those days had one high school, one primary school, two nursery and primary schools, one church, no electricity, one borehole, and no telephone mast. We however received from town, the remnants of the trio of Globacom, MTN and the then Celtel which when combined was not equal to one.

I was posted to teach in one of the two nursery and primary schools in Kwambai. I remember on sighting the school, I sighed and told myself very audibly “tani mo se?” easily translated as “who have I offended?” What I saw were round mud huts which I later knew were called “Channel O”. “Me go fit live for this place so?”, I asked myself repeatedly. It was a village setting through and through, one I had never really experienced. I had the chance to relocate but I decided against the option, choosing to stay.

Deciding to stay was however a very hard one. What would I be doing in this village when I had my FLD job waiting in the Garden City? While reflecting whether to stay or relocate, I remembered meeting someone just after I collected my call-up letter. I was complaining bitterly to a friend in a commercial bus when this woman joined our conversation. She was calming me down with all sorts of soothing words, asking if it was Jalingo or Takum. Lo and behold, I was posted to Takum. Remembering the short episode with her, I did not see it as coincidental. I just told God to let me fulfill the reason He sent me there.

That formed the first lesson I learnt. We might choose to run from some things but once the Almighty chooses us for something, it is better to look out for the signs and flow with his plans for our lives. Who says there is not a special reason for him sending you there. I remember telling myself that if I would gladly leave civilization for one year if I was told to do so to avoid death.

I learnt to be thankful to God for making me come from a part where schooling was considered a right, not a privilege. It was time to be humble. Much as they asked me supposed ‘foolish questions’, I maintained my calm and told myself I was just lucky to know what they did not. With time, we forged a relationship. I was making some people happy, it gave me great joy. I brought myself down low, tried to be humble and level-headed as much as possible.

Pupils came to school with tattered uniforms, no pencils or one 2A exercise book for all subjects sometimes. I talked one-on-one with some parents and they yielded. I was starting to find joy in teaching the innocent little ones. Right in Kwambai, I met students who would have rivaled our own brilliant students but for their environment.  Took them under my wings and they improved very well. I saw myself as just lucky, not better than them. A few more lessons in humility and thankfulness.

A lot of funny things happened in my life while there. It was in Kwambai that I learnt the value of having company around me. I was so bored I picked up a novel of close to 500 pages and finished it in less than 48 hours. I read a lot of stories, wrote a lot of poetry but it did not help my loneliness. I then turned to the Bible and discovered quite some hidden stuff. I understood hidden treasures and the value of being able to enjoy my ‘alone time’, one I so much long for but is not readily available again.

I met a set of Corpers whose ways of living were not quite like mine. Many had one bush allowance or the other, as the students in the secondary school and village beauties were called, a decision I had decided against because of my commitment to my then partner. I faced serious temptations, the beauties and ‘African Queens’ of Kwambai making their ways to my lodge at very unholy hours. I stood firm because I had learnt the value of loyalty.

Whatever we do while we are in a place has this way of speaking for us. I had a few reasons not to dedicate myself to the school where I taught. I however chose to do my bit. Three, four years down the road, they still call me from a better developed Kwambai. My students, the ones I gave free lessons after school, my colleagues, the teachers I met in that school, folks in town (as I later moved to town to be closer to civilization) all still call me to enquire about how well I am faring, chipping in words of prayer.

I learnt what dedication can achieve for you. I earned the respect of people in the village and in town because of the commitment I showed to things I did. I remember how I taught my pupils the multiplication table. Very explanatory that I felt good after the dullest student scored all marks in their class work. It was hard at first but I soaked myself in and came out happy and fulfilled. I was the tisha oko, village teacher.

I learnt how to make profit in Kwambai. I told to God to let me eat the good of that land, Takum and Kwambai. I learnt to buy and sell honey while there in Takum and Kwambai. A few years down the road, I still do that. I had folks who did not want to get stressed but I readied myself, got dirty carrying the load and sold to make profit. I still sell honey to augment my income. Honey, sweetness it has added to me, swellness it has added to my purse.

Whatever I am today, that I talk less, listen more; that I behave odd some times, that I crave to be alone occasionally, that I just act in a way some folks see as weird, can all be traced down to my one year away from full civilization. Taraba has added to me; Kwambai I can never forget. For a year in the village has simmered me down, has taken away the major exuberance and delinquencies in me and opened my eye to see the world, and life, in the right light.

This writer is @oscarpoems on twitter