Someone (you know yourself :)) went on a reading spree on this blog and this was one of the posts she liked. I re-read it and liked it so much I decided to reblog it. It reminded me of many things. Hard to believe I wrote this 5 years ago! Hope you enjoy it.
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The 21-Day Gratitude Challenge
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fLJsdqxnZb0]
We like to think that we’d be happier if we were richer, better-looking, taller, thinner, fatter, married, single, (had more fuel in our tanks), American, British, more successful…
Shawn Achor (see TedTalk above) says that it’s actually the other way round. If you’re happy, then you can perform better. I’ll take it a step further and add that happiness isn’t pleasure. Happiness is a decision. It’s less effervescent than joy, it’s deeper than pleasure. It’s a state of mind, of being. And luckily, that state of mind can be cultivated.
I’d like to invite you to do the 21-Day Gratitude Challenge. Everyday, for 21 days, do at least two of the following:
- Write down 3 things you’re grateful for. (You survived the heat last night)
- Write down one positive experience you’ve had in the last 24 hours (trying to get past the 6-hour long queue for fuel)
- Write a thank you note (or email) to someone in your social support system (e.g. The fuel station attendant who alerted you when they started selling)
- Meditate for 30 minutes (on something apart from fuel)
- Exercise (e.g. Save fuel by walking or cycling everywhere)
Tell your friends, your family, your colleagues. I’d love to hear the results (and where you find fuel to buy). So leave a comment, contact me via email or tweet at me: @OsemhenA or @eurekanaija
See you on the other side!
There's a Formula To Falling In Love; Do This
I stumbled on Mandy Catron’s article titled, To Fall In Love With Anyone, Do This in which she shared a theory that had worked for her, a theory by a psychologist called Arthur Aron. I like formulas (formulae?) and so I thought, “Yay. Must do with Kingsley.” (One under-appreciated advantage of marriage is having a lab rat to try out experiments on.)
So here we are, sitting cross-legged on our sofa, sharing a bottle of Smirnoff. The idea is to answer 36 questions (one person reads the question out loud and they both take turns answering the question) and then stare soulfully into each other’s eyes for 4 minutes. The theory says that if you do this with anyone at all, you’ll fall in love. Haha. Let’s do this.
SET I
1. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?
2. Would you like to be famous? In what way?
3. Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?
4. What would constitute a “perfect” day for you?
5. When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?
6. If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?
7. Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?
8. Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common.
9. For what in your life do you feel most grateful?
10. If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?
11. Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible.
12. If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?
SET II
13. If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?
14. Is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?
15. What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?
16. What do you value most in a friendship?
17. What is your most treasured memory?
18. What is your most terrible memory?
19. If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why?
20. What does friendship mean to you?
21. What roles do love and affection play in your life?
22. Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items.
23. How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?
24. How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?
SET III
25. Make three true “we” statements each. For instance, “We are both in this room feeling … “
26. Complete this sentence: “I wish I had someone with whom I could share … “
27. If you were going to become a close friend with your partner, please share what would be important for him or her to know.
28. Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time, saying things that you might not say to someone you’ve just met.
29. Share with your partner an embarrassing moment in your life.
30. When did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself?
31. Tell your partner something that you like about them already.
32. What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about?
33. If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven’t you told them yet?
34. Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why?
35. Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why?
36. Share a personal problem and ask your partner’s advice on how he or she might handle it. Also, ask your partner to reflect back to you how you seem to be feeling about the problem you have chosen.
NOW STARE INTO EACH OTHER’S EYES FOR 4 MINUTES, IN SILENCE.
It was a lot of fun, considering we’re already married and we don’t have much choice than to be in love now, do we? But I learnt a lot about him that I didn’t already know, (he would like to invite Putin to dinner!) and surprisingly, I learnt a lot about myself that I didn’t know. For instance, my most treasured memory came from a holiday in my childhood. Something silly. How I (with my siblings and cousin) used to smash M&K candy between Peanut Butter Cookies and eat them as burgers in a small house off Allen Avenue. The part that should have been the most awkward (if we were strangers) was actually pretty easy. We stared into each other’s eyes and then we cuddled. Lol. So there.
I can see how this exercise could be a first step to falling in love. It’s definitely a 2nd or 3rd date activity, not a 1st date. The things you could easily love the other person for are quickly revealed. And it forces you to be vulnerable all at once. It’s all so very deliberate. So maybe it’s worth a shot.
I WOULD LOVE TO TRY THIS OUT!
Hold on a sec. Your partner has to be fully aware and consent to the exercise or it will not work. So no, you can’t blindside your new date with all these questions and expect him or her to fall at your feet. This is a very deliberate attempt to get some sparks flying. It is not for teenagers in high school, or eternal flirts.
I THINK THIS IS CRAP!
Before you toss it, try it maybe. It’s an experiment, what will it hurt? Just get a willing partner and see where it goes.
FINAL WARNING.
For married couples and people in serious relationships, just in case it does work, don’t do it with anyone else apart from your present partner. Don’t look for trouble. Ehen. Everyone else, have fun! (Kingsley recommends tequila or vodka, and turning it into some sort of drinking game. Lol. At your own peril.)
Natural Hair in Nigeria 101 (The Cheap Products!)
Him: It’s like you’ll soon cut this hair.
Me: Argh! Lol! Why would you say that?
Him: Because it takes up a lot of your time.
Me: Haha. It’s for a noble cause.
Him: Really? What noble cause?
And so this blog post was born. My noble cause is to help you figure out how to hack this natural hair thing as cheaply as possible in Nigeria. Again, for emphasis, as cheaply as possible in Nigeria. Because…saint, pass me my halo. Lol.
Sometimes, women walk up to me and ask how long I’ve had natural hair for. I tell them the truth: 3 years and counting. Some of them look so disappointed that Kingsley has asked me to tell them 6 months instead so they don’t despair and give up.
Would you believe me if I told you that this is a 6-month old Afro? Didn’t think so.
So this is a list of my natural hair hacks in Nigeria.
- Cut your relaxed hair already. Transitioning was a painful process for me, I didn’t see the point really. Just. Do. It. Buy a wig if you’re afraid of how you’ll look. But really, just cut your hair. It’ll be infinitely less traumatic than detangling your different textures, or having your relaxed hair fall out every time you wash it.
- Prepare your hair for washing sessions by detangling first with a pre-poo treatment. The cheapest, most accessible product I’ve used for this is Emily Millionaire’s Coconut Cream and Herbs (N300 for 300gm). You can thin it with water, honey or olive oil. Apply it to your damp/dry hair for at least 30 minutes.
- If your hair is longer than 6 inches, wash it in sections. Some people do about 10 braids. Some people do 4 twists. I do 6 twists. You can wash section by section, or you can just be lazy like me and wash only your scalp. Same difference, and you’d be less likely to tangle your hair. Cheapest shampoo I’ve used is Dudu Osun soap. (You make a soap solution; don’t rub the soap bar on your head).
- Condition your hair and detangle using your fingers or a wide-toothed comb. This is straight forward enough. Cheapest conditioner I’ve used is VO5. It costs N400 to N500, depending where you shop. Leave it on for about 30 minutes with a shower cap on your head and then rinse it off.
- Now, I like to oil my hair immediately after rinsing out the conditioner. A lot of websites will tell you to use a leave-in conditioner first. Do what works for you. I whip my own shea butter with oil to create my hair butter. Shea Butter: N200 for a brick (stuff is cheap!) and Olive Oil a.k.a. anointing oil: N200. Melt the shea butter a little, add the olive oil and whip it with a whisk or electric mixer.
- I’ve experimented with a bunch of leave-in conditioners. There are a lot of products on the market and I recommend you experiment as well. My hair has responded best to light conditioners so even when I get a thick conditioner, I’ll add water to it. I’ve used Dark and Lovely, African Pride and Organic Root Stimulator products. The price differs but I’d say between N1000 and N1500.
- My favourite deep conditioner is Motions CPR Conditioner. I’ve used this deep conditioner at least once a month since 2008. I like it. It costs between N900 to N1200. Use it after the Shampoo when you need some extra nourishment. You could also make your own conditioner. I’ve blended overripe bananas with mayonnaise and honey for my hair. You could add avocados. Or a raw egg.
A rough total of the figures above gives N3500. You might run through these products in a month or two. Fair enough, right?
When you feel fancy enough and your pocket allows it, you can, of course, graduate to the more expensive products’ rack. But if you’re still a student, or trying to experiment with natural hair before you make a significant investment in products, this should work.
There’s a lot of talk about products that contain sulphates and silicones and whatnot. All this talk is valid, I think. Your hair will feel better if you don’t use products that contain sulphates and silicones, I think. However, I don’t check my products. I use anything; a few applications lets me know if it works for me or doesn’t. And my hair has fared okay, I’d say. So it’s a personal decision, really.
And this is my good deed for today! 🙂 So what are your natural hair “hacks”? Please share in the comments’ section. And if you have any questions, I’d be glad to answer them in the comments’ section (or maybe another reader will). And if you liked this post, please share it with your friends!
P.s. I’d really like to put up a post on caring for healthy relaxed hair. But I don’t know that much about it. So if you have any tips, or you’d like to write the post, let me know and I’ll get in touch.
P.p.s. I’ve answered some of your questions in a new blog post. Hope it helps.
Book Review: The Good Earth (a.k.a. Mo' Money, Mo' Problems)
Like I’m not even kidding. The book should be called Mo’ Money, Mo’ Problems. Because that’s what happened. Mr. Wang Lung starts the book as a poor man and as his fortunes change for better, for worse, so do his problems. Okay, no spoilers. But just remember: Mo’ Money, Mo’ Problems.
Why did I pick this book? I got it free of charge with my Kindle Unlimited subscription. It said “Pulitzer Winner” on the cover and I’m at that point in my life where I prioritize the books to read. Google says 150,000,000 books have been published in the world. Even if I read one book per day, I would need to live about 350,000 years. So I decided to only read prize winners. Yes, I know I’ll miss out on a lot of really fantastic books that haven’t won prizes. But hey, no time.
I find Pearl Buck’s writing style fascinating. I’m not sure if it was intentional but for a long time, the story is told from Wang Lung’s point of view. It means that his wife is simply referred to as “The Woman”, his children as “The Elder Son” and “The Younger Son”. Eventually, the story evolves to the point where she is referred to by her name “O-lan”. But the sons are only named once, when they’re old enough to go to school. And then, they are never named again.
There are interesting insights into pre-communist Chinese culture. There is the emphasis on the importance of sons. O-lan births two sons before she gives birth to a girl (all were unassisted births, by the way). And when Wang Lung returns home and enquires about the last birth, she simply says, “It is only a slave.” Ouch!
O-lan announces the birth of her daughter
It’s a theme that is repeated over and over in the book. Women exist for purely utilitarian purposes and not even in the way you might imagine. Consider this passage:
Now this isn’t a bad principle in picking a life partner, I think. It’s good for women to pull their weight in charting the fortunes of their families and O’lan does that pretty well. But at some point in their story, they consider selling their daughter into slavery. Because…slave.
It was my first time reading Pearl Buck; the biggest surprise was discovering she wasn’t even Chinese. Imagine an Italian writing a novel about a Nigerian family living in Nigeria. I suppose there are Chinese people who don’t think the book is authentic enough but for people like me who’ve been exposed to no Chinese culture but Mulan, The Good Earth offers a glimpse into China like CNN won’t give you. Wang Lung’s attachment to Land is almost spiritual. Land as property that can never be stolen, Land as an asset that keeps on giving, Land as wealth that cannot be eaten up by insects. Even when his land is flooded, he lives with the assurance that one day, it will be arable. Even on the cusp of death by starvation, he refuses to sell his land. Instead, he feeds his children soil mixed in water to form a thin gruel. Land becomes Life.
Will I read it again? Yes. It’s the kind of book you want to buy in hard copy even though you’ve read a soft copy. It’s a fairly long book but it doesn’t feel like it; you can’t wait to get to the end so you keep reading and reading and reading. And for this reason, I give this book an 8/10.
Have you read The Good Earth? Did you like it? Which Pulitzer (or Man Booker) books do you recommend?
Dissecting the Easiest, Tastiest Ofe Nsala Recipe Ever
Kitchen Butterfly’s Nsala
My husband loves Ofe Nsala.
Before I met him, it was one of those Igbo soups. I’d never seen it or tasted it. They said it was “white soup” and I half-imagined that it looked like white ogi, or cooked flour. After I met him, it was the Igbo soup without oil or vegetables or substance. No vegetables, no egusi, no ogbono, no okra, no red pepper. Depending on the cook, it was a light as peppersoup or as thick as curry. I did not understand why anyone would want to eat a soup so light with eba or pounded yam.
Don’t Knock It Till You’ve Tried It.
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The Oba's Word
Disclaimer: This post does not aim to preempt the gubernatorial election results in any state, in any way. Fiction. Strictly fiction, albeit inspired by real events.
The Lagos Lagoon
The deed had been done. Despite all the Oba’s warnings, the Igbo (aided and abetted by other Yorubas the Urhobos, Ibibio, Bini, Esan, Kalabari, Hausas, Idoma etc.) had voted overwhelmingly against his candidate.
The Oba was furious.
“You must throw them in the lagoon, Kabiyesi. You promised. You are an Oba. You cannot go back on your word.”
The Oba wrung his hands in vexation. “But the logistics of it, Asiwaju. Is the Lagoon big enough for over a million people? Is it deep enough? What if they can swim? How do I round them up?”
The council fell silent for a bit. The Asiwaju glanced at the Balogun who studiously averted his gaze. He had counseled against this madness. Now look.
“We could ask them to file out and make themselves available at the banks of the lagoon. They’re quite honest people. Just make an announcement asking them to come.” The Otunba who spoke smiled beatifically. The Asiwaju wondered how he kept his teeth so white with all the tobacco he smoked.
“When?”
“As soon as possible. This Saturday even. Before they swear in this new governor. He will put up a protest, you know, that we’re drowning citizens.”
“Okay, then. Make the announcement. This Saturday it is.”
**************************************
The Oba faced the multitude on the banks of the Lagos lagoon, Victoria Island side. He reflected that the tide was lower than he would have liked but he couldn’t wait till evening. He had to catch the Premier League match. Liverpool seemed set to record big gains.
“Ndigbo and their supporters,” he began. He had noticed a few Tiv dancers doing the Swange at the back. Did they think this was a festival? “For a long time, you people have been living in our land. I have taken you as my children. And what does a father do? He advises, he sets the direction of a family and when his children step out of the boundaries he set, he corrects them. Amiright?”
“Be’eni, Kabiyesi.” They chorused.
His heart softened. They weren’t so bad, these Igbos. Just stubborn. But then again, weren’t all children stubborn? He caught sight of the Asiwaju shaking his fist in the air. Right. He was an Oba, he had to make good on his promise.
“You people know that what you did was against my wishes. And so I have to throw you in the lagoon as I promised. Now, I don’t have the strength to pick you all, one after the other, and throw you in. And the palace guards haven’t been paid; they’re on strike. So I would be much obliged if you would walk in by yourselves. E se.”
The multitude faced the lagoon and began to wade in, one by one, in an orderly fashion. Someone was handing out life jackets. The Oba thought that was rather thoughtful. He really didn’t want them to die. Who would run Idumota and Alaba? He watched the Tiv dancers gently swange into the lagoon, the orange life jackets incongruous against their white and black outfits. They looked like Tom-Tom wrappers.
Make peace not war, folks!
An Easter Story
picture from www.cardiphonia.org
He was dead.
After three years of the most unbelievable miracles, of awakening hope in the hearts of the people, of bringing light to hearts darkened by sin and dispelling fear and despair. After everything…. He was dead. A most unbelievable fact.
Rage, disappointment, grief and shame warred for prominence in Cephas’ heart. The Christ, the Messiah, dragged through Jerusalem like an animal, nailed to a tree like a common criminal. He who had woken from sleep to still a storm, he before whom demons cowered had stood in silence as his trial turned into the most abominable travesty. The very people who had rejoiced with palm branches and shouted hosanna as he rode into Jerusalem had cried out as one that he be crucified. Now he was dead, dead as the wood to which he had been nailed.
Cephas looked round the room, filled to capacity with men who had given everything to be with the Man from Galilee. A gentle man whose hands had tickled children… and held a whip to chase the tax–collectors out of the temple. A man whose eyes held no censure when calling Zaccheus out of the tree, and yet those same eyes had blazed with rage at the Pharisees, denouncing their hypocrisy and lies. A man who had laughed at their jokes, teased them, loved them and who had cursed a fig tree to eternal barrenness.
Cephas turned away from his companions. It hurt to watch them. They were broken men, weeping, gnashing teeth, fearful for their lives. If the Jews could brutally put to death a man whose “crimes” included healing lepers and raising the dead, what would they do to his followers, the ones who had tried to protect their Lord from his seekers? That had been the thought uppermost on Cephas’ mind that horrible night at the temple, after Judas’ betrayal at Gethsemane. Shame filled him at what he had done, denied his Lord, not once, not twice, but thrice. He didn’t know if he would ever tell the others. Even the fact that they all bore guilty consciences as well didn’t make his own betrayal any easier. Yes, all had fled at the sight of the soldiers, Mark without his clothes. But none would ever know the depths of self-disgust he felt, none had looked into the eyes of the Master as dawn broke and the cock crowed, and realized he had just fulfilled his Lord’s prophecy.
He started as the door opened, but it was just Thomas going out. Thomas was always sent out for things when the women were gone, like now. They had left early for the tomb with spices and ointment. Nathanael had been worried but the truth was that they were a lot safer outside than the men.
Cephas, you must encourage your brothers when the time comes.
Cephas remembered the Lord’s instruction. Did all that matter now? The end had come, the Jews had won. He didn’t feel like he was worth anything much less a rock upon which anything would be built. He was just a fisherman, like James, like John. That was life, that was reality. Not illusions of grandeur in the Kingdom of God, not walking on water in a storm, not multiplying bread and fish. The past three years had been a grand adventure but the show was over, the Man he had thought was God’s Son, had done a most un-divine thing. He had died. That was Cephas’ cue to get back to real life. He glanced at the Beloved, still weeping, still refusing food. He understood the younger man’s grief; it found its mirror image in the primal depths of his soul. I will grieve first, no shame in that. I will mourn, and then I will return to Galilee, he thought. He stood up to comfort John and then – The door burst open and the women burst in, crying and talking unintelligibly.
“What is it? What is it?!” James shouted, fear contorting his face into an angry mask.
“Our Lord! He’s gone and we do not know where they have put him!”
Another woman began, “There were angels…”
Cephas was already out the door, John hot on his heels. Cephas didn’t think of the angry Jews, didn’t wonder about the soldiers who should have been guarding the tomb. All he wanted to know was where the Master was. Who could’ve taken the Lord? Not one of his followers, surely. The Jews? When? Yesterday? To desecrate his body? But it was the Sabbath yesterday. They would be unclean all day!
He didn’t notice John overtake him and when he got to the tomb and saw the stone had been rolled aside, he dashed in, leaving the other apostle anxiously peeping in but afraid to enter. The slab where the Lord had lain was empty, nought but the headdress neatly rolled up at one end even hinted that it had once been occupied. Cephas’ breath hitched in his throat, his heart missed a beat. Gone. He was Gone. His eyes swept the small space wildly, looking for his Lord, searching for his Saviour as if He had shrunk and could be located in the sands of the tomb’s floor.
“Cephas! Cephas!” He heard John call for him and the fearful excitement in his voice pulled at him. He ran back to the sight of Mary Magdalene and Salome, the first crying and laughing alternately, the other on her knees in worship.
“What is it?” Peter asked, his eyes narrowing. He was in no mood for further alarms.
“My Lord. I saw him,” was Mary of Magdala’s reply.
He took hold of her shoulders. “Where? When? How?” He almost shook the answers out of her.
“Here…in the gardens… after the others ran back to tell you, I stayed to look for Him. And I found Him…” she collapsed in tearful laughter. “I didn’t recognise Him at first. He bids you go to Galilee and wait for Him. All of you.”
Cephas stared at her, joy, hope and doubt chasing each other in his mind. “You speak the truth, Woman?”
“I do. He lives.” And she dropped down and joined her sister in praising God.
John was already racing away, presumably to tell the others. Cephas closed his eyes briefly. It couldn’t be possible. And yet…fragments of past conversations floated in his mind…hadn’t this been the plan all along? Mary wasn’t one of the Twelve the Lord had confided in during his ministry. She could not know He had said in so many riddles that He would rise. He had done it. He was alive. Cephas allowed a smile to break across his face and his step was lighter as he began the slow walk back to his brethren.
He was alive.
Note: We often make a big deal of the fact that Peter denied Jesus three times. Peter denied him three times, and so? We deny him a thousand times. A thousand, thousand times. Don’t we? Don’t we? Jesus asked Peter three times, “Do you love Me?” It is often said that he asked three times because Peter denied Him three times. If so, then I wonder, how many times He’ll ask me, “Do you love Me?” Every day. At every crossroads. With every decision I make. Do you love Me? Not because He doubts but so I may not doubt His longing for that love. And so I may remember that at every moment I live in the presence of the One who owns me. Because with every idle thought I give free rein, with every sarcastic retort, with every sin, I deny Him. But with every thought taken captive, with every kind word spoken and bitter word held, with every act carried out for Him, I join Peter to answer, “Yes, Lord. You know all things. You know that I love You.”
Why The Presidential Elections Don't Matter As Much As You Think
The Majority Presidential Candidates
The short answer: because this is a democracy.
The long answer: because this is a democracy and not a monarchy and there are multiple arms of government.
Let me paint a picture for you, citizens.
Let’s take road building and creation. You want good roads. The President does not fix roads. But let’s say he makes that a priority. He selects a minister to head the Ministry of Works and submits this person’s name to the NASS for screening and approval. Simple enough, right?
But what if he nominates an incompetent, dishonest person? Well, that’s why your Senate screens and approves. If they let an incompetent person slip through, they have failed you. You should call them out on it.
Let’s assume that the minister starts out good and then turns bad later on. They give him a budget and he shares it via dud contracts to his cronies. What happens? Well, your Senate can summon him to defend his job. If investigations prove it, he should be fired, arrested and tried in a court of law. Again, your Senate has that job of checking and balancing.
Let’s say he’s not corrupt. Let’s say that his hands are genuinely tied by limited resources. The Senate can approve budget increases for him. His ministry can be given access to more funding. Again, the Senate approves/rejects all this.
Citizens, these scenarios are pretty simplistic but they represent a good idea of how powerful your Senate is. They have committees dedicated to the minute workings of the goverment. They get allowances to sit on these committees. They get constituency allowances that run into hundreds of millions per year. These allowances are meant to develop their constituencies. Some fix roads, some drill bore holes, some sponsor school buses. Most spend a pitiful minority of that money on their constituencies. The rest goes into their own pockets or to political godfathers.
The Senate should provide a check/balance system for the government. But they are often compromised. How will a Senator find the Minister of Works guilty of cronyism if one of said cronies helped put the Senator in office? These things happen, we know. But why is it so prevalent?
Someone told me of how her mother spent her retirement money campaigning for a Senatorial seat on the platform of one of the minority parties. At the last moment, the sitting Senator of that district brought 50M to the governor and jetted back to Abuja. That was it. He won by a landslide.
Ask yourself if you know the name of your Senator. Do you know the name of your senatorial candidates? Have they appeared on radio or TV talkshows to discuss their plans for nation building? Do they have manifestos?
We make it too easy for them, citizens. We don’t know, we don’t care, we don’t call for their heads on platters when they misbehave. We don’t know them or what they do. We let them fly under the radar while we focus on the presidency and governors. We let them get away with incompetence and corruption. Where are their certificates? What standards do we hold them to?
Tomorrow, we will go and vote. We have aligned ourselves with the various Presidential candidates, for better or for worse. I have little faith in either of the majority parties’ candidates. They have both run impressive, energetic campaigns, no doubt and I want to believe it’s due to an evolution in our democracy. In addition to rallies, they have held debates and answered our questions via traditional and social media. Our tolerance for slip-ups by the Presidency is low, and they have recognized that and tried to play to our tastes. It’s not perfect, but it’s progress.
The time has come for our Senators, our Representatives, our Local Government Chairmen to feel the heat as well. To feel the need to constantly engage us on their plans, manifestos and ideas. A day must come when we will guard our senatorial votes as jealously as we guard our gubernatorial and presidential votes. A day when we demand their certificates, too. A day when we “stan” for our candidates and debate for them as vehemently as we debate for our preferred presidential candidate. And we should. They are our Representatives in this governance matter.
Even if it’s too late to get the necessary info to make an informed choice at the polls tomorrow, let’s keep an eye on the Senators and Representatives for the next 4 years so we can call them to order when needed. Our political awareness shouldn’t end after the elections. Let us keep discussing politics, our elected leaders, their policies and their agendas. Let us hold them accountable. Let us keep the political conversations going, whether or not our candidates win. Nigeria, we hail thee.
First published here: Why The Presidential Elections Don’t Matter As Much As You Think http://www.thenigerianeagle.com/why-the-presidential-elections-dont-matter-as-much-as-you-think/
On Zeus and Amadioha
No, this isn’t some alternate reality fantasy fiction type piece. If you expected a refresher on the Greek or African pantheon, you were wrong.
No, this is something else.
I visited Rome in September. It was my first time, and in true tourist fashion, I visited the Vatican Museum. It was amazing. It was beautiful. I spent over 6 hours on my feet, walking from room to room, taking pictures upon pictures, and I didn’t feel it. I could have gone on and on. I’ve visited other major museums; the British Museum and the Tate Modern. But this was the Vatican Museum, curated by the Catholic Church, the biggest Christian Institution in the world, and arguably the most prolific “missionary” church in the world. I was very excited.
And I wasn’t disappointed.
There is a room are rooms in the Vatican Museum that house statues and paintings of gods, goddesses and creatures from European mythology. Zeus, Apollo, minotaurs, nymphs…
Artemis – Greek Goddess of Fertility. No, those aren’t breasts. They’re testicles of bulls sacrificed to her. Legend has it that a woman who wanted to become pregnant should walk round this statue 3 times so they moved it against the wall so no one could walk around it. Lol.
It was an education in the events of the Greek and Roman pantheon. And I marvelled at how, centuries since their temples were torn down and converted into churches and museums, these characters and their stories had managed to survive. Somewhere along the way, they had transitioned into art and culture, history and tradition. They had become woven into the tapestry that is human anthropology.
And I wondered why our own gods had fared worse. Make no mistake, the Catholic Church considers Zeus and his breed pagan gods. But their stories say a lot about the society that worshipped them. Greek mythology, by its existence, provides insight into the workings of the minds that dreamed them up, narrated them, passed it down to their children.
Why did Amadioha and his breed fare worse? Why is it almost certain that the little that remains of Nigerian mythology will die out within a couple of generations?
There are a number of recognized factors. Obviously, nobody owes us anything, much less space in their museums. If we want statues of Amadioha, we will have to put them in our own museums. And I don’t have the time or words right now to rant as I’d like to about our museums.
Secondly, Nigerians don’t seem to appreciate history and art the way Europeans do. Goes without saying.
Thirdly, our faiths (Christian, Muslim, New-Age) seem to look down on, ay even demonize, the history of our ancient religions. I imagine that the first converts, filled with evangelical fervour, would have burnt down (at the first opportunity they got) shrines to the gods their fathers worshipped. Whatever memories might have remained would have been stamped out to the point that no one remembers even their names. I’m half-Esan and I do not know the name of any Edo gods or goddesses except Olokun, the river goddess. Their names are not even mentioned.
And isn’t it odd that despite this national outward display of piety, there are still people (professed Christians and Muslims) who secretly worship these old gods? Who make sacrifices at orita-metas? Who truly, deeply believe in these powers? (And whether or not these gods hold any power is the subject for yet another blog-post. I’m convinced that, like Apollo and Zeus, they are mythological and not actual beings.) So on the surface, we banish their stories from existence. And underneath, we pay obeisance. Hypocrisy, self-sabotage, confusion? Why are our gods considered inherently evil in the way European gods are not? Because I honestly believe that if we didn’t judge people, if they could proudly come forward and announce “I’m pagan/animist” the way more atheists/agnostics seem to be coming out of the closet these days, we would have less pretend-Christians/Muslims.
I’m just saying. We need to have this discussion as a people. What are we to do with our mythology? Abandon to extinction? Or do we owe posterity more? Are our grandchildren condemned to learn Roman, Norse and Greek mythology via cartoons, movies, books, comics and learn nothing of their own history?