Nigeria at 50 - Day 3: Rickety, raggerdy bus ride...

Nigeria at 50, Day 2 - Ochuko www.ochuko.wordpress.com


In Aba, like it is all over Nigeria, the bus is the prominent mode of transport there is. Quite ordinary and single-minded in its purpose of moving people from one point to another, there is nothing exciting about this motorised metal contraption.

Well, not until you get inside.

Deadbeat and ordinary as the bus may seem, it carries within it an amalgamation of some of the most interesting characters you have ever seen. From old men with toothy smiles to women with fat behinds, from young girls sporting the latest knock-offs to young men trying very hard to outquirk even Andre 3000, there is never a shortage of dramatis personae from a bus going from, say, Ogbor Hill to Ngwa road.

Nigeria, to me, is like that bus. Weather-beaten from years of neglect, rough-ridden by numerous inept and valueless drivers, running round the same route with no apparent focus, yet carrying the most optimistic and hopeful people I have ever met.

I am one of those passengers.

I am not your average once-in-a-year patriot who remembers to wear a touch of green every October 1st in solidarity with millions of clueless fellow Nigerians who rejoice at the thought of yet another work-free day; I am not your average smile-and-wave Nigerian who is grateful that at least there’s still life, and so we must hope for a better tomorrow. No, unlike the often-times docile passengers who are thankful that at least they got on an available bus, I am the one guy who shouts at the driver to caution him when he drives a bit rough; I am that guy that will take the conductor head-on for trying to take advantage of a passenger; I am that one guy that will threaten to report the driver to his superiors if he continues to misbehave; I am that one guy who will tell my fellow passengers off for trying to take up more space than is allocated to them. Because when you think about it, if this bus were not here, we would all have to walk for miles; if it breaks down, we will all be stuck in the middle of nowhere, and if it derails while we’re all on board, we’ll all most likely be dead. So yes, I have to speak out because this bus is the only ride to where I’m going.

I wonder if there are any other passengers like me. I wonder if there are any bloggers here who, although in this raggedy bus, will not just sit down and hope to God that the driver knows what on earth he is doing, but will speak out and demand that the right thing be done, the right road signs be obeyed, the right turns taken, and the right speed limits adhered to.

This may be a tall order, but when you think about it, there’s no option. As we celebrate our 50th anniversary, I will like us to have this thought at the back of our minds: we either lend our voices and strengths to make this nation work, or you can, as is the custom in Aba buses when you reach your stop, yell at the driver “Ka opuo!”

Happy Independence day Nigeria. One day we shall all be free.


Nigeria at 50, Day 4 - Diary of a Nigerian Girl www.diaryofanigeriangal.blogspot.com

Watch this space!

'Tis been 50years and the road has been quite long, join us as we celebrate Nigeria's Golden Age at oluSimeon www.simeoneomobaba.blogspot.com on 1st October, 2010.

A little piece of me...

In some respect, and regarding some things, I have become somewhat of a cynic. Unlike the everlasting optimist, I do not always see the bright side of things. But unlike his ever-pessimistic counterpart, I do not always see the dark side either. On the contrary, I am that guy at the back of the room reading everyone's words and listening to their eyes. I dance in the thin line between dark and light. I make my home in that split of a second when everything is conveyed and nothing is said.

 

For me, the unspoken is louder than words; the deed, more eloquent than sweet serenade.

 

I watch more than I listen. I question every word I hear. I question every motive. And sometimes, I fall flat on my face.

 

It is a character flaw, I agree. However, more often than not, I find that we all have conveniently learned the art of deception so much that we become our worst victims. Hence, the optimist and pessimist lie. The idealist and the realist lie. You lie and I lie. And we're not about to stop.

 

What to do? Step back a bit. Look from a distant. Listen to yourself. Question more. Love more. Live more. Laugh more. We have one life, and the best we can do is to take a moment away from all the lies and take in all of the richness of life.

 

That, my friends, is a simple truth.

 

 

Untitled.

The sons of men

In Abassi's eyes

Lay naked

Under the noonday skies

Though covered we be

Through a mastered craft

That we do not see

For we have believed

And we now forget

What we really are

In Abassi's eyes

We are sons of men

 

 

 

Such is yin, such is yang.

Every rise gives way to a fall

As a push becomes a pull

Mountain top, valley low

A dead seed, a sprouting tree

And so the circle of life is complete

In dark and light

In flight and fight

In peace and strife

In death and life.

 

Such is living

Such is death

Such is yang

Such is yin

Such is the summary of all we are

That we push and we pull

We break and we mend

For there is no dark without light

No enemy without a friend

 

And on this lies the balance of life

We live that we may die

We stand that we may fall

We gather that we may lose

We are full that we may hunger

 

Such is the balance of life

Such is the summary of. who we are

 

So when you weep little one, empty yourself

That laughter may find room enough in your belly

When you dance to the drums reserve strength

For the day comes when you will be dragged against your will

 

Such is our fate

Such is life

Such is yang

Such is yin

 

Such is heaven and earth

Such is demise

Such is birth

 

Every rise gives way to a fall

Every push becomes a pull

A dead seed becomes a tree

Such is life for you and me.

 

 

 

 

 

Untitled...

Change is going to come some how

Change is going to come some way

Change is going to come some day

But that day is not today



'Cos today, we are the masters of our own fate

The weavers of our own bait

Enemies at our own gate

So still we keep a date

With poverty and corruption

Unforgivable self-delusion

Confessions and absolution

With no real intention to stop



With no intention to stop

But why should you?



Your uncle is a senator

And with his fine-flowing signature

He sustains your recurrent expenditure

After all, he IS a legislator

And you know that we do not know

How much we pay to sustain him



So why should we stop?

Why should we change?

And if we should change

Why change now?



For you see,

Change may come some how

Change may come some way

Change may come some day

But that day is not today



'Cos today, we're about to come into our own

Today, we're about to sit on our throne

Power to the people – if the people are us

Ours is a government for us, by us!



So when you talk of change, know you walk alone

When the revolution comes, it will be televised

But we, we will sit at home

Critiquing, politicking, conscience cold as ice



And so

The fire of youth is deadened by the reality of truth

That we do not wish to suffer pain

Yet in us we crave for gain



But how can we eat of the fruit if we do not climb the tree?

How can we climb the tree and not scrape a knee?

And how can we scrape a knee if we do not go uncovered?

If we do not go naked; if we do not discover

That the ones we hurt

When we betray trust

That the ones who bleed

The very ones we curse

That the ones whose lives are torn away by us

Are the ones we do the worst harm – Us?