I have always had this athletic build which meant I could do justice to 100 / 200meters races and come out on top. But during the races I was always overwhelmed with the fear that someone would overtake me which caused me to constantly look over my shoulder to make sure I knew where the next person was. Interestingly enough this would always cost me the race. But I never seemed to learn.

Its funny when I graduated to the 200meters sprint, and whenever I was placed in the first two lanes, this would always upset me a great deal. Because it meant that the people on lanes 6 and 7 would win the race automatically in my mind. So before the race had started I would have already given up already, and pretend to have pulled something towards the midpoint.
Its funnier even when I finally landed that lane 7, which I thought was all I needed to win the race, after putting all my effort in the first 100meters, I would realise for the next 100meters that I was no different to the people on the other lanes. Excited as I was when I started, people cheering me on as I led the pack, my parents very sure that I was the leader of the pack from where they were seated, and shocked to hear that I did not win the race. Interesting enough I never fully understood why? And even more baffling that the races I was the favourite for I never seemed to win. But It all makes sense now. My attitude and planning was different. I believed in my own strength, and would always predict the outcome of the race depending on my starting point. If the starting point wasn't in my favour, giving up was the next option. And also during the race I always made a point to constantly look over my shoulder to check the positions of others in the race. So as you could see I was never a serious contender. Going where the wind blew my decisions could be likened to.

so TODAY I am thankful that the Lord has used this example to REVEAL Himself to me. To help me understand why the track that I am on is unimportant in the race called life. We don't all have the same starting position and many always seemed to advance more than others, which always causes one to feel envious, evaluate themselves, wonder why their case is different, feel cheated and maybe cry out to God. But the one thing God keeps bringing to my memory is the people on lane 6 and 7 (who represent the leaders of the pack from your point of view), and the ones on lanes 1 and 2 (lagging behind - a position I always found myself in). It may appear that they are winning the race, but its all about where you are looking at it from.

Have you not noticed this? When the people in lanes 6 and 7 comes out of the bend (the first 100meters) they level up with the others in the previous 5 lanes. A reminder that we will all get to that point, the end of the first 100meters, which is where the race really begins - the beginning of the next 100meters.

This is why Paul warns us in the books of the bible - In 1 Corinth. 9:24 (Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize); asking us why we gave up on the race even when we were doing well, Gal. 5:7 (You were running a good race. Who cut in on you and kept you from obeying the truth?); And the reminder of pushing ahead to finish the race the Lord has called each and everyone one of us for regardless of the track He placed us on, Acts 20: 24 (However, I consider my life worth nothing to me, if only I may finish the race and complete the task the Lord Jesus has given me※the task of testifying to the gospel of God's grace).

I have found myself many a times giving up in situations where I should have kept running. That is why the Lord reminds us that the race is not to the swift - or the battle to the strong, nor does food come to the wise or wealth to the brilliant or favor to the learned; but time and chance happen to them all - Ecc. 9:11. Then it finally hit me, I have tried looking over my shoulders which always cost me the race on the track. But I will be foolish to repeat the same mistake in the race called life. I refuse to look over my shoulder to evaluate my position by comparing my life to the life of others, but to ask God to help me «pace» my self with His strength. So that I can finish the race well.

so TODAY I am thankful to God for His Revelations, through which I am able to appreciate His Love and Peace of mind during the life's journeys. His Joy whenever I remember the great plans He has for me and the family, friends and people He has surrounded me with. Today Dear Lord I am Thankful for the Journey called Life, which many have in one way or the other dropped out from, but you've still encouraged me to run on.

So today dear friends, what will you do with your own race? Are you going to give up on your race because of the track that you are on? Or are you willingly to be patient for the Lord to take you through this first phase and into the finishing straights. Would your answer be like that of Paul's who said in 2 Tim. 4:7 - I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.Or would it be something opposite. I pray that the former will be your answer.

AUTHOR:  DR. LIFE OF A STRANGER CALLED ME 

 

WEBSITE: http://reached-the-top--reckons-manybe.blogspot.com/

 

Listen to this podcast

Yes, and I used to crush on Thierry Henry until he became available.

----

Most of what you'll read from me is true.. Maybe not all the truth… But all's true.

Mostly ramblings... maybe a bit more... And I'll love to hear from you. 

Listen to this podcast

For a long time I wanted to sue Walt Disney Films. Or at least, the ideal appealed to me after another particularly interesting episode of Ally Mc Beal.

After years of deep thought and reflection, I (judge and jury), had come to the apparently rational conclusion that Walt Disney; almost-synonym with family entertainment, is Guilty! (*Bells clang*)  Offences range from incessant lying to outrageous deception, inordinate deception, and excessive misinformation (P.S: I love adjectives). Aided by the big screen, and somewhere between Sleeping Beauty, Frog Prince, Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast, some irreparable damage has been done to my mind. Of course, fair is fair, I was planning to join the publishers of the Mills and Boons series, Harlequin Romance and Silhouette Desire (I think that covers it). Their crime relates back to my early teenage mind where, combined with peer pressure (everybody was reading it!), their ideals have been etched on my consciousness… bla bla bla

I, the “victim”, grew up earnestly believing and grooming self for the eventual meeting with Mr. Knight. At the ripe age of twelve, I knew what I wanted- the Mr. to my Mrs. I was 'reasonable' enough to admit he didn’t need to be perfect-close to it would have done nicely, thank you. My Mr. Close-to-Perfect-Knight would be tall, dark and RMD-handsome (hardly original, and of course, much before light skinned Ramsey Noah and handsomer Wentworth Miller). . Besides Mr. Knight’s tall-hood and jaw breaking beauty, he would be smart, love me and my heart will do the Formula One every time I “gazed” upon his (not-necessarily) blue eyes. My specs also included the lustful body to die for and enough financial muscle to buy me a cute white yacht (I didn’t even know how to row a canoe). Anyway, we would fall in love at first sight, and all the girls will be so jealous. He will be so besotted with my conceited self that he wont even notice if Angelina Jolie stripped and danced on her head to catch his eye, etc... Happily ever after… 

Life would be simple; 'our love' would survive and triumph against the odds, which of course included the wicked stepmother, gnomes, inflation, witches, Lagos traffic or whatever spells or curses anyone could conjure. 

My illusion of grandeur was neither strictly ingenious nor exclusive. I will stake my imitation Luis Vitton bag that most girls had their 'ideal man' cut and dried, painted according to specifications (after that MTN’s “oh Jerry” advert, we mildly adjusted- he didn’t need to be that tall).

We wanted the Cinderella story; everything- the right shoe size, bespoke dress, and happily ever afters. Naturally, we ignored the wicked sisters and their mother parts.

 

The moment of epiphany was usually one good fall (for the fortunate ones, two for me and the stubbornly optimistic of God’s children), flat on our heads and one little needle to burst our bubbles. We finally checked out the word 'fiction' in our dusty dictionaries and OMG! It didn’t include reality.

...And we have learnt well, that fluttering butterflies eventually tire out; that rumbling stomachs finally get still; that princes change to frogs or beasts (depends on how fast you see). We caught on that falling in love is no exception to Newton's theory of gravity, and horrors of horrors, love just aint enough.

 

Although, Sleeping Beauty did not prepare us for where Mr. Close-to-Perfect-Knight goes to spin the same yarn to another princess, we have learnt to walk, chin up, with dignity we did not feel. 

Silhouette Desires forgot to let us in on the joys of waiting, or where we really should say “No”. It skipped telling us that knocking knees will steady if you sit long enough, and that fast beating hearts have to stabilize to prevent a stroke!

Nevertheless, we have discovered that where he leaves because we won’t play, we ought to be glad we got off lucky (even if our eyes tell another story and we sit there, clutching pieces of our hearts in both hands).

Time has taught us that 'heartbreak» is really figurative- hearts are made of tissue not glass, and even where by some spoof of nature, they defy biology, the cliché about time and its healing and its healing wand works.

We have found that 'love at first sight' usually means “I want to have sex with you now” or “ I think I want to have sex with you now”: and which does little in keeping love's embers glowing. We have learnt that kiss and make up will not remove the troubles before the fight even if we ignore it.

Kissing froogie to Prince may have worked for Swan Princess and tears for Rapunzel, but that piece of jewellery on his left finger will not change him. His wanderlust won’t disappear because he says some words in front of a priest. So we have learnt to look beyond his finer than Thierry Henry features or how could pass for (a baby-free) Tu face, what car he drives, or whether he can afford my superfluous yacht.

My major grouse is that all these stories did not say anything about real life issues; neither Cinderella nor Beauty had mothers-in-law who breathed over their necks and simply could not understand how their 'poor son' managed to get trapped by  'that witch'.

 No one cheats or gets fired from work; no one has to worry about tiresome and meddlesome parties.  No one worries about the kids’ school fees; no one gets broke or bored.

 And of course, no one doubts that love conquers all!

Yeah....  right.

 

Listen to this podcast

The first kiss

For Oshare, the moment would be when she first kissed him. She had felt so full with emotions that night. She suddenly felt like the waves of an ocean were about to drown her soul. Her heart was like a bottle that was so full it could take no more, she wanted to topple over and reveal her secret desires to him. She was also very angry. He just acted so normal
 
Sometimes she wondered if he truly had feelings for her or what exactly did she see in his eyes that night?
 
When they got to the river that divides their journey, he stood under their favorite spot, the large baobab tree.

«So…goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow»
«good night,» she heard thundering from the cage in her chest. She knew she couldn’t let another night pass without letting him know.
«What are you doing tomorrow? Can I come to, «
that was when she did it. Slowly without a warning, she drew his head closer to hers with her right hand and she put her lips to his. It was the briefest she had ever had. He pulled away so gently that she wanted to smack herself in the face for doing it anyway. Maybe he's one of those weird ones who prefer boys or maybe he wasn’t just attracted to her.

But Oshare won't forget that night. She won’t forget the brisk way they turned their separate ways that night, the way her heart fluttered with a million melodies, the way the stars shone ever so brightly, the way she greeted Mathias cheerily at the gate even when she knew it was way past her curfew time. The way her bed seemed warmer and her sleep so heavenly. She just can't forget the night she first kissed Kofi Appiah. 

Listen to this podcast

Just recently I found myself in household management for the first time in my life. It happened that I now live at home with my father. Mother and my other siblings living away from home because of work, school and national service. And of course the lot fell squarely on me to cook, wash, scrub, serve, and cook, wash….
The most annoying aspect of kitchen work is the sheer repetitiveness of it all. Once you’re through with a meal the plates pile up and preparation for the next meal starts. I now appreciate what the women do. They have to juggle work, school, social activities etc with this demanding and energy sapping service to sometimes uncaring husbands and unappreciative sons. And amazingly they’ve been succeeding. It is on record that the female members of the out gone administration performed brilliantly. A la Ngozi Okojo-Iweala, Dora Akunyili, Oby Ezekwesili, Nenadi Usman and others whose duties kept under the radar. Consequently, it was a step in the right direction when a woman assumed leadership of the House of Representatives. Nigeria’s number four citizen, Mrs. Patricia Etteh has the unenviable task of equaling and maybe even surpassing the achievements of the afore-mentioned female members of the Obasanjo administration and the other well respected female leaders in the international scene like Nancy Pelosi, Segolene Royal, Ms. Johnson Sirleaf, and Hillary Rodham Clinton. Mrs. Clinton, an experienced politician and very intelligent woman is now in pole position in the race for the White House. Personally, I think she can do the job and definitely it sounds fascinating that Americans could get two for the price of one if Mrs. Clinton is elected and arrives the white House with her husband as an able adviser. Albeit she is dogged by her support of the Iraqi invasion but I also supported the invasion (alas my opinions don’t count) and a great lot of other people did too. But back in those days nobody knew Iraq will become a ‘banana peel.’
It’s a pity Iraq has turned upside down. It’s a pity man made sectarianism is the excuse used to perpetuate mass slaughter. Even though the situation in Iraq is dire and that of much of the Middle East dicey, I was intrigued to hear the other day that the most important crisis facing humanity today is our speedily degrading planet. Environmental concerns have increasingly come to the fore in the past couple of years. However it is disquieting that environmental matters don’t command much of an importance here in Nigeria even in today’s world where it is now politically correct. Yes, we may not have dramatic problems of acid rain or the huge carbon emission levels of the industrialized countries but we have problems of erosion, pollution of water bodies and that nagging one of inefficient waste disposal.
I live in an estate where it takes weeks before the environmental agency comes to evacuate the refuse dump. I understand we are lucky and some dumps go months before they’re removed. For me honestly, I believe the major problem we have is the high incidence of polythene (or leather as we say in Nigeria) in our refuse composition. These non-biodegradable materials go on to clog water ways, gutters and land fills. No matter how educated a Nigerian is we cheerily demand, “abeg put am for leather?” after shopping.
A comparison can be drawn between the strength and durability of real animal leather and the durability or non-biodegradable nature of Polyethylene. The constant use and blanketing of Nigeria with polythene is an environmental disaster of the highest order and efforts must be implemented to halt this phenomenon. People, communities and governments should take environmental protection as a matter of urgency. We must understand as a nation that a healthy environment is a boon for public health.
Another uplifter of public health is the financial health of the citizens. A battered commodity, it took a further plunge with the recent increase in the VAT to 10%. This has turned every Okoro, Adamu and Segun into financial analysts (this time last year they were all football pundits), each listing the pros and cons of the 100% increase. The price of every item in the market has skyrocketed. Even crayfish is affected by VAT. So I have turned into a financial manager, maximizing the budget according to the realities on ground. Now I begin to understand one of the reasons why our female leaders outperform the men: Experience. This I still lack because…I think I can smell the beans burning.

Listen to this podcast

The world is a place where every Tom, Dick and Harry wants to become rich. When you ask a young man about his future goals and aspiration, the first thing he mentions is money. The quest for money for money and material things has led so many people inot destruction and unending sorrow.
It is a common saying that the love of many is the root of all evil, I agree with that school of thought because I was once a victim. I write this article to share my experience and let young men and women know that money is good and answers all things if it is pursued in the right manner
In the part of Africa where I came from, Nigeria to be précise, money is the name of the game; you are given honour, respect and loyalty if you are wealthy. Young men preffered and respected than the older as far as the young man has enough money to throw around, people rather follow a wealthy man that a wise man. Hence the quest to get rich at all cost is on the increase. This get rich-quick syndrome has led so many youths into dubious ways of making wealth.
The term «419» is no longer new to our ears; the newest bride is «yahoo boys». Most young men and women spend hours inside a cyber café or in the comfort of their homes and offices and try to outsmart or dupe either a foreigner or even a fellow Nigerian in the internet in the pretext of doing genuine business. This has become the trend amongst young men and women; it has made Nigeria as a nation and the citizenry to be dreaded amongst the League of Nations.
There is another avenue through which people make money. This one is rather diabolic and spiritually inclined as humans are used as baits and sacrifices to get the wealth and protection desired. These desperate young men lure and kidnap their victims who they cast spell on through diabolic means and afterwards take them to their slaughter chambers where their private parts are taken and sacrificed to the god of money-mammon.This has been on the increase lately in Nigeria and is continually creating a sense of insecurity amongst people living in areas where there crimes against humanity are carried out.
The administration of Chief Olusegun Aremu Obasanjo, the Ex-President of the Federal Republic of Nigeria tried in its own way to fight and even bring to a minimal rate, the scourge and activities of these «yahoo boys» by the creation of an outfit solely charged with the responsibilities of bringing these fraudsters to justice and try to bring our reputation and respect as the largest black nation in Africa to life again. Hence, the Economic and Financial Crime Commission (EFCC) was created and Mallam Nuhu Ribadu was made the boss and the Chief Crusader in the fight against corruption and financial crimes in Nigeria.
In the past four years, the country has experienced a tremendous decline in the activities of fraudsters and corrupt officials as the EFCC has been on their tail ever since. I write this to let the world know that despite the activities of these few unpatriotic Nigerians, who would soon meet their waterloo, Nigeria still have men and women of integrity like Dr Emeka Anyaoku, a one time Secretary General of the Commonwealth; Chinua Achebe, a renowned playwright; Mallam Nuhu Ribadu, the Director of EFCC; Dr Ngozi Okonjo iweala, former Minister of Finance, Dr. Dora Akunyili, the Director of National Agency for Food, Drug Administration and Control (NAFDAC); Dr Oby Ezekwesili; Dr Chukwuma Soludo (CBN governor) and many others too numerous to mention. These men and women have left their names in the chronicle of achievers and high fliers in Nigeria and will always be fondly remembered.

Listen to this podcast

Akiola, an 18 year old boy was filled with verve and energy during his primary school days and this led to his ambition of growing to become a computer savvy. In order to achieve his aims in life, he enrolled in an afternoon computer lesson where he was taught the basics of computer operation. After he graduated from the school, he started a blue collar job with a neighbor who goes to a construction work everyday. At the end of 3 months, Akiola was lucky to have raised enough money to acquire an average computer system which he needed to practice for his desired course.

Despite the urge from his family to stop working on the system, he still continued his search for knowledge while the illiterate father said he would disown him because all he knew about computer was yahoo! Yahoo! and fraud.

On a particular afternoon, Akiola went to a popular computer accessory market in Lagos to purchase some softwares in graphics and dabatabase. Immediately after the purchase, he ran into the hands of law enforcement agencies who were on rampage against piracy and illegal distribution of softwares. The software Akiola bought for $1 should in a real sense cost $500.

Akiola was charged to court for possession of pirated softwares and would serve as a scape goat for others. Nobody came to bail him because the family said to before warned is to before armed, and the government said he would serve as deterrent to others.

Akiola would be going to court in the next couple of days, who should be blamed for his predicament? because he vowed never to come near the computer again.
Is it the government of the country?
Is it the sellers of pirated softwares?
Is it the family?
Is it Akiola himself? Or should he as a student have searched for N50,000 to buy ordinary software? An amount that he would never get if he wanted to grow as a poor boyu.

We all look forward to whom should be blamed over his issue as he sojourn to court!

Listen to this podcast

 AUTHOR = ONYENACHIA  MUNACHIM

Inspiration is simply the infusing of motive spirit to matter. The matter may be an animal or it may be a man. The spirit on the other hand is the impetus of an admired end. 

Often, it is one man’s mind that supplies the spirit. The mind of a great man can exert tremendous influence upon contemporaries. They are noted for some special characteristic. Their peers wonder, ‘What is it with him ‫ he is so different!’ And so he is. The difference lies in his unique experience and worldview. He experiences life a little too intensely. According to Hans Christian Andersen, a great man has to ‘suffer terrible things, and then get to be famous.’ This is true enough. Andersen himself ‘suffered terrible things’. He became destitute rather early and endured the grimmest version of poverty, but he had a knack for attracting help to himself ‫ which was his saving grace. Great men always have a saving grace; Benevolence gives it them to help in their arduous task, for becoming great is arduous indeed. Generally, they have to learn and they often think it a waste of time; long hours spent among jealous classmates and teachers; but society needs them and so helps in one way at least ‫ scholarship; they often get financial aid. They need money for their unusual exploits. Some are a little too emotional, others a little too thoughtful; the rest are strong. But even the drab, the dull and the supine can have their shot at loftiness ‫ it all lies in the palms of Destiny. One thing though ‫ the world will not lack for great men. But there are cadres of them. There are the outlandish, which are the greatest of the great. One can class Jesus, Mohammed, Buddha and Moses in this genre; then there are the simply great, three of whom are Socrates, Christopher Columbus and Karl Marx. Last of all, there are the notorious, such as Stalin, Nelson Mandela and Hitler. The names stretch and the classifications vary. 

Greatness transcends race. That one is white does not mean that he will be greater, and that one is black does not mean that he will be less. Two boys growing up in the suburbs or in downtown Manhattan, one black and the other white, may end up this way ‫ the black becomes white with the luster of greatness and the white becomes black with the gloom of defeat. It is in this regard that Michael Jackson’s plastic surgery is valueless. Richard Wright is as great for example as James Monroe or even George Washington. 

Greatness transcends creeds. Even though Christianity has in recent times become a source of political power, Mahatma Gandhi Hindu that he was, was truly a great man. Islam, another religion with tremendous following, offers opportunities for greatness. Even atheists can be great. It is on record for instance that Nebuchadnezzar worshipped himself, and so did Stalin. 

Greatness transcends polities. Even though it is true that politicians can achieve greatness readily as did Napoleon Bonaparte, George Washington, Nelson Mandela and Benjamin Franklin, there are two other primary sources of greatness ‫ individual knack, and spirituality. Genius, another name for knack, has given to the world her inventors, poets, scholars and jurists. Einstein, Shakespeare, Homer, Wright and Chaucer are examples. But spirituality has not given the world less: Jesus, Confucius, Buddha, Gandhi, Mother Teresa and

 

And the dream of greatness starts with a birth. It has been said that at the birth of the great St. Bridget, the Virgin Mary appeared to a few saying, ‘A girl has just been born; her voice will be heard by the whole world.’ This gives credence to the belief in predestination, that great men are ordained from the start to be so. 

Perhaps. Records of the lives of great men show that a number of them felt they were living according to a pre-prepared script. Their greatness was a push and not simply an aspiration. They had to be great ‫ they were obsessed by it. The chick-and-egg quandary in any case does not answer the question, What came first ‫ the compulsion or the ambition? For great men are nearly always ambitious, and this is the second step. 

Ever seen that starry-eyed child? He looks a little too often at the skies and is locked in his dreams. He admires the big ones. ‘Mama,’ he says ‫ he is always restless ‫ ‘I think I will be this and that, and that other too!’ But the mother is busy with her soup. One must not in any case confuse a precocious child destined for loftiness with a scheming youth whose jealousy and vain ambition run him to a deluded chasing the wind. The one is gifted and has started early; the other is bitter and can kill. Morning they say shows the day as childhood shows the man. 

Greatness translates ambition into action as a necessary third step. Men and women destined for the heights see their dreams through the odds. It is about them that this is said: ‘Tough times never last, but tough people do.’ An inspirational story is in this regard told of  George Bush. ‘George Bush was 18 years old in 1942 when he enlisted in the US Navy. He was still 18 when he got his wings and became the youngest pilot in the Navy at the time. The World War 2 was raging and the

United States was very much in the picture. On 2^nd September, 1944, Bush’s squadron took part in launching an attack on

Chichi

Jima

Island. Bush was flying towards the island to bomb a Japanese communications centre when a heavy antiaircraft fire hit his plane. It was, he said, ‘as if a massive fist had crunched into the belly of the plane’. The jolt was terrible. Smoke started pouring into the cockpit, but Bush was undaunted. He continued diving and eventually dropped his four 225-kilo bombs on target. 

‘When he cleared out to sea he jumped out, but his parachute ripped open and he fell fast into the ocean. Down but not out, he climbed into the rubber raft of the torn parachute and paddled away from Chichi Jima. Many hours crawled past before an American submarine, the USS Finback, came to rescue him. Bush was later honored with a Distinguishing Flying Cross for a successful completion of his mission. 

‘In view of his frightening experience, Bush could have chosen to go home. He did not. Rather, after a few days’ rest in

Hawaii, he went back to

San Jacinto ‫ the light aircraft carrier. He bombed more enemy spots in

Manila

Bay and the

Philippines. All together he logged 1 228 hours of flying time, 126 carrier landings and 58 combat missions! Terrific, isn’t it? A very impressive record, that is. But it demands a stick-through-to the end guts to achieve the record.’ 

Greatness is like that. You drop your loftiness bombs on target and receive great crunches in the belly. But hey, you only need a few days in the

Hawaii of self-reappraisal for you to go on being great. 

Great men evolve. They learn from their experiences and convert the worst of them to the most joyful successes. Greatness is life itself. This means that greatness is not the compendium of all what a man has done marvelously, but living life to the fascination of others. Great men do small things greatly, but mean men do great things meanly. A great man is like a lighthouse; society may be blind to his efforts, but never to his loftiness - it screams without restraint. Truth acknowledges it, but not self deceit. In Andersen’s The Emperor’s New Clothes, only a little lad was honest enough to spot the ruler’s nakedness. 

A great man is a revolution in himself. He isolates the world and commands it to spin. Rotate O earth! he cries, and the world begins to turn gingerly at first and then with the gusto that is himself; round and round and round it does not stop, not until the great man does. People have wondered what keeps the lofty going ‫ themselves. 

The

Niagara is beautiful, but so is Michelangelo’s Mona Lisa. Pablo Picasso once stated, ‘If  I were to be in the army I would be a general. If I were to be a priest I would end up the pope; but I am an artist, and so am Pablo Picasso.’ The

Niagara falls in a defined route; so does the river of a great man’s existence. 

Great men are like God. Indeed they are God. It has been said that a country is the mind of the most powerful man. Scholars have likened this to a magazine that is almost entirely the mind of its publisher. Great books are the brain children of great men. The world is nearly always the creativity of its leading individuals. 

Think of the ideologies that have shaped the lives of men ‫ capitalism, socialism, apartheid and so on ‫ it was great men who set them in motion. Lenin with his Historical materialism and the consequent Dictatorship of the proletariat was the precursor of an independent Soviet regime that Stalin inherited by sheer personal force. Christopher Columbus’ doggedness led to the founding of

America, known naively then as the New world. But that is not all. It is in the minds of great men that circuses and songs; books and pictures; men and visions; polities and empires, are first created. It is also there that they are crafted and planned. It is there that they are called forth like Lazarus from a tomb, where he had been stowed four days. ‘Bean porridge hot,’ they say, ‘bean porridge cold; bean porridge in the pot, nine days old. Some like it hot, some like it cold; some like it in the pot nine days old.’ The same is true for great ideas in the minds of their initiators. 

Great men influence the end of humanity, and appear to always have. If there is God, He must respect the wishes of great men as do the rest of us, especially those who control vast political space. From the time of Moses until now it has been one grand tale of authority. Jesus turned the world around, dividing time into two. Who will be the third pillar of life ‫ me? 

But great men will also face aloneness. Their peers may avoid their company. Feeling insecure around him, they allow him as it were to lead himself, and to be his own company. The logic is, if he thinks he is great, let him humor himself. Our darling great man may shed many lonely tears in his closet, unless he becomes toughened by it or has married a wife as great as he.

Listen to this podcast ]]>

                                                    

Now Uchechi woke up, reached for her phone under the pillow and screamed. The time was ten minutes past seven and her modelling interview was for seven thirty. Normally it took her close to half an hour to bathe but she was in and out in less than five minutes followed closely by dripping foam peeking from under both armpits.She shrugged into a fitted dress and proceeded to her make up table where her hands became a blur of activity. Moments later she was turning the lock outside her 'self contained' apartment and two minutes of brisk walking deposited her at the bus stop. 

Uchechi Nwampi was five foot seven and three quarter inches if she stood without her shoes. She insisted on the three quarters and when a Yoruba girl in her platoon during her NYSC service year had hissed 'Which one is three quarters again? These ibo girls and their village sense...' Uchechi had quickly replied 'Abi o' and slapped her hard across the face. 

She was very dark skinned and beautiful if protruding forehead were your thing. She put her phone on vibrate and slipped it in her bag. It was a Nokia 3310.'Pure water', if you were the sneering type. Although her friends kept teasing her to 'upgrade' she vowed not to change her phone. Losing a Samsung D500 in her final year in the University two years ago had decided her. 

Ketu bus stop was bustling with a viscous crowd as usual this morning and twice when she had made to board a bus calling her destination, she had felt hands on her breasts and promptly withdrawn. Now another bus pulled up and glancing fearfully at her watch and seeing the minute hand creep ever closer to the half hour mark. She made a frantic dash for it, shoving a middle aged man in the chest who cursed 'Oloriburuku'. 

She plonked down in a seat near the window in the middle row and another young woman who looked eighteen but could have been younger broke through the writhing phalanx across the door and lurched past Uchechi to a seat behind. The bus was full. 

'Carry go!' Commanded the conductor hanging from the door like a brachiating ape and banging his fist hard on the roof.Uchechi quickly looked around at the other passengers. A pregnant looking woman sat on her row dozing, oblivious to the bumps that shook the bus. The man sitting next to her was preaching in a voice that would drown a loudspeaker. A Moslem imam sat in the front row threading prayer beads through thick fingers. An old woman was picking her teeth in the last row. She grinned in a toothless smile when Uchechi met her gaze. 

The bus belched down the road to Oshodi. Uchechi's stop was Anthony village. They had gone some way past

 

 

 

'Ehn' she said, looking up.'Gimmeyuhfone' repeated the conductor with a baleful glare.'Gini?' She stared incomprehensibly.'Nye ya phone gi' said the evangelist helpfully in Igbo.  

The girl behind Uchechi squealed and made herself smaller behind her back. Uchechi turned hopefully at the other passengers seeking strength in collective misery. Her eyes found the old woman again. She smiled. The old woman didn't.For a moment Uchechi and the girl regarded each other in silence as they absorbed the truth of their impending misfortune. It was obvious the others were pretend passengers. She and the girl were the only ones genuine. They were unfortunate to board a snare bus. The -‘one chance’. So named because in the early days of the crime in

The girl handed over her phone, a Motorola L6.Uchechi was about to do the same when a police checkpoint loomed into view. The driver crumpled a twenty naira note andswung his arm outside the window. Uchechi held on to her phone thinking of a plan. The conductor threatened to shoot her with the wheel spanner if she tried to latch on to any sudden brainwave.'No o ’she promised and threw her phone at the nearest policeman.'Armed robbers!' Howled the policeman and he clutched his face and fell. 

The driver dropped the bribe and flattened the accelerator in panic. He didn't get far. A volley of shots and the two back tyres were shaggy threads.The bus fishtailed angrily and a deep ditch in the road ahead rushed out to calm it. The conductor tried to bail out but a warning shot fanned his eyelashes and he staggered back and fell on his back. 

'ONE CHANCE!' Cried Uchechi and the girl as the policemen approached.'I no be one chance come down, I be one chance stay there' bawled one of the men.Uchechi grabbed the girl and stepping over the prostrate form of the conductor buried her heel between his thighs. He pressed his lips together in an inaudible groan.'Make we shoot this armed robbers, no need to go station' said another policeman winking at the one the phone hit.A funereal wail rose from the bus.

Listen to this podcast

  Every dream has a price tag attached to it. All you have to do to live the life of your dreams it to pay the price.          This price comes in forms of discouragements, setbacks, disappointment, or even failure on the journey to your destination. The truth remains that we can live the life of our dreams only if we are willing to pay the price attached to the fulfillment of those dreams. These advisories and discouragements as listed above are inevitable in our journey to success. A lot of stories are being told of people who have triumphed over amazing odds to pull off their dreams. History is filled with stories of people who have overcome debilitating diseases, paralysis, disfigurement, bankruptcy, defeat, public humiliation & more and still come back to achieve their dreams. These amazing feats are only achievable through the power of persistence.      Quoting the thirtieth president of the

                                                                 

Listen to this podcast

It was some years ago as I am no longer certain when I was faced with two beautiful ladies in Lagos Sheraton Hotel; one was a Briton and the other a Nigerian. The room was 519 and it commanded an air of warmth despite the harsh Air Conditioning finding its way through my St. Michael’s suit. I felt at ease just looking at the red carpet room, stoned wall and rich pine furniture with tasteful finish. As the negotiations ensued, my phone began to ring; I was immediately troubled because I was about to commit the act of prostitution.

In writing this article, I consulted various dictionaries but I found Encarta to fully express my mind. The definition of a prostitute is;

My knowledge of definition (1) was enacted the day I spent longer time than necessary in a friends place at the age of 11. I went on a visit to his place at 1004 flats at Victoria Island from my place in Apapa. After spending time playing Street Fighter 2 on Super Nintendo, the time was 10.00pm and I was stuck on the Island. My friend’s mother pleaded with the driver to take me home. It was on my way home, that I saw some ladies standing on the road dressed differently from the way women normally dressed in the day. The short skirt always reveals their high heel shoes together with their tight blouse with spaghetti strap; this was a force of attraction that almost threw the driver off course. My curiosity was immediately quenched as the driver started the long tale of what prostitution was and who they were as he headed back on the road. The memory of this day though half-faded, still commands the needed inquisition in my soul.

Definition (2) is my main focus as I am amazed at how much one prostitute oneself for the sake of financial gain. This is considered smartness in today’s world of increase poverty, challenging background and oppressive lifestyle. The act of throwing away your talent, skill and experience for another line of work in order to appreciate financially does not improve the person hence the country of the person. The act of studying Chemistry and ending up in a bank raises a lot of question on the future Nigeria. It is my belief that a country can not change if the human resources are dysfunctional, exploited and oppressed. Nigerians look at the fields that offer a better productivity and leans towards it despising their gift and callings. Who can we blame this on; the government, the employer, the employee or the job seeker?

I remembered a friend who lost an interview because she stayed in a department for 2 years despite her logical reason of love for the said department. Employers encourage prostitution because employees must prostitute to bullet proof themselves from this fast paced, ever-changing work place. You are considered by employers as slow and not ambitious for sticking to a company for a long time.

I would love to look at it from the employee/job seekers perspective. Things are hard, situation is difficult, your position remains the same, and salary has not been increased, an advert comes out that totally disregards your passions and believes but you apply because your skills could be transferable and the money is good. This is what happened to me on that fateful day in Sheraton Hotel where I was having an interview with Virgin Nigeria. As the phone disrupted our conversation, I knew I had blown the interview because the British woman’s smile faded. I immediately switched it off but it was too late; her mind was set because we had been negotiating on how much I would love to collect which meant I was a good candidate for the Team Leadership Position. The Nigerian lady made an excuse for me but the negotiation stopped immediately. I was negotiating 4 times my salary with a woman who was previously enthusiastic about my stories on the scenario question and now was not interested any more because my phone rang. Looking back at the scene, I am very happy that the phone rang because I would have traded off my passion for the Aviation Industry and all that I have learnt would have been thrown away the second time for a morsel of porridge…………..

Listen to this podcast

Dedicated to those of us whose hearts are breaking 

Stepping into the 8 ‘O clock Train

Nostalgia gradually arrested

My Subconscious

You never liked the Train

Said your Papa ran off in one

When you were barely five

Couldn’t figure you out, could I?

Especially given the circumstances in which we met

You were being mugged

And I was the assailant!

Call it a streak of fate, but,

When my eyes locked onto yours,

I was reborn!

Cupid obviously shot three arrows not one

I was truly, madly, deeply into you

Now I loiter, loathing the very day

Your voodoo eyes bewitched mine

Hmmm, some paradox

Fancy you calling my Mum, diabolical

Claptrap!

In retrospect, you’re a Runaway Train

You puffed and chuchu’d through my world

And like your Papa,

I pray you never come back.

 

Listen to this podcast

  

Someone once told me, she’ll bet her eye-teeth if I cried on seeing Titanic.

It probably didn’t count for much for her astigmatic-myopic eyes, though I remember she had gum-trouble free teeth.

Her gambling habit might have been spurred by a little chat after we saw “Pay It Forward”, a movie where a little boy wonder gets killed not long before the credits roll. I remember the shock on her weepy face when I simply remarked that it was well written and that the poor angel’s death made about a perfect end.

The point is that I certainly don’t come across as the sensitive, goggled-eyed female. .. but I try to be as feminine as I can- maybe not the giggling part with the perfect OMG screech but at least, I wear make up, show off my luscious ( I hope!) legs and ogle Prison Break’s Wentworth Miller look-alikes with firm butts and Rhythm’s Wild Child’s wit.

Just when I though I had thawed somewhat, some psychologist wannabe who doubles as another friend (where do I find these guys?) says in what he probably assumes to his profound best: “You’ll scare many guys away”.

Quickly, my quick wit does the 911; I reply “not the ones whose opinion I respect”

While I’m sounding all calm and confident, I feel another dent in my almost-chiselled heart. I make another mental note in ink- Men don’t find independent women attractive- that is the most obvious lie after the snake did Eve. They think they do, but they don’t.

 

It’s amusing enough that my mom who four years ago used to warn me about the dangers of men has started growing worry-wrinkles unsmoothed by reassurances from her pastor that I won’t end up like them “career types”. There’s also the mischievous “so, who is he” question I have come to expect from nosy aunties and not-so- friendly friends.

At 24, I feel like I’m already fighting society’s expectations of mate-hood, and mine, to succeed. It’s enough that almost everyone expects me to “find one man to marry me”. Others warn me that it will be so much better to pick from what I have (meaning just about any male who smiles at my direction) rather than wait it out, otherwise I won’t again-find someone to marry me. Maybe some of them have good intentions, but ‘m sure

I am far from being left on the clichéd shelf and still have my fair share of drooling admirers (I forgot to mention- I have a better body than Beyonce). And no, it’s not commitment-phobia, bad karma or (horror of horrors) severe short attention span.  There are bigger troubles- me wanting more than the regular go to school, get married and work it from there. Somehow, I am no longer the perfect pre-20 show-off child for my Naija mother- “focussed, good grades, maybe a few prizes in school too”. My dearest mom who preached masters before marriage, now with the hindsight of strike-wasted years is hinting marriage and masters.

Maybe I really didn’t cry for Titanic (I knew DiCaprio was too cute to really die at least not in real life) but why should the self-confidence I have struggled to grow (I thought I had duck-lips as a kid) scare away the male specie? I had to turn “focussed” when I realised that survival required royal blueblood or old money, or finding the nearest “Man” to marry or go-getting. Unfortunately, Thierry Henry got married before meeting me and my blood’s still red- so I was left with the hard work part.

For a long time, I, along with my bra-burning females of the world chanted the “I really don’t need a man to make me happy”.

But, recently, with maturity (euphemism for watching the feeling you get after back-to-back soapy love stories and … age too) I realise I want a little bit more than that.

I have always wanted a family.

Maybe not always but almost always.

Quickly, I know I don’t want a marry-or-die psyche, yet, I respect my relationship with God, body and fairness to my unborn kid so I know I don’t want to be another successful single mother.

I want to be successful and all- UN first female Secretary General, save the world from another Rwanda and

But I also want a family- as badly as I want to be Condi Rice, I want the husband and kids and the white picket fence; the drama that comes with wearing your heart on your sleeve and responsibilities that come with it. I want to love in that hard scary way.  I want to be someone’s mommy and someone’s wife. I want to worry about getting home early. I want to look at my single friends and tell them I wish I could be in their sand-free shoes for a day, but hurry straight home to my cute husband. I want to argue and have to make up because we share the same bed. I want the silly contented look pregnant women carry proudly. I want to use my try alternative dispute resolution over the “mommy, Bode made silly faces at me”s. I want the school-runs and bickering behind my seat. I want the husband… and family.

I also want to make my mark in the world. I’m not asking for the Nike on the moon, a “Funmilayo tread this path” swoosh will do just well. I don’t want to be all of a Mrs somebody and nothing of any other thing. I want to manage it all. 

I want to smile when I look at the piece of metal on my finger. Not because it’s there but because of who put it there. Thirty-five years done, I still want to hurry home and make him dinner because of the smile he has when sees me. I want the grey hair and conspiracy that comes with jobless post-retirement days. At 80, with most of my hair gone, I want to smile into his wrinkled face and be happy.

I know M’s not synonymous to utopia but I want the balance between reality and love.

I want it all. I want it together- love, family, career. 

I want happiness- whatever that is.

 

‘Funmilayo Akinosi

 

Listen to this podcast

The writing competition would be kicking off today with three outstanding write-ups;

1. Humphrey Kelechi  -  A DAY IN LAGOS  -  16^th July , 2007
2. Akpa Ele Ojo Esther ‫ ROMOUR vs. REALITY ‫ 16^TH July, 2007
3. Olusina Akani  -  YAHOOZEY ‫ 16^th July, 2007

The write-ups are beolw this post. You would be able to peruse, criticize and make your judgement below. I am sorry could not get the polls up and running but I am sure my dear readers can improvise using the ratings below:

Excellent: 5

Good: 4

Fair: 3

Can be Improved: 2

Bad: 1

Please, kindly place your ratings on the comment box and you can criticize it in the best way you can. Till the polls come, please kindly do with the above process.

Thanx. Hope you enjoy the competition.

Ciao

Listen to this podcast