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THE RING

22/6/2016

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When you stand beside the sea, what do you think of? Do you notice the waves building as though it were trying to touch the sky? Do you see beyond the blueness of the water or you just stand there waiting for time to go by? Have you ever imagined what life beneath the sea was like?
 
22nd November, 2009….
 
It was a great morning, the sun was out and she was still wrapped in her blanket. Skinny, tall and her skin was fair as the golden sun. Ebele stretched lazily once, twice and by the third time, she knew she had to get out of bed or lay there forever. Too lazy to gather herself together, she pushed the blanket away with her right foot, revealing her smooth brown skin to the sun which did justice to her lovely skin. She tossed to the right side of the bed to see what the shabby old brown broken clock had to reveal.
 
Damn!
 
It was just 8:30am. She threw her head back and cursed. She wanted to stay in bed all day. Last night was a great night; Essien had spent the night with her instead of rushing back to Lagos. Speaking of Essien, if Ebele’s weakness had legs and eyes, yes, it would be Essien. She worshipped him like a god. Always in a hurry to tell anyone about her love for his brown eyes, his lips as they curved when he smiled, his voice and what it does to her. To her, Essien was a god, not to mention his bedroom skills. She wanted all of him and would never imagine sharing him with anyone else, not even his family.
 
“If you love me….”
 
The night had started with both of them daring one another to risk all or nothing. Ebele would dare him to prove how much he loved her by screaming his lungs out for her neighbors to hear. He did and when it was his turn he would dare her to call his name and declare she belonged to him alone. They took turns till they were scorched. Submerged in laughter and happiness he brought out a small red velvet box, in it was a gift to appreciate her for all the times she had stood by him. She loved him madly and she wasn’t expecting any gift. She tried not to assume till Essien opened the box. You know a lot of things can come in boxes like this even key holders. lol
 
OMG!
 
As he opened the small red velvet box, her heart sank. He took her hand, said no words as he adorned her with the content of the box. She tried to say thank you but the words won’t come out.
“Do you love it?”
Her teary eyes went back to his brown eyes and all she could do was kiss him.
“I love it but I love you more,” Ebele answered.
 
She must have cried all night because Essien couldn’t leave her side. He had told her that he had to cancel his flight to spend the night with her as she had refused to fly to Lagos for the weekend. Abuja wasn’t his kind of spot to chill, he wanted to sit by the sea, he had complained about that severally. Ebele will always find a way to beg him to come spend the weekend.
 
Finally, she gathered her fragile frame out of bed. Wrapped in her silky purple lacey night gown that clung to her full breast and her round hips like a scared toddler. Her narrow waist swinging from side to side as she walked to the balcony to join Essien. He was a morning person, few times she had spent in Lagos with him, she had had to be up too early to say goodbye to him when he was leaving for work. He was a C.E.O of a small company in Lagos yet you’ll never catch him throwing it around.
 
“Good morning, love bird.”
 
He smiled to her good morning as he turned to embrace her. The sun was warm and teasing. Ebele was so sure she could hear it whispering to her to go for a swim. He kissed her forehead and whispered sweet nothings into her ear. She was sure this was the best day of her life. To be with the man who she adored and respected like a god. To be his one and only was all any girl could ask for. Essien was to fly back to Lagos later that day. After their bath and breakfast, they spent their morning gisting and having play fights. He loved her truly and deeply, that no one could deny.
 
The drive to the airport was really long. Ebele would take his hand in hers and squeeze it. He would laugh and do the same to hers. The cab driver kept a straight face though they could see him smile from the corner of their eyes. She was going to miss him and she wanted to touch him as much as she could before he got on the plane. Checking-in was quite fast, she had hoped they would meet the usual long queue of people rushing back to Lagos but today it seemed only a few persons were heading Essien’s way.
 
Luggage checked in, boarding pass in his left hand and his right hand wrapped around her waist. He was due to board in 10 minutes. She tried not to cry and he promised to come spend the next weekend with her but her eyes failed her. Trying to be smart, she shut her eyes quickly before the tears would embarrass her.
 
“Love bird!”
 
That was all she could whisper into his ear. She wanted to ask him to stay, stay forever maybe but he had to go back to Lagos, back to work and this truth was as painful as trying to deny yourself the things you longed for deeply.
 
With all that’s left in her, she wished him a safe flight, kissed him and walked back to the cab. Soon he would board and in the next hour she should be expecting his call. She stared at the huge rock on her finger. To her this was a reminder of his promise.
 
She got home feeling so lonely. The four corners of her apartment suddenly felt like they were trying to drag her soul out of her body. She finally caved in and cried. She was missing him terribly. It was already 5pm and she had to put herself in order for work tomorrow. She paced around the house doing nothing exactly. She would drag her feet then look at her old clock by her bedside and wonder when he would call.
 
“Who am I, that the Lord of all the earth will care to know my name.”
Her ringtone was loud enough. She had picked Casting Crown’s song as her ringtone because she thought the lyrics spoke to her conscience. She ran straight to her phone like Usian Bolt.
 
“Hello, Love bird,” she said panting like a lazy pregnant woman forced to exercise.
“What were you doing?” He asked.
She could hear the worry in his voice. She straightened her spine and answered. Trying to sound all collected.
“I was pacing around, couldn’t stop myself from feeling sad. How did your flight go?” Ebele asked.
“Was great, just got home to some good news.” He sounded really excited.
“What?”
“Etim, will be home by month end. I want him to be around when I visit your people by month end.” He said. Etim was to fly in from Canada.
 
Etim, as the first son would gladly escort his younger brother to anywhere. They were just four kids. Two boys and two girls. Etim, Eka, Essien and Effiong. Essien had such great respect for his elder brother. He was 5years older than Essien. At 35, you would mistake Etim for 28. The first time we met at Essien’s 30th birthday bash early that year in February, Etim was really nice to me. He was so simple and down to earth. We all laughed like we had known each other for years. So, I was happy too that someone from his family who I had met and found favour with was going to be around but I didn’t get the urgency of having the introduction so soon.
He kept talking for another 10minutes while I was dying with mixed feelings. By the end of the call, Essien had convinced Ebele it was not a bad idea. He just wanted to do everything fast fast…
 
They stayed in touch through calls and social media. When they’re not on whatsapp they are on facebook or instagram. Sharing moments that made their day special. It was already Thursday evening and Ebele was looking forward to spending another weekend with her love bird. Friday was just by the corner, if he didn’t fly in on Friday he would on Saturday. She was dying to be with Essien.
Earlier that Thursday evening, Essien had called to let her know Etim had landed safely in Lagos and they were hooking up later that night. To chat and catch up before he leaves for work Friday morning and that he was flying to Abuja after work. She had gone to bed early, tired from all the stress from work and the fact that her man wasn’t coming over that night. She must have slept off because the sound of her ringtone came to her in another world. She could hear her phone ringing but she wasn’t sure if she was already awake or still asleep.
 
She tossed towards the right side of her bed, stretched her right hand half asleep to grab the noisemaker. Her TecnoF5 was slim and sleek.
 
“Hello!” she said with no emotions as she didn’t have the number on her phone and she wondered who could be calling her at midnight.
 
“Hello!!” Her second hello was really harsh and she was thinking of dropping the call when the person at the other side decided to speak.
 
“Ebele, how are you?” It was Etim’s voice. At least I know his voice, it sounded the same like when he sat beside me at Essien’s birthday, she said to herself.
“Bros, good evening, welcome back. How was your trip?” She asked a little excited. She thought they had finished discussing and he just wanted to say hi to surprise her. He was awfully quiet, she asked if he could hear her and she greeted again just to confirm. He took in a long drag of breath and spoke.
“Essien is gone.”
This better be some joke she said to herself.
“Gone how?”
 
“He drowned,” was all Etim could say. The phone stayed in her palm close to her right ear but her soul died after the word “drowned” was spoken. Etim said they had gone to Kuramo beach by the seaside to talk, Essien had come with some of his friends from work to meet his big brother. It was going well till he and his friends decided to take a quick dive after they had finished talking about visiting Ebele’s people.
 
She was asked to fly to Lagos Friday morning before they would bury Essien’s body by the sea. They say it was forbidden to take the body away from there. That if they did, every other member of his family would die the same way. The tears won’t stop on the flight to Lagos and at the beach. Ebele wanted this to be a dream. A nightmare she was desperate to wake from. As she stood there, she looked at the blue waters, the beauty of the wave and how it washed to the shores towards her feet. She was filled with pains and words she couldn’t utter.
 
Her eyes went to the huge rock on her finger again, so she was only engaged for a week. She never got to experience what forever was like. She had painted a future with Essien only for it to end in such a tragic way. They say he wasn’t drunk that he and his friends were not really swimming that the wave just came and swept him off his feet. How he struggled for life till they lost sight of him. Where were the lifeguards? Foolish me, at 10pm who would suspect this would happen? They had gone for help immediately, a few people who could swim immediately followed the path where he was last seen but by the time they got to him, he had given up. He was not a great swimmer; we had laughed over it in the past but never knew he would be needing that skill to save his life someday.
 
All I have left is his ring, I still have it on. It reminds me of him. It hurts to never hear his voice again.
 
 
Otunyo Maryann Ifeoma….

You can follow her on twitter via @Confessor82
​ 
Cullled from www.undiscoveredify.wordpress.com
 

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​How MFM FC turned the Port Harcourt stadium to Crusade ground

16/6/2016

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By Lisetta Woluchem
 
I have never been an ardent football lover, or lover of any kind of sport. I grew up to a dad that was, well, a football freak, but even at that, I wasn't enticed.
 
All this changed about two months ago when I actually started getting interested in football as I joined a group that organized the 1st edition of the Brown Ideye Challenge, a football competition for clubs in and around Port Harcourt.
 
It was a one month event and in the period I worked with this group, my love for football grew in leaps and bounds, especially watching a live game at a stadium.
 
As I noticed in the last two months, the difference between watching a football game on TV and at the stadium is your closeness to the players, the fans and the arguments in the bleachers.
 
There will be the supporters club singing and keeping the place lively as a commentator will be pointing out things, exclaiming even when absolutely unnecessary and generally talking.
 
There will be agitated coaches, and there will be an atmosphere filled with different emotions.
 
Bottom line is that it is always fun.

How MFM FC rocked Port Harcourt
 
I've not watched lots of games on TV, or gone to lots of stadiums, but in my little experience, never have I seen what happened at the Liberation Stadium (Oops! I hear it’s called the Yakubu Gowon Stadium these days) in Port Harcourt on 12th June, 2016.
 
I arrived the stadium some few minutes past 2pm with Mr Emeka Nwani of Super
Sports and was later joined by Nigeria's biggest football blogger, Mr China Acheru.
 
It was a match between Rivers United and MFM FC slated for 4pm, but we got there when we did not because we love the games more than the next person, but because some things have to be put in place before a match begins, so believe me when I say I saw it all.
 
Before I go any further, let me state that MFM FC belongs to the famous church,
Mountain of Fire & Miracles Ministry (MFM).
 
The players arrived not long after we did and started their usual warm up became the first whistle.
 
While they were at it, security protocols moved around to make sure people sat in the right places, and more people came and chose their seats.
 
I noticed that most of the women looked...'churchy'. I thought it was maybe that day was a Sunday. I completely forgot that I had witnessed a game on a Sunday before.
 
I also forgot that MFM FC belonged to a church.
 
Well, more people came and at exactly 4pm, after observing a minute’s silence for
Late Stephen Keshi and Shaibu Amodu, the match kicked off.
 
I sat in the row meant for the press and away from the chants coming from the supporters club, and the DJ.
 
But when I heard the thunderous sounds of trumpets, tambourines, clapping and singing, I was surprised.
 
Players of both teams were already on the pitch digging it out with neither side willing to concede, but it didn't feel like a football match, it felt like a crusade.
 
Members of the church came to the stadium and filled up a whole sector of the stadium
 
Some people put the number of MFM members in the stadium at one thousand.
 
It would have been a beautiful sight without all the noise. If a player looks up to the bleachers and see faces of his fans he doesn't have to disappoint, he'll play the game of his life.
 
I wasn't keeping track of time, but few minutes into the game, the first goal was scored and it came in around the 16th minute by the MFM FC.

The ruckus that ensued was alarming. I'm so sure that if there hadn't been a barricade, most of them would have run into the pitch.
 
Not long after that goal, Rivers United FC equalized making the scores 1-1.
 
The players were still at it with neither side willing to give in.
 
Another goal! Rivers United FC was on fire.
 
The jubilation from fans of MFM FC didn't slow go down a notch, even though they were down. They continued their celebration.
 
After 45mins, first half came to an end. The scores were Rivers United FC 2-1 MFM FC.
 
The short break before the beginning of second half wasn't a dull one. A raffle draw took place, vendors moved around with their goods, and of course the chants coming from fans of MFM FC.
 
Second half began after what didn't seem like forever. The boys, with renewed strength, picked up from where they left off.
 
I still did not think to turn on my stopwatch cause then I didn't know I'll get a piece done from that match.
 
But after a few minutes, there was yet another goal...from Rivers United FC.
 
They'd done it again, putting the scores at 3-1.
 
I couldn't stop myself from thinking that just maybe the singing, clapping and dancing was distracting the players, and maybe, just maybe some might have lost sight of the objective at hand.
 
The enthusiasm of MFM FC fans reduced and it affected their chanting. Some of them actually left.
 
But the game continued. Both teams were at each other’s throats, and playing so well.
 
Another goooal!! Unbelievable! Rivers United FC 4-1 MFM FC. I didn't see that last one coming.
 
MFM FC fans couldn't hide their disappointment. More people left. The empty bleachers became more obvious.  
 
The noise reduced, and you could tell from the look on some faces that there was no hope.
 
Finally, it was 90mins and the referee raised the whistle to his lips.
 
It was an amazing game to say the least. Never in my wildest imaginations did I think that a football match could feel more like a church crusade, but it didn't only happen, I witnessed it.
 
It was an unusual sight.
 
In the midst of everything though, I learnt something. Fans of MFM FC came to the stadium from church in their numbers, not minding that there had earlier been a
Downpour and the weather was looking like another rain was coming.
 
Even when they knew the odds were against them, they stayed. More than a handful remained and cheered on until the sound of the final whistle.
 
I'm patiently looking forward to my next visit to a stadium for another game and maybe another surprise.
 
It still amazes me how I transformed from not giving football a second thought, to looking forward to next games.
 
I call this one a game I won't forget in a hurry.
 
The magic isn't in scoring the first goal, it's in maintaining the winning streak.
 
And this is coming from a person who did not care about football three months ago.
 

You can follow Lisetta Woluchem on twitter via @LisettaWoluchem 

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​Boko Haram Terrorists Hooked on the Jihadist Drug of Choice: Viagra

16/6/2016

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Kidnapping girls and raping them many times a day is standard practice for the young men recruited to Boko Haram’s ‘holy’ cause, as are the drugs help to keep them going.
 
By Philip Obaji Jr.
 
CALABAR, Nigeria — Every time the Nigerian military raids Boko Haram hideouts in northeast Nigeria, soldiers report intriguing stockpiles quite apart from the predictable guns, bombs, and machetes. Often these include magical amulets and trinkets, and, frequently, quantities of Viagra and similar sex-enhancing pharmaceuticals.
 
There is a reason for the obsession with erectile function, and it is common to most of the extreme jihadist movements, especially those, like Boko Haram, that have pledged allegiance to the so-called caliphate that claims the name “Islamic State”: the promise of sex is a great recruiting tool, and sexual prowess is deemed to have mystical powers.
 
Thus in Iraq, ISIS has a record of enslaving women and girls deemed “non-believers,” then handing them over to the not-so-tender ministrations of men with years of pent-up frustrations. In Nigeria, Boko Haram has made the kidnapping of young women, like the girls taken from Chibok school two years ago, almost a trademark of its movement. Such practices, from the jihadist point of view, have a couple of benefits. They sow terror at the same time they attract young men to jihadist ranks.
 
But we have to be careful here. The jihadists’ enemies are forever claiming they are sex-mad monsters more interested in concubines than the Quran.
 
“When the military captured their bases and training camps, they never found Quran or other Islamic books,” Nigerian army spokesman Sani Usman said in a statement released last September after a number of camps were raided. “What they found were ammunition, local charms, condoms and all sort of drugs including sex enhancing ones in their enclaves.”
 
In fact, independent analysts confirm this general picture. The talismans, according to a non-military source, are not in the least Islamic, and they have a special purpose: “When the girls aren’t scared of dying even with a gun pointed at them, the militants use local charms to hypnotize and lure them,” said Yusuf Mohammed, a respected Arabic scholar and community organizer in the northeastern town of Maiduguri who also assists the city’s main vigilante group, the Civilian Joint Task Force, in intelligence gathering. “And because they sleep with so many girls in a day, they are forced to depend on sex enhancing drugs so as to last long in the act, and a condom when they suspect a woman has sexually transmitted disease.”
 
Figures certainly seem to show that Boko Haram militants have a huge appetite for sex. A report by the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs released early this year estimates more than 2,000 girls have been abducted since the jihadist group began its uprising in the northeast over six years ago. Other estimates put the number at 7,000, with the presumption that many if not all of them are used as sex slaves.
 
A number of these girls have become pregnant in captivity and some have contracted sexually transmitted diseases. Many have been raped repeatedly and relentlessly.
 
Asabe Aliyu was about 23 years of age when she was abducted in 2014 by Boko Haram militants from Delsak, a village near Chibok in the northeast. The mother of four children was taken to the jihadist’s stronghold in the remote Sambisa forest where she was sexually assaulted day after day by different men and forced into marrying one of the militants.
 
“They turned me into a sex machine. They took turns to sleep with me,” she told Daily Times, a Nigerian newspaper. “Now I am pregnant and I cannot identify the father.”
 
A number of other girls have told stories of how they were raped and violated almost on a daily basis by the same unit of militants in Sambisa forest. Some of the victims are as young as 8.
 
“Some victims have said the militants usually discuss among themselves the number of girls they’ll sleep with in a day,” said Yusuf Mohammed, who has interviewed and counseled a number of Boko Haram victims in Maiduguri. “The aim is so that they’ll be able to impregnate as many girls as possible and bear children who will continue in the jihad.”
 
Last year, Borno State Governor Kashim Shettima, told reporters that the urge to bear kids is driven by Boko Haram’s superstitious believe that their children will take after their cause.
 
“These people have a certain spiritual conviction that any child they father will grow to inherit their ideology whether they live with the children or not,” Shettima said. “The sect leaders make very conscious effort to impregnate the women.”
 
To fulfill this macho obligation, jihadists turn to performance enhancing medications. The army announced as recently as Friday that it recovered “sex enhancing drugs such as Viagra” from some militants as they tried to flee Sambisa forest on Thursday.
 
Viagra and similar drugs used to treat erectile dysfunction work only with sexual stimulation and do not increase the desire for sex. But the fact that they could maintain an erection for up to five hours (a health hazard warned against on the package) is what Boko Haram militants find so appealing.
 
A victim of Boko Haram’s sexual violence once told me that the jihadists love to boast among themselves about their sexual stamina, and that they bet on who will last the longest in having sex.
 
“Anyone who has sex for the longest hours wins whatever bet has been placed,” she said. “They take whichever girl they want and they can have sex for hours.”
 
In March, the government of Borno state, announced the closure of cattle markets in the capital city because agents working for Boko Haram sold cattle stolen by jihadists from neighboring villages in these markets and used the proceeds to buy food and drugs for the militants.
 
Local vigilantes and security officials have identified sex enhancing drugs as the medicines these agents most commonly buy from retail pharmaceutical stores.
 
“About five people were arrested by the military and they confessed to buying these drugs for the militants,” Yusuf Mohammed said. “They use proceeds from the stolen cattle they sell to buy these medicines.”
 
With the number of girls Boko Haram has abducted, it is clear what the jihadists intend to achieve: to punish as many girls as possible through rape, and father as many children as they can by impregnating them.
 
“The more girls they kidnap, the more sex enhancing drugs they’ll need,” Yusuf Mohammed said. “These militants just want sex with every girl in their custody.”
 
Philip Obaji Jr. is the founder of 1 GAME, an advocacy and campaigning organization that fights for the right to education for disadvantaged children in Nigeria, especially in northeastern Nigeria, where Boko Haram forbids western education. Follow him @PhilipObaji
 
Culled from The Daily Beast
 
Photo Illustration by Bridgette Supernova/The Daily Beast


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​Remembering MKO Abiola, June 12 and a coup against the Nigerian people

13/6/2016

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PictureMoshood Kashimawo Abiola
By Rueben Abati
 
This day, June 12 will always be remembered by those who have defied the culture of silence and conspiracy against a significant moment in Nigerian history, to remind us of how today, 23 years ago, the battle against the exit of the military from power was fought at the ballot by a determined Nigerian people.
 
It is indeed sad that apart from the South West states of Oyo, Ogun, Lagos and Osun which have doggedly continued to celebrate the hero, and later martyr of that battle, Chief Moshood Kashimawo Olawale (MKO) Abiola, there has been studied indifference to the June 12 phenomenon by the Federal Government and remarkably, the rest of Nigeria.
 
This is sadder still because MKO Abiola was not an ethnic champion: he was a man of pan-Nigerian vision and ambition, who went into politics to give the people hope, to unite them and lead them out of poverty. His campaign manifesto was instructively titled “Hope 93- Farewell to Poverty: How to make Nigeria a better place for all.”
 
 
 
When Nigerians voted in the presidential election of June 12, 1993, they chose the Muslim-Muslim ticket of MKO Abiola and Baba Gana Kingibe under the platform of the Social Democratic Party (SDP). MKO Abiola not only defeated the Presidential candidate of the National Republican Convention (NRC), Bashir Tofa in his home state of Kano, he also defeated him “fairly and squarely” with “58.4% of the popular vote and a majority in 20 out of 30 states and the FCT.”
 
That election was adjudged to be free and fair, and peaceful. But the Ibrahim Babangida-led military government had been playing games with the transition-to-civilian rule, and so it chose not to announce the final results of the election, and later on June 23, 1993, the Presidential election was annulled.
 
This was a coup against the Nigerian people, and an act of brazen injustice, but June 12 will go down in history as the birthday of the revolution that swept the Nigerian military back to the barracks. The media began to refer to MKO Abiola as “the man widely believed to have won the June 12, 1993 election”, or perhaps, “the undeclared winner” but those who played key roles at the time, including Humphrey Nwosu, the chief electoral umpire, have since confessed that “their hands were tied”, and that indeed MKO Abiola won the election. General Ibrahim Babangida, then Head of State, has not been able to live down that error of judgement.
 
It was the final error that also consumed his government, forcing him to “step aside”, and as it turned out “step away”. He left behind an Interim National Government (ING) led by Chief Ernest Shonekan who was handpicked for the assignment, but the ING contrivance only survived for 83 days; in November 1993, General Sani Abacha, who was in the ING as Minister of Defence, seized power. It was obvious that the military never wanted to relinquish power.
 
June 12 brought out the worst and the best in the people: the worst in the military and its hungry agents definitely, but the injustice of its annulment released the people’s energy and capacity for protest. Progressive Nigerians spoke in unison against military tyranny and the violation of their right to choose. The Abacha government, which had initially deceived the progressives about its intentions, unleashed a reign of terror on the country: media houses were attacked, journalists were jailed, bombed, beaten, civil society activists were hauled into detention.
 
But the repression was met with stiff resistance. The people insisted on the election of June 12, the military’s exit and Abiola’s declaration as winner of the election. On June 11, 1994, in what is now known as the Epetedo declaration, Chief MKO Abiola declared a Government of National Unity and asked for his mandate to be duly recognized. He was subsequently arrested for treasonable felony, but that only added fuel to the protests. Abiola later died in custody on July 7, 1998, a month to the day, after General Sani Abacha himself died.
 
But the real outcome was that the military had been branded evil, and the people would accept nothing but the end of military rule. This was the scenario that led to the return to democratic rule on May 29, 1999, and the specific choice of a political figure from the South West to assuage the expressed fears of the South West that the denial of MKO Abiola’s mandate was an assault on the right of the South West.
 
The ethnicization of the June 12 protest was unfortunate because indeed the struggle against tyranny recruited foot soldiers from virtually every part of the country, international support also gave the struggle higher relevance; those were the days when serving foreign diplomats joined pro-democracy protesters to wave placards on the streets. Many died, and they were all from across Nigeria, businesses were affected, but the people were determined to make the sacrifice. It was that revolution that made May 29, 1999 possible, and if any date is deserving of celebration, it is June 12.
 
The irony is that those who benefited most from MKO Abiola’s martyrdom do not want to be reminded of him. And those who used to talk about injustice have since, given the opportunity, inflicted their own injustice on the people. Those who used to swear by Abiola’s name have since found new political patrons. Those who proclaimed Abiola as the symbol of democracy and the rallying point for the people’s hopes have since been dancing on his grave.
 
Successive federal administrations since 1999, have also failed to redress the injustice of 1993, by doing the minimum of declaring June 12 a national holiday. There have been suggestions along this line, including the possibility of a post-humous national honour (the only constraint here is that the national honour is not awarded post-humously although there is nothing that expressly forbids this in the enabling Act), or the naming of a major national monument after MKO, or the official admission that the June 12, 1993 election was indeed won and lost and was not in any way inconclusive.
 
Truth: Nigeria forgets too soon, too easily. For, when indeed the Jonathan administration tried to address this injustice by naming a significant national institution after MKO Abiola, the attempt resulted in controversy and a storm.  The last paragraph of then President Goodluck Jonathan’s 2012 Democracy Day speech had renamed the University of Lagos after MKO Abiola. Both the students and staff trooped to the streets in protest.
 
They rejected the name-change and declared that their university’s name is a brand that nobody, not even the Federal Government of Nigeria could tamper with, in honour of anybody, living or dead. They said they were not consulted and the University Act had not been amended. Politics and opportunism was read into the gesture, and the government had to eat the humble pie. Would the reaction be different if another government were to take the same step, the same way the reaction to the increase in the pump price of petroleum products has been different this year, under a different dispensation?
 
MKO Abiola was a victim of military politics and conspiracy, now his martyrdom and legacy seem lost in the intricate web of conditioned amnesia and the ego of those who continue to compete with his memory. In a country where history is no longer taught, and there are no well-managed museums and monuments to make history part of the public landscape, a generation is already emerging, like the generation of UNILAG students in 2012, who may someday ask: who is MKO Abiola? Those who refuse to teach history run the risk of producing children who may lack the capacity to remember and the wisdom to appreciate history’s many lessons.
 
Those who insist speculatively that MKO Abiola could not have been a good President also miss the point about his example and legacy: his martyrdom shaped the architecture of much that happened subsequently in Nigerian history, and it is not the military’s duty to veto the people of Nigeria.
 
The military have been shipped out of power for good, they can only return as they have been doing as retired soldiers, and whatever happens with our democracy, the people are resolved that nobody can annul their right to choose, and it is part of their right to choose, to sometimes make mistakes and learn.
 
The various state governments and civil groups that remember and celebrate MKO Abiola every year deserve a pat on the back for defying amnesia. June 12 is ultimately not just about one man who became a symbol; it is also about the collective struggle against military tyranny, a reminder of people power and the value of civil society; it is that historical moment when Nigerians voted for change and stood by it.
 
On this occasion of the 23rd anniversary, may the words of MKO Abiola at Epetedo on June 11, 1994 prick our conscience: “People of Nigeria, exactly one year ago, you turned out in your millions to vote for me, Chief MKO Abiola as the President of the Federal Republic of Nigeria.
 
But politicians in uniform, who call themselves soldiers but are more devious than any civilian would want to be, deprived you of your God-given right to be ruled by the President you had yourselves elected. These soldier-politicians introduced into our body politic, a concept hitherto unknown to our political lexicography, something strangely called the “annulment” of an election perceived by all to have been the fairest, cleanest and most peaceful ever held in our nation.
 
       “…My hope has always been to arouse whatever remnants of patriotism are left in the hearts of these thieves of your mandate, and to persuade them that they should not allow their personal desire to rule to usher our beloved country into an ear of political instability and ruin…
 
      “Instead they have resorted to the tactics of divide and rule, bribery, and political perfidy, misinformation and (vile) propaganda. How much longer can we tolerate all this? There is no humiliation I have not endured, no snare that has not been put in my path, no “setup” that has not been designed for me in my endeavor to use the path of peace to enforce the mandate that you bestowed on me one year ago.  It has been a long night. But the dawn is here. Today people of Nigeria, I join you all in saying, “Enough is Enough!”…Enough of military rule…Enough of square pegs in round holes…”
 
I recommend a reading of the entire declaration by all patriots in remembrance of Chief MKO Abiola.
 
 
Culled from www.ynaija.com
 

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Need for respect in public spaces

7/6/2016

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Picture
By Blackice
 
So I got to the state secretariat this morning in the rain and went up the elevator to follow up my letters of invite that I had submitted more than a week ago.

As soon as the elevator door opened, I was greeted by the most horrible smell ever experienced and it came from the toilet which was directly opposite the elevators.
 
I managed to get out quickly and practically ran to the office I was headed and waited for more than 2 hours for officials to arrive at work.
 
Mind you, I got to the secretariat complex as early as 8.30am.
 
In all the offices that I visited, no officer was around so I had no choice than to wait until 11.am
 
Now sitting and waiting and quietly thinking my day through, a man dressed in an attire that made me think he could be a pastor walked in and sat by my side. 
 
We exchanged pleasantries and almost immediately started playing music on his phone (classical).
 
Let me break to say this....I am a lover of classical music, but should he have?
 
Now my question is...If a Muslim does same thing in same airspace as he was, how would he have felt?
 
If I also start playing my hip hop or reggae or those very loud music how would I appear to him?
 
My point is I think we should do onto others what we wish others onto us...
 
I am a believer and a follower of Christ and I make bold to say it any and everywhere... but I’d rather we do not throw our preferences into other peoples’ faces.
 
I am Blackice and I think to make my opinions clear

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