Jealosi

From the beginning, it was quite clear where I was heading with my life. Like my mother, everyone thought I was sweet. I was the most lovable kid in Church, or so our Pastor would say. I guess he said so in a way to woo my widowed mother; but nonetheless, I think he was right, for my lovability abounded for all to see. For though I was the youngest choir member, and though learning the drums proved forever difficult, I was always the one who would come first to church to set up for rehearsals. I was that committed, I was that much of a Church Boy.

Happily, I was showered with much attention for being the last and only son. And for that, I was the envy of my three elder sisters. Particularly, Comfort, the eldest, would knock my head at any given chance, as if to remind me of my place. But mother would always come to the rescue, lessening the sting of my sister's abuse. She'd explain that my sister was suffering from a disease called jealosi. She reminded me that I was the one with a bright future and it was only natural for others to be green with envy. She said I had greatness inside of me, waiting to come out. “Just keep living your life to the glory of the good Lord”, she'd often say. I believed her, and I was truly inspired.

 As a result, I talked a great deal about how I wanted to become a chemical engineer and a doctor all at the same time. Chemical Engineering was going to be my passport into one of the oil companies in Nigeria – where the salaries were fat. As for becoming a doctor, I just wanted to be like Ben Carson, the world famous neurosurgeon who was black and successful. How I was going to achieve both feats was not my problem. I was just simply young and vibrant, and of course, mama's boy.

From A Man Against The World

With my pen and journal, I write not just for the sake of my sanity, but also for whoever may care to see from where I stand:

Right now, I should be in ABU Zaria attending to my studies.  I should be at my 5th and final year by now, top of my class, with the bright prospect of making everyone at home very proud on graduation day. But that’s not the case, for I’m in prison.

They’d like to say that I had it coming, that my ears were deliberately deaf to the sirens, that I ignored all the warnings that shouted, “Stop!, Stop!, Stop!” But they’d never care to hear my own side of the matter.

It all began when I exercised my freedom of speech, when I started preaching my WEED RELIGION: Marijuana is far safer than tobacco; In fact it's even medicinal; Yes, it has tar but so does cigarettes too; Nicotine, the evil, evil substance responsible for lung cancer is found only in legalized tobacco but not in my weed, so why can't a man get legally high, and in peace.

Well, it seems now that only my friends would agree with me. Of course, only those who’ve once shared the meaning and experience in a lighted stick would know. 

Squatting in a close circle, I can still recall Biggie passing me the joint when it was my turn to take a drag - long and slow - and then I'd pass it on to Shehu, Shehu would do the same and give Ijide, and from Ijide back to Biggie – and so the circle continues until the last puff. Those were the good times.

Anyhow, there's one thing I know: if the lawmakers, the police, and all those who opposed my reasoning would just take a chance and smoke my weed, I'm sure they'd consider changing their minds. If that ever happens, they'd be making, for the first time, a conscious effort in seeing the big picture. That's all I'm asking.

Sadly, who would understand? Here such arguments hardly hold water. Basket minds are what you'd find in the Nigerian courts and big parliamentary houses – makers and perpetuators of an ill-informed law. For with a mixture of their collective ignorance they've created a law that has made the streets quite unsavoury. Even in the nooks and crannies of my beloved Kakuri, the mere scent of pot would set the police against you as if you were the most wanted man in the land. They've even succeeded in making it out to be a noble cause: The War Against Cannabis.

However, I sometimes feel I should have kept my mouth shut. In this world, if the bulk of the population chooses a belief, false or not, one man should have no business carrying placards in full view that say: ME AND MY WEED DISAGREE WITH YOU. Then again, I guess I would have been a coward if I had not shouted in the streets, the joints and, in the university – where I woefully thought perceptive minds existed. Anyway, with the help of a good smoke, how can a man not speak – how can I not speak my mind, of the lovely hemp plant, Cannabis Sativa!

"There’s a reason why the other man thinks and acts as he does. Ferret out that reason – and you have the key to his actions, perhaps to his personality". – Dale Carnegie

Half Letter [A Silver Lining In Gaddafi’s Mess]

Dear Colonel Gaddafi,

Shoes don't come falling down for no reason. These shoes, embedded with the meaning, “we hate you and we want you to disappear from our lives forever,” were all along going to find your head eventually. You should have known you had it coming. You should have prepared, and saved yourself the pain of being stoned, loathed and insulted by your own people.

But that is not the issue. It is not the reason I have decided to write to you, my comrade and friend. I write to you for a bigger cause, and in the midst of your present crisis, I trust that what I have to say would cheer you up, lighten your mood, and at least, make all your vain attempts at controlling the Libyan uprising count for something. I'd like to call it the silver lining in all the mess and commotion you have created in Tripoli and the rest of Libya. 

As a fellow oppressor, I think I have learned a very meaningful lesson from your predicament. Thanks to the event of your woes, I wouldn't have seen it. It came to me like an epiphany, in three words: “Dictators Are Buffoons”.  Why, for the first time I realized the reason people revolted in spite of our efforts to contain them with fear and………

Okay, okay… I think now is a good time to stop writing this letter. If I continue I fear I might begin to mock too seriously. The man Gaddafi deserves some sympathy, at least….a little tiny bit. I confess I don't know the Colonel personally. I am not a despot like him, I am neither his friend nor comrade, and most importantly, I wouldn't want to treat his difficulties too lightly. However, if I were truly his friend, I might have sent a letter to him in such a fashion as written, of course, without the ridicule and malice – for I would be but a true comrade.

For the purpose of the letter, I would have said the obvious to him: “domination is never foolproof”, especially against the enduring power of the human spirit. For never has cruelty and oppression lasted well with humans - who like birds want nothing more than to be free.

If only Gaddafi had sought to inspire his people rather than oppress them over his four decades as head of state, I think his leadership would have ended well with a legacy to be proud of – one of love and respect. Now, for his methods and ways, he has lost all credibility and influence as a leader.

I point to this because I believe it cuts across every form of leadership and influence in human relations. In the story of Muammar Gaddafi, I think we all have a lesson to learn. I'd bet on it that we'd all prefer and choose the love of our families, friends and influences over their shoes.  For a true and lasting legacy lies not in things, but in our relationships, in the hearts of those we love and care for. 

*Cartoon by Liza Donnelly