Nollywood: Twelve Years A Retard

I don't think I ever made a secret of my most unapologetic resentment for Nollywood. This isn't only because I believe strongly that Nigerian movies rank only second to Cerebral Palsy as a cause of mental retardation in this population. It is also because I feel it is a potent crippler of one's I.Q as research would probably show that long term exposure to our movies would also cause a regression of developmental milestones. 

I also believe Nollywood has played a big part in how Nigeria as a nation has been governed in the last decade and our state of disrepair. In fact, Nollywood is a reflection of the Nigerian state. Imagine my amusement when a sitting President announced on national television that he watches Nollywood as there are many fine ladies from the South-East featured in our films. Does my theory about Nollywood and I.Q register now?  

Above are three beautiful women - in no particular order of beauty of course. To varying degrees, each has carved a niche for herself in the film industry and is renowned for her trade. For the record, from left to right: Genevive Nnaji, Lupita Nyong'o and Omotola Jalade-Ekeinde.

In February 2014, Lupita won an Academy award for her role in Twelve Years A Slave. Nigerians started 'famzing'. Everywhere I looked on social media, I saw Lupita. 'Your dreams are valid no matter where you are from' became an instant mantra on Nigerian lips. Instagram was agog with Lupita! For the record, this was Lupita's first movie. She had been in production a couple of times but till date she had only starred in one film and she won an Oscar for that singular film! She is the first African actress to win an Oscar.

Genevive has been acting since 1998. I think I was still in secondary school then and I'm certain she has made trailer loads of money from movie making. Don't get me wrong. I think she's a beautiful woman who has done amazingly well for herself in her discipline. Omotola has appeared in a whooping 300 movies! She's been in the business since 1995! I'm not even sure I had attained puberty at that time sef. 

Is there a basis for comparing Lupita, Omotola and Genevive? I believe so. They are young African women who have picked a career where they have and will continue to flourish. The question now is what our definition of success is. It will always be a relative thing. Some of us will define it based on quantity while others will go for quality. One of our problems as Nigerians is our definition of success. To us, material things are strong indicators of a successful person. To other people in saner climes, winning arguably the highest accolade for screenplay is the yardstick for success. 

I believe Nigeria will not move forward till Nigerians begin to ask for more than they get. Not just from Nollywood but from people elected into public office. Until we see ourselves as people who deserve more than what is hurled at us and demand for the highest standard in every sphere of livelihood, we will remain where we are.

Lupita is Kenyan. We can't argue that they rigged the award in her favour. She was nominated alongside people like Julia Roberts and Jennifer Lawrence so it was most likely based on merit. She also has a Mexican bloodline but that still doesn't give her any extraordinary edge. Omotola and Genevive are undoubtedly and effortlessly veterans in the industry but maybe an Oscar nomination is too much to ask of them?

You must agree with me that if winning an Oscar was based on votes of mentally lazy Nigerian housewives and their accompanying housemaids then Genevive and Omotola would have cabinets over-flowing with Oscar statues. (Un)fortunately it is not, so we are where we are. A continuous production chain of watery and mentally stunted flicks where Patience Ozokwor is a wicked step-mother and Genevive or Omotola is the maltreated step-daughter who the village Prince is madly in love with. What we have is a nauseating and intellectually arid series of titles- Tears of Life, Tears of a Woman, Tears of Love, Tears of my Eyes, My Mother's Tears, My Father's Tears, Our Tears, Family in Tears...the list is endless. Someone apparently has a lacrimal pathology of some sort.

But then,I can't blame our actors for not upping their game. They have met our expectations so why bother striving for quality. Quantity is just fine with us. Whether I like it or not, in Nigeria, they are the best things since sliced bread and they are successful! They are our finest exports. Just like our leaders, we as a people get what we deserve in our actors.

If you are an ardent follower of Nollywood, be very proud of yourself. You are in very good company. You have something in common with the occupants of Aso Rock. That must excite you very much I suppose.

Mobile Phones: Wrecking Relationships Since 1960

Goriola is a typical Lagos 'guy man'. Upwardly mobile entrepreneur doing very well for his age and sex with a pretty wife and a beautiful home to show for it. He adores his wife with a capital A! Remember those R & B songs that have lyrics like 'whenever you call me, I'll be there'? They were referring to Goriola. Even Eva Longoria won't keep him away from his wife. He'd simply stand up and leave once she calls.

All laudable qualities you must agree. He however owns two Blackberry devices. Same colour, same model. One is always in silent mode and never leaves the confines of his car while the other is the 'home BB'. Gori has a covet location in his car for this phone once Madam is in the car. If it's not in silent mode then it's turned off. There are no numbers saved on it, just Blackberry Messenger contacts. You can't reach him on that phone once he gets home. The other phone however has his regular contacts and is always active. He doesn't lock the phone with a password and it's usually found lying around the house with reckless abandon. The ringtone is at it's highest volume and Gori will even ask his wife to read out loud his messages to him just for showmanship. He only receives Men's Fellowship daily devotional broadcast messages and Happy New Month messages on the phone so there's nothing to be worried about. To Gori's wife, her husband is the 'boo of life'.

Don't worry, his real name isn't Goriola. 

Trust is an essential component of any relationship be it dating, marriage or even business. It is also imperative that this trust is not compromised by any party at any point in time. You may find Mr Goriola's ways a tad unconventional but hey, it's working. Madam trusts him with her arm and her leg and everything is rosy in his paradise. Well, at least for now.

This would probably be a good point to site a caveat. Understand there's a line between the ideal and the realistic. In an ideal world, Nigerian roads will be lined with milk and honey literally. In the realistic world, Nigerian roads are inundated with gullies and death traps. Ideally and realistically. In an ideal relationship/marriage, are you allowed some privacy? If you have sworn before God and man that two have now become one, does that include your mobile phone? Are you allowed to lock your phone from even your spouse? Should there be details or aspects of your life that you hold back from your spouse? Should some things be 'out of bounds' for and from the bone of your bone?

I know some obsessive-compulsive phone stalking wives and girlfriends. They are always out for the man's phone like  forensic agents on C.S.I or like they work for the C.I.A. They work with the philosophy of 'all dogs eat shit' so they go all out to catch their dog eating shit. The man now sleeps with his Blackberry in his boxers at night or he simply uses a password that even Obatala cannot decode. Their trust gowns are thin-threaded. They don't trust their husbands from his nose to his mouth and they openly make the assertion. They have probably been scarred too much in the past to trust anyone that much. If there's another girl, they want to find out now now! No time for rubbish. Interestingly, this does not deter the husbands from being unfaithful. For someone like Goriola, he probably knows the type of wife he has so he simply does the needful. 

The indifferent ones are not bothered much about their husbands mobile phones. They are more trusting and would probably have custody of their husband's phones yet overcome the temptation of viewing his messages. It takes a lot of self-control to do that. The truth is whatever you set out to find is what you'll see. A seemingly innocuous text message may seem suggestive if the reader had a prejudiced mind. Yes, he may be cheating but they decide not to worry themselves too much about it. The functional word is 'may'. He may also not be cheating on the other hand so they just go with the flow. The relationship is working after all and you do not want to change a winning team now, do you? Some may even be certain their husbands are cheating but since there's no hard evidence to convict him with, they just ignore.

Then you have the ostriches. Those with their heads in the sand. They really don't want to know what Oga is up to. Just give them upkeep allowance for the house and the kids. Just be on hand to sort out all the manly responsibilities around the house. Just return to bed every night at a godly hour and there's absolutely no wahala. She won't ask questions because she really doesn't want to know. She probably has a covenant with God that a cheating husband is not her portion so she can't even conceptualize such a thing. She even has a prayer point specifically saying 'Jezebels and other strange women fall down and die!'. Lucky man!

My friend once had a squabble with her boyfriend. They are in a long distance relationship and while she was visiting him, he dropped his phone for a second to have his bath and that little voice inside told her to grab it before it auto-locked after a few seconds as he had a password she didn't know. So she did and found all sorts of vile messages and even gross anatomical pictures of other females. He immediately admitted he had been sleeping around but vehemently insisted the real issue was her going through his phone. I was befuddled! They just caught you with your hand in the cookie jar and you're annoyed they peeped through the door-hole to catch you? Should how you were caught matter or the fact that you are guilty?

In an ideal world, there should be no passwords! If there is any at all, then you should be confident enough to let your spouse/partner have it. Trust cannot be overrated in any relationship. I believe you must consciously and proactively make moves to reinforce trust in your relationship. All it takes to completely annihilate it is one wrong move and you never get it back to what it used to be. Yes, he or she may forgive you but it will become even harder to trust you wholly and wholeheartedly again. There's a popular saying that likens trust to glass, it's never quite the same once it's broken, is it? Volunteer information as much as possible. You may be dating an insecure person who was probably scarred in previous relationships, lovingly reassure the person daily if you must. At some point, they'd realize their insecurities are actually baseless with you. Keep your nose clean...

My married friends are more of realists than idealists. I understand that point of view also. Marriage is not easy simply because it is a good thing and no good thing comes easily. The Bible says the road to Heaven is narrow and only a few find it. So also is marriage, you need a lot of work! Now, if you feel you are giving more than you are getting from your spouse, you may withdraw into your own space and start to reveal less to that person. You volunteer so much and he says very little and makes you feel silly because in the day of adversity, he has bullets to shoot with. After all you told him one man winked at you at work the other day and another asked you out another time. While this is quite unfair, I believe the solution is not to say less as well. Your wife or husband is the person you told God you want to die holding. Talk and keep talking!

I have never been good with locking my devices with passwords. And no, I do not have two identical devices to con anyone. I don't think I have that much to hide really. I'm not married yet though but I doubt much will change even when I am. I do however wonder when tech companies will start producing mobile phones that automatically delete text messages and chats after the first read. You should be able to satisfactorily explain any messages found on your mobile phone, no matter how platonic or innocuous it looks. You owe it to your other to explain it. Here, I'm speaking realistically and ideally. At that point, it's no longer about the fact that your privacy was breached. It is now about the trust you have breached by having those messages in the first place.

Goriola has thus far gotten away with deceiving his wife. There are ways to get around the checks surely for those smart enough. Mrs Goriola doesn't know and everybody's happy. Is that the ideal? Certainly not! I wonder how we got by in the days of Nokia 3310 and Trium when we could not chat and send pictures. There were certainly fewer tracks to cover back in the day. These days even James Bond will be amazed at the tactics we deploy to deceive ourselves. One of my friends met his waterloo one night his girlfriend asked how come his phone never rang at night. Apparently, the phone automatically enters Airplane mode after 7pm only on nights they are together. Factory glitch of some sort. He didn't even know he was a stammerer till that night!

Some even do all their 'runz' strictly with voice calls. They save numbers with names as ridiculous as ever. In one of my friend's case, he saved the other woman's name as Cristiano Ronaldo. Some use benign terms like Electrician or Generator. You won't ever guess his Electrician is a hot young voluptuous lady in her mid twenties. Na make 'light' sha come on abi?

When it's all said and done, we will never truly know what we are in for. We can only hope the other person is giving just as much as you are giving. There are no assurances. We can only strive to be the best versions of us and hope. 

So, what side of the fence do you sit? Would you want to know by checking or would you leave it to fate? Are you one of those who use retinal recognition, fingerprint swipes and 20-digit alphanumeric passwords to lock your phone? Even the launch codes to America's nuclear war heads are not as encrypted as all your defense mechanisms. Your phone enters the bathroom with you and you have developed amazing acrobatic techniques to view your messages at incredible angles while in bed like a professional contortionist. God is watching you o...

Remember however, that what goes around, comes around.

Uncle London's Nephew: Home Is Where The Heart Is

I believe I first watched Mr Okpegwa Benson's story sometime last year. It was arguably one of the most hilarious clips I had ever watched. While I was thoroughly tickled by the story, it also made me reflect on just how bad things had become for us as Nigerians.

Take a minute, ten actually, to see for yourself before I proceed. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8tMEUzguVzg

I hope you didn't rupture your diaphragm? Benson is a Nigerian. We can't deny him. He lives and breathes Nigeria and inside us all, there is a small Benson. Why do I say so? It's simple. Benson was just doing whatever it took to have a fighting chance. Demeaning some may think but to others, it's simply doing the needful. Imagine just how many Bensons we have on our streets at the moment.

Benson was asked whose passport he was carrying and he claimed a 'good Samaritan' gave him the passport. The officer even asked if good Samaritans now forged passports and he said 'In Lagos'. Sometimes I don't envy those UKBA officers, I can only imagine what they have heard from Nigerians at Heathrow. Solely because of Benson, I have now become addicted to the UK Border Force videos on Youtube. You'll see 'orisirisi'.

Another disturbing thing for me was how Benson passed through our Immigration authorities at Murtala Mohammed International Airport in Lagos. Note that I said 'disturbing' and not 'surprising'. If you've been to MMIA, it shouldn't surprise you. The Customs and Immigration officers are too busy extorting travelers that they have forgotten their primary purpose of resuming at work everyday. You can almost carry a giraffe across if you have rubbed the proper palms at MMIA and this is what disturbs me. Our corruption has eaten so deep that we cannot even account for who comes in and who goes out any longer. Once you have co-operated when they brazenly ask you 'anything for us?', you are good to go.

Back to my friend Benson. So Benson claimed he was 15 years old at the time he was stopped. As ridiculous as that assertion was, it was the singular reason they did not toss his behind back to Oshodi immediately. He first said he was born in 1993 and that he entered secondary school in 1990 before he realized it didn't add up. Even Steve Jobs was at least born first before he started going to school. Benson The Genius! Starting school in-utero could not have been easy. You could almost pick a smirk on the officer's face after Benson stated his age if you looked closely. I like to imagine the officer's thought process at that moment in Yoruba. 'Abi iru kini leleyi leni bayi' i.e. abi which kain thing be this today!

I think the British officers were totally charming. The lady even asked him to come into a room where he could have a drink and some food. Amazing! They were willing to make sure he was comfortable all through the process. I think we intentionally copy the wrong things from the West. Here, we see properly trained courteous officers respecting humanity and the sanctity of human life. We will not copy that one. It is how Nicki Minaj wears handkerchiefs that we will see and copy and quickly say 'shebi it's my body'. I trust awon temi ni Murtala! Food and water kini? Bawo? Instead, they'll wait till you collapse then scour your pockets for currency. Like they say 'there's no paadi for jungle'. Interestingly, we are more religious than these Caucasians. They don't do monthly conventions or vigils like we do. Neither are their streets littered with churches like ours. Yet, they display a genuine affection for humanity. We need to do some insightful soul-searching in this part of the world.

The level of desperation displayed by Benson shows you just how bad Nigeria can get. He is quick to kneel to beg the officers on two occasions. That is a man who has nothing else to lose. When a grown man kneels to beg you, know he has reached a point where his self-esteem and self-worth are totally negligible to him. Men are naturally egoistic. He even had a toothbrush on him to corroborate his story that he was on the run! This is what Nigeria can do to a man's psyche. We then demand to be treated with respect when we visit these cities. Our society has damaged our self-worth and driven people like Benson to accept being 'less' than the Caucasians he knelt for. Do you seriously believe an Emirati will get this desperate and kneel? When he could turn around and simply return home where his government respects him so he has uninterrupted power, portable water and a decent job?

I really appreciated the manner in which the officers addressed Benson even when it was obvious his claims were ludicrous at best. The way she asked who Uncle London was, the way she refuted his age claims, the way she asked him about how he felt about an imminent deportation and the possibility of seeking asylum in the UK. Everything reeked of professionalism and thorough courtesy! If she didn't care the slightest about his state of mind then she did a fantastic job pretending to. The lady was lucky Benson wasn't me. I would have charmed her. We'll end up in the airport chapel in front of a priest with plastic wedding bands. Shebi na to enter London!

Benson absconded eventually. The compulsion to stick to guidelines by the British worked in his favour. He had come that far anyway. Would have been sore to get to Heathrow and not enter London. That's like getting to the pump after queuing for fuel for 2 days and the attendant says fuel has finished. Fuel queue in Lagos of course, not London, just so you do not get me wrong.

Dear Uncle London, I hope you are reading this. 'Wole Okulate does not want a sewn visa page. You see, I think he doesn't particularly like that green colour. I'm just guessing sha but I believe 'Wole will take even a red or grey passport, maybe even blue. 'Wole won't claim to be 15 years old. He will not claim to be in Idi-iroko Grammar School, the whole world knows he is a civil servant. If you'll like to help 'Wole, call him on 08037165217. I believe his number has not changed.

Did anyone pick the striking facial resemblance between Benson and 'Wole though? 

I Would Rather Not Fly Thank You

Depending on the school of thought you belong to, you can validly argue that technology may have done us more harm than good. On one hand, technology brought us nuclear bombs, ammunition and internet fraud. On the other hand, technology brought us diagnostic techniques and space exploration. So, the problem really is not the advancement of technology but it's application by the human race.

Air travel is probably one of the milestones of technology in terms of benefits to us humans. Airplanes have always intrigued me. I remember how excited and enchanted how I usually got whenever we visited my family friends who lived in Ipaja, a suburb around the airport, as a boy. The prospect of seeing planes fly so low and staring right at the bellies of such huge birds was hard to resist. Note that I said 'as a boy'. The story has since changed.

I believe I may have the worst and most severe form of aerophobia known to mankind now. I still enjoy watching them taxi around airports but the thought of flying in one of them immediately evokes a generalized anxiety/panic attack. All this started in adulthood and recent events have not helped in assuaging the problem.

Medical school was in Port Harcourt so I had to fly from Lagos as I had never actually ventured that far by road before as a child. The roads were an eyesore from what I had been told and especially since I was going to be travelling alone most of the time, air travel seemed the best option. What I have noticed however, is that the phobia has insidiously worsened since 2000 till date. I didn't freak out as much as I do now fourteen years ago. Chanchangi was in vogue those days and they were relatively safe. 

So, I took a few years off air travel as I was now based primarily in Lagos and within that period, Nigeria sadly experienced a few air crashes. The next time I had to fly was in 2011 for a wedding in Warri. I was a groomsman so 'dodging' the wedding was not a possibility so I summoned courage and packed a bag. We had booked an Aero Contractors flight from Lagos to Warri for the afternoon before the wedding online. I arrived at the airport with my e-ticket and was told at Aero check-in desk that the flight had been cancelled! No prior notice. No apologies. In retrospect, maybe it was God that was subtly asking me to go to my house. But, it was my guy's wedding and missing it would have been unpleasant. So, I wrestled fate and started scouring MM II for any Warri-bound flights on any airline at all. This was after the madness that accompanied trying to get a refund for the online ticket I had bought from Aero. Stress levels were up and I was not thinking properly any longer. The closest flight I got to Warri was a Consolidated Airlines flight to Benin. I desperately paid knowing I would still do a considerably long road trip to reach Warri. The plane was a small plane with propellers on the wings and I sat right by the window, there were no aisle seats. It was that small a plane. 

Shortly after take-off, the cabin gradually began to heat up. It was as if the higher we went, the hotter it became. We had subconsciously started fanning ourselves with newspapers and all before we realized an aircraft should not be that hot. The crew then explained that the air-conditioning had malfunctioned and urged us to 'bear with them'. It was not a particularly long flight so I thought we could manage as long as we landed safely. Then, I looked out of my window and noticed the propeller on the wing on that side was static. Hian! I didn't want to be the bearer of bad news so I quickly stretched to see if the opposite one was working and it was spinning normally. So we were effectively flying with one propeller. I think my heart rate doubled immediately. I was sweating and there was this strange quickening in my rectum. My eyes were fixated on that left propeller till we descended into Benin. Last year, a Consolidated Airline plane going to Akure crashed in Lagos.

I didn't travel anywhere again till November 2013. My to-flight was not eventful aside the occasional mid-flight sharp drops that I tried to handle like it was nothing even though each time I felt like shouting 'Blood of Jesus!'. My fro-flight however was a different kettle of fish entirely!. It was a Lagos-bound Arik flight from Heathrow and we had been in the air for about two hours or so when the drama started. The flight attendants were doing their routine in-flight meals when we experienced some turbulence. That didn't worry anybody much and the serving continued. I had rice and red wine in front of me when the aircraft started again. The jerking was not of this world and it kept on going like it was wrestling against some resistance to keep going forward. I quickly downed my red wine. As the Yorubas would say 'o ti doju e'. On my left was a young lady, probably in her early twenties. The lady on my right was slightly older, probably mid thirties and married. There are some days you just can never forget in your life. December 13 2013 was one of those days.

What followed was the most harrowing twenty minutes of my adult life. I tried to remain calm but it was hard. It didn't help that the pilot sounded like he was high on something each time he addressed the crew and passengers. Even the serving crew had vanished, they left their trolleys in the aisle and took cover somewhere. The ladies beside me however made the experience even more unforgettable. The lady on my left was melodramatic, she kept heaving as she freaked out. She kept repeating 'I won't do it again!!!'. It seemed like it was her main prayer point and but for the fact that it was obviously not the best time to ask, I became very curious as to what this 'thing' was. Each time I tried to pray in that spell of air madness, she would shout again and I would wonder. Was it some sort of atonement to avoid hell fire in the event of a crash or was it that she believed it was this 'thing' that was responsible for the turbulence we were facing? Or was she promising never to fly in a plane again ever?

The lady on my right was apparently pregnant and the turbulence caused a glitch in her physiology. She held my arm tightly as I tried to calm her down. That would not have been a nice position to be found. Arm in arm with a strange married woman. The rescuers would have quickly postulated in their minds and muttered 'na God catch these ones' under their breath. She then began to vomit uncontrollably. There were no bags or bowls on board so we made do with the foil bowls our food was served in. Each time the aircraft swerved, she would throw up. I started wondering if she had a drum of cereal in London before she boarded the flight because she defied science with the quantity of her vomitus. I ended up mopping with Arik's disposable blankets.

In that time, I had quickly examined the flight map and thankfully noted we were flying over Portugal or something. Location was important to me as I didn't wish to crash in Africa, then rescue efforts, if any at all, would have been most likely futile. I needed a fighting chance and crashing in Europe would have tipped the odds of surviving in my favour, no matter how slim the margins. Also, if I eventually did crash and did not survive, at least it would be on record that I met my end in Europe and not Nigeria. The land had caused me a lot of hardship, it won't have been fair to lose the battle there again. So Europe would have done just fine, thank you. I doubt I had been in such a gathering of prayer warriors before in my life. The tongues were flying left and centre. Death or the prospect of it will make even the worst atheists call on God. Then I asked,were they praying to be saved from death or were they asking to enter Heaven? Should death scare a saved ('born again')Christian that much? After all, we say Heaven is our home and we look forward to reigning with Christ. 

Another set of passengers at the rear of the aircraft however had different ideas. They repeatedly shouted 'E gba wa o' like it was an armed robbery and there were policemen around. We were at 30,000ft or so, who was the 'E gba wa' for exactly? I didn't quite understand but I figure at that point, anything would have done. When death is staring at you in the face, anything will do.

Eventually, our aircraft stabilized. Prayer of the saints maybe. But then I reckon the Dana plane that crashed in Iju in 2012 wasn't filled with adulterers and pharisees. Neither was the Sosoliso plane that nosedived in Port Harcourt in 2005. I'm certain they prayed too. 

Now, on a serious note, I woke up two days ago to news that a Malaysia Airlines aircraft from Kuala Lumpur to Beijing had suddenly vanished over the sea in Vietnam. There were 239 people on board. Till now, the whereabouts of that Boeing 777 is still not known. Authorities have asked relatives to expect the worst. What this means is that potentially 239 families are going to grieve. It's worse that there's still no closure on the fate of the aircraft. We must remember to pray for them and their families. It's been two days already, if indeed the plane has crashed, the chance of getting survivors reduces by the minute. How a plane that big has disappeared still beats me with all the aviation technology at our disposal. 

The risks are real and they are with us. But like someone said recently, air crashes are never natural disasters.


P.S...

It's been a month since Segun 'Segla' Adebo left us. Continue to rest in the Lord's bosom my friend and brother. #SunRe #SegunAdebo

Remembering Access Bank In This Season Of Open Letters

This was originally meant to be an e-mail to the top hierarchy at Access Bank that would have 'leaked' since this is the season of leaked reports and open letters in Nigeria. However, as at press time, I have still not been able to lay my hands on the e-mail addresses of Mr. Herbert Wigwe and his coven of vampires. Allah be praised.

I have always known I would never become a banker. I was one of those kids who never quite knew what they would become but always knew what they wouldn't. Reason? It was simple. I couldn't understand Mathematics to save my own life. As if regular Arithmetic was not bad enough, a Guidance Counselor,who I now consider very inept, thought taking Further Mathematics as an elective in SS1 was a good idea. Oh! What a sad sight it was to behold. That unfortunate stint in Further Mathematics scarred me permanently. So bad was it that I still wake up from nightmares sweating profusely and muttering 'dy-dx'. 

Pardon my flight of thought.

I recently met and had a chat with a charming young lady with the brains of Einstein and the beauty of Aphrodite. Unfortunately, fate dealt her an upper cut and she somehow landed in Access Bank. I doubt life has remained the same since she resumed there in 2012. Before she could complete her appointment process, the very gracious management of Access Bank asked her to source for deposits to the tune of N1m. I was bewildered. She didn’t even have an identity card yet and she had ‘target’ already. Omen of things to come you would say. When you have been in the labour market for sometime, you'll be tempted to call a cow 'Uncle' because you crave beef. She was posted to a unit I thought was fair since it was not a core 'marketing' role. Oh, how wrong I was. Little did I know that even the rats that nocturnally infested Access Bank store-rooms had targets.

What started as a small mole has now become a ravenous metastasis. The young lady painstakingly expounded her travails in the hands of the management of Access Bank Nigeria. She recounted how her boss on one fateful evening asked each team member not to show up at work the next day if they didn't have N1m each. I was tickled. Now those targets have soared to N30m per week! Osanobua!!! Dear Herbert Wigwe, if these young ladies had half of that figure, do you seriously believe they would wake up at 5a.m every morning to come and work for you? Where on Earth is a young lady expected to source for such funds righteously? The functional word here is 'righteously'.

This same bank flew Miss Mariah Carey into the country just a few months ago for a purported N200m! The word on the street is that she happened to be one of their retiring CEO's favorite artistes and so, the bank thought it was befitting to fritter away some money for a performance that couldn't have lasted more than an hour, even if Ms Carey was stoned on a truckload of Ecstasy. He who the gods want to kill, they first make mad...

This 25-year old lady got an offer of appointment that stated work hours of 8am to 5pm Mondays to Fridays. At the time, it seemed like it was typed in simple English. Sitting here now, I am watching her try to recall a day she left the office before 9pm. She claims there are even days they finished meetings at 2am and some ‘God-fearing’ husbands came to pick their wives at that time of the night. These are women who leave their homes before dawn to conquer Lagos traffic. These are women whose kids now wonder if their mothers work for the SSS or CIA as they literally sneak in and out like thieves in the night. Is your mummy Zorro?

What probably miffed me the most was an utterance from one of the despicable fellows who 'supervises' her. A male director who probably has brains the size of his testicles, openly said he didn't get how 'all these young females' will not be meeting their targets. In case you were born yesterday or you were dropped at birth by your midwife and developed cerebral palsy, he was subtly wondering how they had not resorted to promiscuity to achieve their targets. In simple English, if you still do not understand, he is asking them to become corporate prostitutes for the bank. Shikena! You have 'meat' and there are 'wolves' in the jungle. Your master needs wolf-skin so he dangles your 'meat' as bait. Logical, isn't it? For him and his ilk, I wish them what they wish other people's daughters. What a man sows, that shall he reap...

Why can't she just resign you may ask? After all, it is not by force. In Access Bank, you do not have such luxury, your first two years are bonded in their ironclad grip. You are made to sign a two year-N2m bond. How this works is that, if you decide to leave before the end of two years, you are compelled to pay this devilish bank N2m. So, walking away isn't even a choice. You have gotten into bed with the devil himself and till he's done raping you, there's no redemption anywhere, well except death does you part before the bond expires. Gracious, isn't it? Interestingly, Access Bank is the only bank in Nigeria that offers this 'incentive'. Remember what I said before about desperation, beef and the cow named Uncle?

I want to admonish everyone. You see, I am a strong proponent of young people developing healthy work ethics. You must however be careful not to allow a job grossly subsume you. Give your best, not your all. Knowing the difference is wisdom. Giving your all does not necessarily translate to giving your best. The catch is, you will not work forever and at some point, sooner or later, you will have to stop working, either voluntarily or by compulsion. You must learn to live a little! Your office was standing before you came and they will continue after you. The job will not and I say that with the highest level of confidence, pause for a minute or a tenth of a minute in the event of your departure. Life will go on! Access Bank won't even fly their flags across their branches at half mast for anyone in their rank and file. When they ask you to go and bring targets that their great grandfathers never saw till they died, tell them you have heard and ensure you get a good night rest. Suffering a nervous breakdown and clinical depression for another man's work simply isn't worth it. Your whole life will pass you by and you will burn out early. My take is learn what you need to and develop yourself knowing the next phase of your life waits.

Finally I think the management staff of Access Bank should be profusely ashamed of themselves. Many of them are deacons, ‘workers’ and heavy tithers in the House of God. Yet, they have continued to cause pain and sorrow in the lives of young people all in the name of career paths. They have institutionalized modern and corporate slavery simply because they have the power to put F- on an appraisal form. Who made you god? Who says you won’t spend all the money you believe you have amassed on weekly dialysis if fate decides? Who says you will be here on the top floor of the head office tomorrow simply because you are there today? Who gave you the right to push other people’s daughters into prostitution simply because you want a hug annual bonus? You now bond the ones who do not want to be a part of your communion of infamy? How dare you?

Those of you who have set ludicrous targets for them so that you can bring Kim Kardashian to Lagos simply because her picture is the last thing Mr Wigwe looks at before he sleeps at night will surely run down. All those who have suggested that they exchange their bodies for deposits will develop the worst form of cerebral malaria and spondylolisthesis. Don't worry, I won't wish you death but a lot of pain because you are wicked and wickedness should beget wickedness. I hope all your kids are female and they are given such targets too even if it's Gala and Fanyogo they are selling. Worms!

P.S...

Happy New Year to you all. I haven't typed this much since June last year. The 'principalities and powers in high places' attacked my hardware. Awon ota aje! But God pass them and I am here again. LOL.

It's a New Year. Albeit late, I must still wish you the very best of 2014. 

In 2014,I'm planing to read more and write more. We won't do the six-month hiatus this year(can someone say Amen?). I'm also going to tone down on my political ramblings. 

First because I'm personally tired of talking about Nigeria and I'm beginning to ask God for my Moses that will 'part the Red Sea'. Red Sea is any variable between the Consular Officers at Walter Carrington Victoria Island to the UK Border Agency Officers at Heathrow Airport London.

Second and more importantly, my loving parents have urged me to. I agree that they have a point. 2015 won't be for children. Let  me face my shed jeje.