THIS LIVING

Do we  carry up arms?

Or do we die in silence?

They say if we legalize

Then we can save lives

But all the legality

Has only increased our poverty

So those who play ruthlessly

Are the ones getting rich senselessly

So we cry louder and work harder

They laugh louder and even get richer

It has never been fair

This game called life

It has never been fair

This thing called rules

It has never worked for us people

This thing called law

It has never saved lives

This thing called legality

I'm as confused as you are

To carry arms or to carry cards?

To vote or to riot?

I'm as hungry as you are

To be sincere or to sell out?

To remain or to run away?

It isn't fair where we have found ourselves

It never measures, this living we have found for ourselves

They were supposed to lead us

But they maim us

So we scratch and kill and die

And for this living we have found for ourselves,

I am as confused as you are

Yours Truly,

Vivian Igbokwe

THE GOOD WIFE TIPS

(This was sent in by a dear friend, Kimani Purity from Kenya. It was written as a rejoinder to a previous work we wrote together. In the appropriate time, that too will be shared here. Many times we both ask: "African Women, where are we going from here?")

As a matter of fact, a friend of mine attended a weekday church service at the invitation of her friend whose theme was ‘family’. Basically, the service or teaching, if you like to call it, was about how men and women should behave in a family. Her crazy self can swears that the male points were less than 10. She swears by that truth. But cross over to the girl’s side! Lord have mercy! “When you’re looking for a mate, boys” the pastor said, “check the dress code. What is she wearing? What does she wear?” The service was in a church that believes that women should never wear men’s clothes. “If she wears trousers or shorts or short things! Put an x and pray for her” he went on.

Apparently, that was not the only cross-worthy kind of a girl who could possibly end up as a prayer item. There was also the girl who could openly say that she was incapable of preparing some meals, possibly because she hasn’t learnt how to prepare them. On this the pastor said, “Ladies, you must learn how to cook. If it is green grams you are preparing, prepare those green grams like your life depends on it. Be the best green gramer your husband has ever seen.” To this, my friend said that she had imagined the husband introducing the wife as follows: “Hail, the queen of green grams!”

Then, there was the lady who was inconsistent in her faith. This one got my friend reeling. “Men, study your mate”, the guy was off to a good start. “With regard to her faith, if in first year she was a deaconess, put a tick. Second year still a deaconess, a bigger tick. Third year, a head deaconess; my brother, that is the one.” Okay, maybe deaconess is the ultimate for them. “Shrugs.” She kept listening. “If in the first year she was a deaconess, tick. If in her second year she slipped…” Before I say what followed, my friend claimed that she was actually waiting for the slippery girl to land in a discotheque or alcohol addiction but no. “If in her second year she slipped and joined the Christian Union.” I kid you not. “If in her third year she again slipped and landed in some other denominations, my friend, put a big cross and pray for that girl.” The service was Adventist, in case you are wondering. The list went on and on and on. In the end, the don’ts of the males happened to be the female don’ts as well and then add much more don’ts to the females.

So basically, my friend tells me that she got out of the service thinking to herself, “Honey, if we are to sum up that family teaching, to be a good wife is to simply not live. Yes. Die or become a zombie.”

THE FITTING PREFERENCES OF MY STATE'S GOVERNMENT

My state government (Imo State precisely) does not find it unfitting to erect monuments of African Presidents but find it fitting to knock down structures for road construction but never complete the roads, thereby causing the blockage of drainages and floodings around town.

My state government does not find it unfitting that our governor hosted two sitting Presidents and one ex-president for his birthday (we are yet to understand the economical import of that action) but find it fitting to provide 300 old, refurbished taxis while almost banning Keke from the state. They have been relegated to remote areas and the effect is that we get to pay more for distances we paid for less with Keke: (They (taxi drivers) have to pay up the one million Naira mortgage on the taxis.) Not excluding the hours of standing in the sun to get taxi and being squeezed into it. (The state of the taxis is a different topic; wait for it.)

My State government does not find it unfitting that there are no companies to profitably employ graduates or at least make the state business ecosystem attractive to investors to come and build the companies but rather find it fitting to keep rendering jobless those who had source of income. Like I've pointed out in an earlier article, Keke transportation is one of the highest employer of labor in my state. By banning Keke, thousands of Keke riders lost their means of livelihood. This is in addition to destroying shops in Douglas to make people pay for shops in an uncompleted market site that is prone to flooding and that is far removed from Owerri municipal.

Today, I heard a loud bang. I came out to see a lot of shops being broken down along PACs to Maris Junction axis. If you are conversant with this road, you will know that this road never experiences traffic; never! You will also know that those roadside shops never constitute any form of nuisance. You will know that those roadside shops are built well into the walls of the hosting compounds, such that they never cause traffic issues. If you live in Owerri, you will know that the cost of renting a shop is outrageous; so having those roadside shanks is the only way for many businesses to survive and make a little profit. If you live in Owerri, you will also know that those roadside shank owners who sell second hand wears, video and audio CDs and fruits are mostly graduates who could not land jobs.

At this rate, what are people actually expected to do in Nigeria? How does the average man on the streets actually survive? The cost of house rent, shop rent and living expenses are so high; employment is at zero level because those with jobs are underpaid and yet the government that is supposed to alleviate the people's suffering is the one propagating it.

If I ever hear anyone complain that Owerri guys are yahoo boys and Owerri girls are runs girls, I'll bite off your ears; especially if you are doing nothing to alleviate poverty levels in this state. Please, stay on your high horse and pocket your righteousness. Lol. Come on, at this rate, what are people expected to do? Stay at home and wait till hunger kills them since they cannot afford shop rents, land jobs, ride their Keke, hawk or sell by the roadsides?

Today, I was so overcome with emotions as I saw the owners of these shank shops hold their hands over their heads; their goods destroyed; their spaces destroyed. I felt helplessness, anger, rage and even tears on my face.  And I asked, how long? How long will people murmur, post on social media and then get used to this new form of oppression? I say it is time for Imo people to protest and to so protest that our government comes to order. If we are afraid of dying, people are already dying in this state out of hunger, frustration and joblessness. So, if we are afraid to die, our sisters and brothers are already dying. 

If we do not rise up and call to order those who claim to have bought our votes and reclaim the destiny of this state, then they will keep raping and ripping us apart.

Onye azu ya di na-ala anaghikwa atu ujo ada.

Igbokwe Vivian Ijeoma

Scriptwriter87@gmail.com

WHILE WE ARE ALL GREAT

You know how we are often told we are all born for greatness, and we will be famous and do awesome things and travel around the world touching lives and we will be awesomely great.

Some even take it a step further; if your name is not yet popular, then your life isn't really worth much. You aren't touching a lot of lives. I hear this more in church and I'll like to, with your permission, address a few things about such teachings.

Now then, if greatness depends on how famous your name is, how many parts of the world you have toured, the audiences you have spoken to, how influential you are, how wealthy you are: how about the man in the village teaching teenage girls and mothers about maternal health, canvassing for pads, birth control, etc., ones whose work is saving lives; is he a failure?

How about doctors and health workers who are risking their lives in battle lines treating war victims: are they failures? How about a young girl who educates other youths on the importance of youth participation and awareness in politics and rallying young people together to change their societies: is she a failure?

How about the lady who nurses old people in homes with a smile on her face every other day: she too is a failure? How about a mother who's  been left with five children and makes sacrifices everyday to see them eat and through school, who probably doesn't even have a name or an online presence: is she also a failure? Or the young graduate who had to improvise on Keke transportation to earn an income because he couldn't land job: on whom a family of 10 depends on; is he a failure?

We need to redefine greatness. We need to get back to basics. If greatness were about fame, how about actors, singers, celebrities whose names resound in all parts of the earth, who have large followerships but whose lives exude such negativity. Many of them strung up on drugs, court cases and riotous life styles. They are great?

If greatness were about money and influence, how about our politicians who are senselessly rich but whose wicked policies have cost millions of lives across the world. Are they great?

What then is greatness? I will simply define it from my heart, and not from any dictionary or source. Greatness is doing something that makes you happy and that makes another person smile. It could be a one off thing or something you commit your life to. It could be doing small things in a great way or doing great things in great ways. Bottom line is that you are happy doing them and you are adding value right where you are.

When greatness is defined this way we see that everyone is great. We also see that greatness is not a herculean task; it is an everyday thing. A smile can be great when given to a broken heart. Food can be great when offered to a hungry person. Medication can be great when administered to an old woman who is almost losing her sight. You see, greatness is just around you.

We now see that we don't have to travel around the world or answer big names to be great. We just do great and that everyday. It also removes the pressure of doing extraordinary things to become popular or influential or any other parameter used to measure greatness. I too have been told I'll be great and popular and all that. You know what it does to you? It puts you under pressure to perform or become what people expect or what the society recognizes as greatness. At times you crush people who care, lose important life's moment, do unbelievable things to become "great." You get there and it becomes empty because you lost sight of the real essence of living: Happiness and value.

So, I'm canvassing for a shift in paradigm. Let's quit putting ourselves under pressure to fit into a picture of greatness. Greatness is a daily thing and should be done naturally. I'm not asking us to be lazy, not study, enhance on our skills and talents. Those are what makes life worth living, enhancing yourself and getting better at what you do and at living. (Wouldn't it be a shame for someone to still be bathing you, putting food into your mouth, wiping your back after shiting while you are reading this and you aren't sick? My six year old niece would rather die than allow me feed her. The young lady is growing and that's what life should be.) While you do all of that, enjoy life's beautiful moments, and make someone else smile. That's greatness enough. When you eventually become the president of the world, for the few of us who will attain those lofty positions, you will still have people to enjoy your fame/wealth with.

And if you fail to make that list, what the heck! You are great right where you are as long as you are really living from your Heart and making one more person's life better.

To the great us, you and I.

Igbokwe Vivian Ijeoma

scriptwriter87@gmail.com

twitter/Instagram: @club7teen

The 9 O' clock School

It is 9 O'clock; I am passing by this school and I hear the children singing worship songs. I ask myself, is this a children's Bible school or a learning center? Why should kids be singing by 9:00 am? Any establishment that would still be praying by 9:00 am isn't ready for business. And so when parents send their children to schools, they should demand the best for their kids.

The school should be a place where a child's potentials would be nurtured for the benefit of the society. Sometimes, this is far from our reality; a lot of times actually. You know, there was this guy in my street. He went to the best primary and secondary school in the city at the time. He attended one of the private universities in the country and finished with a first class. The last time we spoke he was involved in marketing a product for this MLM Company and was trying to get me into his team. I was overwhelmed with emotions and thoughts. What was the point of all that expensive education? So he would end up where most of us who attended the low class universities did?

One would think that those who attended these expensive universities will be the hope of this country. With their superior knowledge, they should make inventions and build companies to employ the rest of us. But they end up at same spot: either working in the companies of their rich parents or come into the labor market like the rest of us. There's usually nothing to show for all the money spent on their education. And you know why? There's a huge disconnect between our educational system and the current societal trends/needs.

How does one finish from agricultural economics and go into catering? How does one read dentistry and become a musician? How do you read civil engineering and work in the bank? And then some finish from law school and go into fashion designing. Most times, these businesses or trades are areas they are naturally skilled at. I am also a victim; I read Biology and here I am writing my life away. Why then do we not go for the courses that train us for our natural skills? Why does the university curriculum not cover courses like fashion designing, singing or dancing? Why do we even bother going to the university, spending all those huge sums to come out practicing in fields totally different from what we studied? Isn't it a waste of life, time and resources?

These days, people go to universities just to obtain the certificate without the intention to practice what they studied. They just attend to get the title, "University Graduate." For us girls, it even gets worse. "At least she attended the university, she will get a husband." This is for the case of a girl who is advanced in age and doesn't have a job or anything doing for income. Her life gets summarized with the rich icing of a prospective husband, just because she's a graduate. With mindsets like this, the proper purpose for education is very defeated.

Education is the hope of any society. It is the only way she advances in trades, economics, technology, medicine, psychology, human relations, politics, etc. When it is now a thing of title or alibi for marriage, it shows how threatened our educational system is.

We are doing this project in this community where we are encouraging reading and writing amongst indigent children of a rural community. Things are so bad here that a child of 9 years cannot spell his name. Our vision is to help such kids to read, write and develop a passion for learning; and we are focused on children in the primary school level. When I think about these kids, my heart breaks. What does the future really hold for them, I ask myself? Many of us finished from good universities and yet are still struggling with life. Many graduates cannot feed themselves or sustain their families. Most that have jobs are very unhappy, insecure of their jobs and are working on jobs they are over qualified and underpaid for. What then is the hope for a child who we are helping to read, write and spell his name in a society that doesn't have any room for him? I've been thinking hard on the kind of education we should be giving them. Hand crafts, maybe. Teach them, they produce and sell them to raise money to buy them shoes, books and food. This makes more sense to me, don't you think so?

The state of education in Nigeria and Africa as a whole is critical. It is about time our curriculum and courses are overhauled to meet up with current societal trends and needs. The world is leaving us behind and we have remained recipients of everything countries who invest in education produce. We have remained consumers and are paying dearly for it as we spend billions of dollars on foreign exchange and importations.

If we don't revamp our educational system, we will keep having lawyers who make clothes; engineers who make furniture and women who graduate from university knowing that they can comfortably land a husband. If we don't, we will keep having a society void of vision and order.  

scriptwriter87@gmail.com

Twitter/Instagram: @club7teen

THE MAN AND HIS EMPIRE

I want to remind (or probably educate) our governor, Rochas Okorocha, that empires never last; they usually self-destruct. Let him go back to history and refresh his memory- the Roman Empire,  the first and second French Empire, the German colonial Empire, the British Empire, the Japanese; these used to be forces to reckon with in their time of rule.  For any of these that still exist, they are a just a figment of what they used to be, both in resources and influences. Reason is that no man (or men) was ever created to cower under the oppression of another. Whenever he takes more than he can absorb, he rebels. Usually, it is bad for the oppressor. Aside the fact that slavery was going out of trade and a lot of people were speaking out against that evil, slave masters and plantation owners would tell you that it was getting increasingly expensive to quell slave uprisings.  The French revolution, a people's attempt to be free from social and economic oppression, would also serve to refresh his memory.

You know, Rochas got there and started suffering from amnesia. Of course, it has to be; if not how could he quickly forget how the people of Imo fought to see him become the governor? The story goes that some people refused to sleep and bathe for some three days or more to ensure that the election would not be rigged. It was an election victory that was celebrated beyond the borders of the sit. Now, he sits upon his throne and carries on with his agenda of oppression and frustration.

When he first came, he was the apple of our eyes. We believed our savior had come. He began to build roads; soon after the stories of suicides followed: Of how contractors would borrow huge sums from banks to construct roads and then our dictator would refuse to pay them. They thereafter commit suicide because the sums were much more than they could ever pay. A lot of us dismissed them as fabrications. Not long after, these same roads built by our messiah began to practically disintegrate. Now, the state of roads in Orlu and Umuguma are worse off than they used to be before Rochas began his road constructions. MCC, formerly a clean and well tarred road is now a mess. The same can be said of Weathral, Amakohia and several roads in the state before he began his road expansions. He begins to build a road, abandons it and goes to another. The road contractors begin to dig drainages along a street, they begin from a point, jump some distance, continue to dig; as such the drainages are not continuous and so water logs all the time in our drainages. Mosquito breeding is now on an outrageous level. Everywhere is dirty and stinks. It is now like the case of a mad man.

Nobody expects a messiah in a governor. However, every leader should be able to contribute their bit and make things a little better than they met it. Rochas has destroyed the beautiful and clean city we used to have. The worst is that people outside Imo assumes that we are living in heaven. I have a friend who would die defending Rochas. Yet, he lives in Abuja. How many people have the emergency response centers helped? How many people has he gainfully employed? How many roads did he build that are still in good standing? How many hospitals did he build in the different LGAs in Imo are functioning? (Can someone please educate our dictator that empty structures are never called hospitals. Buildings become hospitals when there are medical personnel, medical supplies and equipments, and all other auxiliary staff required to make a hospital run effectively.) How many skill acquisition sites built in his wife's name are functioning? How many roads, road dividers, and artificial fountains has he built and destroyed because he wants to build something else? How many structures has he built that are unused in Imo in State? If you come to IHOP, you see a lot of unused halls constructed. The Imo shopping mall that was constructed with mullions of naira lies there in waste. Our governor is busy but doing what? He is spending tax payers' money on useless constructions upon constructions. "Rochas is working."

So then, our governor in his first tenure makes education free up to tertiary level. In what part of the world is university education free? How do you fund such an unrealistic project?

A few months ago, he embarks on expanding bank road. So he breaks down the fountain falls at government house junction, breaks down all the road dividers, and breaks down all the walls of the banks along the road. Didn't he know he would expand that road before spending millions to build the fountain falls, the Douglas souvenir building that is now being destroyed by rainfall and the road dividers? Oh yes, Imo is now in the hands of a mad man who wakes up today and feels like breaking down a street, he goes ahead and does that. Tomorrow, he feels like building it and does just that. No plan, just wastes upon wastes. Now, he's done expanding the road, the traffic situation along that road is even poorer. People drive recklessly because the road is too wide and they are trying to maneuver the numerous potholes. Banks can't even put up their walls to reinstall their ATMs because the confused government who razed down their walls is asking them to pay a huge sum before reconstructing them. Is something not terribly wrong?

Why is everyone quiet? The state house of assembly members and state commissioners are just ghosts. They don't exist. We don't know if Imo state has such officers. In fact many people do not know the name of the deputy governor of the state. The voices of the Ezes (kings of autonomous communities)  of the lands have been mysteriously silenced. No one coughs. We only know our governor and the chief of staff who was formerly the commissioner for works, Uche Nwosu, the governor's son in-law. The moment he was made commissioner for works, all the C of O's in our state were revoked. So people began to pay again for properties that were already theirs. Once he was done enriching himself through that glorious project, he became the chief of staff. Praise God! And even so, each Christmas, while workers are hungry, our dictator spends hundreds of millions on street decorations and concerts. In fact, the only time I heard about the speaker of the house was sometime in the news, on YouTube actually, where I watched him shield our dictator as a Biafra protester hurled insults at him. Of course, he wasn't speaking anything as the speaker of the state house; he was doing the job of a security man. What can he say, when the dictator has sealed everyone's lips? There are no projects being done by the commissioner of works, or of education, or of youths and sports, or of any office for that matter. All we know is that "Rochas is working."

You see, we are Africans. We are people of traditions and cultures. There are markets, market days or particular structures that are symbolic to us. Thus, our dictator without consulting the community, decides to relocate an age long market to a new unfinished and swampy site, where a woman who sells pepper along the road will rent a shop from his government or  pay two million to buy it, not forgetting the numerous market levies that would be introduced. The worse part of it is that new market isn't even fully constructed and has a very serious issue of water logging. While in the keke on the Sunday morning after the demolition, a young man said that the demolished market is not in the master plan of the state and I nearly ate him alive. So what is the in the master plan? The hunger and frustration he daily causes people in this state? The potholes ridden roads? The floods? The haphazard drainages that are causing floods in this state? The indigenes who extorts from people under his watch? The continual slashing of salaries? The continual bringing down and reconstruction of structures irrelevant to people's sufferings? The comatose state of our school, legal and health systems in Imo? Which is in the master plan? This is a repeat of what took place when he began to destroy buildings last year to construct roads. We began to hear of suicide and the resultant increased crime rate. My hearts bleeds for our people.

I do not blame our sons and daughters who are still in his employ- especially the funny road contractors ( oh yes, they are funny. You need to see what they do in the name of road construction). I blame hunger and lack of employment. It's now a case survival. A contractor who haven't had a contract all year accepts to bring down people's source of livelihood or begin to construct a gutter he knows he would stop midway and thereby creating breeding sites for mosquitoes. I hail all of them as I hail the dictator. When we are asked to pray for leaders like him, I just know that prayers are wasted on him.

But just like I said earlier, let him go refresh his memory; Hitler finally went home. People get tired at some point. Empires crash. We have an Igbo proverb which says, “if one person cooks for the community, the community can finish the food but if the community cooks for one person, he can never finish the food." Let him take purgatives. People and history will serve him food one day.

scriptwriter87@gmail.com

Twitter/Instagram: @club7teen

THE INTERVIEW

STRUGGLES OF A NIGERIAN GRADUATE (PT 6)

I looked forward to Saturday. My friend told me that the recruitment agency recruits for banks. “I was soon going to be a banker, it didn't matter how much I would be paid”, I mused. The idea of dressing up and leaving the house everyday was very appealing, I could always write at night, I told myself repeatedly. I even reminded myself of that beautiful novelist who also worked as a customer care person in my bank. In my mind, everything was worked out. About my outfit, I decided that with one look, they will be convinced that I'm the woman for the job. I asked my cousin if my red suit and blue shoes were good enough, she replied, why not? I told her that I hadn't ever seen any banker in a red suit and then decided not to bother my head with colors. My own part was to look smart.

On the eve of the interview, I went to see my sister who is a banker so she would prep me for the interview. I told her of my outfit and she laughed me to scorn. "So you want to look like a butterfly to a bank interview?" There and then I remembered to get advice from tailors if you want to know about designs, not from carpenters. We overhauled my dressing for the "occasion" and we moved on to the preps.

"You see the importance of holding on to my phone?" I reminded her

"So you prefer to be shot than to allow those cult boys take your phone?" She replied

"But I didn't die. I am alive and I would have missed the interview if there was no phone for the company to contact me." I said to her.

Some days earlier, some petty thieves accosted me and took everything I had. I had some money and valuables in my bag; they took all of that but I held on to the Nokia torch phone that I had in my hand. They beat me, dragged me and even showed me a gun but I held to that one. In my heart, I wasn't going to let go of a means of companies contacting me for interviews. They have taken those ones, I'll hold to this one. Meanwhile, some other thieves had stolen my smart phone some weeks back, so this aunty here was not going to bulge. It worked because they eventually left me with miserable piece of device they must have thought I was willing to die for. When I saw the text for the interview a few days after, I remembered that struggle and also remembered that hard work pays.

On the morning of the interview, I took my time to get ready. Everyone adviced me to be in the venue one hour earlier. For what? I asked myself. The last interview I attended, I spent my last dime on a taxi drop yet I lost the job to a lady who came late. I purposed to be there by 10:00 am on the dot, the time I was given. I arrived there by 10:00 am as I planned to see many people standing outside. I found out that we were the second set and that the first set of interviewees  were already writing the written part of the interview. I got to mix up with some of the people standing,  and  I couldn't help but notice what people were wearing. Shiny suits as a result of too much ironing. Old and discolored clothes. Really bad shoes and so on. I concluded that truly, there is hunger in the animal kingdom. I also prayed there will be enough jobs to go round.

An hour later, we were still standing and so I walked in to meet the organizers. I saw just one man with several people crowding him. I wondered how a recruitment agency will have only one staff. I tried to make an excuse for them but none was handy. I advanced towards him and finally got his attention.

"Why are we still standing after an hour? Didn't you ask us to come by ten?" He made a shabby apology and asked me to give him a little time. Ten minutes after, he came out, gave us a paper to write down our names. Whilst we were doing that, he shared some papers to all of us. That was the interview questions and we were going to answer them standing. I couldn't believe my eyes. I met him again and told him to tell those who had written to stand up for us to sit and write ours. As they did, the seats were taken and I was still standing. Seeing that I was in a place of no order, I followed him to his own office and took one of his seats, with his permission of course. I gave the questions my best shot. They were tricky but a bit simple. I turned around to see everyone copying from everyone and I knew I had just come to waste my time.

For the oral interview, I noticed people were going in in pairs. Another wonder for me. I have always known interviews to be a private discussion between the interviewers and the interviewee. I sat down and patiently waited for my turn; it was such a long wait. One of the people who went in to be interviewed came out and said he was too qualified for the job; that's what the lady interview said, he said. I feared for this unknown job and kept waiting. I noticed that people I came earlier than they did were been called to go in, time after time. Once again, I approached the staff man, the all-round employee. He apologized and told me I will be called up soon. To while away time, I began to make small talks with those around me. I turned to the guy beside me and said,

"Maybe they will give you this job. You are the only whose dressing looks like a banker's. For example, this other guy is wearing converse with a bow tie. The other is wearing a shiny shoe and his shirt is too starched. The one that beats me is this one with his very fanciful suit and his colorful tie." He laughed. The lady beside caught on our jokes and began to chip in stories of her own. "I am a teacher. I just finished youth service. What do you do?" "Well, I'm looking for a job and I finished service in 2015." "And you are looking for this job? Don't worry, God will do it for you. God will open doors for you. God..." I smiled as she prophesied. I wished her same. The guy behind me didn't have a friendly look, so I didn't bother chatting him up. Me and my goons, we gisted and gisted until my phone fell off my hand and went mute. I became really annoyed this time. I think everything caught on my anger and impatience because I was called in immediately, with the well dressed guy. I wondered if it was a coincidence or if it was intentional.

When we got in, I saw a lady on not too well arranged hair, a casual top, jeans and flip-flops. I suffered both feelings of surprise and awkwardness at same time. To spend all that effort dressing up for an interview and my interviewer would have even been cool if I were wearing my nighties. We took our seats and she began speaking to the well dressed guy, which gave me, “the well dressed lady”, room to absorb my environment. He was a bit familiar with her, so they discussed and I waited. Moments later, she turned to me and asked the usual questions.

"Tell me about yourself."

"My name is....I am this and that... I have done this and that..."

"Well, from your experiences you will be a good marketer."

"Ma, I've sold a number of things in my life and I've helped to raise funds for the foundations I have volunteered for but I do not want to do bank marketing. I just can't do it."

She spent another ten minutes lecturing on me on how well suited I was for the job. As she spoke, I wondered if this was still an interview or a motivation class. When she was finally done, she told me to go meet her secretary/receptionist/assistant who will further instruct me. He gave me a 10 pages form to fill, accompanied by various certificates that would require me traveling to the moon to get some of them, and medical examinations and guarantor's detail, and so really much more. He ended with, "we will contact you when the companies are ready to interview you."

"So, what did we come here to do today?" a flabbergasted me asked

 "We invited you so we could match your skills and passion with a job opportunity."

 Match skills and passions indeed, I said to myself. I went home exhausted. The following Monday, I received the same text, for the same time, for another interview. 

THE RANGE ROVER MAN AND HIS LADY

THE STRUGGLES OF A NIGERIAN GRADUATE (PT 5)

I heard the voice of a panting man behind me and I turned around to know whose it was because it sounded so close. My eyes met the face of a man with a lot of scars. He had this rough look. I fixed my eyes at his to know his reason for running after me. He goes,

"My driver and I have been calling you. You refused to answer us. Why? "

I had this look crazy look on my face. I call it crazy for lack of no better word to use, and because it got people looking at the man and I. He reiterated,

"I said my driver and I have been calling you from the range rover packed over there, but you refused to answer us."

I still had the crazy look on my face. I was trying to make a meaning of the situation while I had my eyes on his eyes. Then the range rover man said,

"You look scared. Why?"

I practically lashed out at him.

"Oga, I don't understand what is going on and what is it you want from me." He smiled at me patronizingly and replied, “This girl, you are too scared oo. Anyway, my name is Ebuka, I live in Port Harcourt but I just came into Owerri. I work with Shell. Have you been to my office before?"

I concluded that either the guy was mad or my senses were raving. Anyway, at the mention of Shell, I looked at his shoes. They were old and the color was fading- he hadn't smelt the perfume of the security men who work Shell his entire  life; I deduced that myself.

I think the crazy on my face increased because people were almost stopping to know what was transpiring between me and the range rover man. I looked at him and calmly asked, "so what do you want from me?"

"I came into town to inspect the hostel they are building for me. Let's go into my car. I don't want kidnappers to kidnap me. I've been kidnapped in Owerri before."

"I'm going to church. I can't go to your car."

"You will go to church in Jesus name. Let's get into my car and we can drive to anywhere. Hurry, I'm conscious of kidnappers." By this time, I was getting choked by the lies.

"Oga, did you hear me? I said I'm going to church and I'm going now and I'm not going into your car."

He smiled and asked me, "Are you married?" Where are you from?"

"No, I am from Imo State."

As I made to walk away from obviously a time wasting activity, he asked for my number. He had his phones in hands, none of them a smart phone. I asked him to type mine into his phone. He insisted that I bring out my phone, give to him so he would type his number into my phone. He said, "I want you to flash me when you get home." I looked at him again and tried to imagine what sick game he was playing this time since the first hadn’t worked. He finally agreed to type mine on his phone. As I walked away, I couldn't help asking myself over and over again, "what is wrong with men?" Is that part of the revised curriculum on how to get us girls?

 For the record, I didn't see any range rover. 

STRUGGLES OF A NIGERIAN GRADUATE (PT 4)

-THE CRACK

I remember a series of occurrence in my undergraduate years that I’d like to share. Although I still stammer now, it is largely suppressed and a miracle I will forever celebrate in my life. I actually speak and do presentations before large audiences now; it was impossible in my university years. Stammering is usually associated with stress. If you are a stammerer and find yourself stammering so much at any particular period, take a break and give yourself some good rest. I never knew this then. Even if I did, I wouldn’t have done anything about it then. 100 level was very stressful. For example, to make one payment, you might get to school by 7:00 am and leave around past 6:00 pm.

Getting done with clearance was something to celebrate for. And when we thought we were through with the unbearable stress of clearance, lecturers started bombarding us with assignments upon assignments. They ensured we had permanent frowns and strains on our faces.

With all that stress, talking was a very difficult thing for me to do. I had to ask directions to practically everywhere because I was a fresh student. The worst was when I had to pronounce words that begin with L, M or H. Sometimes while stammering, the person I was trying to get directions from would walk away. He probably had a lecture to catch up with and the words weren’t coming out. Some others will smile and patiently wait. It was so embarrassing. I considered writing down my questions but I didn’t want to give the impression that I was dumb. So, I stood my grounds and stammered on. To add to the wahala, it gave me chest pains to stammer. Consequently, I got to the hostel each day with pains in my chest. 100 level na wa!

In my department, we were quiet few in number. Somehow, I was chosen as the assistant course representative. The first day, I conversed with the course rep, he stammered so much. I met my match that day. To make light of the situation, I smiled and said, “ah ah now, if you want to talk, talk. Stop cracking.” We both laughed and it was cool because afterwards, he would crack and I would crack and we both cracked together. Cracking, then, became beautiful because I didn’t need to feel embarrassed cracking before a fellow cracker.

One cool evening, as I left the school after studying, a guy approached me. He stood before for five minutes before he spoke. I was surprised because I knew I wasn’t that pretty that a guy would be dumbfounded standing before me.  I also knew my hair was not on fire, what could it be? When he finally spoke, I had to hold myself from laughing.                                                                                                    

“Wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-what is your name?

“Vivian.”

““Wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo…?” I didn’t wait for him to finish. I quickly answered, guessing what the question would be.

“Education Biology. 100 level.” I had to cool down and wait the next ten minutes for him to introduce himself to me. My brothers and sisters, no be small thing. His name was Emeka. When he said he was in third year, I felt pity for him. How was he coping in school with this kind of heavy cracking? In fact, it wasn’t just cracking; it was computer shut down. He finally landed- he liked me. Most of what he said, I had to deduce because I could barely hear what he was saying. I told him I would think about it but I knew I wouldn’t go out with him. How would we communicate seeing we both crack? Through sign language? I imagined marrying someone like him. Our children will simply be dumb (lol).

Brother Ignatius-he was a nice brother in fellowship that had a sweet smile for everyone. Sometimes, he would accompany the smile with a hand wave. We all loved Brother Ignatius. He never greeted, he just smiled and waved.  One day Brother Ignatius decided he would greet me. Why me?  Why not someone else in fellowship? By the time he was done saying good afternoon, five minutes had passed. Of course, he didn’t stop that day. Every fellowship day, Brother Ignatius would greet me.  I would patiently wait for him to finish with a kind smile and kind look on my face. One day, he took it a step higher and asked for my phone number. I gave it to him. Whenever he called, I would tell everyone in the room to keep quiet; that Brother Ignatius was calling. I would then wait for five minutes on the phone for Brother Ignatius to just say hello and ask how my day went.

After a while, Brother Ignatius said he wanted us to talk over midnight call. I nearly fainted. Why me? We spend 5-10 minutes just to exchange pleasantries in the day, how long would it take in the night; especially judging by the fact that the call would be free and Brother Ignatius would be free to crack as long as he wanted? Why wouldn’t Brother Ignatius write what he wanted to say in a note and I would reply? Whenever he asked for a date, I would give an excuse. Finally, I had to give him a date. On the d-day, I dreaded nightfall and especially 2:00 am, our appointed time. When he finally called, I nearly cried. I battled with sleep on my end, and thunderstorm from his end. He stuttered so much, I pitied his teeth and lips.

Brother Ignatius just called me that midnight to know how I was and how I was coping in school. That night, as he cracked, I concluded that Emeka is simply an orator. With Emeka, it was computer shutdown. With Brother Ignatius, NEPA took the light.

Scriptwriter87@gmail.com

Twitter/Instagram: @club7teen

Facebook: VivianBeulahIgbokwe 

STRUGGLES OF A NIGERIAN GRADUATE (PT 3)

-THE FOOLISHNESS OF A FAITH

One of the foolishness of my undergraduate years was joining a particular campus fellowship that turned our lives upside down; but of course we didn’t see it at the time. I am a strong Christian and will never stop being that; however, I’ll still admit that I was really foolish then. I wasn’t foolish, then how do you explain a fellowship fixing a regional meeting during our examination period and we attended? Those days, how we knew the strong Christians were those who obeyed every word the campus pastor said, those who gave gifts (some of them outrageous for students) and those who attended our several prolonged meetings.

I don’t remember the explanation given but we all went and those of us that were studying education courses missed two papers. I recall a story they told us. One of our pastors then wasn’t doing well in school, down to his second year. After obeying a more senior pastor to go for a meeting during one of his exams and giving some offering, he returned to school that semester to make straight A’s in his courses. He later graduated with a first class. My brothers and sisters, in what world is this possible? How do you fail in 100 and 200 levels and graduate with a first class or even a second class upper? We were so gullible. We used to believe everything. Of course I failed and had to carry over those courses.

Many of us were in our teenage years, it was so easy to influence our minds to believe or do anything. I had a friend who made fun of those things we did and I saw him as junior anti-christ. How could he not see we were crazy for Jesus? Some of the smarter ones attended church in town and believe me, they were better for it. The senior pastors just left the campus pastors to do things as they liked; I wish they paid more attention to the campus fellowship.

Several times when we had chemistry practical, they asked us to go on evangelism or share faith-based materials on campus. Your guess is right, I failed those courses because attendance mattered to the lecturer and I didn’t know.

One time, I lost an aunt. She wasn’t just one of my aunts; she was special to my family. When my mother died, she was there for us. She would do everything a mother would do and I loved her dearly. On the day of her burial, the fellowship had a program fixed. I went to the pastor to ask permission to attend the burial. He told me to allow the dead to bury the dead and showed me where it was in the scriptures. So, I lost the opportunity to say goodbye to a mother who loved me; I lost an opportunity to be with almost all the members of my extended family. My father who had been a church elder for 25 years at the time was also a dead burying another dead. When my parents (my dad and stepmom) drove by the hostel that day to pick my sister and I, I told them I had important things to do in school that weekend. How could I tell them that they were the dead going to bury another dead? Those words worried me for days.

During the students’ week, they told us kings and queens do not participate in rag day. Boy! Was I broke that week? Thank God for my sister who participated in the rag day. If not, hunger would have reduced my life span that week. As I ate the food she bought with the rag day money, I wondered who was fooling who?

And then they would ask us to give offerings of 10k, 20k, 50k, 100k as students; hold services in a hotel we paid for through our noses. Some students did unthinkable things to give such money, feeling awesome that they obeyed instructions. Prayer meetings would stretch from 5:00 pm to 9:00 pm. Tell me which energy is left for the student to study with? My sister would talk and talk, sometimes I would feel her hate me a bit but it didn’t matter then. It was all part of the price.

So you tell me, if I wasn’t foolish then, who was?

Scriptwriter87@gmail.com

Twitter/Instagram: @club7teen

Facebook: VivianBeulahIgbokwe

Struggles of the Nigerian Graduate (PT 2)

SCHOOL WAS MYSTERIOUS JUST LIKE THAT

If you are like me, you must have graduated with lots of hope and enthusiasm. I even thought I would graduate with a first class; please don’t ask for my G.P. I wouldn’t give a proud answer.  We took our final year exams with a sense of urgency. We just couldn’t wait to write our last papers and leave school. My final exams went pretty well without much drama except for the part when I got stuck in one paper. About that course- we were supposed to identify animals we had never seen before (not even till now). The worst part of it is that the course hand-outs were photocopied several times over, so that we couldn’t see the diagrams of the insects clearly. And we had to identify and list the differences between insects we could barely see in the hand-outs. As if this wasn’t bad enough, the lecturer released a new handout each week, some on the very week of the paper and I can count how many times he came to class; and when he did, I don’t know how much we absorbed what he taught. He pretty much spoke over our heads. School was fun like that.

School sometimes was a huge joke to me, (with respect to school management and lecturers’ efforts). For example, in my 100 level, we had to take a Microbiology Practical Class with a number of other Departments. We numbered more than a thousand to be handled by one lecturer in a single classroom. During the Practical classes, the lecturer practically whispered her words. If you miss the first two rows, you would only see her mouth move. She never made any effort to raise her voice. There were no sound systems or projectors to help, not to talk speak of the very stuffy condition we had to endure; and the school expected her to handle over 1,000 students. Trust me, she maximized the situation. She ensured she enhanced the situation by whispering her lectures.

Did I tell you about our results? There was a time I had this problem with a particular result (it was very common amongst students those days, and probably still does). I prepared well for the exam and did all my assignments. I was surprised to get either a C or D, I’m not sure which one it was. I went to the lecturer’s office to challenge the result. There were only a few lecturers you could try that with in my school those days. I met the lecturer in his office to explain my problem to him. He asked me to bend down and search a pile of papers in his shelf for my department’s exam sheets. I searched for over fifteen minutes. Each time I got up, he would ask me to search again or point to a different pile of paper for me to search. When I realized what was happening, I got up and refused to continue the search.  I sat down and pleaded with him to remark my script, I was sure of how I answered questions in the exam. He told me a long tale of how he would have married me if he had met me in his younger years. I tried to bring the discussion back to the issue at hand and he blatantly told me he couldn’t do anything about it. He couldn’t or he wouldn’t- I didn’t understand the difference. But the old man had made up his mind and I soon found out it was futile to push unless I was prepared to keep bending down to search his entire office and most likely bend somewhere else.

This man never came for lectures. So, there was no way he knew any of our names in person. He sold us his textbook to read and prepare for his exams. Those days, we usually read to prepare for exams, not necessarily to get informed. I really prepared well for his exam and it was a heart broken me that left his office when he said he couldn’t help. He didn’t even ask for my name or matriculation name. I went to my room, turned the music loud and danced as hard as I could to suppress my frustration. You wouldn’t believe my surprise when the result was reposted and I had a “B”. School was mysterious just like that.

Scriptwriter87@gmail.com

Twitter/Instagram: @club7teen

THE STRUGGLES OF A NIGERIAN GRADUATE

(I’m about to start a little (weekly) series)

To share with you

And hope you would understand

And maybe even feel my pains

And then my struggles

And possibly relate with it

And I’ll be as sincere as I can

(I can’t lay all my shit out there)

And hope you will share your story with me too

And together we can prove

No matter what life throws at us

We define we

Because we are the baddest

So let’s get on this ride

And push really hard

Because the future will only give

To that Nigerian Graduate who struggled

Who even dared to graduate

WHEN DEMOCRACY SUCKS

I have abstained from writing about our leaders for sometime but I can hardly hold this one in. Last week, I saw a video of Imo State on Instagram. I couldn’t believe I live in the same state where those miracles were happening. If you believe that Imo State is now heaven on earth, you might be right; just come and see for yourself.

Last Christmas, I saw a few tourism buses around town. I heard our governor brought them for tourism. I never saw those buses carry people on tourism; maybe it did but I never saw. Sometimes, I imagine the places a tourist would visit in Owerri- Shoprite, House of Freeda, the Owerri-Las Vegas Water Falls (warehouse junction), Ibari Ogwa Village and for the very important people, probably our governor’s Speed bath (which is actually his lodge, and which he changed the name to Rochas Foundation University after the president’s visit last year). I stand to be corrected though. If you know anymore tourism sites in Owerri, please add it to the list.

That same last year, when our state government were breaking down shops and offices at Item street, I asked one of their staff I was acquainted why it was so seeing there was hardly any traffic along that road, and that people were being put out of business and being hastily ushered into poverty. He replied the government was expanding and beautifying those roads for tourism (maybe it confirms the reason those buses we saw were brought in to the state). He asked me to watch out for the Christmas decoration. Yes, we had quite some nice Xmas decoration all over town but does it make sense?

The greatest problem in Imo State is unemployment. Our graduates become keke drivers. More than 30% of Keke drivers, if not more, are graduates. The rest play Bet Naija, invest in ponzi schemes, go into internet fraud, and do all manner of things to get by. When the government introduced the “Youth Must Work” scheme, graduates were paid twenty thousand naira per month at first, owed for 7 months, and then paid off after deducting seven thousand naira per month from their salary. We are all Nigerians experiencing the same biting economy; tell me how does anyone survive on 13K or 20K per month? Pensioners were seen some time ago lying on roads in protest, asking to be paid their money. This is after taking these old people through a rigorous process of data validation.

Our government is aware of all these and yet their answer is Christmas decoration and breaking down of roads, offices and destruction of business premises for road expansion; and the more recent multi-storey car park along bank road, and several other wonderful projects.

The people in Imo State are suffering. There’s so much frustration in the state and yet all we see are sign posts and bill boards that says, “Rochas is working.” What’s the use of all these projects when the people are suffering and already established businesses are sent packing? Can’t our government build industries and employ our youths? Most of the items we use in the state are either from the western part of Nigeria or imported. If the government cannot build, can’t they invite investors? (Although I’m not a fan of inviting investors. That is how they colonize your economy.) We have a teeming population of youths. That is trouble brewing.

So when I see the “Rochas is working” signposts, I’m tempted to think that he’s building with his money and not the state funds. He is only providing leadership to state’s resources and look how effective he’s been at that. Abandoned road projects littered all over the state, yet they keep breaking down more on a weekly basis; severe unemployment with the presence of a vibrant youth population; constant repair of roads. Why can’t our government use good materials and good companies to construct  instead of these constant repairs that waste tax payers’ money?

We see all these and yes, we can’t do anything. We can’t even protest. People are too fearful and too hungry to organize protests. A few of us can only blog or write on Facebook and then keep quiet. The State House of Assembly acts if they have been bewitched. They can’t talk because of the silencing power of money and political offices.

We can only wait for the oracle to finish his tenure and hope that he will not install a puppet when he leaves. At times like this, Democracy simply sucks.

Scriptwriter87@gmail.com

Twitter/Instagram: @club7teen