FUNKE ADETUTU
A feeling of nostalgia, I will call it. It’s just the feeling that overwhelmed my tired body as I passed through Outer Marina last Wednesday on my way home from work. I long for home just as much as I miss the beautiful lights that adorned this road a few weeks ago. The festive season is over and so the Outer Marina has been stripped off its glamour and gleam.
There is no one who passed through some major areas on Lagos Island that would deny the fact that the Island was beautifully decorated for Christmas. The Outer Marina, Falomo Roundabout and Ajose Adeogun, were all remarkably decorated and I sincerely wished Christmas was everyday.
Passing through Outer Marina that Wednesday night, I was sad that the lights and other decorations were nowhere to be found. The importance of what I’m saying becomes apparent when I remember that taste depends very much on the standards with which we as individuals are familiar, and that the ability to enjoy the best and only the best is conditioned upon intimate acquaintance with the best.
You will agree with me that lighting is a great art, and a great deal of creativity must have gone into the decoration of those areas. If you will permit me to delve into philosophy, to remember the thoughts and words of Aristotle in The Poetics on beauty and Horace’s in On the Sublime, both philosophers believe that the sublime is what can catapult the individual into another world, a place where inspiration abounds. Therefore, the man who is thrown into constant association with inferior work either revolts against his surroundings or suffers a disintegration of aim and standard, which perceptibly lowers the plane on which he lives. In either case, the power of enjoyment from contact with a genuine piece of creative work is sensibly diminished, and may be finally lost. The delicacy of the mind is both precious and perishable; it can be preserved only by associations which confirm and satisfy it. For this reason, among others, the best decorations which a man who appreciates beauty should see are those that are awe-inspiring. Inferior lighting not only wastes his time, but dulls the edge of his perception, thereby diminishing his capacity for delight!
Hence, the kind of feeling I experienced when I first saw the beautifully decorated streets of Lagos Island were not only susceptible to cultivation, but very quickly responded to appeals which were made to it by noble or beautiful objects. It is essentially a feeling, but one which depends very largely on intelligence. It is strengthened, made sensitive and responsive by constant contact with the objects which call it out.
It’s just some feeling that is difficult to analyse because it is intangible and indefinite. It is subtly diffused. It so difficult to explain such that a close friend who had the same experience could not help but exclaim: “Lagos Island is unusually beautiful this Christmas. I wish it could be like this always.”
But don’t be taken aback by the way my friend and I were gushing about Lagos. Life always evades us, no matter how keen and exhaustive our search may be. In the past, as residents of Lagos, most of us were so entirely out of touch with the spirit of art in this busy new world that we were not quite convinced of its reality. We thought such beauty was alien to the streets of Lagos. But Fashola’s administration has proved us wrong. He seems to believe that as residents of this state, we deserve much more. He wants us to know that life could be good and decorative, and that a certain pleasure flows from its beauty. But we are sceptical of its significance in the life of the race, of its deep necessity in the development of that life, and of its supreme educational value. And our scepticism, it must be frankly said, grows out of our ignorance. It was sad to kiss and say goodbye to such a beautiful sight. I just wish like my friend that Christmas is everyday.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
A day out in the beauty of Pretoria
FUNKE ADETUTU
The light rain shower of the previous day results in a rather chilly harmattan cold which makes the body shiver this morning. The tall buildings at the Melrose Arch cannot contain the strong wind blowing across the area. Even the hot cups of coffee which we gulp at breakfast do not help much. However, it is in this atmosphere that we find our way towards the waiting coach on the other side of the street. We await the arrival of the other members of the group who are still busy at the breakfast table, and before long, we begin the journey to Pretoria.
As we proceed, beautiful landscapes with mountains serving as backdrops greet our eyes. No doubt, one could have guessed that the sight would inspire another masterpiece from Picasso!
In the city centre of Pretoria, we move through many streets, leaving notable departmental stores like Shoprite and the famous Woolworth behind us as we navigate towards the Union building, Pretoria’s most famous landmark.
The Union Building is situated on Meintjeskop, the highest point of old Pretoria. It symbolises the authority of the state and the status of Pretoria as the headquarters of the national government. Greg of Bophelo Tours, our guide, later explains to us that Meintjeskop is situated on the eastern boundary of Elandsfontein, one of the two farms on which Pretoria was originally established in 1855.
“The farm belonged to President Wessel Pretorius, after whom the city was named,” explains Greg. “Pretorius sold the portion of the farm on which the Union Buildings stand to Andries Francois du Toit, Pretoria’s first magistrate, who sold the land to Stephanus Jacobus Meintjes, after whom Meintjeskop was named.”
The design of the Union Building is breathtaking. Right in front of the building, to the left, is an expansive garden that is neatly mown and kept. Few people lie on the lush carpet grass, basking in the rays of the sun. A few metres further down, a couple and their bridal train are engrossed in a photo shooting session. “Sorry we are barging in on your wedding,” says Tsholofelo Mogale of South African Tourism, as we walk towards the newly-weds, full of admiration. But there is no response from the train, who are rather overjoyed to notice the rude interuption.
A few minutes later, we return to the Union Building to admire its magnificient heights with the Torch of Peace burning brightly before it. The Union Building was built to house the governmnent departments of the new union of South Africa in 1910, and is one of Sir Hebert Baker’s finest designs.
Greg also tells us that the much-admired garden was designed by Baker as a public park, modelled on those of the famous Villa d’Este at Tivoli near Rome in Italy. From Church Street, we look over the wide expanse of lawns bounded on the east and west by tall avenues that slope to the public road which traverses the length of the buildings. This road meanders up the western slope from the city in easy curves, which makes us have a glimpse of the building from different angles as we proceed up the hill.
“The design of the building is determined largely by the nature of the site,” Grag explains. “Baker chose the neo-classical style of the Italian Renaissnace for the overall design, blended with that of the English Renaissance. This, he also combined with elements of Cape Dutch architecture, such as the decoratively carved main doorways and fanlight, the wrought-iron work and balustrading in the smaller areas of the rotunda, which is reminiscent of the Cape Town Castle.
In addition, during construction, the most modern electrically-driven machines in the world at the time were used to turn the granite and freestone for the columns and baulstrades.”
As we look keenly at the brownish building, we realise that the redstones, columns and walls are even more smoothly finished, and the craftmaship displayed in the stonework shows a perfection which one may say the work of any artist has not achieved before.
From the Union Building, the coach meanders towards the Church Square, which is a beehive of activities when we arrive. Families, little boys and girls, middle-aged men and women are all over the place, taking photographs, chatting, exchanging pleasantries or relaxing on the lush grass. A small group of people cluster around because it is a beautiful way to relax at midday on a Friday.
The imposing statue of Paul Kruger is unmistakable in the park. The statue was completed by the famous sculptor, Anton van Wouw. Kruger is a former president of South Africa. His term in office coincided with the discovery of gold on the Witwatersrand in 1886, which led to an influx of foreign fortune-seekers and miners, and eventually the outbreak of the Anglo-Boer war in 1899. The statue was completed in 1899, and only arrived in Maputo after the outbreak of the war, where it remained until after the war. It was eventually erected in the Prince’s park, Church Street West, in 1913. but in 1925 iwas moved and erected in front of the Pretoria Railway Station before it was finally brought to the Church Square in 1954. This incessant movement of the statue explains the blisters which now cover it.
The Church Square is regarded by many as the cradle of the city that eventually developed into the capital of South Africa. History has it that at the beginning of the 18th century, white missionaries and explorers visited the region in the north of the Vall River. The Voortrekkers, after expelling Mzilikaze to Zimbabwe in 1838, were the first to lay out farms and settle in Pretoria permanently. Church Square was origainally the marketplace where farmers gathered with their ox wagons and tents to observe nagmaal, otherwise known as the holy communion.
Overlooking the park is the the Law Chamber Building, which is the oldest of the western facade buildings. Built for the African Board of Executors and the Trust Company, it was designed in the Flemish style by Johannesburg architects. Beside the Law Chamber Building is the General Post Office, located on the northwestern side of the Church Square. Its location on the main square is typical of many world cities, Greg explains. The present Post Office, a four-storey building with plastered facade in the neo-renaissance style, is the fourth for the old Pretoria and is erected on the site of the previous one, a long single-storey sandstone structure.
The National Bank Building is next to the Post Office. It houses the First Transvaal Bank, founded specifically to administer the government funds of the Zuid-Afrikaansche Republiek. The Palace of Justice on the northern side of the Church Square depicts interesting deviations from the other buildings around the park, and its architechtural design speaks of a true masterpiece of the neo-Italian renaissance style.
The light rain shower of the previous day results in a rather chilly harmattan cold which makes the body shiver this morning. The tall buildings at the Melrose Arch cannot contain the strong wind blowing across the area. Even the hot cups of coffee which we gulp at breakfast do not help much. However, it is in this atmosphere that we find our way towards the waiting coach on the other side of the street. We await the arrival of the other members of the group who are still busy at the breakfast table, and before long, we begin the journey to Pretoria.
As we proceed, beautiful landscapes with mountains serving as backdrops greet our eyes. No doubt, one could have guessed that the sight would inspire another masterpiece from Picasso!
In the city centre of Pretoria, we move through many streets, leaving notable departmental stores like Shoprite and the famous Woolworth behind us as we navigate towards the Union building, Pretoria’s most famous landmark.
The Union Building is situated on Meintjeskop, the highest point of old Pretoria. It symbolises the authority of the state and the status of Pretoria as the headquarters of the national government. Greg of Bophelo Tours, our guide, later explains to us that Meintjeskop is situated on the eastern boundary of Elandsfontein, one of the two farms on which Pretoria was originally established in 1855.
“The farm belonged to President Wessel Pretorius, after whom the city was named,” explains Greg. “Pretorius sold the portion of the farm on which the Union Buildings stand to Andries Francois du Toit, Pretoria’s first magistrate, who sold the land to Stephanus Jacobus Meintjes, after whom Meintjeskop was named.”
The design of the Union Building is breathtaking. Right in front of the building, to the left, is an expansive garden that is neatly mown and kept. Few people lie on the lush carpet grass, basking in the rays of the sun. A few metres further down, a couple and their bridal train are engrossed in a photo shooting session. “Sorry we are barging in on your wedding,” says Tsholofelo Mogale of South African Tourism, as we walk towards the newly-weds, full of admiration. But there is no response from the train, who are rather overjoyed to notice the rude interuption.
A few minutes later, we return to the Union Building to admire its magnificient heights with the Torch of Peace burning brightly before it. The Union Building was built to house the governmnent departments of the new union of South Africa in 1910, and is one of Sir Hebert Baker’s finest designs.
Greg also tells us that the much-admired garden was designed by Baker as a public park, modelled on those of the famous Villa d’Este at Tivoli near Rome in Italy. From Church Street, we look over the wide expanse of lawns bounded on the east and west by tall avenues that slope to the public road which traverses the length of the buildings. This road meanders up the western slope from the city in easy curves, which makes us have a glimpse of the building from different angles as we proceed up the hill.
“The design of the building is determined largely by the nature of the site,” Grag explains. “Baker chose the neo-classical style of the Italian Renaissnace for the overall design, blended with that of the English Renaissance. This, he also combined with elements of Cape Dutch architecture, such as the decoratively carved main doorways and fanlight, the wrought-iron work and balustrading in the smaller areas of the rotunda, which is reminiscent of the Cape Town Castle.
In addition, during construction, the most modern electrically-driven machines in the world at the time were used to turn the granite and freestone for the columns and baulstrades.”
As we look keenly at the brownish building, we realise that the redstones, columns and walls are even more smoothly finished, and the craftmaship displayed in the stonework shows a perfection which one may say the work of any artist has not achieved before.
From the Union Building, the coach meanders towards the Church Square, which is a beehive of activities when we arrive. Families, little boys and girls, middle-aged men and women are all over the place, taking photographs, chatting, exchanging pleasantries or relaxing on the lush grass. A small group of people cluster around because it is a beautiful way to relax at midday on a Friday.
The imposing statue of Paul Kruger is unmistakable in the park. The statue was completed by the famous sculptor, Anton van Wouw. Kruger is a former president of South Africa. His term in office coincided with the discovery of gold on the Witwatersrand in 1886, which led to an influx of foreign fortune-seekers and miners, and eventually the outbreak of the Anglo-Boer war in 1899. The statue was completed in 1899, and only arrived in Maputo after the outbreak of the war, where it remained until after the war. It was eventually erected in the Prince’s park, Church Street West, in 1913. but in 1925 iwas moved and erected in front of the Pretoria Railway Station before it was finally brought to the Church Square in 1954. This incessant movement of the statue explains the blisters which now cover it.
The Church Square is regarded by many as the cradle of the city that eventually developed into the capital of South Africa. History has it that at the beginning of the 18th century, white missionaries and explorers visited the region in the north of the Vall River. The Voortrekkers, after expelling Mzilikaze to Zimbabwe in 1838, were the first to lay out farms and settle in Pretoria permanently. Church Square was origainally the marketplace where farmers gathered with their ox wagons and tents to observe nagmaal, otherwise known as the holy communion.
Overlooking the park is the the Law Chamber Building, which is the oldest of the western facade buildings. Built for the African Board of Executors and the Trust Company, it was designed in the Flemish style by Johannesburg architects. Beside the Law Chamber Building is the General Post Office, located on the northwestern side of the Church Square. Its location on the main square is typical of many world cities, Greg explains. The present Post Office, a four-storey building with plastered facade in the neo-renaissance style, is the fourth for the old Pretoria and is erected on the site of the previous one, a long single-storey sandstone structure.
The National Bank Building is next to the Post Office. It houses the First Transvaal Bank, founded specifically to administer the government funds of the Zuid-Afrikaansche Republiek. The Palace of Justice on the northern side of the Church Square depicts interesting deviations from the other buildings around the park, and its architechtural design speaks of a true masterpiece of the neo-Italian renaissance style.
Monday, January 12, 2009
What happened to all the men?!
What happened to all the men?!
FUNKE ADETUTU
The title of my piece this week was informed by a cry of frustration uttered by Aderito Caldeira, a male journalist from Mozambique in the Miss World media group, after dinner at the Kitchen Bar in Sandton.
His exclamation tried to seek answer to the one million dollar question which had been playing on our minds since we landed on the shores of South Africa last week. We noticed that at every café, bar and kitchen women were seated around tables without any male companion. A kind of silent revolution, you’d agree?
Since we were from a rather conservative society, it was rather astonishing to see women seated around the table in like manner. It was unbelievable that they looked unperturbed and they did not consider their being together a sin like many of us would see it.
“Have you guys realised that women are all over the place here?” asked Aderito in furtherance to his earlier observation. “Yes, we have noticed it too,” replied Yemisi, another journalist from Nigeria. “It’s a revolutionary step against the male folk,” I added. “They are silently telling the world that they can do without the men.” “Yes, I agree with you,” said Yemisi.
Sincerely, I can’t blame some South Africa women, white, black or Afrikaan, with this kind of mindset. They must have been tired of the many lies told by some men. Some of men are just a pack of cheaters, liars and deceivers. Those women we saw seated at the table that evening must be saying no to the many flimsy excuses given by most men. For instance, they were probably fed up with men who wouldn’t pick their phones. And when they do they’d simply lied that they are in Makurdi whereas they are with some woman in Sokoto. They are tired of men who only see them as sex objects.
These women must have been through many psychological traumas and they must have been dealt a big blow by the lying nature of men. Hence they are not bothered if they are tagged lesbians even when they are not. It could be that they genuinely prefer the company a female friend to that of a male friend.
All they wanted, it seems, is a liberation from a world and society that had been silent about their woes. They believe if a man would not bring them joy, they’ll rather seek it elsewhere, in the bossom of a fellow woman. I’m not an advocate of lesbianism, don’t get me wrong. But some events must have forced some women to take the stance they now take on certain issues bothering on both sexes.
They just couldn’t stand the domineering nature of men who at times could be too selfish to consider a woman as being a fellow human being. Some men tend to treat a woman based on her feminity rather than the substance contained in her soul as a human being. For them, the categorisation between men and women should be based on sexism. They have forgotten that women, like men are human beings with souls. They feel hurt, they feel being discriminated against. They need joy, peace, happiness and power like the men. They want to be in control and take charge. They don’t want to be relegated to the background. They want to have a voice. They want to speak and be heard. No woman wants are words to fall to the ground when she speaks. An average woman does not want to be cheated on. She cannot stand sharing her man with another woman. An average man would tell you: “it’s a man’s world. It’s in the nature of men to date more than one woman. It’s in the nature of the married ones to cheat on their wives.” But it’s a crime for a woman to date more than one man. It’s a taboo that must not be said on the rooftop! She is the only one who must adhere to the rule of one woman, one man but for the man it’s one man, many women. What a crazy world ours is!
Therefore, I salute the courage of those South African women and other women across the globe who are saying ‘no’ to a chauvinistic society that is too selfish and pretentious to pay attention to their anguish. Women are gradually coming out of their shells raising up the banner of freedom of expression and the freedom to chose where to be and with whom. It’s not supposed to be a male-dominated world but one that should give room for both sexes to thrive without being sexist. It’s about a world full of human beings and not “males and females,” “he and she” to use those discriminatory words in the English language. It’s all about a world populated by people who are selfless and willing to help one another. It’s about people respecting one another without any form of discrimination based on sex or colour. So that we all won’t go asking what happened to all the men?!
FUNKE ADETUTU
The title of my piece this week was informed by a cry of frustration uttered by Aderito Caldeira, a male journalist from Mozambique in the Miss World media group, after dinner at the Kitchen Bar in Sandton.
His exclamation tried to seek answer to the one million dollar question which had been playing on our minds since we landed on the shores of South Africa last week. We noticed that at every café, bar and kitchen women were seated around tables without any male companion. A kind of silent revolution, you’d agree?
Since we were from a rather conservative society, it was rather astonishing to see women seated around the table in like manner. It was unbelievable that they looked unperturbed and they did not consider their being together a sin like many of us would see it.
“Have you guys realised that women are all over the place here?” asked Aderito in furtherance to his earlier observation. “Yes, we have noticed it too,” replied Yemisi, another journalist from Nigeria. “It’s a revolutionary step against the male folk,” I added. “They are silently telling the world that they can do without the men.” “Yes, I agree with you,” said Yemisi.
Sincerely, I can’t blame some South Africa women, white, black or Afrikaan, with this kind of mindset. They must have been tired of the many lies told by some men. Some of men are just a pack of cheaters, liars and deceivers. Those women we saw seated at the table that evening must be saying no to the many flimsy excuses given by most men. For instance, they were probably fed up with men who wouldn’t pick their phones. And when they do they’d simply lied that they are in Makurdi whereas they are with some woman in Sokoto. They are tired of men who only see them as sex objects.
These women must have been through many psychological traumas and they must have been dealt a big blow by the lying nature of men. Hence they are not bothered if they are tagged lesbians even when they are not. It could be that they genuinely prefer the company a female friend to that of a male friend.
All they wanted, it seems, is a liberation from a world and society that had been silent about their woes. They believe if a man would not bring them joy, they’ll rather seek it elsewhere, in the bossom of a fellow woman. I’m not an advocate of lesbianism, don’t get me wrong. But some events must have forced some women to take the stance they now take on certain issues bothering on both sexes.
They just couldn’t stand the domineering nature of men who at times could be too selfish to consider a woman as being a fellow human being. Some men tend to treat a woman based on her feminity rather than the substance contained in her soul as a human being. For them, the categorisation between men and women should be based on sexism. They have forgotten that women, like men are human beings with souls. They feel hurt, they feel being discriminated against. They need joy, peace, happiness and power like the men. They want to be in control and take charge. They don’t want to be relegated to the background. They want to have a voice. They want to speak and be heard. No woman wants are words to fall to the ground when she speaks. An average woman does not want to be cheated on. She cannot stand sharing her man with another woman. An average man would tell you: “it’s a man’s world. It’s in the nature of men to date more than one woman. It’s in the nature of the married ones to cheat on their wives.” But it’s a crime for a woman to date more than one man. It’s a taboo that must not be said on the rooftop! She is the only one who must adhere to the rule of one woman, one man but for the man it’s one man, many women. What a crazy world ours is!
Therefore, I salute the courage of those South African women and other women across the globe who are saying ‘no’ to a chauvinistic society that is too selfish and pretentious to pay attention to their anguish. Women are gradually coming out of their shells raising up the banner of freedom of expression and the freedom to chose where to be and with whom. It’s not supposed to be a male-dominated world but one that should give room for both sexes to thrive without being sexist. It’s about a world full of human beings and not “males and females,” “he and she” to use those discriminatory words in the English language. It’s all about a world populated by people who are selfless and willing to help one another. It’s about people respecting one another without any form of discrimination based on sex or colour. So that we all won’t go asking what happened to all the men?!
All manner of hampers
All manner of hampers
FUNKE ADETUTU
In the spirit of the season I decided to take a walk in my area some days ago. Since it was nearing 9pm most shops were preparing to close for business while the goods in the few ones that were closed were visible through the glass doors.
“We have a wide choice of hampers perfect for showing your love and good will for your family or friends,” reads a notice hanging on the wall and at this point I remeber the conversation I had with my friend.
Just the night before Christmas, a friend gave me a ride home, and he pointedly said: “what kind of hamper do people give these days or should I say what kind of hampers are sold in the market?”
“Why did you say that,” I asked? “Someone brought a hamper to my office today and when I unwrapped it, I realised that there was nothing in there?” “How do you mean,” I probed a bit further faking ignorance since I knew where he was headed with the conversation.
“There were few items in it. I mean, the bottom of the basket was filled with sheets of paper. You can imagine that kind of daylight robbery,” he exclaimed.
“Well, I believe it’s not the fault of the giver,” I tried to make him see reasons. The blame should be laid at the doorstep of the sellers who want to make so much gain from people’s ignorance.”
“Yes, I know but that is what I find most disgusting. Why would any one want to profit by deceiving other people? That is absolutely uncalled for.”
What my friend did not understand that night was the fact that ‘shocking’ the contents of hampers with cartons and sheet of papers was an age long practice since hampers were introduced into the shores of Nigeria.
My friend was not the only one who with this kind of predicament. Our associate news editor here at BuisnessDay, John Osadolor also received a hamper on Tuesday. When he brought it into the Newroom everyone laughed at the smallness of the basket. An inquisitive me was right on time to check the content of the hamper since I plan to do a piece on hampers. I was not surprised to discover that even as little as the basket was, the contents were ‘shocked’ with papers! It contained two bars of soap, a notebook and a small jar of liquid soap.
Funnily, the frenzy at which hampers flew around was nothing compared with the previous years, negatively this time, I’ll quickly add. It was as if the givers were reluctant to let them out and when they did, they were just something else! And to think that people were short-changed with the few available ones was funny.
Historically, the word Hamper is a primarily British term for a wicker basket, usually large, used for the transport of food. Hampers were traditionally used for picnics due to the open ventilation and sturdiness offered by the wicker basket. There is also a long tradition of social philanthropy and charity related to hampers. In the Western tradition, the hamper was a basket that could be delivered by hand to the lucky receiving family. Such hampers made ideal gifts, and the willow basket made for a useful item around the house or farm.
In Rome and other civilised countries of the world, community groups or individuals would donate hampers of food, clothing, toiletries and other household necessities to deprived families as a gesture of good will and community spirit.
Hampers today have become a very popular way of expressing seasonal good spirit at Christmas. Therefore, if hampers are for charity and are meant to show love, the sellers should learn to be discreet with the arrangement of the content so that the giver would not be seen as giving the gift with bad bele to use the local parlance.
And maybe governor Fashola can also come to the consumers’ rescue on this since there is a new law in the state that traders should buy the recommended cups and bowls for measuring grains and other commodities in the market. I’m sure this was put in place to checkmate the excesses of traders in not using the right measuring apparatus. This is to sound a note of warning to all those market women not to shortchanged the consumers as we prepare for another Christmas in 2009!
FUNKE ADETUTU
In the spirit of the season I decided to take a walk in my area some days ago. Since it was nearing 9pm most shops were preparing to close for business while the goods in the few ones that were closed were visible through the glass doors.
“We have a wide choice of hampers perfect for showing your love and good will for your family or friends,” reads a notice hanging on the wall and at this point I remeber the conversation I had with my friend.
Just the night before Christmas, a friend gave me a ride home, and he pointedly said: “what kind of hamper do people give these days or should I say what kind of hampers are sold in the market?”
“Why did you say that,” I asked? “Someone brought a hamper to my office today and when I unwrapped it, I realised that there was nothing in there?” “How do you mean,” I probed a bit further faking ignorance since I knew where he was headed with the conversation.
“There were few items in it. I mean, the bottom of the basket was filled with sheets of paper. You can imagine that kind of daylight robbery,” he exclaimed.
“Well, I believe it’s not the fault of the giver,” I tried to make him see reasons. The blame should be laid at the doorstep of the sellers who want to make so much gain from people’s ignorance.”
“Yes, I know but that is what I find most disgusting. Why would any one want to profit by deceiving other people? That is absolutely uncalled for.”
What my friend did not understand that night was the fact that ‘shocking’ the contents of hampers with cartons and sheet of papers was an age long practice since hampers were introduced into the shores of Nigeria.
My friend was not the only one who with this kind of predicament. Our associate news editor here at BuisnessDay, John Osadolor also received a hamper on Tuesday. When he brought it into the Newroom everyone laughed at the smallness of the basket. An inquisitive me was right on time to check the content of the hamper since I plan to do a piece on hampers. I was not surprised to discover that even as little as the basket was, the contents were ‘shocked’ with papers! It contained two bars of soap, a notebook and a small jar of liquid soap.
Funnily, the frenzy at which hampers flew around was nothing compared with the previous years, negatively this time, I’ll quickly add. It was as if the givers were reluctant to let them out and when they did, they were just something else! And to think that people were short-changed with the few available ones was funny.
Historically, the word Hamper is a primarily British term for a wicker basket, usually large, used for the transport of food. Hampers were traditionally used for picnics due to the open ventilation and sturdiness offered by the wicker basket. There is also a long tradition of social philanthropy and charity related to hampers. In the Western tradition, the hamper was a basket that could be delivered by hand to the lucky receiving family. Such hampers made ideal gifts, and the willow basket made for a useful item around the house or farm.
In Rome and other civilised countries of the world, community groups or individuals would donate hampers of food, clothing, toiletries and other household necessities to deprived families as a gesture of good will and community spirit.
Hampers today have become a very popular way of expressing seasonal good spirit at Christmas. Therefore, if hampers are for charity and are meant to show love, the sellers should learn to be discreet with the arrangement of the content so that the giver would not be seen as giving the gift with bad bele to use the local parlance.
And maybe governor Fashola can also come to the consumers’ rescue on this since there is a new law in the state that traders should buy the recommended cups and bowls for measuring grains and other commodities in the market. I’m sure this was put in place to checkmate the excesses of traders in not using the right measuring apparatus. This is to sound a note of warning to all those market women not to shortchanged the consumers as we prepare for another Christmas in 2009!
Who abducted the concubine?
Who abducted the concubine?
FUNKE ADETUTU
Never, it couldn’t have been! It’s just impossible for the concubine to be kidnapped. How could it be, that a 75-year-old concubine is stolen from the comfort of his home in a country with rulers and chieftains? It was just unbelievable but it’s true what my television was telling at this hour of the night when the cockerel has gone home to roost.
The newscaster read from the news bulletin in front of him that the renowned author of The Concubine, Elechi Amadi, was kidnapped last Monday night in his home in Port Harcourt. His abductors must have realised that they went for the wrong person after their ‘successful’ operation. What could an author whose royalties have not been paid for years by the publishers has to offer kidnappers except for the ransom they are likely to place on his head. He wasn’t the kind whose father works in a petroleum company or whose mother was given a ministerial appointment. He was just a faceless man who hailed from Aluu in Ikwerre Local Government Area of Rivers State. His pen gave him a face that had become popular the world over. He worked hard at his pen to make the golden name he now had, Elechi Amadi.
This brings to mind, the words of late poet, Christopher Okigbo in one of his famous poems, Hurray for Thunder that “the eyes that look down will surely see the nose.
Amadi surely looked down with pen for his eyes to catch a glimpse of his nose. At the time he wrote, it wasn’t easy to have one’s name as a writer listed on the African Writers’ series. It was just too competitive.
For a renowned Nigerian author who has authored three African novels: The Concubine, The Great Ponds and The Slave to be abducted for no genuine reason is a shame. Amadi’s novels are known the world over and they bother generally about African village life, customs, beliefs and religious practices, as they were before contact with the Western world. He was one of those who championed the African course at the time when The Concubine, which is one of his classic novels of modern African literature has been made into a film.
Amadi had a stint with the Nigerian army and fought on the Nigerian side during the Nigeria-Biafra War. I’m sure those stints must have worked for him when he was kidnapped. I can imagine sitting among his kidnappers as the wise one telling them about the revolutionary steps he took with his intellect. His personal experiences in the war have been recorded in his autobiographical non-fiction, Sunset in Biafra which I would expect that the kidnappers to read. If they had read Amadi’s works, it would have been an eye-opener and humbling experience for them. They would have known that real men are not usually violent but their intellect speak for them. After the war Amadi left the army to work for the Rivers State government in Nigeria.
“The carcass of an elephant is indeed not a load is for the back of a camel” to use the words of Akeem Lasisi. The kidnappers’ act already has bent their altruist's spine which made them release Amadi within a short time. They had carried an ant infested wood which was too heavy for them what more could they do but to release Amadi on the same day he was abducted.
The finger that fits should be used to pick the nose.
What Amadi’s abductors failed to understand is the fact that during the author’s hay days, they fought authorities with their pens and not by engaging in kidnapping. Amadi and his fellow African writers were not extortionists or opportunists who infiltrate the arena of nay struggle. Their fight was commonsensical. The kidnapping of innocents in any conflict should never be condoned. It’s important that government get to the root of this aberration.
FUNKE ADETUTU
Never, it couldn’t have been! It’s just impossible for the concubine to be kidnapped. How could it be, that a 75-year-old concubine is stolen from the comfort of his home in a country with rulers and chieftains? It was just unbelievable but it’s true what my television was telling at this hour of the night when the cockerel has gone home to roost.
The newscaster read from the news bulletin in front of him that the renowned author of The Concubine, Elechi Amadi, was kidnapped last Monday night in his home in Port Harcourt. His abductors must have realised that they went for the wrong person after their ‘successful’ operation. What could an author whose royalties have not been paid for years by the publishers has to offer kidnappers except for the ransom they are likely to place on his head. He wasn’t the kind whose father works in a petroleum company or whose mother was given a ministerial appointment. He was just a faceless man who hailed from Aluu in Ikwerre Local Government Area of Rivers State. His pen gave him a face that had become popular the world over. He worked hard at his pen to make the golden name he now had, Elechi Amadi.
This brings to mind, the words of late poet, Christopher Okigbo in one of his famous poems, Hurray for Thunder that “the eyes that look down will surely see the nose.
Amadi surely looked down with pen for his eyes to catch a glimpse of his nose. At the time he wrote, it wasn’t easy to have one’s name as a writer listed on the African Writers’ series. It was just too competitive.
For a renowned Nigerian author who has authored three African novels: The Concubine, The Great Ponds and The Slave to be abducted for no genuine reason is a shame. Amadi’s novels are known the world over and they bother generally about African village life, customs, beliefs and religious practices, as they were before contact with the Western world. He was one of those who championed the African course at the time when The Concubine, which is one of his classic novels of modern African literature has been made into a film.
Amadi had a stint with the Nigerian army and fought on the Nigerian side during the Nigeria-Biafra War. I’m sure those stints must have worked for him when he was kidnapped. I can imagine sitting among his kidnappers as the wise one telling them about the revolutionary steps he took with his intellect. His personal experiences in the war have been recorded in his autobiographical non-fiction, Sunset in Biafra which I would expect that the kidnappers to read. If they had read Amadi’s works, it would have been an eye-opener and humbling experience for them. They would have known that real men are not usually violent but their intellect speak for them. After the war Amadi left the army to work for the Rivers State government in Nigeria.
“The carcass of an elephant is indeed not a load is for the back of a camel” to use the words of Akeem Lasisi. The kidnappers’ act already has bent their altruist's spine which made them release Amadi within a short time. They had carried an ant infested wood which was too heavy for them what more could they do but to release Amadi on the same day he was abducted.
The finger that fits should be used to pick the nose.
What Amadi’s abductors failed to understand is the fact that during the author’s hay days, they fought authorities with their pens and not by engaging in kidnapping. Amadi and his fellow African writers were not extortionists or opportunists who infiltrate the arena of nay struggle. Their fight was commonsensical. The kidnapping of innocents in any conflict should never be condoned. It’s important that government get to the root of this aberration.
Friday, December 12, 2008
A day at the Melrose Arch
FUNKE ADETUTU
It seemed unbelievable but it is true. At 5 a.m. South African time, the sun was up almost shining in its full strength. It stood in the horizon in its yellowish radiance. How amazing it was to watch the sun rose as the tyres of the aircraft touched the tarmac at O.R Tambo International Airport.The rustle movement of our feet unsettled the quietness of the big A2 arrival hall walkway. It was obvious that business was just being revived after some hours of midnight break. Ours seemed the first flight to arrive that morning, yet the immigration officers were alert. They spoke at the top of their voices. Sleep was no where near their eyes since they had resumed duty the previous night. The sound of their voices was pleasantly annoying, such that the woman in front of me complained bitterly about their screams. "What could be so exciting at these early hours of the morning?" She asked in annoyance. After such a long trip, the laughter coming from these women seated in a corner at the immigration point was not what anyone would like to hear, especially at that time of the day. "Why are they screaming at the top of their voices?" the woman continued, mustering some efforts to speak louder for someone to caution them. "Could someone tell them to keep quiet?" she said hysterically again even as the noise continued. "That's the way of life for the average South African," I replied, forcing a smile. I was equally very exhausted after the six hours flight. The seats on the aircraft were not comfortable for a tired limb like mine. I'm sure the same it was for others."They talk at the top of their voices. At times, you'll almost think they are fighting, whereas, they are engaged in a friendly conversation.""Well, that's how they talk," I again tried to explain. By this time, someone had already waved at the shouting group to keep quiet. They now spoke in low tones made audible by the quietness of the hall. Greg of Bophelo Tours and a driver from Sixth, a car rental outfit, were already waiting to receive the two of us from Nigeria at the arrival hall. We were driven to the hotel but on our way, we had a stop somewhere at Sandton to pick up Tsholofelo Mogale, a South African Tourism representative. The streets of Johannesburg were still as beautiful as ever. The sidewalks were lined with beautiful flowers and trees. Everywhere was green! "The streets are quiet today and the roads are free," the driver observed. "I thought there would be heavy traffic by this time because of the season." "Yes, it's true. It's good to have some quiet today," replied Tsholofelo. Our drive to the hotel was a smooth one and what the driver considered as heavy traffic, when we eventually encountered one, was exactly no traffic to those of us from Nigeria at all. The real traffic logjam exists back home on the roads of Lagos, not here in Johannesburg. "This is a child's play compared with what we experience at home," said Yemisi, a colleague from Nigeria. "She's right," I supported. "I was told the same thing," said Tsholofelo. "I would be in Nigeria in two weeks. I'm scared, but I will come all the same." "You don't have to be," I tried to calm his fears and at the same time tried to explain that: "It actually depends on the area. Traffic is not bad in some. You just need to understand such is expected in any big city like Lagos. It's part of the problem of a city with so many people. But the Lagos State government is currently working on some roads within the metropolis to ease traffic congestion." We were all consumed in our individual thoughts for the remaining part of our journey to the Melrose Arch where our hotel was located. I see the Melrose Arch as a mini city in Johannesburg. All that's needed for comfortable living was there. There were about three banks in the area, several cafes and bars, hotels, shops and apartments."People live in that apartment across the road," Greg said at lunch, pointing at a block of flats overlooking the Protea Hotel where we were lodged. "This is a comfortable area to live in. Those who live there walk out of their homes into their offices. They do not need to drive cars to move around. That means a reduction in carbon emission which is safe for the environment."When he said this, I did a quick survey of the area as we sat at the JB's Café nibbling at chips and grilled chicken breast. There was actually a toll gate at the entrance to the arch which served more as a security check point than a toll collection spot. The road runs through the shops and cafes forming an arch round the building where the JB's Café is housed. The residential apartment was located on the left with a café in front of it. Trees, flowers were planted in front of it. Much later at night, it was a beautiful sight to behold. The Christmas light glittered in the dark. Meanwhile, the sitting arrangement at the JB's was fantastic. But I noticed that each group seated around the table were mostly women, no man at all. The women spoke in low but excited voices as they shared a drink. They looked unperturbed at all. They were simply having fun. On the only table where I noticed two men, the woman (whom I earlier told Tsholofelo looked like Kabelo of Channel O), was talking excitedly at the top of her voice, the typical South African way. A day at a café at the Melrose Arch testified to the relaxation spirit that is synonymous with Johannesburg. Everywhere, there seemed to be a relaxation spot full of people who spoke excitedly in low tones. No stress or worry. They were simply all out to enjoy life to the fullest, I'd say.
It seemed unbelievable but it is true. At 5 a.m. South African time, the sun was up almost shining in its full strength. It stood in the horizon in its yellowish radiance. How amazing it was to watch the sun rose as the tyres of the aircraft touched the tarmac at O.R Tambo International Airport.The rustle movement of our feet unsettled the quietness of the big A2 arrival hall walkway. It was obvious that business was just being revived after some hours of midnight break. Ours seemed the first flight to arrive that morning, yet the immigration officers were alert. They spoke at the top of their voices. Sleep was no where near their eyes since they had resumed duty the previous night. The sound of their voices was pleasantly annoying, such that the woman in front of me complained bitterly about their screams. "What could be so exciting at these early hours of the morning?" She asked in annoyance. After such a long trip, the laughter coming from these women seated in a corner at the immigration point was not what anyone would like to hear, especially at that time of the day. "Why are they screaming at the top of their voices?" the woman continued, mustering some efforts to speak louder for someone to caution them. "Could someone tell them to keep quiet?" she said hysterically again even as the noise continued. "That's the way of life for the average South African," I replied, forcing a smile. I was equally very exhausted after the six hours flight. The seats on the aircraft were not comfortable for a tired limb like mine. I'm sure the same it was for others."They talk at the top of their voices. At times, you'll almost think they are fighting, whereas, they are engaged in a friendly conversation.""Well, that's how they talk," I again tried to explain. By this time, someone had already waved at the shouting group to keep quiet. They now spoke in low tones made audible by the quietness of the hall. Greg of Bophelo Tours and a driver from Sixth, a car rental outfit, were already waiting to receive the two of us from Nigeria at the arrival hall. We were driven to the hotel but on our way, we had a stop somewhere at Sandton to pick up Tsholofelo Mogale, a South African Tourism representative. The streets of Johannesburg were still as beautiful as ever. The sidewalks were lined with beautiful flowers and trees. Everywhere was green! "The streets are quiet today and the roads are free," the driver observed. "I thought there would be heavy traffic by this time because of the season." "Yes, it's true. It's good to have some quiet today," replied Tsholofelo. Our drive to the hotel was a smooth one and what the driver considered as heavy traffic, when we eventually encountered one, was exactly no traffic to those of us from Nigeria at all. The real traffic logjam exists back home on the roads of Lagos, not here in Johannesburg. "This is a child's play compared with what we experience at home," said Yemisi, a colleague from Nigeria. "She's right," I supported. "I was told the same thing," said Tsholofelo. "I would be in Nigeria in two weeks. I'm scared, but I will come all the same." "You don't have to be," I tried to calm his fears and at the same time tried to explain that: "It actually depends on the area. Traffic is not bad in some. You just need to understand such is expected in any big city like Lagos. It's part of the problem of a city with so many people. But the Lagos State government is currently working on some roads within the metropolis to ease traffic congestion." We were all consumed in our individual thoughts for the remaining part of our journey to the Melrose Arch where our hotel was located. I see the Melrose Arch as a mini city in Johannesburg. All that's needed for comfortable living was there. There were about three banks in the area, several cafes and bars, hotels, shops and apartments."People live in that apartment across the road," Greg said at lunch, pointing at a block of flats overlooking the Protea Hotel where we were lodged. "This is a comfortable area to live in. Those who live there walk out of their homes into their offices. They do not need to drive cars to move around. That means a reduction in carbon emission which is safe for the environment."When he said this, I did a quick survey of the area as we sat at the JB's Café nibbling at chips and grilled chicken breast. There was actually a toll gate at the entrance to the arch which served more as a security check point than a toll collection spot. The road runs through the shops and cafes forming an arch round the building where the JB's Café is housed. The residential apartment was located on the left with a café in front of it. Trees, flowers were planted in front of it. Much later at night, it was a beautiful sight to behold. The Christmas light glittered in the dark. Meanwhile, the sitting arrangement at the JB's was fantastic. But I noticed that each group seated around the table were mostly women, no man at all. The women spoke in low but excited voices as they shared a drink. They looked unperturbed at all. They were simply having fun. On the only table where I noticed two men, the woman (whom I earlier told Tsholofelo looked like Kabelo of Channel O), was talking excitedly at the top of her voice, the typical South African way. A day at a café at the Melrose Arch testified to the relaxation spirit that is synonymous with Johannesburg. Everywhere, there seemed to be a relaxation spot full of people who spoke excitedly in low tones. No stress or worry. They were simply all out to enjoy life to the fullest, I'd say.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Wednesdays, Fridays never die at South African embassy
FUNKE ADETUTU
This week’s article is a sequel to the one I did last week titled: In the name of the Father. I could not help but write more on my experience at the South African Embassy again.
I thought the High Commission would have improved on the visa procurement procedure based on the promise made by the head of the Lagos mission, Peter Malepe, at the South African Tourism workshop held in Lagos in June. But the efforts of the mission seem not good enough as several people who had been there had one or two gory tales to tell.
I still recall the how terrible I felt the first Tuesday I was at the mission to submit my application. The mission was already saturated with people. I later learnt from someone that some of them had been there several times yet they never had the opportunity to submit their application. A particular young man lamented bitterly about how he had been there for three consecutive Tuesdays. His category of application was never called.
Luckily for us, I would say. The mission’s door was thrown open at nine that morning. It was earlier than the actual time I was told by a friend, 10 am. That itself was a good sign that things were working the right way.
The consular officer who stood at the door wore a stern look that sent a cold shiver down the spine. “Deposit!” he shouted. The security guards at the entrance echoed the word to the hearing of the waiting applicants. “What does that mean?” I asked the woman who was standing close to me. “It’s for those who had been here before but had not paid the deposit required as a guarantee that they would come back to Nigeria after they arrive South Africa,” she explained.
“Medical!” shouted the consular officer again. I could make something out of this at least. The call was for those who were travelling to South Africa for medical treatment. After this group had been scrutinised, the next group was called. “Training!” the man shouted again. This time, many people rushed through the gate. I was furious with the people even as they rushed like primary school pupils through the gates. This angered the officer and he ordered that those at the tail end of the queue should go out. It was saddening that some Nigerians would never behave in a civil way. I can’t understand why they had to rush and be humiliated in like manner. On a second thought, I would not blame them since their past patience was unfruitful.
If you had been to the South African embassy before, you’d understand the kind of picture I’m trying to paint. The humiliation and inhuman treatment of applicants is disheartening. They stay out in the sun for hours waiting to be called in. There was even no hope that they might be since there was no proper order or arrangement for them to be.
And when I went there the following Tuesday, the consular officers simply called people in at random. He would just look at the crowd and pointed at the elderly, women with infant, and whitemen and women to come in. That’s just by the way. What happened that day simply showed that if you did not belong to any of these categories, you have no chance of submit your application, proto!
After I’d submitted my application, I breathed a sign of relief. But I never knew more shock awaited on the Wednesday I was to pick up my passport. I got there at 9am but the consular did not open until 10. There was still a rush that day as people were eager to get in. our receipts were submitted to the security officer who took them. We waited endlessly for our names to be called as the hours go by. The system was somewhat slow. The names were not called in alphabetical order as I had expected. The security officer would go in to bring the passports that were ‘ready’ to use his word. After I watched as people were handed either their receipt, forms, or passports with or without visa depending on the situation. After I’d waited for more than three hours, my name was called and my receipt was handed back to me. “It’s not ready,” said the security officer, come back on Friday.”
On Friday, I was there! It was the same old story. A young man was angry with the officers on duty when he was told to come back again. “I wasn’t to withdraw my application,” said the young man. This will be the third time I would be coming without getting my passport. The conference I’m going for in South Africa started yesterday and you are telling me to come back,” he complained bitterly.
That was the fate of an average applicant at the South Africa embassy. In fact I must tell you dear readers that I didn’t get my passport until I went back the third time on a Wednesday. The South African High Commission must put the right system in place very fast to ease off the stress and congestion at the embassy very fast so that the promise of come back Wednesday or Friday would be totally erased.
This week’s article is a sequel to the one I did last week titled: In the name of the Father. I could not help but write more on my experience at the South African Embassy again.
I thought the High Commission would have improved on the visa procurement procedure based on the promise made by the head of the Lagos mission, Peter Malepe, at the South African Tourism workshop held in Lagos in June. But the efforts of the mission seem not good enough as several people who had been there had one or two gory tales to tell.
I still recall the how terrible I felt the first Tuesday I was at the mission to submit my application. The mission was already saturated with people. I later learnt from someone that some of them had been there several times yet they never had the opportunity to submit their application. A particular young man lamented bitterly about how he had been there for three consecutive Tuesdays. His category of application was never called.
Luckily for us, I would say. The mission’s door was thrown open at nine that morning. It was earlier than the actual time I was told by a friend, 10 am. That itself was a good sign that things were working the right way.
The consular officer who stood at the door wore a stern look that sent a cold shiver down the spine. “Deposit!” he shouted. The security guards at the entrance echoed the word to the hearing of the waiting applicants. “What does that mean?” I asked the woman who was standing close to me. “It’s for those who had been here before but had not paid the deposit required as a guarantee that they would come back to Nigeria after they arrive South Africa,” she explained.
“Medical!” shouted the consular officer again. I could make something out of this at least. The call was for those who were travelling to South Africa for medical treatment. After this group had been scrutinised, the next group was called. “Training!” the man shouted again. This time, many people rushed through the gate. I was furious with the people even as they rushed like primary school pupils through the gates. This angered the officer and he ordered that those at the tail end of the queue should go out. It was saddening that some Nigerians would never behave in a civil way. I can’t understand why they had to rush and be humiliated in like manner. On a second thought, I would not blame them since their past patience was unfruitful.
If you had been to the South African embassy before, you’d understand the kind of picture I’m trying to paint. The humiliation and inhuman treatment of applicants is disheartening. They stay out in the sun for hours waiting to be called in. There was even no hope that they might be since there was no proper order or arrangement for them to be.
And when I went there the following Tuesday, the consular officers simply called people in at random. He would just look at the crowd and pointed at the elderly, women with infant, and whitemen and women to come in. That’s just by the way. What happened that day simply showed that if you did not belong to any of these categories, you have no chance of submit your application, proto!
After I’d submitted my application, I breathed a sign of relief. But I never knew more shock awaited on the Wednesday I was to pick up my passport. I got there at 9am but the consular did not open until 10. There was still a rush that day as people were eager to get in. our receipts were submitted to the security officer who took them. We waited endlessly for our names to be called as the hours go by. The system was somewhat slow. The names were not called in alphabetical order as I had expected. The security officer would go in to bring the passports that were ‘ready’ to use his word. After I watched as people were handed either their receipt, forms, or passports with or without visa depending on the situation. After I’d waited for more than three hours, my name was called and my receipt was handed back to me. “It’s not ready,” said the security officer, come back on Friday.”
On Friday, I was there! It was the same old story. A young man was angry with the officers on duty when he was told to come back again. “I wasn’t to withdraw my application,” said the young man. This will be the third time I would be coming without getting my passport. The conference I’m going for in South Africa started yesterday and you are telling me to come back,” he complained bitterly.
That was the fate of an average applicant at the South Africa embassy. In fact I must tell you dear readers that I didn’t get my passport until I went back the third time on a Wednesday. The South African High Commission must put the right system in place very fast to ease off the stress and congestion at the embassy very fast so that the promise of come back Wednesday or Friday would be totally erased.
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