FUNKE ADETUTU
As a little girl, I grew up to believe that pink is a girly colour not something befitting for a male. But as I grow older and with the various literary theories I was bombarded with in school, I discovered that such view is rooted in one of those patriarchal beliefs that certain norms and stuffs are for women and not men. These are biases that we have unconsciously internalised which the society have accepted as the norm.
The society believes pink is the colour of universal love. Hence, love is a women affair and not for men? Pink no doubt is a quiet colour and women are expected to be the passive kinds. Lovers of beauty favour pink, beauty is associated with women, hence they must like pink. A pink carnation means “I will never forget you” the women are ‘men-wrapper.’ These are some of the different ways women have been classified as a result of cultural biases deeply-rooted in patriarchy.
Abroad, there is a Pink Energy Pink which is a combination of red and white. The quality of energy in pink is determined by how much red is present. Since colour White is the potential for fullness, the red helps you to achieve that potential. Pink combines these energies. Shades of deep pink, such as magenta, are effective in neutralising disorder and violence. Some prisons use limited deep pink tones to diffuse aggressive behaviour. Pink provides feelings of caring, tenderness, self-worth and love, acceptance. “Put some pink in your life when you want: calm feelings that neutralise disorder relaxation acceptance, contentment.”
However, the society have come to accept these classifications such that women have consciously accepted these biases. Therefore, anything that has to do with women is synonymous with colour pink. The first example that comes to mind is the BankPHB Pink Account. Again, Pink is associated with the woman. She loves luxury and the good things of life; as if men don’t want such things too. And then, the upcoming ‘Pink Ball’ event for cancer awareness is associated with colour pink. Such is the life of the woman!
One thing that struck my mind while meditating over this, is the fact that there could be some kind of synergy between the pink associations, if you’ll permit me to call it that. Why can’t BankPHB and the Pink Ball organised by Genevieve Magazine do something together on breast cancer awareness since it’s all about the woman? The BankPHB Pink Account could do something for women in that regard as they’ll need all the support they can get to combat this dreadful disease called cancer. The life of the woman after all, is truly in danger.
Two nights ago, I saw an advert on TV urging charitable Nigerians to donate some money for a female breast cancer victim. It was really pathetic. I was sad when I saw how a once beautiful pair of breasts have now been eaten up by cancer. As the Pink Ball comes up later this month, I hope the Pink Account owners would consider doing something for women in this regard. It’s a about the enemy of their lives which could be silenced, at least with a Pink date.
FEEDBACK!
I am an Indian and I have been living in Nigeria for the past five years. BBC and CNN journalists have been rubbishing India, may be sub-consciously, but I hadn't expected a Nigerian sister to portray India so badly in her article published last Friday under the title, "Incredible India."
I am a trained journalist and I have been published by BusinessDay on five occasions and hence, I am sure that my views would merit your attention.
You wrote so dangerously about the caste system in India. Caste system is still prevalent in India but discrimination based upon caste, creed or colour is a punishable offence in India. Most often, non-bailable arrest warrants are issued if anyone is found indulging in such acts.
In industrial India and the urban India (50 percent) people of my generation don't bother about which caste you belong to and my daughter's generation doesn't even know what caste system is all about!
India is a vast country and our Prime Minister is a Sikh by religion. The community that practices Sikhism constitutes less than 1 percent of India's population. The leader of the ruling party (Indian National Congress) is an Italian-born Christian and Christians constitute less than 3 percent of India's population.
Our Vice President is a Muslim and the immediate past President was a Muslim too. Muslims form less than 16 percent of India's population. You also wrote that India is a country that practices "Sati." Sorry Tutu, we are not a nation that puts its widows on the funeral pyre.
In the last 50 years, the number of Sati cases is less than five! Your column is widely read and it helps people form an opinion about India. I really plead with you to exercise caution my sister.
Sudhir Bisht
sudhir_bisht@rediffmail.com
sudhir_bisht@hotmail.com
+234 7083239485
Friday, May 8, 2009
Once upon a generation of Oloola
Oloola is a generational craft which spans many centuries, but modern incursions are slowly but surely making the craft a dying culture, writes FUNKE ADETUTU
One rainy July morning, the Ayankola household at Oke Agunpopo area of Oyo Town, Oyo State, wakes up to the noise generated by thunder and torrents of rain whipping across the roof. This, surely, is a fitting background for what is about to take place this morning: all the young children in the household are lined up for the August visit of the Oloona, a Yoruba word meaning “owner of marks”.
“Oloola de o!” (meaning Oloola is here! ) announces the Oloola. He is a dark, elderly man with thick tribal marks visible on his face despite his sagging skin. He spots Buba and Soro, the Yoruba traditional wear, with a satchel slung on his shoulder. After exchanging pleasantries with family heads and their wives, he sits on a wooden stool, adjusts his cap and upturns his bag which disgorges its contents: a sharp knife which glitters in the dimly-lit hallway, a big snail and some powdery substance. The children who seem unaware of what is about to take place are lined up before him according to their age.
“How many marks do you want on this child’s face?” asks the Oloola, pointing at the first child on the line. “We want you to do Keke for him,” answers the family head. And so, the child’s mother pulls his son to herself and holds him tightly in-between her thighs, while the Oloola brings out his knife. On spotting the knife, the child breaks into wracking sobs, but is quickly assured by the Oloola that the knife would do him no harm. The process then begins in earnest.
The Ayankola household is just one among many that still get their children’s faces marked with the Oloola’s knife, a practice which most people, as a result of civilisation, are fast rethinking. This may also be having a direct effect on the Oloola who knows no other trade than decorating people’s faces with facial marks.
The Oloola’s trade, explains Samuel Ogundeji, an Oloola at Ilaka area of Oyo town, dates back to eons of centuries, even before the advent of colonialism among the Yoruba people in South-West Nigeria.
All the descendants of the Oloola are familiar with the practice, even the educated ones. This is not surprising because only males born into the Oloola household can practice the trade.
“It is a generational trade known to a particular household called Oloola. Tribal marks are different from any other trade. It’s a generational craft because our fathers handed it down to us,” says Ogundeji. “We have researched into it and discovered that it does not affect religion in any way. Where our own trade differs from others is that we have a house called Oloola, an abode of tribal marks. It is not that we have a particular place where people can bring their children. Those who have just given birth would come from their respective homes to tell us they want to do tribal marks, and we would go there to grant their wish.”
In times past, facial tribal marks were more or less a form of identity in Yorubaland, so it is only natural that Ogundeji would explain that facial marks have variants, which are synonymous with each household. For instance, Keke has different variants: Keke of Owu, called Keke Olowu which is common with the Olowu. There is another one called Gombo, which is not synonymous with any household but cuts across different households. There are yet others called Meeje meaning “Seven,” Pele, meaning three horizontal lines and Ture, which is synonymous with the Olokun Esin household.
Amusa Oladokun is the Olori Oloola of Oyo. Given the title by the Alaafin of Oyo, Oba Lamidi Adeyemi, he is therefore the only one with the right to do facial marks for the descendants of the King. “If you see anyone that has six marks on his face, it means he is the Alaafin’s child or is related to him. The Ture, that is their mark, the Keke called Alodi, that is their sign. The Alare who lives up the road, they have Pele with four on each side. That is their identity. The other kinds are all over the place. Those with 11 marks are there. They would have eight on one side, with three at the top. There are those with seven, three upward and four at the bottom. There are those with four or eight Baamu. It comes in different forms,” explains Oladokun.
With these variants, Ogundeji says those without tribal marks are often taunted by wearers, who say they cannot afford to pay the bill of an Oloola. But that is all in the past, as Ogundeji observes.
Meanwhile, this dying culture has become an issue, not only for the Oloolas but in the four walls of the university system. Kehinde Oladeji, an expert on African and Asian Studies and a lecturer in the Department of Language, University of Lagos, says facial marks have become irrelevant as a result of modernisation. “Facial marks were for identification during the inter-tribal wars and slavery. It was a simple means of knowing where someone was from, as it is said in Yoruba that a person with tribal marks will not remain missing for too long. Such a person, if separated from his relations during war or other conflicts, would meet someone who would identify his town and even his family, through his facial marks,” he explains.
However, such wars no longer exist with the advent of modernism and technology, both of which make having facial marking obsolete. Hence, Oladeji observes that in most towns across the country, it is difficult to come across tribal marks on the faces of people younger than 35 years old. “The culture may linger a while with traditional institutions, but they will let go with time,” he adds.
Demola Dasylva, a doctor of literature at the Department of English, University of Ibadan (UI), however disagrees with Oladeji’s view on the issue. Dasylva says facial marks may remain with traditional institutions for a long time to come. “Some aspects of culture are so integrated that you cannot change them. Great Britain is a developed democracy, yet the monarchy there is accorded so much respect. If having facial marks is a condition for being made an Oba, Emir or Eze in any part of the country, concerned princes will be avoiding scarification at their own risk,” he observes.
In spite of these divergent views, facial marks perform dual roles in the Yoruba culture, first for their aesthetics and second for their functionality.
Ohiomamhe Elugbe of the Department of Languages, UI, on his part, describes facial marks as mere inoculation against certain diseases, it is used as a measure to prevent Abiku children from their cycle of deaths.
As for Akin Onipede, a visual artist, facial marks are symbols of pride and identity, especially among the Yorubas. This view greatly influenced one of his works he titled: National Award, which is a piece that features the Queen of England spotting a facial mark called Meeje. This, Onipede, explains offers multi-dimensional viewpoints and meanings: “It could be seen from the point of view of a country or people offering distinguished citizens or individuals one of the highest awards in the land such as KBE, OBE, MBE, GCFR, OFR. But then, this will appear normal. But an award to the Queen has to be unique and reflective of the culture of the person giving it.”
Therefore, tribal marks, for Onipede, are the most befitting award that the Queen of England can be given, and his art is just one of the means artists employ to prevent the total erosion of a people’s vibrant culture.
One rainy July morning, the Ayankola household at Oke Agunpopo area of Oyo Town, Oyo State, wakes up to the noise generated by thunder and torrents of rain whipping across the roof. This, surely, is a fitting background for what is about to take place this morning: all the young children in the household are lined up for the August visit of the Oloona, a Yoruba word meaning “owner of marks”.
“Oloola de o!” (meaning Oloola is here! ) announces the Oloola. He is a dark, elderly man with thick tribal marks visible on his face despite his sagging skin. He spots Buba and Soro, the Yoruba traditional wear, with a satchel slung on his shoulder. After exchanging pleasantries with family heads and their wives, he sits on a wooden stool, adjusts his cap and upturns his bag which disgorges its contents: a sharp knife which glitters in the dimly-lit hallway, a big snail and some powdery substance. The children who seem unaware of what is about to take place are lined up before him according to their age.
“How many marks do you want on this child’s face?” asks the Oloola, pointing at the first child on the line. “We want you to do Keke for him,” answers the family head. And so, the child’s mother pulls his son to herself and holds him tightly in-between her thighs, while the Oloola brings out his knife. On spotting the knife, the child breaks into wracking sobs, but is quickly assured by the Oloola that the knife would do him no harm. The process then begins in earnest.
The Ayankola household is just one among many that still get their children’s faces marked with the Oloola’s knife, a practice which most people, as a result of civilisation, are fast rethinking. This may also be having a direct effect on the Oloola who knows no other trade than decorating people’s faces with facial marks.
The Oloola’s trade, explains Samuel Ogundeji, an Oloola at Ilaka area of Oyo town, dates back to eons of centuries, even before the advent of colonialism among the Yoruba people in South-West Nigeria.
All the descendants of the Oloola are familiar with the practice, even the educated ones. This is not surprising because only males born into the Oloola household can practice the trade.
“It is a generational trade known to a particular household called Oloola. Tribal marks are different from any other trade. It’s a generational craft because our fathers handed it down to us,” says Ogundeji. “We have researched into it and discovered that it does not affect religion in any way. Where our own trade differs from others is that we have a house called Oloola, an abode of tribal marks. It is not that we have a particular place where people can bring their children. Those who have just given birth would come from their respective homes to tell us they want to do tribal marks, and we would go there to grant their wish.”
In times past, facial tribal marks were more or less a form of identity in Yorubaland, so it is only natural that Ogundeji would explain that facial marks have variants, which are synonymous with each household. For instance, Keke has different variants: Keke of Owu, called Keke Olowu which is common with the Olowu. There is another one called Gombo, which is not synonymous with any household but cuts across different households. There are yet others called Meeje meaning “Seven,” Pele, meaning three horizontal lines and Ture, which is synonymous with the Olokun Esin household.
Amusa Oladokun is the Olori Oloola of Oyo. Given the title by the Alaafin of Oyo, Oba Lamidi Adeyemi, he is therefore the only one with the right to do facial marks for the descendants of the King. “If you see anyone that has six marks on his face, it means he is the Alaafin’s child or is related to him. The Ture, that is their mark, the Keke called Alodi, that is their sign. The Alare who lives up the road, they have Pele with four on each side. That is their identity. The other kinds are all over the place. Those with 11 marks are there. They would have eight on one side, with three at the top. There are those with seven, three upward and four at the bottom. There are those with four or eight Baamu. It comes in different forms,” explains Oladokun.
With these variants, Ogundeji says those without tribal marks are often taunted by wearers, who say they cannot afford to pay the bill of an Oloola. But that is all in the past, as Ogundeji observes.
Meanwhile, this dying culture has become an issue, not only for the Oloolas but in the four walls of the university system. Kehinde Oladeji, an expert on African and Asian Studies and a lecturer in the Department of Language, University of Lagos, says facial marks have become irrelevant as a result of modernisation. “Facial marks were for identification during the inter-tribal wars and slavery. It was a simple means of knowing where someone was from, as it is said in Yoruba that a person with tribal marks will not remain missing for too long. Such a person, if separated from his relations during war or other conflicts, would meet someone who would identify his town and even his family, through his facial marks,” he explains.
However, such wars no longer exist with the advent of modernism and technology, both of which make having facial marking obsolete. Hence, Oladeji observes that in most towns across the country, it is difficult to come across tribal marks on the faces of people younger than 35 years old. “The culture may linger a while with traditional institutions, but they will let go with time,” he adds.
Demola Dasylva, a doctor of literature at the Department of English, University of Ibadan (UI), however disagrees with Oladeji’s view on the issue. Dasylva says facial marks may remain with traditional institutions for a long time to come. “Some aspects of culture are so integrated that you cannot change them. Great Britain is a developed democracy, yet the monarchy there is accorded so much respect. If having facial marks is a condition for being made an Oba, Emir or Eze in any part of the country, concerned princes will be avoiding scarification at their own risk,” he observes.
In spite of these divergent views, facial marks perform dual roles in the Yoruba culture, first for their aesthetics and second for their functionality.
Ohiomamhe Elugbe of the Department of Languages, UI, on his part, describes facial marks as mere inoculation against certain diseases, it is used as a measure to prevent Abiku children from their cycle of deaths.
As for Akin Onipede, a visual artist, facial marks are symbols of pride and identity, especially among the Yorubas. This view greatly influenced one of his works he titled: National Award, which is a piece that features the Queen of England spotting a facial mark called Meeje. This, Onipede, explains offers multi-dimensional viewpoints and meanings: “It could be seen from the point of view of a country or people offering distinguished citizens or individuals one of the highest awards in the land such as KBE, OBE, MBE, GCFR, OFR. But then, this will appear normal. But an award to the Queen has to be unique and reflective of the culture of the person giving it.”
Therefore, tribal marks, for Onipede, are the most befitting award that the Queen of England can be given, and his art is just one of the means artists employ to prevent the total erosion of a people’s vibrant culture.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Incredible India!
I was trudging home from work last Tuesday when I ran into an Indian family. I was attracted by their musical accent and the style of their stride in Oniru Estate’s cold night.
As the group approached me, I could easily identify the father and mother, but found it almost impossible naming the kids. They all seemed to share the same looks and height. But on second thoughts, I felt some of the kids could be relatives of the family.
As they drew closer, the proximity of the couple brought to my mind the Indian tradition of the woman asking for the hand of the man in marriage. I also recalled the popular 1980s Indian movie titled: Dusnumbari.
Yet again, I remembered a discussion I had with two Indian journalists whom I met in South Africa: Amita Shinde of Mid Day, India and Meher Bruno Castelino, a freelance journalist for several Indian publications. They both admitted that India has much cultural and religious diversity, a trend which also extends to dating habits.
“In most cases, dating in this region starts after parents arrange marriage. In this article, we will look at the culture and past of this region. It would be really very difficult to comprehend the dating habits of this area unless we have a look into its historical background,” said Amita.
From Meher, I learnt that Indians in upper North India are known as a warrior class, as historically all the invasions in India were through this route. Muslim invaders, beginning with the Muslim King ‘Babar’ entered India through this route. During invasions, the looting of property and the rape of females were common. It was normal to abandon the raped woman, even if she was married. And some fathers would abandon a girl child if she was raped. People practised monogamy almost as a religion here. Although not as true now, divorce was a major taboo.
“At the time of the wedding, the bride’s father would sing the folk song “Teri Doli jaayegi te arthi hi aayegi”; meaning “I am sending you off as a bride and may you come out of your husband’s house only on a pyre and not otherwise”. Another famous saying was “Sada Suhagan Rahe”, meaning “may you never become a widow”; that is you should die earlier than your husband,” Meher explained to me.
My friends were of the opinion that more than 80 percent of marriages are arranged by parents. Parents first look for a suitable match. After they choose one, the boy and girl are made to see each other. And if they happen to like each other, dating starts from that point onwards.
In the case of love marriages also, it was generally expected that both boy and girl seek parents’ approval. In many cases, the father of the girl had to approve, even against his wishes, because the family name would be smeared if the girl should elope with the boy.
In cases where a woman did marry without her father’s approval, any younger sister would find it difficult to get a match for her.
For choosing a date, social considerations weighed very heavily. At the time of marriage, the bride’s father had to give heavy gifts to relatives of the groom, which the Indians also call dowry. Before marriage, a list of such relatives was given to the father of the bride-to-be.
“In Bania community, even dowry is negotiated based on the expenses incurred on the son’s education and how much the boy is earning. Dowry is illegal, but still it continues unabated. It is insulting for a boy to get a bride without a dowry, and even today, on and off one can hear instances that a new bride is burned alive because of insufficient dowry,” Meher added with a sigh.
What I found disheartening about the whole Indian marriage was that in the lower North India state of Rajasthan, ladies used to observe ‘Sati’ a ceremony which makes a lady sit on the burning pyre of her dead husband and burn herself alive. “Now sati, though still there in some small areas, is illegal. While widowers had no restriction on getting married again, widows getting remarried was absolutely forbidden, even in cases where a girl becomes a widow at a young age of 20,” observed Amita.
I believe like any society, these values had an enormous impact on the Indian society as many cultural ceremonies witnessed generations and generations of illiterate women. Since women, till the 1950s in most parts of India were generally not very educated, and certainly not professionally qualified. But then, the society has emerged an incredible one regardless of her population and what the west would term barbaric culture.
As the group approached me, I could easily identify the father and mother, but found it almost impossible naming the kids. They all seemed to share the same looks and height. But on second thoughts, I felt some of the kids could be relatives of the family.
As they drew closer, the proximity of the couple brought to my mind the Indian tradition of the woman asking for the hand of the man in marriage. I also recalled the popular 1980s Indian movie titled: Dusnumbari.
Yet again, I remembered a discussion I had with two Indian journalists whom I met in South Africa: Amita Shinde of Mid Day, India and Meher Bruno Castelino, a freelance journalist for several Indian publications. They both admitted that India has much cultural and religious diversity, a trend which also extends to dating habits.
“In most cases, dating in this region starts after parents arrange marriage. In this article, we will look at the culture and past of this region. It would be really very difficult to comprehend the dating habits of this area unless we have a look into its historical background,” said Amita.
From Meher, I learnt that Indians in upper North India are known as a warrior class, as historically all the invasions in India were through this route. Muslim invaders, beginning with the Muslim King ‘Babar’ entered India through this route. During invasions, the looting of property and the rape of females were common. It was normal to abandon the raped woman, even if she was married. And some fathers would abandon a girl child if she was raped. People practised monogamy almost as a religion here. Although not as true now, divorce was a major taboo.
“At the time of the wedding, the bride’s father would sing the folk song “Teri Doli jaayegi te arthi hi aayegi”; meaning “I am sending you off as a bride and may you come out of your husband’s house only on a pyre and not otherwise”. Another famous saying was “Sada Suhagan Rahe”, meaning “may you never become a widow”; that is you should die earlier than your husband,” Meher explained to me.
My friends were of the opinion that more than 80 percent of marriages are arranged by parents. Parents first look for a suitable match. After they choose one, the boy and girl are made to see each other. And if they happen to like each other, dating starts from that point onwards.
In the case of love marriages also, it was generally expected that both boy and girl seek parents’ approval. In many cases, the father of the girl had to approve, even against his wishes, because the family name would be smeared if the girl should elope with the boy.
In cases where a woman did marry without her father’s approval, any younger sister would find it difficult to get a match for her.
For choosing a date, social considerations weighed very heavily. At the time of marriage, the bride’s father had to give heavy gifts to relatives of the groom, which the Indians also call dowry. Before marriage, a list of such relatives was given to the father of the bride-to-be.
“In Bania community, even dowry is negotiated based on the expenses incurred on the son’s education and how much the boy is earning. Dowry is illegal, but still it continues unabated. It is insulting for a boy to get a bride without a dowry, and even today, on and off one can hear instances that a new bride is burned alive because of insufficient dowry,” Meher added with a sigh.
What I found disheartening about the whole Indian marriage was that in the lower North India state of Rajasthan, ladies used to observe ‘Sati’ a ceremony which makes a lady sit on the burning pyre of her dead husband and burn herself alive. “Now sati, though still there in some small areas, is illegal. While widowers had no restriction on getting married again, widows getting remarried was absolutely forbidden, even in cases where a girl becomes a widow at a young age of 20,” observed Amita.
I believe like any society, these values had an enormous impact on the Indian society as many cultural ceremonies witnessed generations and generations of illiterate women. Since women, till the 1950s in most parts of India were generally not very educated, and certainly not professionally qualified. But then, the society has emerged an incredible one regardless of her population and what the west would term barbaric culture.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Lagos renewal projects and plight of the displaced
The on-going road construction in most parts of the Lagos metropolis, particularly Lekki, has rendered many residents homeless, writes FUNKE ADETUTU
Adetokunbo Ademola Street on Victoria Island is a beehive of activities this sunny April morning. Cars and buses crisscross the busy street while their movement is occasionally interrupted by the red signal of the traffic light at a nearby junction. As a commercial lane, all kinds of buildings are situated on either side of this rather long road. And it is among these buildings that the Archbishop Taylor Memorial School is located.
Overlooking the school is the popular Eko Hotel and Suites. The school building is dwarfed by the imposing height of the hotel which is nestled on a vast acre of land across the road. Passers-by may be unaware that behind the yellow wall of this school lie countless stories hidden in the hearts of its pupils.
Eight-year-old Joy Sule is a Primary Four pupil of this school. She looks bright, yet forlorn in her blue uniform which is marked by little brownish stains. Her brown oversized rubber sandal is dusty while her little toes peep through the large hole in her white-turned-brown socks. A native of Abeokuta, she has been living with her grandmother since she was five but now lives with her sister. Her mother, who used to live somewhere along the Lekki/Ajah Road, has been rendered homeless due to the on-going road construction in that part of the Lagos Metropolis. She now lives in one of the shacks at the bar beach.
Asked about her father, Joy’s face is puckered in a furrow redolent of pain and dejection. “My father is mad,” she replies sharply but innocently.
Equally pathetic is the story of five-year-old Mariam Victor who is unsure of her surname. Her mother died about two weeks ago and she has yet to be informed at the time of this report. She now lives with a police officer’s wife at the Police Barracks, Bar Beach. Joy and Mariam are just two of the numerous children affected by the ongoing reconstruction effort at Lekki. Their young hearts bear this burden even as they sit for their second term exams this morning.
Sad as it is, the trauma of these children may serve as an eye-opener for many people who may not know the enormity of the socio-economic problems that low-income workers or unemployed families in the metropolis have been facing, as there are new dimensions in respect of children whose parents are alive but have become destitute. This may result from one of the parents being too ill to work or the other disappearing due to poverty or job loss. Hence, some children like Joy and her peers who seek refuge at a school have been exposed to enormous deprivations.
Joseph Abolade, an education consultant, finds these deprivations intolerable, particularly in a city like Lagos where the government appears to be trying very hard to better the lot of residents without knowing the amount of suffering they have been experiencing.
As the head of a team set up by the Lekki Concession Company to look into the plight of the displaced people of Lekki and its environs, Abolade explains that being rendered homeless is too much for a parent let alone a child who has to combine this with study (for those who have the benefit of education).
He observes that children are not the only ones affected as parents, some of whom have been sleeping in the open or in shacks have lost their jobs. Thus, the story of 40- year-old Funmilayo Ajayi is quite instructive. She is among those who have sought refuge in one of the classrooms at the Archbishop Taylor Memorial School. She has been living on the school premises for two years while she had lived at Alasia on Victoria Island for 15 years before her shop was demolished. Funmilayo has been surviving on the meagre money she earns from selling Eko, otherwise called Pap, and sweeping the school premises. “We were not given any notice before the demolition,” she laments in a shaky voice. “We live here in the school premises. Although they are not inconveniencing us, yet it’s not a conducive place to live in. The school is owned by government and I can’t live here forever. We can all be asked to leave any time.”
Ajayi’s immediate concern is shelter for herself and her daughter, who is a pupil of the Archbishop Taylor Memorial School. “All my children are girls. I’m concerned about their future. I don’t want them to pass through what I have passed through. I’m concerned about their education,” she says.
Going back to her village in Saki, Oyo State is not an option Ajayi would consider as the state government has suggested. This is because she believes she would be unable to reconnect with a society she left many years ago.
“It would not be easy for those who have left their respective hometowns to return after so many years,” observes Marion Sikuade, director, Childlife Line, a non-governmental organisation. “What do they want to return to? Nothing. There is no house, money or job. One can also imagine the psychological effect it will have on them. Their ego would be bruised.”
Abolade also explains that the expectation of most people who migrate to Lagos from other states to make quick wealth is one of the factors that would make the state government’s pronouncement impossible. “Once a person has come to Lagos, the expectation is that he will go back a richer person, a person to whom people can now look up and say ‘what have you brought back for us from Lagos?’ Therefore, many of them will find it difficult to go back because of the shame. They will rather stay here and continue to suffer,” he says.
Therefore, one of the crucial needs of Lagos inhabitants is housing, for which reason Elijah Olapade, managing consultant, Elijah Olapade and Company, an estate surveying company, suggests that the state government declare housing an emergency. “It is sad that so many millions of people even here in Lagos are homeless,” he laments. “I believe that it is possible for the state government to replicate the kind of Council flats available in the UK. The Land Use Act is also a problem. People have been clamouring for a review of the Land Use Act. The Act was to make land available for people but the reverse is the case. The Land Use Act has recovered land from people and has put it in the pocket of government. What the Federal Government should do, because Lagos State alone cannot do this, is that there should be a policy guideline that will protect the interest of the populace when housing is concerned.”
Hence, finding an immediate solution is something that may not be within reach because the displaced people don’t even know who to turn to. “One thing I experienced is that after I have interviewed them, they look up to you and say ‘what help can you render me now?’ here and now,” says Abolade. “And you become powerless because their is no help you can render. Even if you dip your hands into the pocket and give then N200 or more; the question is, how far does that go? You find cases like that which make you rather numb and depressed. I’m not putting this at the feet of anybody. It’s just that Lagos is such a magnet which draws people from other parts of the country.”
The solutions to the myriad of problems plaguing the state do not lie solely with the government, declares Abolade; although he thinks the country should work at a system whereby people would be kept busy doing something. “There has to be a very virile ministry of employment; people that will keep data of where labour is available. It is a very complex issue because how do you know who is working at building sites and all that? It means we have to register all artisans. The government ought to be kept informed about where work is going on,” he explains.
Also, he suggests that government should put in place social security benefits for its citizens. “It is complex and mind-boggling because some of our people are too dishonest. Even when they have a job doing, when they know that money is available from government they will tell you they have no job to do. Hence, that is a big problem but that does not mean if government has the chance it cannot start it off.”
Nevertheless, some corporate organisations like the Lekki Concession Company have started helping some of the displaced people.
“The first step is to understand what the problems are. It is for this reason we have engaged the service of professionals who are knowledgeable in the field of taking care of street children and displaced people. It is after we have understood the problems that we can proffer solutions. It is because we want to help that we have carried out a survey,” says Charles Imevbore, head, corporate affairs and communication, LCC.
The infrastructural development in Lagos State is a positive development that most of its residents are happy with but the displaced people feel short-changed by the whole process. And so, they patiently await compensations that will better their lot.
Adetokunbo Ademola Street on Victoria Island is a beehive of activities this sunny April morning. Cars and buses crisscross the busy street while their movement is occasionally interrupted by the red signal of the traffic light at a nearby junction. As a commercial lane, all kinds of buildings are situated on either side of this rather long road. And it is among these buildings that the Archbishop Taylor Memorial School is located.
Overlooking the school is the popular Eko Hotel and Suites. The school building is dwarfed by the imposing height of the hotel which is nestled on a vast acre of land across the road. Passers-by may be unaware that behind the yellow wall of this school lie countless stories hidden in the hearts of its pupils.
Eight-year-old Joy Sule is a Primary Four pupil of this school. She looks bright, yet forlorn in her blue uniform which is marked by little brownish stains. Her brown oversized rubber sandal is dusty while her little toes peep through the large hole in her white-turned-brown socks. A native of Abeokuta, she has been living with her grandmother since she was five but now lives with her sister. Her mother, who used to live somewhere along the Lekki/Ajah Road, has been rendered homeless due to the on-going road construction in that part of the Lagos Metropolis. She now lives in one of the shacks at the bar beach.
Asked about her father, Joy’s face is puckered in a furrow redolent of pain and dejection. “My father is mad,” she replies sharply but innocently.
Equally pathetic is the story of five-year-old Mariam Victor who is unsure of her surname. Her mother died about two weeks ago and she has yet to be informed at the time of this report. She now lives with a police officer’s wife at the Police Barracks, Bar Beach. Joy and Mariam are just two of the numerous children affected by the ongoing reconstruction effort at Lekki. Their young hearts bear this burden even as they sit for their second term exams this morning.
Sad as it is, the trauma of these children may serve as an eye-opener for many people who may not know the enormity of the socio-economic problems that low-income workers or unemployed families in the metropolis have been facing, as there are new dimensions in respect of children whose parents are alive but have become destitute. This may result from one of the parents being too ill to work or the other disappearing due to poverty or job loss. Hence, some children like Joy and her peers who seek refuge at a school have been exposed to enormous deprivations.
Joseph Abolade, an education consultant, finds these deprivations intolerable, particularly in a city like Lagos where the government appears to be trying very hard to better the lot of residents without knowing the amount of suffering they have been experiencing.
As the head of a team set up by the Lekki Concession Company to look into the plight of the displaced people of Lekki and its environs, Abolade explains that being rendered homeless is too much for a parent let alone a child who has to combine this with study (for those who have the benefit of education).
He observes that children are not the only ones affected as parents, some of whom have been sleeping in the open or in shacks have lost their jobs. Thus, the story of 40- year-old Funmilayo Ajayi is quite instructive. She is among those who have sought refuge in one of the classrooms at the Archbishop Taylor Memorial School. She has been living on the school premises for two years while she had lived at Alasia on Victoria Island for 15 years before her shop was demolished. Funmilayo has been surviving on the meagre money she earns from selling Eko, otherwise called Pap, and sweeping the school premises. “We were not given any notice before the demolition,” she laments in a shaky voice. “We live here in the school premises. Although they are not inconveniencing us, yet it’s not a conducive place to live in. The school is owned by government and I can’t live here forever. We can all be asked to leave any time.”
Ajayi’s immediate concern is shelter for herself and her daughter, who is a pupil of the Archbishop Taylor Memorial School. “All my children are girls. I’m concerned about their future. I don’t want them to pass through what I have passed through. I’m concerned about their education,” she says.
Going back to her village in Saki, Oyo State is not an option Ajayi would consider as the state government has suggested. This is because she believes she would be unable to reconnect with a society she left many years ago.
“It would not be easy for those who have left their respective hometowns to return after so many years,” observes Marion Sikuade, director, Childlife Line, a non-governmental organisation. “What do they want to return to? Nothing. There is no house, money or job. One can also imagine the psychological effect it will have on them. Their ego would be bruised.”
Abolade also explains that the expectation of most people who migrate to Lagos from other states to make quick wealth is one of the factors that would make the state government’s pronouncement impossible. “Once a person has come to Lagos, the expectation is that he will go back a richer person, a person to whom people can now look up and say ‘what have you brought back for us from Lagos?’ Therefore, many of them will find it difficult to go back because of the shame. They will rather stay here and continue to suffer,” he says.
Therefore, one of the crucial needs of Lagos inhabitants is housing, for which reason Elijah Olapade, managing consultant, Elijah Olapade and Company, an estate surveying company, suggests that the state government declare housing an emergency. “It is sad that so many millions of people even here in Lagos are homeless,” he laments. “I believe that it is possible for the state government to replicate the kind of Council flats available in the UK. The Land Use Act is also a problem. People have been clamouring for a review of the Land Use Act. The Act was to make land available for people but the reverse is the case. The Land Use Act has recovered land from people and has put it in the pocket of government. What the Federal Government should do, because Lagos State alone cannot do this, is that there should be a policy guideline that will protect the interest of the populace when housing is concerned.”
Hence, finding an immediate solution is something that may not be within reach because the displaced people don’t even know who to turn to. “One thing I experienced is that after I have interviewed them, they look up to you and say ‘what help can you render me now?’ here and now,” says Abolade. “And you become powerless because their is no help you can render. Even if you dip your hands into the pocket and give then N200 or more; the question is, how far does that go? You find cases like that which make you rather numb and depressed. I’m not putting this at the feet of anybody. It’s just that Lagos is such a magnet which draws people from other parts of the country.”
The solutions to the myriad of problems plaguing the state do not lie solely with the government, declares Abolade; although he thinks the country should work at a system whereby people would be kept busy doing something. “There has to be a very virile ministry of employment; people that will keep data of where labour is available. It is a very complex issue because how do you know who is working at building sites and all that? It means we have to register all artisans. The government ought to be kept informed about where work is going on,” he explains.
Also, he suggests that government should put in place social security benefits for its citizens. “It is complex and mind-boggling because some of our people are too dishonest. Even when they have a job doing, when they know that money is available from government they will tell you they have no job to do. Hence, that is a big problem but that does not mean if government has the chance it cannot start it off.”
Nevertheless, some corporate organisations like the Lekki Concession Company have started helping some of the displaced people.
“The first step is to understand what the problems are. It is for this reason we have engaged the service of professionals who are knowledgeable in the field of taking care of street children and displaced people. It is after we have understood the problems that we can proffer solutions. It is because we want to help that we have carried out a survey,” says Charles Imevbore, head, corporate affairs and communication, LCC.
The infrastructural development in Lagos State is a positive development that most of its residents are happy with but the displaced people feel short-changed by the whole process. And so, they patiently await compensations that will better their lot.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
On the verge of breaking down
FUNKE ADETUTU
In the mid-1990s when R. Kelly released his album, I believe I can Fly, it was a hit. It was played in every nook and cranny of the country. So it was no surprise that as a student then, I was captivated by the inspirational lyric and Kelly’s great voice. In fact, it got to a point I had to learn the lyric by heart. It was the song I loved to listen to whenever my spirit was low or I was experiencing difficult times.
I can still vividly remember a particular line of the song which has remained on my mind ever since: “See I was on the verge of breaking down, sometimes silence can seem so loud.”
About two months ago, I chanced upon Isabel Allende’s novel, Paula, which I began to read almost immediately. That was the first time I would be coming upon Allende’s book. I’ve heard of House of the Spirits, which was her first novel but I have never read it. I was captivated by the first line of Paula. And it was after I had gone more than halfway into the novel that I realised how instructive it was for Isabel Allende to have begun her novel that way. “Listen, Paula, I am going to tell you a story, so that when you wake up you will not feel so lost. The legend of our family begins at the end of the last century...” read the first and second lines. For me, there is no better way a great writer can start a novel of this nature, especially when the writer is in such great despair.
Paula is a true-life story about the anguish of the author whose daughter, Paula, falls gravely ill and thereafter sinks into a coma. The novel was written during the interminable hours the author spent in the corridors of a Madrid hospital (which she called the corridor of lost steps) and in the hotel room where she lived for several months, as well as beside her daughter’s bed back home in California, USA during the summer and fall of 1992.
It was an agonising period for Isabel Allende who had passed through so much in life marriage-wise besides being born into a family which was at the centre of the 1970s political turmoil in Chile.
For me, the narrative is more than a memoir. It is a tender, moving and vivid record of a mother’s agony at the bedside of her daughter. It’s a long letter written by a mother to a dying child in an effort to restore her fast ebbing life. The author shares with the readers her most intimate feelings which results in an emotionally charged, spellbinding memoir.
Life throws all sorts of things our way, and for some people, the best way to pour out the anguish lurked in the inner recesses of their minds is to write. Through their writings, many authors have climbed huge mountains and surmounted great challenges. For most authors and musicians, the deeper the wound, the more private the grave until they let it out through their music or book.
All they need is a medium that will enable them pour out that emotion, the feeling that has been bottled up in their minds; and writing provides the veritable platform on which to do so. Hence, writing, like music, is an escape from emotion for most people when they are alone, when the days are longer and the nights darker; when solitude leaves them bitter. They have more than enough to write once they are blown on all sides by the strong wind of hopelessness. Therefore, they have nothing else to do but remember. Remember the dark days
Their unvoiced wail is usually so intense such that their readers or listeners cannot help but hear it. Little wonder, then, that Paula is a pretty lengthy narrative filled with weariness and pain. It’s a combination of long periods of angry silence during the author’s childhood and adolescence.
In the long silent hours of writing, authors trample on memories; all that happened in one instant of their lives, as if their entire lives are a single, unfathomable image. The child, boy or girl they were, the woman or man they are, the old man or woman they shall be, are all water in the same rushing torrent. Their memories are like a Mexican Mural in which all times are simultaneous.
This is the way I have learnt to go. To either be like the novelist by putting my experience down on paper or singing. I have learnt to tread the path of the writer who, on the verge of breaking down, puts her feelings into writing.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Ghana must-go
FUNKE ADETUTU
Sometime in the 1970s, something unusual happened in the then Gold Coast now called Ghana. Citizens from foreign countries were asked to leave Ghana for their respective countries. Then, it was very much unlike now that the message being preached in most countries of the world is that the world should become a ‘global village.’ Much later, Nigeria retaliated and Ghanaians were asked to leave Nigeria. Much later however, the old friendliness between the two countries was restored and the ‘cold war’ was consigned into the thrash can of history. What’s Funke exactly driving at, you ask?
Well, reported comments attributed to Lagos State Government some time ago when the demolition process in the state that really affected some residents got me thinking and I wonder if that should happen, otherwise, what will become of Lagos? If what I hear is correct, that the governor advised the displaced persons to return to their hometowns since it seems Lagos can no longer accommodate them, then I see this as a kind of re-enactment of what happened between Nigeria and Ghana in the ‘70s. But this time, it’s not a battle between nationalities, it’s one between brothers and sisters, kinsmen closely knitted and related by blood, since we all belong to this great country.
Someone once offered that if the displaced ones were sent back to their hometowns, what would they fall back on? Many other people have asked what provisions the various state governments put in place to ensure that these people don’t return to “square one.” But I tell you, that in our dear country such thing is alien. No state government has ever thought of natives of his state sojourning to other states. They will just fall back on the same old cycle of hopelessness.
If for instance, they plan to venture into farming, on whose land would they till? Whose seeds would they plant? How do they get the money with which to buy manure and other farm implements? I can imagine how tough life would be for them. And if they decide to go into trading, then how do they get the money with which to purchase the goods? As little as N5,000 could be very difficult for these people to access. But the truth is, it all boils down to the fact that the government of each state must learn to take responsibility for their citizens.
On a very sincere note, I will like to look at this from two sides. It’s understandable that the state government is overwhelmed by the large influx of people into the state everyday, while hoping that something would be done to help them. So, if the state government says “go back to your village,” well, I cannot discount why it has said that. But then again, back to the earlier question, ‘what do they go to do?’ There is a lady at the Arch Bishop Taylor Memorial School that I met some weeks ago. Though from Oyo State, she is one of those displaced as a result of the on-going road construction going on at Lekki.
I asked if she would like to return to her village, but sarcastically, she laughed. It was a dry, and very pregnant laughter, that deeply sounded something more like, “what do I go back to do?” Yes, she has no house and you know, of course, the psychological side of it! Once a person comes to Lagos, the expectation is that such persons should return “home” richer, contented, a person that can now be looked up to, with loud expectations like, ‘so what have you brought back for us form Lagos?’ This huge expectations from the folks at home and the very many dependants of course, is what scares many from wanting to leave Lagos back to base. Many can’t stand the shame of “returning empty-handed,” and so would rather stay “put” and continue to suffer.
But if the truth must continue to be told, I think what Lagos State government should want to see happen is that other states take their social responsibility more seriously in terms of housing, infrastructure, job creation, etc. Lagos State for instance has employed more people to sweep the roads, to keep vigilance among others. This, regrettably, is not happening in many other states; and as long as those problems exist, so long will Lagos remain the honey pot that is attracted to by more and more pests.
Honestly, I insist there has be a kind of diplomatic relationship and synergy among all the states in the country. Maybe when next governors hold their meetings, pray they discuss these issues. Without sentiments and any sense of arrogance, me think Fashola as Lagos governor, should be able to meet with say Alao-Akala of Oyo State and stress it to him that ‘your people are worrying me in Lagos, so what are you doing about this?’ Yes, Akala may truly get angry and perhaps to further compound matters, all the more because they are in different political camps, but there has to be a way out of this! As long as we continue to see it as delicate issue that is difficult to surmount, so would the problem persist.
Sometime in the 1970s, something unusual happened in the then Gold Coast now called Ghana. Citizens from foreign countries were asked to leave Ghana for their respective countries. Then, it was very much unlike now that the message being preached in most countries of the world is that the world should become a ‘global village.’ Much later, Nigeria retaliated and Ghanaians were asked to leave Nigeria. Much later however, the old friendliness between the two countries was restored and the ‘cold war’ was consigned into the thrash can of history. What’s Funke exactly driving at, you ask?
Well, reported comments attributed to Lagos State Government some time ago when the demolition process in the state that really affected some residents got me thinking and I wonder if that should happen, otherwise, what will become of Lagos? If what I hear is correct, that the governor advised the displaced persons to return to their hometowns since it seems Lagos can no longer accommodate them, then I see this as a kind of re-enactment of what happened between Nigeria and Ghana in the ‘70s. But this time, it’s not a battle between nationalities, it’s one between brothers and sisters, kinsmen closely knitted and related by blood, since we all belong to this great country.
Someone once offered that if the displaced ones were sent back to their hometowns, what would they fall back on? Many other people have asked what provisions the various state governments put in place to ensure that these people don’t return to “square one.” But I tell you, that in our dear country such thing is alien. No state government has ever thought of natives of his state sojourning to other states. They will just fall back on the same old cycle of hopelessness.
If for instance, they plan to venture into farming, on whose land would they till? Whose seeds would they plant? How do they get the money with which to buy manure and other farm implements? I can imagine how tough life would be for them. And if they decide to go into trading, then how do they get the money with which to purchase the goods? As little as N5,000 could be very difficult for these people to access. But the truth is, it all boils down to the fact that the government of each state must learn to take responsibility for their citizens.
On a very sincere note, I will like to look at this from two sides. It’s understandable that the state government is overwhelmed by the large influx of people into the state everyday, while hoping that something would be done to help them. So, if the state government says “go back to your village,” well, I cannot discount why it has said that. But then again, back to the earlier question, ‘what do they go to do?’ There is a lady at the Arch Bishop Taylor Memorial School that I met some weeks ago. Though from Oyo State, she is one of those displaced as a result of the on-going road construction going on at Lekki.
I asked if she would like to return to her village, but sarcastically, she laughed. It was a dry, and very pregnant laughter, that deeply sounded something more like, “what do I go back to do?” Yes, she has no house and you know, of course, the psychological side of it! Once a person comes to Lagos, the expectation is that such persons should return “home” richer, contented, a person that can now be looked up to, with loud expectations like, ‘so what have you brought back for us form Lagos?’ This huge expectations from the folks at home and the very many dependants of course, is what scares many from wanting to leave Lagos back to base. Many can’t stand the shame of “returning empty-handed,” and so would rather stay “put” and continue to suffer.
But if the truth must continue to be told, I think what Lagos State government should want to see happen is that other states take their social responsibility more seriously in terms of housing, infrastructure, job creation, etc. Lagos State for instance has employed more people to sweep the roads, to keep vigilance among others. This, regrettably, is not happening in many other states; and as long as those problems exist, so long will Lagos remain the honey pot that is attracted to by more and more pests.
Honestly, I insist there has be a kind of diplomatic relationship and synergy among all the states in the country. Maybe when next governors hold their meetings, pray they discuss these issues. Without sentiments and any sense of arrogance, me think Fashola as Lagos governor, should be able to meet with say Alao-Akala of Oyo State and stress it to him that ‘your people are worrying me in Lagos, so what are you doing about this?’ Yes, Akala may truly get angry and perhaps to further compound matters, all the more because they are in different political camps, but there has to be a way out of this! As long as we continue to see it as delicate issue that is difficult to surmount, so would the problem persist.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
A God of vengeance
FUNKE ADETUTU
I would have loved to title my piece this week Life is about choices II as a sequel to the first one I did some weeks ago. Giving it this title will also mean I succumb to the thinking of Olawale Ayetolu, one of the ardent readers of this column who also scanned this page and sent it as an attachment to his comment as a proof of his loyalty to the views I share on this page. “Your story today is very interesting, writes Olawale, except that it looks as if you were asked to encourage wasteful spending of church money to better the life of church leaders. I will not be surprise if by next week, you write ‘Life is about choices phase two’ and you equally paint good the acquisition of jets by bank executives at a time when the whole world is being prudent with the way they spend.”
It seems Olawale has refused to see reasons with and perhaps does not understand my position on this issue. When I wrote that life is about choices, so, I wasn’t; and still not trying to encourage church leaders to squander or embezzle church fund. All I was trying to say is that as church goers, we have a choice to put down our offerings or tithes in the baskets being passed round.
But then, there is also the issue of faith as dictated by the tenets of any religion. As individuals, we also have a choice to believe what the holy book says, in particular to giving tithes and offering. The law backing tithes and offering is based on the popular book in the Bible, Malachi chapter three which admonishes Christians to give tithes and offering with a promise of increase. Hence, if the Bible says give, then we must give without questioning what anybody does with the money. The instruction ends with ‘give’ not for the individual to begin to inquire what the church does with the money. Of course, there is no right thinking church that would want to embezzle God’s money. After giving, the giver should hand over to God completely; it is left for God to punish accordingly if the money is misused. Let’s not forget that we serve a God who knows all things and says vengeance is His.
In fact, some Biblical figures like David believe strongly in giving to God, hence he clearly stated that he would not give to God an offering that costs him nothing; even Abraham, the world-acclaimed father of faith gave Melchidezek, ten percent of the spoils of war. He never bothered himself what the High Priest was going to do with what he had given him. He just gave Melchidezek, the ten percent tithe and went his way. Hence, whatever, Melchidezek did with the tithe was his problem and not Abrahams.’
I still maintain that we should wait for Pastor Adeboye’s comment. We can’t crucify the poor man even before he speaks. Let’s just wait to hear from him.
I’m glad I did this piece anyway and I’m excited to have received all the different arguments and comments that have trailed “Life is about choices.” Trust me, some of them I have decided to publish as they were sent in. Excerpts:
“I just finished reading your column in Business Day. I also oppose the purchase of the jet because it is coming at the time when people/church members are struggling for survival. It is true Oyedepo has a private jet, but Living Faith does not have the type of churches that Redeem has in the name of expansion. Look, 4 billion naira is a lot of money. Sunday Mirror of last week reported that the operation cost is 5000dollars per hour when in use. If 1billion is spent on the camp to upgrade facilities, members will be willing to do more. Whether its church money or not, it will dampen the spirit of people as most people, especially bankers are only praying for their jobs not to be affected as the global meltdown is heating up on us in Nigeria. Rumours have it that Apapa family (a parish under Apapa) contributed 70 million naira. Directly or indirectly, the common man is affected with the purchase of the jet. Look, some parish can not even pay their rent. If this money was channelled into building a better church for worshippers, it will go along way or 1 billion is used to construct another access road to the camp, this will have immediate and direct impact on all and sundry as traffic will be reduced along the Ibadan express road. Lastly, the church can do better by giving scholarship to helpless members in Redeemers University. I ask how many active members can conveniently send their wards to local universities, less private university. I beg am not happy about the purchase. Please confirm if it is a rumour or reality?
---- Olumutimi Oyejide
I think your article in Business Day is particularly interesting. The fact is that a large majority of Nigerians have had their thinking so constricted and coloured by the poverty, mediocrity and 'smallness' in our environment that their minds can hardly conceive anything 'great', 'ground-breaking' or extraordinary. It's no surprise (though unfortunate) that most people around here never amount to anything significant in life beyond barely getting along. Kenneth E. Hagin in 1981, gave out a jet and a Cadillac limousine as gifts to a ministry. Years after, Kenneth Copeland bought and gave him (a private jet to Kenneth Hagin). These things are not unusual. How many multinational corporations have grown out of Nigeria? In which industries /sectors do we have any strong presence even in Africa? What particular discipline or skill sets are we recognised for? Yet, a Nigerian based solely on account of his character and contribution is recognized as one of the 50 most influential people alive. Pastor Enoch Adeboye has paid the price for greatness, has been acknowledged as such and it should come as no surprise that he has (personal or official) one of the things a great man with his level of impact and contribution to society (whether in business, agriculture or ministry) can reasonably expect to have. Let's challenge those who think he has got too much to impact their own small constituency (their homes, their neighbourhood, their schools) in the same way. Let them go the extra mile, let them pay the price. Then they can criticise others.
---- David Adeoye, Skye Bank Plc.
As usual, I find your column today quite interesting. I think you may have picked on a highly emotional issue despite your claim that no emotions are involved here. It may also be hasty since Pastor Adeboye has not really come out to confirm or deny the fact that he bought a jet or how much was spent on it. As a man of God, he should be seen to be above reproach and I believe it will be proper if he comes out to state if he actually bought a jet, and how much? The source of the funds and most importantly, why he needs a jet...without these explanations... it may be too hasty to speak against or for this position. Personally, I understand while a man needs a car in Lagos, I understand and sympathise with the fact that a bank's CEO needs a jet in Nigeria… but am not too sure why a man of God needs to jet around in a jet...unless, I understand the issues involved... that is why Adeboye owes us some preaching on "Jets and Pastors.” It may help us on the road to salvation...
---- K.K Brown
Nice article here, but it's somehow hard for me to pass any comment on this because I have so much respect for this man of God and I still find it hard to believe he actually purchased a jet but if he did, then I think it's for a good reason. I know him to be a very humble person but to be realistic, he has paid his dues and if he feels having a private jet is what he has dreamt of all his life, then who wouldn't want to see the actualisation of his dream? He has done so much for the church, so it's not a question of embezzlement, at least, it will be used for ministration.
---- Olawale
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