He is the boss of the uber-successful multinational tech company—Amazon— and the richest man in the world, according to Forbes. Jeff Bezos is synonymous with ingenuity and wealth. Before now, he was popular only for his tech genius, but the last couple of days have thrown the doors of his personal life open to the prying eyes of the public. At first, it seemed to be not much of a big deal save for the humongous amount of cash involved; yet another couple were heading to the courts to put an end to their union.
“I have decided to resign, that man is an Ogre,” said Chike.
Some months ago, he was a frustrated unemployed young man. His second class upper degree in Economics had had little impact on his job search. He remembered the last of the many interviews he had attended.
“Mr Onuche, I usually do not disclose this to applicants, but I have been really impressed by your performance. You performed excellently in the test and my colleagues also spoke of how well your interview went. Well done. We will definitely get back to you soon.” The words of the HR Manager of the prestigious Base Oil were music to Chike’s ears.
LionHeart is a Nigerian movie produced by Chinny Onwugbenu and directed by Genevieve Nnaji
My first encounter with LionHeart was on Instagram. About a year ago, the director and principal character in the film, Genevieve Nnaji had posted a few scenes from the movie which was in its production stage at the time. The pictures aroused more than a passing interest for a number of reasons:
There are only a few days left before the year winds down. The last couple of days before the end of each year are often a time of reflection even for the most laissez-faire personalities. There’s something about the threshold of a new year that triggers a mixture of excitement and sobriety. We are happy because…
Last Saturday, a group of young women (and a few men) staged a peaceful protest at Yaba market in Lagos. It was a march premised on a simple admonition: “Do not touch us. Stop harassing women and young ladies who come to the market to shop for clothing items or who are simply walking by. Desist from groping females under the guise of attempting to get them to patronise you.” The women had had enough. The harassment of females at the market was a disturbing trend that had been perpetuated for far too long, and if anything, it’s surprising that no one had thought to do something about it until now.
“I apologise for insinuating that women are incapable of making the sort of pivotal decisions that are needed in the high stakes business of nation-building.”
“I am sorry for my views on abortion and the rights of sexually assaulted women to get one if they so desire.”
“I regret the Facebook post I made 12 years ago which suggests that Nigeria isn’t ripe for a democracy and will do better under a fascist regime.”
“My thoughts on young people and their penchant for irresponsibility were formed at a time when I did not have adequate insight into the subject matter, I have since realised that young people are in fact one of the greatest assets our country has and I apologise for the negative impact my previous statement may have had on the younger citizens of our country.”
This will be many of us in the near future.
Once I was chatting with someone who mentioned their aversion for hanging around old people. By old people, he meant those aged 60 and above. “What would we talk about?” He added. This individual just couldn’t fathom being stuck in the same space as a senior citizen for too long. His thinking—they were generations apart—so there’s really no point of intersection in their realities that would make for interesting conversation. I smiled, then reminded him that he would most likely be in the position of the older person one day and wondered how he’d feel if some youngster said the same thing he had just voiced.
It was an impossible task of sorts. I was mandated to write four articles within a few hours—and no, I wasn’t given topics—I had to come up with them. This meant developing a concept and conducting a fair bit of research before going ahead to put pen to paper. Already mentally tired and inundated with plenty of work, it seemed unfeasible to pull off. A colleague asked how I would go about it and the next words I spoke surprised even me. “I am the “baddest” and the best at this. I’ll find a way,” I said. It was a resolute, firm resolve, not a boastful one. But that statement was all the fuel and fire I needed to work my magic. I delivered before the deadline.
We couldn’t have been older than eight and eleven years old at the time; children who loved treats, just like any other kid. So when we laid eyes on them at the supermarket just outside our estate back gate, our eyes lit up and we chattered excitedly about how we would love to have…
Success…to be deemed successful—the story we all want—that earnest yearning to be looked upon as one of the few who knows exactly what they are doing. The admiration, the fandom even that we fantasise about when we put our plough to work. We are positive that we can make a career out of our hobby or passion and so we pursue it for love, for joy, for self-gratification; and in the hope that someone else, maybe two, will connect with our conviction. Sometimes, our hunch is right; we get all the plaudits and everyone wonders why we did not start off earlier. At other times, however, they give the damning verdict—”You are not nearly as good as you thought.”