A man decides to end his life by plunging into the lagoon on a glorious Sunday evening. He was a medical doctor. To the average observer, he appeared to be comfortable, or at least better off than most people. In different circumstances, but in clearly another act of suicide, a final year student of a University opts to take his own life by hanging himself in the hostel room he shared with two of his colleagues. They return after a night of reading to find him dangling from the ceiling. Both incidents have sent shock waves down the spine of many Nigerians. A country where the concept of committing suicide is still somewhat alien.
It starts with a promise. “To have and to hold, for richer and poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do us apart” Everyone in that space can’t help but shed a lone tear. He looks at her. She stares at him. They made it! Theirs will be different. They will show others what a real union should be like. They’ll school intending married couples on how to treat the significant other in a marriage. 2 years down the line the story is different. Daggers are drawn, the once inseparable lovebirds can’t stand the sight of each other anymore. One of them has reneged on all the vows made that fateful day. The situation degenerates to a point of no return. A divorce is filed by the party who just can’t take it anymore. Another once promising union bites the dust.
At one time or the other, a couple of people have asked what I thought about the idea of being a celebrity, and if I ever wanted to be one. My answer was the same each time. I don’t want to be a celebrity in the sense of being so physically recognizable that I would hardly be able to buy roasted plantain by the roadside if I wanted to. I want to be known solely for what I do, my craft, and nothing else. I don’t want every Sade, Nnamdi and Hassan all up in my personal business, or thinking they have a right to tell me how to live my life because of some silly celebrity status. I always tell them I want the radio kind of popularity. I want people to know my name, not necessarily my face. Being a celebrity is a burden I am not quite sure I can bear well. The fuss about singer and songwriter, Simi’s mode of dressing is one of the reasons I never crave to be popular.
“Sadly football is a business with a short memory”- Luigi Riccardi
Claudio Ranieri, the 65- year old, Italian manager who led lowly Leicester City Football Club to an unprecedented English Premiership title win last season was given the boot last Thursday. The Foxes have been a shadow of the team they were last season, no doubt. But very few suspected that their hero, who surpassed all expectations and made history with a team of average players could get the axe so soon. Just nine months later…just 292 days after lifting the coveted trophy, memories were trashed to the bin, and a benefactor was fired in a most unceremonious manner. If that isn’t the height of disloyalty and betrayal then I don’t know what is.
The Big Brother Reality TV show has been a subject of debate since it began broadcasting in January. And as the days have progressed the arguments for and against its relevance have become more heated on social media. It’s not a new development. Since the first Big Brother Africa show made its debut in 2003, and the Nigerian version was first aired in 2006, it has courted controversy; plenty of controversy. Apart the “strange” idea of having a group of strangers live together in a confined space without the trappings of gadgets and activities that accompany daily life, there was always going to be concern about what the housemates who are full-fledged adults would get up to within a period of three months where they would have nothing much to occupy them save for interacting with one another.
The Nigerian story is one that never ceases to fascinate. We are different in so many ways. Our lifestyle, our outlook to life, our resilience, our sorry socio-economic state, our lying and thieving politicians. You name it! We are a different breed of people. Even among our neighbours, we stick out like a sore thumb. If it were for good reasons for the most part, it would have been great. It would have been something to boast about. Unfortunately, most of the attributes and situations that mark us out as different aren’t exactly things to be proud of. The sudden and unfortunate death of young gospel singer, Eric Arubayi reminds us of this once again.
Muyiwa Dixon is this week’s guest blogger on Lolo’s Thoughts. He is a petroleum engineering graduate of the University of Ibadan. He loves to read, play football, and write in his leisure time. Muyiwa is an advocate of a new and progressive Nigeria.
In Nigeria, it’s commonplace to balance or justify the ills and failures of a present administration with that of the previous. For every devastating error perpetrated by the All Progressive Congress, it’s admirers and supporters find solace in making reference to one or more similar errors which had also been committed by Peoples Democratic Party during its long and debilitating tenure.
When I was a fresher at the University of Ibadan, I stayed in the hostel. The prestigious Queen Elizabeth Hall to be precise. There was this girl who was also a fresh undergraduate. We didn’t stay in the same room, nor had friends in common, but I got to know her because she became quite…
It’s something that has been playing around in my mind for a while, but became more ensconced this past week. I was part of the judging panel in a writing competition, and last Thursday, there was an event to celebrate the winners. It was a privilege and honor to see young literary geniuses in the making. Teenagers from various secondary schools in Lagos who wrote brilliant fiction stories about the menace of terrorism in the world today. Beyond the giving of prizes, there were talks to encourage the students about the numerous advantages of reading and writing, and generally having a good head on one’s shoulders.
I don’t like writing about Nigeria. I try to shy away from writing about Nigeria and her problems. The reason is not far-fetched really. Even a visually-impaired person knows that the country’s woes are self-inflicted. With a leadership that constantly seeks ways to outdo itself when it comes to incompetence and a set of followers who lament everyday, but in the same breath defend the political class who subject them to untold hardship, it’s difficult to believe we aren’t suffering from a collective Stockholm Syndrome. The more our government and political class subject us to different forms of abuse, the more we are wont to vote their ilk when election day arrives.