Thought Picnic: The scary past Facebook evokes

A past too fast

There is something I learnt a few days ago that some reflex in me immediately controlled, a brush with the past that brought back a flood of memories, but I narrowly avoided re-situating myself in that context. Obviously, I am responsible for the things that I have done especially in my childhood, even if bad, naïve, nasty, or worse, it is important I do not use that to excuse old behaviours.

As I have written before, Facebook is a psychosocial complex that unites us unwittingly with the past in so many unintended ways that could as well be destructive if we are not careful. Social media sates curiosity in ways that we would not even invite and pay a private eye to investigate on our behalf.

Schooled from the beyond

When I joined Facebook at the end of December 2009, and I had avoided doing it for years, I immediately sought out groups from my primary schools and secondary school. One invitation from Chris, my partner in the years around that time, I did not respond to until well into 2010, he passed on in November 2009.

Soon, I realised I needed to compartmentalise things, I was not going to befriend every old friend that I had not seen for over 30 years, the intervening time a complete blank to me and the person I reconnect with different in character, personality, or outlook from me. The temptation to resume friendships as if they had never broken off fait accompli is a weakness in our psyche and dangerous if one is suddenly too trusting.

Of times than person

Even before Facebook, there were friends made in different schools that I actively avoided because they represented a time in my own life and story I did not want to relive. They were an emotional burden that depicted vulnerability and failings not of themselves, even if they were not successful, but critically of myself, because I knew things about me that I could not face, I want to think that the past has been buried, out of sight and out of the mind, far from recall.

Then an old school teacher’s picture appeared on one of those pages; when we parted ways in 1975, I must have thought, that was it. There she was at 93 and I back in Primary 5. The times when I did not submit any homework which I hated and she put me in front of the class to be shamed; a version of being put in stocks and pelted with rotten eggs and vegetables in a public place. They did not ask questions about why a child's attitude took a turn then.

False claims so lame

I hated writing then, and I was to write letters to a number of teachers then, which I eventually never did. Meanings of words if did not know that I used painting pictures of family life at home that was hardly reflective of the truth. I was like the class Matilda, smart, different, inquisitive, resourceful, awkward, and sadly suffocating too. I found a book in one of the school cupboards and started teaching myself, French.

There was one incident at home that I probably would never have told my parents if my mother nursing my baby brother in the next room had not heard me. I was recovering from illness and asleep in my bed when a lady came into my room and sat on me. I recognised her because I said, ‘I will tell your husband.’ My mother called out from her room, asking who it was, but my memory went blank, there began a life of African-Initiated Church rituals that lasted through adolescence until I left home.

Child psychology misadventure

My childhood troubles did not begin then, years before, I had lost my sexual innocence to the trusted, my father’s strict disciplinarian ways with his youngest female sibling and female cousin made him distant and unapproachable, the psychological effect was to find expression elsewhere in the reckless and the imaginative. The apparent idyllic home life was anything but, the past harbours things that still make me shiver and I have not found the form of words to express.

Indeed, in a picture is a connection to a past that might not make you smile, that is a well of negative nostalgia, no longing and much loathing. Not so much of the person seen, but of the time it captured for which memories long forgotten take to life again like old dead seeds put in soil and watered. And yes, I do now remember who the lady was, crazy as the mind works.

Thought Picnic: Levitating on the confusion some have about me

This is who I am

On the public pages of my Facebook profile, I wrestle with the urge for an outburst whilst exercising considerable restraint. To be honest, I don’t do much on Facebook, the greater traffic of material comes from Instagram.

I take pictures and write long captions to them and post on Instagram, with the option for the same posting to go to Twitter and Facebook. Before Facebook severed the automatic posting facility from Twitter, the bulk of traffic to Facebook came from Twitter.

Other activities on Facebook involves posting reactions to comments, I find I can get involved in several discussions, debates or disputes, it is all good for engagement.

I am not taking that

However, the issues on Facebook are some questions that get posted to inputs from Instagram. I was kissing my boyfriend and someone I hadn’t had any interactive contact with for over 3 decades came round with the question – What am I seeing? I didn’t bother answering the person, I deleted the question and eventually removed him as a friend.

Nothing is as annoying as people who have lived abroad for decades but have not escaped the myopic frame of reference that limited their vision of a diverse humanity since they were in Nigeria. It is no secret lest there be the surfeit of assumption, my normality is different and probably does not fit in the concept of the normality of others. I am different, not abnormal. Difference is a function of diversity, not one of abnormality.

I owe no explanation

There are realities about myself that I know, and I do not need to explain to others, just as I do not intrude in the affairs of the busybodies who cannot hold their counsel. All the conclusions you probably want to draw have been drawn, I am not conventionally married, I have no children in or out of wedlock and fundamentally, I have never been attracted to the opposite sex.

It is something not understood in some societies, yet it is fully understood in others from a scientific, medical, logical, psychological and physiological perspective that we not only have the abrogation of Victorian-era laws but the promulgation and enforcement of laws and rights for protection and acceptance of the somewhat minorities who need not fear to be themselves and in that thrive as worthy and celebrated members of their communities, little and large.

My life is not a lifestyle

Then let’s disabuse ourselves of that misconception, lifestyles are about choices you can make when there are options available to you. Sometimes, a lifestyle is an adoption of a persona, a façade, a veneer behind which you hide, hoping no one would find out who you are. A lifestyle is usually looking for a sort of conformity, a pretension to normality you do not have, and you are constantly looking for a mask when you’re not looking in the mirror.

Living your own life is a long way from living a lifestyle, it is the point where you have become true to yourself regardless of what others think. It is where your individuality is expressed, and uniqueness is what you choose to be. It is where your heart beats, your soul rests, your mind sings, and your happiness begins to glow. Life is where you are becoming the best of who you are not caring about pleasing anyone, but if anyone is pleased, it is a bonus.

Life is where you have accepted who you are and know you do not need a cure for who you are. It is also where you can travel with those who accept you and jettison those reject you. It is where you soar like an eagle and find the champion in life that you are. I would marry who I choose to love and marry, and we would together decide what we want to make of our own family. Those choices would not be made for me by anyone else other than with whom I have chosen to live my life.

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A Decade on Twitter

A quarter of a century online

I review my life on social media that appears to go back 25 years when it was not a popular term. My first email address in 1994 and then a CompuServe subscription through which I participated in Usenet groups.

When I moved out to Ipswich in 1995, I found an Internet Service Provider (ISP) who I discovered unilaterally blocked adult websites. I paid him a visit and demanded that as an adult, my access to the Internet should be untrammelled, including the ability to view adult sites, as I am an adult and I do not intend to be policed if I am doing nothing illegal.

I guess he was embarrassed for the fact that I was unabashed, my request was granted that evening and he must have glad I did not have to visit him about anything again.

Throwing off and throwing down

Soon, we were on Internet Relay Chat (IRC), I think that was 1997, opening channels for all sorts of interests until people found ways to exploit vulnerabilities in the TCP/IP stack and knock you offline with DoS/DDoS attacks or those that broke IRC connections, called nuking. We had to implement countermeasures to prevent nukes and the takeovers of IRC channels.

As the popularity of IRC began to wane in the early 2000s, I was in a Berlin hotel when decided to start blogging in December 2003. I hope to have written my 3,000^th blog sometime this year. It was not for another few years before I joined another social media platform. In my early blogging years, I formed significant and lasting friendships from which I began to grow a social network.

Along the line, I joined other niche social media networks, many of which have fallen out use, favour or are dead. Then came LinkedIn, which many did not consider social as in other forums we participated in, I guess, we compartmentalised, trying to keep our strictly professional lives separate from our lives outside work. I have been a member since the 16^th of March 2006.

Can you hear the chirping birds?

One morning just before I left for work, I created a Twitter account and waited for a confirmation. Meanwhile, I travelled to Arnhem where I was working, and it was there that I posted my first tweet on the 8^th of February 2009. Today is a decade since I joined Twitter. As I relayed in a blog, I wrote a couple of days ago, I had to change my mode of communication from long-form writing of a blog to the contextualised concision limited to 140-characters. It was a challenge I took on with relish.

Blog - Tweeting beautifully without apologising for it

I might have been more prolific on Twitter and somewhat become less so on my blog, I have tweeted just under 153,000 thousand times with a following just short of 6,000. I find it a very useful forum for sharing ideas and for getting a prompt and effective response for customer service issues.

A call from beyond

In December 2009, just a couple of days before my birthday, I joined Facebook. I probably resisted jumping on this bandwagon for years. My first invitation to join Facebook came almost two years before when I eventually joined the person who invited me had been dead just over 9 weeks. His Facebook page then became a memorial to lay wreaths and bouquets of thoughts and reminiscences at different times of the Facebook.

Facebook also upended the concept of social media, because the network not only exploited proximity, it allowed you to mine your past. By the time you put in names of your old schools and old friends, many long forgotten, you were caught in a time vortex from which you had little an inkling how to escape.

Mimes and rhymes

Until early last year, most of my Facebook activity came from my Twitter posts and that linked was broken. I would comment on things I find on Facebook, but it is more likely that new posts would come from Instagram or blogs that I have written. I joined Instagram on Christmas Eve of 2014.

Most of my Instagram posts are accompanied by bad poetry or musings about the things I have observed. I have not convinced myself that Pinterest or SnapChat would add any value to my social media landscape. My social media life is lively enough as it is.

This all because of my decade on Twitter and long may we have the opportunity to celebrate life, happiness, love, and the freedom of expression.

Your father is on Facebook

Yes, it is him and no one else

This question came from my sister this morning.

“Morning (or whatever), Is your father now on Facebook or one of his sons is impersonating him?

To which I responded, “Your father is on Facebook.”

Even I was surprised that he was on Facebook, but the story goes back to some time ago when I was trying a get a laptop over to my dad. The last few months have involved a lot of impromptu travel related to work that it has been impossible to plan anything.

Time, space and wherewithal

On another note, I sometimes contrast my professional life to that of my father, he was a corporation man with assistants and people he could call upon to do the somewhat important and mundane things. Almost 23 years of my working life has been as a self-employed and freelance consultant, maybe, if I had entered a partnership of consultants, we would have employed an office manager to handle affairs like that.

Then, in arranging to send the laptop, he also asked for a phone making the point that he wanted to have a go at technology before he departs.

An unexpected response

As it transpired, I took a few pictures yesterday evening and posted to Instagram with a cross-posting to Twitter and Facebook, I also included a short poem.

The absence of bright lights,
Does not diminish the clear sights,
My face showing the provenance of my father,
Especially now that I've refused to lather,
The unshaved greys are proof of a youth,
Before you say I am long in the tooth,
For many times I was addressed as young man,
I laughed for that was just another fan.

On Facebook

Shortly after it was posted, I received a message with two pictures of my dad from my brother, who then informed me that the pictures were my dad’s reaction to my pictures and poetry. And there was my discovery that my father had joined social media to be engaged under the tutelage of my brother.

Welcome to Facebook

Obviously, my sister is concerned that she might have to temper her views because of the scrutinising pair of eyes of her father. However, I am of the view that if he did not know we were opinionated, forthright, controversial and frank in our postings, he would soon find out on Facebook, and that is a good thing.

He would be proud to know that the privileged education we all had has not gone to waste, we can discuss, debate, argue and banter, with grace, erudition and dignity.

My father is 78, he lives an active life pottering around on his farm or being actively involved in the community. Now that he has the added occupation of Facebook engagement, all I can say is welcome.

For all who care to know, our father is on Facebook.

Thought Picnic: Addressing irresponsible Facebook communication

Good manners still matter

I have at times had the misfortune of learning of the death of someone known to me on social media, however, I have hoped that the closest relations of the deceased did not suffer the indifference and insensitivity of being informed through the same medium.

It is just good manners to inform the bereaved on a more personal basis rather than have them collide with a wall of grief from a public and impersonal medium. Besides, I take cognisance of my cultural affinities that suggests news of deaths must never be conveyed with bluntness to the closest relations of the deceased either in informing them or in enquiring from them.

Wisdom and sensitivity applied

I remember a conversation I had with a close uncle over a decade ago, he did not know if I was aware that a cousin of mine had passed on, he did not blurt it out, rather he made a passing reference to my cousin that would have elicited a response or a question from me. The response would have indicated I knew, the question would have suggested I was oblivious to the death and then he would with wisdom settle me down before telling me.

I am writing this blog because after the episode yesterday, it is necessary to revisit the matter because I am quite incensed and annoyed. Another uncle of mine should have known better to be smart and wise about enquiring of me from my sister without putting them in unnecessary and preventable distress.

Blog - Please, confirm is it true that Akin Akintayo is no more ...?

Utterly inexcusable conduct

I appreciate social media provides such ease of communication, the ease is no license to dispense with discretion, manners, decorum, sensitivity and empathy, all of which in my view was lacking from the question asked yesterday that it is contemptible and should be excoriated in the sternest terms.

Nothing makes the act of that distant relation uncle forgivable in the slightest, it was utterly irresponsible and reprehensible conduct. I have elderly parents, I would not want to predecease them, even as I am aware of my vulnerabilities and mortality.

The excuse is not social media or Facebook, it is just plain uncouth behaviour and bad manners channelled through a medium of expression.

The ease that social media grants for communication is neither license nor permission to be indiscreet, inconsiderate or uncultured.

— Akin Akíntáyọ̀ (@forakin) April 17, 2018

Àwọn adití ajá - Deaf dogs

The Facebook forum

Facebook presents an interesting forum for interaction, the exchange of views and ideas, but there is also a very unpalatable side of the Facebook discussion.

It is probably not a discussion as such, the broad church of social discourse is generally friendly, however, when we begin to challenge the norms, espouse the liberality of expression and fight for the expansion of human rights, for the open-minded, it flourishes, but it also gives vent to the primal and uncouth tendencies of others.

Nowhere is this matter as volatile as one that involves religion or more particularly homosexuality.

He stands out

I am a Facebook friend and a personal friend of a gay rights activist whose shares a lot of views that many might term controversial.

There is no doubt that I have felt sometimes uncomfortable with some of his views, but I appreciate that we can have differences and different perspectives, my occasional disagreement will never tend to disagreeableness, that is the function of respect we have for each other, we can agree to disagree without damaging our relationship.

He stands out as someone who has always had the courage of his convictions and has never been afraid to express them boldly, forcefully and forthrightly.

On controversy they feed

Then, there are people who contribute to his page who for whatever reason, out of envy, jealousy, rage, inferiority, bitterness, nastiness, bigotry, hypocrisy, you name it, they cannot stand him, they revile his homosexuality and his freedom, yet they congregate to fulminate, to vituperate and vitiate the atmosphere of free human expression.

Mostly, they are religious fanatics of no scholarship apart from what they have been spoon-fed, who are versed in the letter but have no spirit in themselves, hypocrites seeking validation in places where they rush to be offended, they ogle liberty but are caught in the limitations of their thinking.

Offence sates them

On one occasion, my friend posted a status where he both excoriated and baited them, they came in droves to drink their poison, to which I wondered why anyone would choose to seek where to have their sensibilities offended when there are other places to have salubrious engagement with like-minded people, I left a barb at the end and it snared them.

I had touched a raw nerve and with that came a pack of dogs laden with abuse and invective. It became funny and pitiful and they railed and cursed with reckless abandon. Poorly written sentences and much else, I decided to deliver a rebuke in a language they hopefully will understand or seek someone to interpret this for them because a few appeared to be of the Yoruba tribe.

So as not to be misunderstood, I wrote with the exigency and scrupulousness of diacritical marks and accents, quite necessary for remove ambiguity from clear intent.

A ticking off

Ọ̀rọ tí ta wọ́n lára, wọ́n ti yẹ̀kẹ́ èébú. M'bá ti só fún wọn kí wọ́n lọ sílé lọ gbèsì wá, ṣùgbọ́n ọmọ àbíìkọ́ niwọ́n, wọn ò lágbà nílé láti gbẹ̀kọ́. Àwọn mọ̀lẹ́bí adití ajá tí ò lè gbóhùn olúwa rẹ̀ mọ́.

This translates to - "I had touched a raw nerve that they have now become abusive. I would have suggested they seek homely advice before responding to me, but they are unschooled and have no mentoring guidance from home to have had the benefit of any good manners. They are a horde of deaf dogs completely oblivious to the master's voice."

The context carries best in Yoruba and if any of them had any gumption, the very least that should result from their reading this is to reflect on themselves with an utter sense of shame.

Thought Picnic: At death do we close the book?

Look!

Facebook is a terror, the harbinger of tidings least expected, even of news that shocks and saddens.

Many a time, I have happened upon page and status without the need to dig or explore, for before my eyes is another flicker of light gone, the passing of someone I once knew.

With seeming regularity with premonition of proximity, I count the numbers of some with whom an intimacy was once shared and never will that be shared again, they have gone to the place of reminiscence in the lake of memory where maybe a ripple or a wave brings for thoughts, a smile, a tear or both. We meet only in dreams.

Brook!

Then you wonder, what is death?

A natural process where an episode has run its course?

Yet for all that ends in death, many are not a natural cause but a sudden and abrupt pulling away of the carpet, disease, illness, murder, suicide, terrorism, courses totally unanticipated in many instances and not softening the effect of the blow.

What is death, you wonder still?

A cessation or a beginning?

A defeat or a victory?

A wall or a portal?

Gobbledygook!

It is difficult to say, for if there were more to the end of life beyond the end of life, where are the souls if those be significant gone, for the total number of humanity from the very beginning of time indeterminate is in the innumerable and unnumbered billions.

Of these billions gone, their stories wherever they have gone, if there be a place, none have returned from that journey with news of exploits.

Going by the measure of earthly time, there is no time for exploits for the many we are told by legend, fame or happenstance have revived from a state of death have only been dead for days, nary a week, never a fortnight, forget a month and a year is quite impossible.

Hook!

Religion with its many belief systems offers plenty a shoulder to cry on and bosom to weep to soften the shock of death with a hope, an expectation and longing placed in a time and space unreachable without passage.

Some, however, have beguiled and bemused as peeping toms and messengers between us in the living world and those who have left the living world. Are we to believe them?

It there is anything tangible left beyond the works, the legacy, the memories and the bequeaths, it is the solid tombstones and mausoleums, the deep waters, the ice show windows created by those who got lost, the rock faces before a plunge. the kindling for flames or graves, many unmarked for assuredly in death we return to earth from whence we came or completely reduced to ashes.

Whether this is the end or not is the story of man and his encounters with death.

Nigeria: If we are to have deathbed goodbyes

From reality to memory

Watching films sometimes brings up episodes of life experiences that circumstances might dictate we never experience. As we grow older we begin to realise certain certainties of life where people we once saw as we were growing up have become a distant memory.

Yet for me I realise that the closest I have ever been to the death of a relation was 37 years ago, the death of a great aunt, the wife of the younger brother of my great-grandmother, we called her Iya Ijebu. I will not go into complicating that relationship.

A tribute paid

My great-grandmother and her brother sowed the seeds to the sheltered life I have lived because they decided my father should get the best education they could afford and from then on, my father became the first a long list of accountants that came from my village.

As I approach mid-century years and my father has passed 75, the memory of the people I once knew fades as the wizening of age takes its toll, the truth left unspoken is a reality that dawns for many of us.

The new communication

It was on Facebook that I learnt of the death of an aunt, just a few months ago; she was my father's second younger sister who passed on after a brief illness, the brief illness – an affliction that has shovelled too many to mention to the Great Beyond in Nigeria.

When I called my father to express my condolences, between musing and expressing the truth, he suggested I might well learn of his passing from the same medium.

The fact is, I have learnt of the passing of lovers, friends, cousins, uncles and now an aunt on Facebook, if I am spared to mercifully have my parents predecease me, it is very probable I might learn of such on Facebook.

The speed at which we approach that medium before we consult, communicate and confirm is alarming and disconcerting, but Facebook has become part of life.

Deathbed opportunity

This however conceals another reality, in more developed countries, it is very likely that generations of a family are closer rather than in far-flung places. When you read of the passing of people, they are most likely surrounded by close family who have had the opportunity to say their goodbyes before they have to plan committal.

Some of those who have already lost their parents may appreciate this more, because they never had those deathbed experiences, deathbed which could be many things from watching life slowly ebb away to the lucidity of blessing and encouragement, the deathbed wish that someone promise something.

The call is rare

Though there are others whose sudden death again robs their kin of the parting from life goodbye as grief sets in coupled with deep sorrow, it is almost impossible to celebrate that life for a long while.

This is the world today, one where for life and livelihood, because we have a motherland too messed up for words and we do not have the unlimited means to keep everyone together, we might experience that rotten situation where we were joyfully welcomed at birth, but we miss the deathbed goodbyes of those who brought us into this world and gave us the foundation for the lives we now live.

That call to the bedside, be it at the homestead, in a hospice or a hospital is not easy to make rather than to inform, the rush against time rarely is on time before the person is gone, making it sadder still.

For this chapter ending story of existence of those who matter to us the most, we must consider what change we need for our country that we do not have to read of the death of relations again on Facebook, but have the blessing of seeing our forebears pass on in our presence having lived a full life.

The other matter beyond the particular is in another blog.

Thought Picnic: Facebook bearing news of deaths

Face tough news

The way Facebook has invaded our space is quite alarming to some extent and it led to a conversation I was not too willing to have.

In pretence and denial, I dodged the premise and the direction the conversation was going in as I chatted to my dad the other day. I had called to express my condolences at the passing of my aunt, his second younger sister.

I learnt of her passing on Facebook as I have learnt of the passing of at least 3 other relations. Going through time-lines of the friends, you happen upon a status that in some cases is as clear as plain English and in others it is cryptic but indicative that something serious has happened.

Face finality

Though, this time, the information came to me as a message, at other times, one is never prepared for the suddenness of the impact of just a phrase that suggest an end with such finality and resignation that we all comfort ourselves with promises of religion many of which are leaps of faith than experiences of reality.

The wonder of that thing called life, terminated in the seizure of breath and the stopping of the heart suggests that is more to flesh and bones than we sometimes give the simpleness of humanity credit for.

Everything ceases and decay begins to set in, every essence of existence gives way to what we all have to do eventually, commit and excuse, we are left with only one enduring thing, memories in recollections, dreams and voices, the concentration in our thoughts of the experience that was the person when they were then with us.

Face truth

So, as my father suggested that the way things are, I might just read of his passing on Facebook, he was probably closer to the truth than I was ready to admit. It makes you want a different medium to be informed of the death of a close relation than to read of it in crudely crafted words of sadness and grief. Your heart stopping for a moment as you really hope that what you’ve read is not true.

Facebook is not a dream, it is reality that slaps us in the face daily from the trivial to the serious and I do not think we have made adequate provision for the consequences of what gets revealed therein.

Decade Blogs - Japheth J. Omojuwa - The Power of Purpose and Persistence

Decade Blogs

Japheth J. Omojuwa probably needs no introduction on Social Media, he is one of the few young Nigerians who has found the means of leveraging reach and platform to inform, to change or to muster.

It was when he won the Nigerian Blog Awards 2011 for the Best Political Blog that I discovered him and his influence that had a really big following on Twitter.

He comes across as passionate, engaging and forceful, sometimes almost forgetting the huge responsibility on his shoulders as his simple humanity takes to the fore in a cause, a campaign or a controversy, yet he can be as effective in raising funds for charitable and humanitarian causes or getting the ear of the powerful as he can be devastating in rubbishing positions, people or policies that appear to serve hypocritical or selfish interests.

I am honoured to have him contribute a blog to my #YourBlogOnMyBlog Series commemorating my Decade of Blogging.

Blog - To Celebrate My Decade of Blogging

Omojuwa as we know him, blogs on at Omojuwa.com which he also offers as a platform for the views and opinions of others, he tweets with the @omojuwa Twitter handle and he writes for various media organs.

Here, he writes about how time, patience, dedication, determination, purpose and persistence governs longevity and success. Please enjoy reading this piece.

The power of Purpose and Persistence

Anyone can do a thing consistently for a decade if they get paid for it, doing it for that long without pay is noteworthy; even more extraordinary if it is a venture that helps to make others better.

If there were ever anything I’d guess would keep such a person going, persistence would be my first guess. Whatever Akin Akintayo has going for him that keeps him running a blog for ten consecutive years, persistence must definitely be part of that mix.

I have a reason for thinking persistence must have played a huge part in his story, but this must never be assumed to mean his being persistent was all he needed to keep going. This is about his persistence though. There are exceptions, but the central theme in the stories of most successful people is that of persistence. There are people who have succeeded without being overly talented; there are loads of people who have succeeded without attending the best universities.

I can bet you know many people who have succeeded despite their very poor backgrounds, but if you were tasked to find ten men or women who succeeded without persistence, you’d need a bit of persistence to endure the search and even at that, you’d be lucky to find any.

Why is persistence such a crucial factor for success? It is simple enough; everything takes time. Time is one of the fundamental realities in our world. Everything we do is subjected to it. Our universal laws are a function of time. We live within time so we’d never get to succeed at anything without time as a sort of reactant in our mix.

It is a kind of limiting reality, but like Friction, it helps us in ways we may never really appreciate. If you ever do a thing that does not take time, please kindly reach me to tap into your powers. How much you are able to succeed depends on how long you are able to wait.

Stories abound of people who missed out on greatness because they left their craft just before they got the break. We all know people that missed out on being rewarded just because they were impatient to wait a day, a month or maybe even a year longer.

It takes persistence to spend 4 weeks focused on passing an examination without being distracted by anything else. Those four weeks, if wasted by some others could be the difference between a life of great success and a life of mediocrity.

Sometimes, if you are not willing to wait, you are not deserving of the prize. When next you meet a man or woman you deem successful, ask him or her how hard it was to persist at their craft. They’d tell you it never came cheap but it is what it is, if you really want it, why give up on it?

So you see, we have lessons of our own to learn in this story. We should ask him many questions about how he kept going for so long but before then we should thank him for showing us it can be done!

Christmas & New Year Greetings

This Christmas and beyond

Dear friends, acquaintances, well-wishers, fans, followers, people and you are many who have crossed my path and blessed me with your presence, engagement, conversation, interaction and much else.

May the joy of Christmas,
the story of happiness, wellness,
and peace be yours.

Let the New Year of 2014,
bring the fulfilment of dreams,
amazing adventure,
new experiences,
fun and laughter.

It has been a long year, and I have everything to be grateful for, old friends, new friends, new places, adventure, work plenty and work unavailable, in means and in little, being myself more and enjoying the things I do. I am blessed.

I have benefitted from such generosity that humbles me, in help, in encouragement, in kind, in love shown unconditionally, in kindness offered without reservation, you all have been the wind beneath my wings, you made me soar.

On Twitter, I gained over a third more followers and met new people, on Facebook, the banter ranged from levity to robust and serious, my blog reached a milestone, a decade of blogging.

I am five birthdays after a cancer diagnosis and my eye is not dimmed in the things I expect and hope for, there is a life to live out there and with as much strength as I have had, I have engaged in the pursuit of happiness with vigour.

I am thankful to God, yes, my beliefs do sustain me.

Thank you and here’s to a better year and future ahead of us.

Akin

Decade Blogs - Chikere Ezeh - Exhuming Blogs of Old

Decade Blogs

I should avoid repeating the history that Chikere has nicely documented in his contribution to my Decade Blogs Series, one that reminds us of the many blogs that thrived like active volcanoes that have now gone dormant or extinct.

I have exhumed all of the blogs by putting in their URLs, and I must not forget Nkem Ifejika’s activity on Twitter and Facebook at the expense of his African Shirts blog too.

Blog - To Celebrate My Decade of Blogging

Chikere also had another blog that majored in the music of the 80s, Old School, they call it, this was music of our youth, when we were footloose and fancy free. Sadly, my powers of persuasion have not worked their trick on getting him to return to blogging, until I asked for this favour, which he graciously granted. Thank you.

On Twitter, his handle is @chykere, this does take us down memory lane, then a dash of current affairs as he lays into the man at the rock, how I wish they all return to their first love. Enjoy this piece.

I promised to get something in to Akin before the weekend. It’s Thursday night, and I know time is never your friend when you need it. So if this turns out to be a ramble (and I have always rambled), forgive Akin, I will buy all the drinks when we meet.

Akin, A decade of blogging.

What hasn’t been said, what is left to say? The man inspires, the man educates, the man is witty the man speaks ‘big grammar’, the man can’t be bullied (some have tried and still have their tails between their legs), the man … I can go on and on to describe this fine gentleman - an esteemed member of the 9ja bloggers ‘family’ of the noughts. (*9ja is a corruption of Naija, which is a corruption of Nigeria - 9ja & Naija are colloquialisms.)

I remember those years fondly. Bloggers like ObiFromSouthLondon (Dormant), Black Looks (Active), AlooFar (Sporadic), Chxta (By Invitation Only), Waffarian (Active), 9jamommy (Sporadic), SOLOMONSYDELLE (Sporadic), BellaNaija (Active), Ugo Daniels (Twitter), Nneka's World (?), Jaja (By Invitation Only), Linda Ikeji (Active), Ijebuman (Dormant), Vera Ezimora (Active), Monef (?), Temite (Now only on Twitter as Temite), Mandy Ojugbana (Dormant) etc made it feel like family. Our mission….ha-ha, I can’t remember. We just did our thing and still managed to stay out of prison or get ruffled by 9ja immigration. Most of us were part of the diaspora mob.

Blogging on a daily/weekly basis requires some discipline and dedication. I’ll speak for myself when I say I didn’t quite have the latter. I dropped out, as did a few of us. We had discovered the joys of Facebook and Twitter; we took our ‘vile’ along with us. Folks like Akin carried on. They had the staying power, the imperturbability and endurance required. I couldn’t ‘guest blog’ on Akin’s page and not use big grammar! However, I’ll try not to disgrace myself.

So…

Forgive me; I am a bit ‘rusty’! I haven’t done this since I hung up my ‘pen’ in 2010. The true date was actually December 22^nd 2008. I was persuaded by (guess who) to ‘drop’ a few more posts before making a final exit so I made a comeback in September 2010. It didn’t last.

I did two things on my blog – I called myself Aba Boy (Dormant). I was a ‘boy’ then, and I had spent my best years in Aba (Ngwa) – Nigeria. A charming town that is being methodically dismantled by absolute incompetence. That is a post for another day.

As I was saying, I did two main things on my blog - if I wasn’t talking about my love for funk/soul music of the 80s, I was discussing and ‘dissing’ the state of our nation, Nigeria. I also never spared Nigerian ‘God of men’, that is a pet hate (project) of mine. So here I sit thinking of what I would be ‘blogging’ about – today - if I still was at it. No brainer: I couldn’t and wouldn’t have avoided (Olusegun Obasanjo) OBJ’s ‘traitorous’ letter to President (Goodluck Ebele Jonathan) GEJ. How unbecoming, mischievous and provocative, to borrow (Reuben Abati) Abati’s words.

By the way, I think he will soon jump ship. He is just waiting for the right mo. Dude is a bit nifty! I might even join the queue of those who think we should knock the messenger and ignore the message. Who cares if it evidently shows that we are losing the argument? The ‘anyhowness’ (borrowing again, this time from @DoubleEph) of the average Nigerian is to ignore the message. The messenger has to be God before we can even begin to consider the content.

I read OBJ’s letter a couple of times. Akin advised us to - "...Read dispassionately and more than once." he tweeted, I did. Hate OBJ (and I am not his biggest fan) or nor do I love him (and there are still a few out there who do) you can’t knock any of the points he raised. Ok, most of them we already know. Anyone who tells you that we are not witnessing unparalleled levels of corruption in Nigeria is disingenuous. A few I am left mystified about. How can a man agree to serve one term and no one thought of extracting a written agreement from him!

A killer squad, that left me stumped, not only did I not know that OBJ was a cricket fan; I never thought GEJ had it in him. Then again, if you hang out with the esteemed men like the (Mujahid Asari-Dokubo) Mujahid who knows what can become of a good choir boy. Overall, OBJ was mostly on the money.

My take from day dot – and this time I am having a slight pop at the messenger - was that GEJ was not ready for this job; this is a typical example of being miles out of your depth. He may be a nice man, I don’t know him but being incompetent and pleasant can still be used in a single sentence. Let us look at his modest beginnings, not the lack of shoes.

It is common knowledge that back in the day, gubernatorial candidates picked the ‘shoddiest’ as running mates. They were called spare tyres, a position that just needed to be filled. Many of us cannot name our deputy governors. They were so ‘unemployed’ some even had to beg to be given ministries to supervise. When the governor of the state went on leave, he handed over to the Speaker of the State’s house of assembly, not his ‘deputy’.

So ‘quarterback’ this situation. When a man of 'merit' like (Diepreye Solomon Peter Alamieyeseigha) Alamieyeseigha is asked to pick his running mate, what manner of person will he select? Anyway one thing led to another, to another… and we are where we are. I had to make a slight case for those who attack the messenger on this point J.

Happy 10^th anniversary my friend and mentor. It is an honour to ramble on your blog I promise to do a better job on your 20^th. It’s 12 minutes past 12 (midnight). Well done big Bro, you inspire a lot of us every day.

A Bit Of Heckler Management - Get OFF My Lawn

The block for peace

On occasion, I have blocked people on Twitter and probably severed one friend connection on Facebook.

They got on my nerves, I entertained them long enough to test my patient resolve and exceed my tolerance levels; it became the only option I had left; sever the relationship, so we can separately get on with our lives.

I have seen this happen to other friends especially on Facebook, they post a status, we all engage and in the midst of it, someone is contrary, negative, abusive or disruptive.

They are adjured and warned to no avail and then the host goes for the nuclear option; unfriend the person and consign all their discourse to oblivion. Life goes on.

Context, context, context

Months ago, I wrote a blog that was essentially for a Nigerian audience but it quickly garnered more visits from the Indian subcontinent because it pertained to an event that took place in India in the 19^th Century.

A cut-out quote was fabricated and misattributed to a personality, I disputed the provenance of the quote, its truthfulness, the setting, but never the spirit. Contextually, many understood the premise of that blog but a few for sentimental, nationalistic or other reasons took issue with the blog and decided to vent in the comment space of my blog.

For long, I entertained their views whilst trying to keep their focus on the facts; that the quote was wrong, that it was not made to the British Parliament, and that any other discussion should go to another forum.

However hard I tried, it descended into ad hominem attacks and worse, then I realised, this is my blog, this is my space, and I have total control over what is posted as blogs or as comments.

Heckler management

My comment advisory clearly suggests any comments should be in consonance and within the context of the blog commented on and that I will not countenance discourteous expression.

I will engage in robust discussion with anyone on my blog, in the comment space, on Facebook or on Twitter, but I know when to run away, rarely from an argument but definitely from a mad man.

My blog requires a dose of heckler management; I have written my blog, allowed the broadest engagement but to a point where if the engagement detracts and contributes nothing new to the core material but ad hominem attacks, I will have the heckler removed along with every opinion the heckler proffered regardless of what said before.

Get off my lawn

That is my prerogative, and I will exercise it sparingly yet with alacrity, with dispatch and with ruthlessness, if need be. It’s my party, and I’ll cry if I want to.

I have decided not to allow the irritation of one person to spoil the open forum for interaction on my blog. I will henceforth remove all trace of their views and blacklist them.

We are strangers here and the least that we can expect of each other regardless of our views, is respect, courtesy and dignified expression. You fall short; you fall out.

Life is too short for nonsense, and we can go on to have a nice life in our separate places on our different lawns. These rotten hecklers will sap you of the will to do anything productive if you let them, I am done with this.

Excoriating the unacceptable in written English communication

Rotten text English

I happened upon a posting on Facebook where the writer in expressing disapproval of the content of an email he received, posted the text stating the sender was a graduate of an unnamed university and the person had been previously warned about writing in that manner.

The email contained a greeting, lots of bad punctuation, misspelt words and bad grammar forming the basis for a request along of the lines of being engaged for some project by the recipient of the email.

Social Media is hardly the problem

The comments that followed the posting gave a general idea of what people might think of such communication that I was compelled to add an opinion that I have expanded into the blog below.

The first comment, suggested this was what you get for spending so much time on Social Media, however, I begged to differ with the this statement - I do not think the excuse is time spent on Social Media, I come from the telegram generation where words cost a lot of money and we did not succumb to such sloppiness.

Adapt to the platform

In fact, with the advent of Short Message Service (SMS) on mobile phones restricted to 160 characters and now tweets on Twitter restricted to 140 characters, the need to be correct, concise and clear should not be sacrificed to this nonsensical mode of communication.

Now, the use of phonetic spellings, homophones, abbreviations and words missing their vowels are becoming the standard mode of communication amongst many. In fact, if this were used as personal shorthand to be transcribed to proper text for public dissemination, I would have no problem with it.

I have had instances where visiting another country, the need for sentences to be properly formed and written is essential for the use of an online translator, if people speaking different languages need to communicate – this kind of writing using strange words does not help.

No excuses

Another comment asked if the person were a possible hire; unlikely, would be the response. We must not confuse this lack of attention to language communication with dyslexia; this fad has crept from informal communication into formal letters, the writers being none the wiser about how this reflects on them and their prospects.

There is no excuse for writing English letters this way, most especially in emails or on Facebook, where there is enough space and spellcheckers are available to ensure good and correct spelling. Besides, to ignore such promptings to spell correctly is both reckless and irresponsible, such stubborn use of unconventional text should be penalised.

Call me old-fashioned but communication between animals if they had script would never be reduced to this.

Standards in written language communication matter

Other comments followed from absolving the writer from any blame to asking the recipient to be more amenable to such faddish style of writing. I guess this represents how many feel about this, but if we should maintain standards; that includes everyone, and dictionaries are not to become a compendium of a jumble of letters given any meanings suited to the times, some of us have to decide what is acceptable and what is not.

On this occasion, I suggested the writer needs a stern telling off for today, just in case the person encounters a less forgiving person on matters that concern opportunity and prospect after this.

I am probably a purist of sorts, I make mistakes, but I strive to ensure that I use dictionary reviewable words of the language of choice when communicating with people. I have lapsed into sesquipedalianism at times, but that is to maintain context and carry a message.

When it comes to Twitter, I have learnt brevity, concision and precision is possible with the use of correct English grammar and proper English words in the limited space of 140 characters – I believe, there are no excuses for sloppy writing, regardless of the platform.