A Woman Archbishop: Reflections

A Historic Moment

Watching the enthronement of the new Archbishop of Canterbury left me with both a sense of awe and the resignation of acceptance. When the last Archbishop resigned in November 2024, it did occur to me that there was a likelihood the next person appointed to the office might radically shift from the norm, a woman perhaps.

I stated then that I was not particularly ready for that kind of change when the Church of England had only begun appointing female bishops barely a decade ago. Yet, with my Pentecostal exposure, I was already familiar with women teaching from the pulpit and leading Christian ministries.

Tradition and Change

The traditions of the Church of England have a history, constancy, and stability that I felt should not be defined by speed, but by the gentle persuasion of clergy and laity alike towards necessary aims. Obviously, there have been insurmountable issues in certain provinces of the global Anglican Communion: the ordination of women priests, the issue of sexual orientation, and the blessing of same-sex unions. The conversation must continue, even if agreement remains distant.

Generally, I have accepted the ministry of women in the Church of England, as canons, priests, archdeacons, and bishops. I also recognise that at ordinations, a separate service attends to those who do not accept the ministry of women, with a flying bishop of that persuasion presiding in that setting. I must confess, I have only seen female bishops in the media; I have never met one or been in a service with them in attendance.

The Ceremony Itself

The enthronement service brought the spectacle of religion, politics, and ceremony, along with the pomp and pageantry that the English excel at exhibiting. Representatives of all the different religious communities attended, including the Bishop of Ebbsfleet, one of those flying bishops of a different persuasion mentioned earlier.

For all the acclamation and pronouncements, I was surprised that the ceremony included no laying on of hands. It was more the dainty holding of a hand.

Moving Forward

This process was one in which I had no influence, apart from individually deciding whether appointing a woman as Archbishop sat well with my belief system. There was enough precedent in other provinces to suggest this would settle down into a kind of détente that demands both dexterity and political nous from the office holder.

I know I won't be rushing out to a service presided over by The Most Reverend and Right Honourable Dame Sarah Mullally DBE, yet I wish her term is blessed with success and the reconciliation of the church in whatever way possible. May we, in our misgivings or concerns, see the grace and beauty in what we as mere mortals fail to appreciate in the growth of the church.

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Trooping the Colour of emotional attachment

Some emotional points of self

There are certain things that carry an emotion and sentiment for which there is not suitable articulation of words to describe, these are deeply seated in the person we are and how we express ourselves.

Watching the Trooping the Colour on playback at this moment, I reflect on those things for which I have not found adequate expression yet can be found dotted amongst my writings that give me a sense of pride, being, and identity. My spirituality, my Englishness, and the institution of the British monarchy.

Where one stands

On the first, I share occasionally, in which I determine to find the reality of divine intervention in every sphere of my existence and much of which leaves me conscious of the fact that there is much more to learn and understand of the mystery it entails.

The second is controversial to some as much as it is significant to me, and though the debate might rage about Britishness or Englishness, I am quite originally an Englishman of Nigerian heritage, and no apology is made of understanding that this sense of identity is reinforced by so many influences, experiences, and places. Sometimes, it is just the inability to appreciate the individuality and uniqueness of someone else that fuels the disrespect for how we choose to be identified.

I say the institution of the monarchy rather than just the monarchy for it does not matter who peoples the offices that pertain to the monarchy, yet the weight of history and tradition bears heavily on the shoulders of the monarch who through life is conditioned to certain discretions to maintain the mystique of the said of institution.

Love of a great idea

Though most of our lifetime this institution had the face of Queen Elizabeth II, there is a generation of personalities that have passed on with a wistful sense of loss as the new Carolean era of Charles III takes hold. The ease with which the machine of state transitioned occasioning amazing pomp and pageantry that no other people than the English can muster is one that imbues one with a sense of loving and patriotic adoration.

The love of fatherland without it being mistaken for political or royal adulation, England is my land, it is my country and from this land I have explored many places including that from which my parents came to study here and witness a country in radical transition and bruising change.

When it comes to ceremony and music, something in me wells up in full agreement that this land, and it being Perfidious Albion to some still exudes history, beauty, wonder, excitement, amazement, and pluck. In every nook and cranny, you find England is a place in many people’s hearts. God save the King!!!

A very befitting farewell

Learning new things

My thoughts have been contained in the events of the past few days surrounding the sending off and interment of a remarkably great man and my father’s best friend from childhood, Otunba Gabriel Ogunjimi Taiwo, who passed on in early November 2020.

Blog - The Vulture died of a ripe old age

The benefit of modern technology has allowed many of us who would have wanted to participate in honouring him with our presence to share in the moments with live broadcasts on Facebook. There are times we could have been swept into the situation and overcome with emotions it entails.

The traditions and the ceremony also revealed to me how somehow foreign everything seemed to me, it is like there has been a fundamental shift in these ceremonies from the solemnity I once knew that greets the preparations, the Service of Songs, the wake keeping, and the funerary rites to the outward flamboyance with performing pallbearers and much else.

Exhausted by spectacle

I could not begin to think of the energy and resolve of my friends in organising this feat whilst shouldering the broadest spectrum of feelings from sorrow through gratitude and joy of a life more than worthy of celebration, I, watching from afar, was exhausted that I feared whether I might ever have such strength.

My father gave a speech at the wake yesterday, he must feel the great loss of a friendship with the likelihood that in a quiet place, he could have let go of his emotions, it is a situation we cannot begin to fully understand apart from giving him support, consideration, and love.

For now and later

Then much as I want to be miffed about the untrammelled insatiable appetite of the clergy who steward our village church for donations, gifts, commitments, and other largesse after all that these men from their youth have contributed to the Ijesha-Ijebu community, using every opportunity to inveigle, plead, and entreat ever so unashamedly and blatantly, I will leave that to another time. Calmness and diplomacy demand that out of respect for our patriarch, we bring to a close the essential as it is needful.

Folusho, Niyi, and siblings, you have done well and done proud the legacy of your dad. May his soul rest in peace and the fond memories of his extraordinary life fill you with hope, strength, and grace into the future. Ẹkú Àṣẹ̀hìndè bàbá, ọjọ́ á jìnà síra. Gbérè!

Opinion: We laugh all the time - A case for gay marriage

I am for marriage

I have always had very liberal views on the issue of marriage that it has rarely bothered me what the gender pairing might be. Man to woman, man to man, woman to woman, if you've ever been in any of those shoes, love is a mysterious and powerful force.

The issue of gay marriage is more one of legal rights, in that if a person has chosen to live their lives with another, when certain critical life decisions need to be taken, the position and primacy of partner, lover, companion and spouse must not be trammelled.

Significance for the other

The situation where same-sex partners suddenly find themselves relegated by the family on the critical matters of life and death where there is no legal backing for the union is untenable.

Partners are people with whom one shares intimacy and companionship that neither family nor friend can aspire to. Hopes, fears, cares, anxieties and issues of life are exchanged in a bond no outsider to that partnership can begin to comprehend or unravel, it is unique between the people in that intimate relationship.

That family or relations might disapprove of the relationship does not invalidate it, lives are intertwined and hearts are melded, cleaved in a mystery indecipherable yet simple.

Religion is moot

It is such that marriage ceremonies are just what they are, ceremonies; the law recognises the civil contract of partnership and delegates a legal instrument to religious and civic institutions to contract marriages. A marriage might well be a religious activity to some, but it is fundamentally a civil contract that grants spousal rights to a chosen companion with whom a person has decided to share that responsibility with.

It is with that in mind that regardless of the age difference between Stephen Fry and Elliott Spencer, I celebrate the core element of the relationship which in the words of the younger makes compelling reading. He said, “I don’t care what people think, Stephen is the love of my life, the light of my life.” “We laugh all the time,” he continued “Humour is the binding thing in our life. I think that’s what brought us together.” [The Independent]

The pursuit of happiness

Now, if that is not the ultimate pursuit of happiness, I wonder what is. To have someone to laugh with, to cry with, to hold, to hug, to share the most intimate moments and know that when the biggest decisions are to be made, they are not sidelined, but significant, they should be front and centre, just as they have been chosen to be front and centre, bound in a union of love that sometimes dares not speak its name.

It took me a while to understand that in all this, sometimes marriages do not work and divorce is the only option for each party to find another hopeful opportunity for love. I had to unlearn my fundamentalist schooling to appreciate that marriages are never made in heaven but worked and played on earth. There is no fairy tale moment, just experiences, some good, some bad, some happy, some sad and if the fun outweighs the absence of laughter, you have a good thing going.

I am for everything that gives a tightly knit companionship of hearts legal standing, straight or gay marriage –who really cares? Let the significant other be significant in life and be very significant too in the eyes of the law.

Thought Picnic: Of Charity and Sacrifice

Welcome to the temple

Back at church today, one was caught between the enduring and the sacrifice, that being the story of Christ and the seemingly ordinary story of two men as depicted on plaques and memorial stones in the church.

There is much to be said of both the magnificence and simplicity of Manchester Cathedral (Cathedral and Collegiate Church of St Mary, St Denys and St George in Manchester), its very accessible and welcoming nave and a message easy to the ear, the hearing and the soul.

In the traditional church calendar, today marked the Presentation of Christ in the Temple, the hymns, the readings and the sermon followed this theme.

Accommodation and ceremony

The pamphlet contained everything, this time, not much of a fidget to follow the service. At Communion the openness of fellowship is most evident because members of all Christian Churches are invited to receive Communion, yet you can also step forward to just receive a blessing. By informing a steward before the service, you can also receive a gluten-free communion wafer.

This time we did go High Church with incense at the altar, something the pamphlet informed us about, the pomp and ceremony at church can be quite engaging just as it is spiritual, I would suppose anytime I am in Manchester I would be revisiting my Anglican heritage and roots.

Enduring charity

Humphrey Booth (d. 1635) was a wealthy merchant whose charitable activities are recorded on plaque in the church, but more significantly is that what he bequeathed to Manchester that helped in restoring the church in the aftermath of the Manchester explosion of the 15^th of June 1996. I was in Manchester on that day, just 10 yards from where shards of glass fell on someone not long after I heard a loud bang and wondered until it occurred to me that it was a bomb.

Had he expended his means on ostentatious and hedonistic living, it is unlikely that 366 years after his death any of his substance would have been so remembered and recorded in posterity as I have been able to observe.

More on Humphrey Booth’s legacy – The Humphrey Booth Resource Centre.

Recognised piety

John Bradford (c. 1510 - 1555) of indeterminate birth date is memorialised with a plaque as a scholar, a reformer, a fearless preacher, a prebendary of St Paul’s Cathedral and was burnt at the stake for heresy. The heresy being as a Protestant he refused to revert to the Catholic faith that Mary Tudor (Bloody Mary) tried to restore in the land.

English church history has it that the government feared the consequences of putting John Bradford to death, more significantly, the crowds did protest his burning at the stake.

Honour of sacrifice

What caught my eye about his plaque was not that he was a son of Manchester and of great repute to be recognised as learned and significantly opposed to the direction of the royal court but that his last words were, “Oh, What am I Lord, that thou shouldest thus magnify me?”

When I look at traditional Christianity and what passes for it today, especially amongst the leadership, one can only be moved by the stories of charity and sacrifice, charity that endures for centuries and sacrifice where those who suffer by reason of their faith see their suffering in the light of their innocence still count it great honour to so treated for their profession.

One must stop and think, beyond which the search for Good Samaritan humanity that touches people continues in the church and on the streets.

Opening the mouth of the father - Part 5

The fourth part of this series Opening the mouth of the Father – Part 4

This was a hard knock

Yes, we were Knocking on the door, at the gates of Nineveh of Nebuchadnezzar the Great, the doors as imposing as if impossible to open, needing 40 horses to turn the hinges, the entrance to a fortress where if we had the wrong password we would be bone meal to Cerberus the “friendly” 3-headed dog whose snarls made you quake in your boots.

With ears like that of cat burglar safe breaker we heard each tumbler drop as we deciphered to code to enter the safe, to retrieve from safe-keeping our bride. As if we were soaring to the mile high club, at 25,000 feet we got a canary but not ours, time was fast ticking away as we reached 30,000 feet and were presented with a cuckoo, not very funny, not amused, let’s play on.

An eagle flew by with its prey in its claws at 35,000 feet, if we were to go any higher, we might well reach for the stars; our bright and radiant star, the beauty came out of the highest clouds into glory at 39,000 feet at which point the quip was asking the pilot if we had enough fuel to reach our destination – there was still more to do in this ceremony, but I already had my bride beside me, if only I could now elope.

My clothes or rags on parade

Indeed, bale out we must in parachutes made from all the material purchased to make my in-laws look good for their daughter’s marriage, they even had change-ins to boot.

This list was making me listless as the MC was making a mockery of the whole proceedings and people cooed, wowed, singing the praises of the in-laws all bedecked in colours and instructions that almost drove us to distraction just weeks before – Just it was two traditional dresses for the parents designed to their tastes – that had to be right or nothing will be bright.

Do fish drink at all?

Lest I forgot the father’s mouth opened more to the tipple of fine whisky and gin than to the letting go of his prized goose. Whisky and gin can do much to a man and even I was about to be featured in a drunken orgy of negotiating the bride price as head rocked from side to side with the hat I wrought and the cane landing with thuds on the ground, even that I bought – the list, remember, it was in the list too.

Ah! The bride price, no sale price said the quip as he noted I had no cows nor yams as tradition would have dictated, the cows had been slaughtered for meat and stew, the yams pounded to a pulp – drinks would suffice, and drinks it would be.

Before I could drown away my sorrows, that small business of drinks had to be sorted and this ephemeral source of oral pleasure that had me bedwetting as a kid, discomfited the incontinent, heaped disgrace on the inebriated and had you visit the lavatory in hours for disposal was part of the bidding price.

Pour it all out

I will drink to that said the quip at which point pouring a mug of lager over his head would have been the most pleasurable thing to do, I could not get disillusioned, but someone is taking the piss.

Presentations started, the drinks were like I had conducted a smuggler’s day trip to Calais with a lorry, I was afraid we were going to leave behind us alcoholics and worse.

Whiskies and gins we presented by the carton and 3 in all, single malt scotch but not too expensive, then 6 cartons of wine, the preferred lager was Star so we had 4 cartons of those and Guinness of the large bottled variety came in 5 cartons.

The malt drink of choice was Maltina in 10 crates of 24 bottles each and soft drinks which we call minerals were offered in 15 crates, other fruit drinks in 9 cartons.

Now that we had gotten thus far in the programme and that was just part of the bride price.

To be continued...

Opening the mouth of the father - Part 4

With Christmas cheer, I publish Part 4 early.

The third part of this series Opening the mouth of the Father – Part 3

The opening gambit

Like a surrealist drama the wedding list was coming alive with a reality that was about to hit us in the face like a flipping wet tilapia, we were about to be slapped from side to side as if we were in some repetitive motion of turning the other cheek in perpetuity, our pockets had better be deep and be deep enough.

So, we opened the ceremonial table with 20,000 smackers but for the seriousness of the situation at hand; I am getting married, I might well have picked a fight with the chap who took occasion to literally make jokes of the events – I would have liked to be where I could laugh rather than be on the verge of tears.

For all it was worth, I was going to enjoy it as well as I was going to remember it for what it stood for, for all the participants in this bizarre ceremony called a traditional welding ceremony – welded, I meant that, indeed.

Hail to the chief

These settings need a chief to bless the occasion, some moneybag who had earned respectability in the community not so much for duty and stature but for the accumulation of filthy lucre from whatever source that was of no concern to the people who pay tribute and give their untrammeled obeisance.

So, to get this nondescript high chief to the high table a Chief’s Table fee was required, I needed the tough negotiations of the IMF with the persuasion of a Ponzi scheme purveyor on my team like I needed the next breath of air, my people drew skill and inspiration from places beyond our realms of everyday life.

At 25,000 tilapia slaps, the chief deigned to dance to the table with the dignity and grace of the big man who has come to town, the ceremony was beginning to get into gear.

A mute father and mother

Speeches need to be made at these meetings and apart from the MC whose verbal diarrhea was about to be as infectiously painful and debilitating to the extreme, the parents would have a few words about their daughter, not too much would come from mine in those proceedings, as I soon figured.

They called it, Opening the Father’s mouth, and soon after was the Opening of the Mother’s mouth, the smart quip thought about using birth forceps or calipers with the help of jacks and spanners to open the mouth of big daddy and better still, a parental kiss might just be killing two birds with one stone – they would not have it – each negotiation had to be thoroughly exhausted, the intermissions taken up by different kinds of bought entertainment.

Father remained mute until we had received 20,000 tilapia slaps and mother came not too far behind on 18,000 wets, since we fish by the dragnet and harvest by the earthquake shaking of the trees to split their fruit, someone must have assumed we had come by money so easily that we spend better than the gushing of oil from the troubled Delta region.

Some elders for hire

However, the chief and parents were not happy to sit at the table by themselves, the Family elders had to take their places at the table because the precious daughter was about to leave for the home of her most auspicious lover – auspicious should read love struck beyond reason.

A number came forward, about 6 or so and only on the persuasion of 19,600, they probably had other weddings to attend, we needed to make it worth their while being there for the purpose of, well, filling their pockets – our quip who was on the verge of having a knuckle driven at him without regret swore those “hell-ders” were rented – the danger of marrying out of your community means you do not know who is for real. This was no day for Miss Marple and her sharp intellect.

My people were introduced without too much of ceremony, thankfully, we did not have to pay to approach the table, they sat comfortably, maybe a bit uneasily too.

A compound rent it was

Maybe there was some sense in the Family and Compound Women fee, they helped in every way to arrange things, food, decorations and much more, a gratitude fee in the ceremony – no hard feelings; the compound element must have come from the fact that my prospective in-laws were tenants in a multi-tenancy compound, it did not hurt that much when it topped out at 19,000.

The incredulity of the Family and Compound youths however left one utterly exasperated, our quip suggested we were also paying the riff-raff to keep them from misbehaving – it was a stretch to our understanding of traditions but opportunities had been opened for everything including the kitchen sink.

A sibling triviality

They were pacified with the unkindly whack of 17,000, everyone was going to benefit from the marriage of this amazing daughter of the compound it seemed because we parted with another 15,000 smackers for the First son who happened to be 15 and this was apart from lining the pockets of the toddler Brother and Sister with 14,500.

By this time, there was no point having a calculator, our reserves just had to be inexhaustible, we seemed to be up to the challenge at each call but none of it was looking funny at all.

When before, it had been suggested that this relationship had legs, it did have legs but the legs were really for us to run, but we were so deep in it now, we had to see it to the end – nothing else could faze us as the ceremony progressed.

Pension arrangements in the playground

We had to cater for the Father’s Age grade and the Mother’s Age grade as if these people had sworn to each other as kids that when their children were to get married their pensions will be supplemented by the proceeds from the daughters’ marriages and the matter of the dowry was yet to come to the table – it was going to be interesting after all this.

They respectively won that jackpot with a pot of 26,000 and 15,500, it would seem the women get sold in marriages and still get the little end of the compensations that come at the ceremonies.

Why did we not find the literary tome on the marriage practices of the Andoni and just give this a completely wide berth – but as we were resolute, love conquers all, it would conquer this and leave us somewhere – a place difficult to imagine as one weathers this maelstrom of the certainly certifiable.

The Mother’s Labs left us flummoxed, nobody bothered to ask where the test tubes and cultures were, we flush away our doubts with a cool 15,500 and all our cards were now on the table and everyone ready to show hands.

Knock down the door, gently

The ceremony was in full swing in asking the hand of our beauty, our beloved, our prospective wife and partner who through this ceremony was fast becoming converted into a purchase, a possession with a ranking that could legally make her a slave but love, only love conquers all – we would live through this and tell the stories with great laughter and jollity at subsequent family reunions – this ceremony would return to the family in about 20 years – the parents were made for a great fortune through the giving away of their daughters, barring changes to this custom or tradition.

When the time to came to bring the bride out of the confines of the family home to be joined to her bridegroom we had come to the epoch of the ceremony, it would reach an unprecedented crescendo that would make the faint-hearted faint – someone had better have the smelling salts handy.

It was called Knocking on the family door – this would present a number of decoys before we have the real deal, our lady of the day, the joy of our bosom and the one to whom the whispers would mean the whole world.

You cannot imagine the number that opened that family door.

To be continued …

Opening the mouth of the father - Part 3

The second part of this series Opening the mouth of the Father – Part 2

It will be traditional

Opting for a traditional marriage ceremony was probably the best choice since I am religiously averse though my bride as any typical Nigerian is quite religious.

One might well be persuaded of the need, but it is not that pressing, the traditional ceremony presents the opportunity for some very unconventional activities and the maybe some cultural education.

The landlord’s daughter who got married not too long before had such a splash, it appears, the tenant is on the verge of outdoing the landlord, one should keep an open mind before one begins a flight of fantasy.

Talking about money always

Preparations were in high gear, money for all that was necessary, drinks, food, cake, dresses, the list was interminable, I might as well have a mint in the backyard, but love conquers all.

The Master of Ceremonies was the uncle of the bride, a cantankerous and garrulous rotund man with a voice that boomed with an accent of English so thick, I was convinced I really was back in Nigeria, really back in Nigeria without and confusion of that fact.

As the day of the event drew near, many panicked as I tried to keep my cool European reserve, delegate tasks by project management and keep an rein on everything except the demands for money for the silly, the stupid and the incomprehensible – I grinned out as I gritted my teeth, how long would this go on for?

We are here to ask

My family had arrived, mother with her friends, my siblings all, my friends from youth all here to celebrate this long awaited event, once the questions about marriage are over, I can be sure that not a second would have passed after the wedding day before I am asked about children – people all seem to be in a hurry for you when in fact, it is you and her that would share that same roof.

That is a somewhat a way off, all the arrangements for visas and travel are coming on nicely, it would not be easy at first, but love does definitely conquer all.

I cannot say I am nervous, but you never know these things, the eventuality of a rogue village goat running amok and pulling the tablecloth off the high table with its horns, scattering the well arranged flowers, drinks, glasses and plates all over the place, leaving the bride in tears, I close to tears and someone suspecting some enemy wreaking havoc for jealousy and spite – my imagination is definitely getting the better of me.

Cherish the day

When that day is over, a sigh of relief cannot come too quickly for all concerned, it would be a great and magnificent day, I dared pray that it would all go nicely, everyone would say the nicest things to each other, the families would be friendly to each other and no funny relation would take that opportunity to vent and hopefully, everyone who really needs to be invited has been invited.

The ceremony had been set for the early afternoon, accounting for African time, we might just add another hour or two to the programme, someone had tried to meticulously time each issue on the agenda but I thought it was ambitious at best; these things have a life of their own.

People do not just walk to the table, they dance to the high table with a coterie of dancers and singers, drummers drumming at the decibel limits, the percussion allowing for the most impossible hip gyrations, it would be a lavish spectacle, I just hope the video guy is prepared to capture everything, we also got three photographers to ensure there was a continuous record of events.

Let the ceremony begin

Now that everything had been set, the MC got to the microphone and after a preamble of prayers stories, jokes and a basic idea of why we were meeting, the agenda for the day kicked in.

The first thing was Opening the ceremony table, apparently, the high table of almost 20 seats bedecked with an array of expensive drinks, the best crockery, the finest cloth and all the trimmings was hardly ready for a seating.

We were in an auction cum bargaining banter, cash was the key to opening any event or action in this ceremony, with 5,000, nobody was looking at us, at 10,000, there was a nod but no approval, at 15,000, we were told we could do better than that, especially, since one was from … it took 20,000 to consider calling anyone to the table.

Let the ceremony begin...

To be continued...

Nigeria: Governor's reputation goes up in hospital flames

Useless Health Ministers

If this is not a case where Nigerian politics and the service to humanity has lost its priorities, focus and purpose, I would wonder what is.

I have railed before about so-called professors in medical science who have been appointed Ministers of Health and they have failed to grasp the extent and import of their briefs.

It informs the reason why for a simple fracture that the erstwhile vice-President had or the complicated ailment that the current President had before his selection required them being flown out of the country.

We have at least 4 teaching hospitals that have been in existence for at least 4 decades and we still end up with situations where one was particularly involved in obtaining sub-standard drugs from the black market that the Health Minister of the day could not be persuaded to act decisively on the report from the drug standards body; because the report was addressed to a predecessor he replaced a few weeks after the report was submitted.

If there would ever be a Health Minister in the mould of the late Professor Olikoye Ransome-Kuti who in spite of the strictures he had to work in, still made improvements and adjustments to health delivery in Nigeria, one cannot yet tell.

Junket beclouds purpose

The news reaching me today is appalling to say the least, a general hospital that had been built in Maiduguri, Borno State, with possibly start-of-the-art medical equipment was burnt down.

That is unfortunate, but reading the detail leaves one quite livid with rage; for the sake of stupid ceremony, the culture of junketry (for the want of another derivative of junket) that gets in the way of getting things done expeditiously and properly for the people; the hospital which was completed in June 2006 has remained closed until the day it was torched.

It had remained closed because the State Governor, Senator (Dr.) Ali Modu Sheriff, wanted the President to fly over with his entourage of leeches at great expense to the taxpayer to cut the tape to open the hospital.

So far, the President of the Federal Republic of Nigeria had been otherwise engaged than to do bed-pans that a number of visits were postponed until one that had now been set for March 2008.

I would contend that if the hospital had been deployed to the service that it was built to provide, it is unlikely we would be reading of arsonist attacks, rather, it would have breakthroughs in healthcare delivery hugging the headlines.

Misdirected anger

I am not surprised that the people of Bulunkutu were angry and shouting abuses at the alleged arsonists but their anger is completely misdirected and this is where the education of the masses is required for a clear thought process.

The governor stated that there was not one state-owned hospital in the country that had the type of world class equipment that could be found in the hospital complex – if that was the case, the next question should be whether the hospital was built for the people or for the opportunity to bring the President to this far-flung North-Eastern state.

It is unlikely that the President would have needed to use the facilities, the people of the state however, would have benefited from using the hospital considering other Borno State hospitals are poorly equipped and overcrowded.

The people should have been foremost in the mind of the governor and after being unable to get the President he should have settled for another delegated functionary or even done it himself.

Now, he laments the arsonists had a ploy to damage his political reputation – How do we get to elect these cretins?

This hospital should have been opened 19 months ago and it should not have lain fallow and unused for another one month until March 2008.

Another rape of the people

Not only is the governor culpable in this travesty and rape of the people, his advisers should have seen that his political reputation stems from the people not from junkets that have him play host to the President.

The healthcare delivery hierarchy should have prevailed upon him; if indeed we had healthcare delivery statistics all around the country, to open the hospital and give respite to the people who most definitely have no opportunity to jet out for Aspirin.

The anger of the people should be directed at the idiot that is the governor, just as the arsonists who were wrong could no more stand seeing a white-elephant in their neighbourhood.

I would suppose the President would be visiting next month to cut the tape and allow fire engines access to fight the fire after which he can shovel the ashes and see the hospital rise like a phoenix before the eyes of the junketeers.

Sometimes, incredulity is the norm in great Nigeria.