When the Backstop Becomes the Plan

From Doldrums to Hope

The days carry varying degrees of emotional toll, from the palpable to the expectant; the feeling that you may not be pulling your weight gives way to the exhilaration of success, because what was once intractable became resolvable.

We have moved from a week that seemed to present diminishing returns to one that appears to offer appreciating results. While we are not totally out of the doldrums, there is hope on the horizon, and things have been better than expected.

Governance Left Behind

Yet we get embroiled in administrative issues that should have had governance born from contractual obligation, including the clear requirement specifications that would apply to an architectural design, with guidelines for solutions to be crafted on agreed policy.

A backstop activity, meant only to tide us over until automation could take hold, has evolved into the core solution. This is because resources will not be committed first and, evidently, the architectural element is missing altogether.

Shortcuts Over Policy

The project manager, under pressure to deliver, has short-circuited the process, favouring the concept of ease over the policy guidelines that should govern it. The ideas are lifted off a contract statement and put into play, leaving the implementation resting on broad assumptions.

What we hear is that it must be done because the contract demands it; what we do not have is any documentation describing what is actually to be done. The best element of guidance to materialise today came in an email. However, can governance be run from an email, you wonder?

That is why this is being escalated. I am not convinced a proper resolution will be forthcoming before the pressure to act overwhelms the tendency to err on the side of caution; not out of any impossibility to perform, but because of the absence of governance that informs the processes required.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

My own All Saints' Day

The saints in my canon

It would appear strange that quite deep into the Advent season so close to Christmas, I am celebrating my own version of All Saint’s Day which in the traditional Christian Church calendar starts at the end of October with All Hallows’ Eve, then All Saints’ Day and ends on the 2^nd of November with All Souls’ Day.

As it has come up in conversations that I have had recently, I find that there are men interesting and significant who are no more with us, such who have become canonised in my own life story, and this is not a list to supplant that of the church. In these men, usually not deliberate, but significant, I have found direction, insight, and light, even if for a transient and sometimes for longer, they are lauded.

This list is hardly exhaustive, but it is probably the beginning of recognising the influence, impact, and mentoring of people that have mattered in my life.

Unculu

Unculu, he was my uncle, my father’s younger brother, and as a child, he was a deflection from the personality that my dad exuded as a high-achieving and successful man with a home life that strict, stern, and terrifying in the way he disciplined his youngest sibling, my aunt, along with how he commanded an entire of relations that genuflected and regarded him with fear and adulation.

In Unculu, I found that adults can be approachable, you can engage in conversation with them and there were no limits to the expression of ideas or viewpoints that it was of him that I asked if he could wait at his own age for me to catch up. He smiled, as he explained how that age-gap is constant. It was also in him that I observed that being respectful of everyone does not in any way diminish your standing.

Tajudeen Oladipo Akintayo, became Unculu to me, and it was out of respect for him that the Ola part of my name Akinola was not used when I was addressed and I believe when his son who met an untimely death was addressed the Akin part of his name Akinyemi was not used, in consideration of me. Much as there could have been ways Unculu could have influenced me beyond my childhood, I became more of an observer than a follower when he left our household. He passed on in June 2019.

Blog - Thought Picnic: In the husbandry of futility

Uncle Jimoh

Uncle Jimoh, at first, was the son of a patriarch in the north, his father, Baba Bukuru ran a bicycle shop in Bukuru, a suburb of Jos. However, I began to notice that Uncle Jimoh was quite academically brilliant, the kind of person who would go places given the opportunity and whose potential was unlimited in terms of what he could achieve.

I could see the mutual respect that grew between my parents and their younger distant cousin, if there was a beacon of excellence, they desired any of us their children to aspire to, Uncle Jimoh would be a clear example. His success was shared with such unflinching generosity as I experienced in gifts and conversations, especially when he was completing his Quantity Surveying studies in the UK as I was leaving secondary school.

How he influenced me was at the time subtle because I was quite persuaded to consider the same career and it was through certain exchanges with him that I focused more on attending a polytechnic rather than a university. Eventually, I did start with Chemical Engineering but veered towards Electrical & Electronic Engineering which formed the foundations of my career.

For advice, he was present, sometimes commanding, other times adjuring, but mostly advising. He remained through his life someone to look up to and was a significant contributor at the point when I was ready to depart for the UK. Jimoh Ogunnaike, he left indelible footsteps in the sands of time. He passed on in November 2013.

Blog - A great man, we've lost

Uncle Cash

Our initial encounters were relayed to me for I do not have any recollection of an older man observing a precocious child of 5 that arrested the attention of everyone with his speech and his actions, I got told many times of that, it was impossible not to have it encoded in memory.

Around that same time, my father had promised him £10 if he passed the school examinations he had until then failed, a debt still left unpaid, a family canard or more besides, I was not a witness of that shaking of hands.

We had more engaging encounters after he returned from his studies in the UK and through his wife, my aunt, as my first job was also at the same place of work. Many family backstories followed.

He became my guardian in January 1986 by invitation of my aunt and it was from then that he became a purposeful and consequential influence on my life. Much of what I have become is a result of the example he was.

More significantly, he built up my confidence to be assertive, to think with clarity and work at being less encumbered by the emotional or the irrational, it is difficult to quantify or qualify how impactful that was in character building whilst allowing me the courage of my convictions and beliefs.

That relationship-building and cultivating work never stopped and this piece would never capture the essence of who he was to me. Christopher Ademola Soyinka, CASH! To all who knew him passed on in June 2022.

Blog - Uncle Cash!

D-Shash

When I walked into the calico white building at 203 Ikorodu Road, I was in my best shoes knocking on Information Technology company doors looking for work, I had finished my trek of Ikeja and was on my way to Lagos Island and Ikoyi when I caught a glimpse of IT Systems Ltd literally opposite the famous Baptist Academy. Even with that school, I have some old history.

I walked into IT Systems and asked for work, after a few questions and answers, I was offered a job to start the following Monday. Little did I know of what was happening upstairs apart from whispers about an unassuming larger-than-life lawyer with his team of researchers working on the Nigerian Supreme Court Cases and about to beat the renowned Gani Fawehinmi at the game of annotating, cataloguing, and expositing the cases of the supreme court from 1963.

My first encounter with Deji, D-Shash to everyone was when they asked for some help with their computers, I went upstairs, fixed the issue in minutes and for that, Deji dipped his hand in his pocket and offered me NGN 50; that was a quarter of my monthly salary, but I politely declined it, what I did to resolve the problem was just too trivial to charge for, I had sown a seed of some recognition in his mind.

Meanwhile, a classmate who was staying with me out of the generosity of my Uncle Cash because he had another job with an IT firm in Lagos shared some discs with me containing the desktop publishing application, Xerox Ventura Desktop Publisher which in my spare time, I learnt to use quite proficiently and that opened many doors. Another long story.

I fixed a number of problems happily for Deji upstairs and still refused any payment or gifts until I left IT Systems to go contracting. A month into my stint, word got to me that Deji wanted a meeting with me. He had a sporadic business relationship with an African American desktop publishing consultant¹ where he needed additional commitments, and so he wanted me not as an employee, but as a consultant to support their desktop publishing projects and also train the staff on the basics. (¹I have since learnt Rhonda Dabiri, passed on in April 2020)

The deal he offered was borne of a level of respectful courtesy rare in people of means and power, before I had thought of it, he said, whenever you are ready to leave for England, your ticket is paid for, apart from that, I will give you a monthly stipend, and you can come and go as you wish because I know you have many engagements. How that boosted my professional confidence was beyond belief, I was in a high-profile role with considerable visibility to clients seeking desktop publishing expertise.

It opened many doors including my first return to the UK as a business representative and technical directory of a fledgling desktop publishing company veering away from traditional printing methods. Deji Sasegbon SAN, was a towering influence that helped set the course of majorly contracting career with the seed of negotiating terms that best suited my kind of personality. He passed on in December 2016.

Blog - Adieu D-Shash! (Deji Sasegbon)

John

He had placed a job advertisement in the Pink Paper that I had no qualifications for, but I was seeking to break out of the public sector into the private sector without much success.

I sent my CV to John without expecting a response, but I did get a call, and the first thing he said was he liked my CV, but it was not saying enough about my knowledge and experience. He then offered to spend time with me on my CV to fix it and make it more marketable.

I visited his office and the next 4 hours that evening were spent shaping up my CV, the result of which was a job in the private sector in less than 2 months.

For an older man in the technology field, John had constantly reinvented himself, and engaged lots of young talent, giving them not just opportunities but opening them up to challenges that stood in good stead for the development of their careers. He even offered an engaging internship to one of my friends who need essential tutelage to prepare him for the UK IT market.

Then John was more than an encouraging voice of support, where I had doubts about my abilities or capabilities, John would say, “Akin, I know you can do it.” That was the impetus to believe in me.

Beyond that, John was generous with his time, a mentor with great insight, a supporter with a stern teacher’s background, yet empathetic to the core. His work on my CV is foundational to the way my CV looks today, and that skill has been transferred to me to help others realise value and recognition out of their CVs.

John Alexander Coll passed on 9 years ago today in December 2013.

Blog - John Coll: Friend, Mentor, Gentleman

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - XVIII

New arrivals as potential vectors

It was only two weekends ago on a Saturday just into the second kilometre of my 7-kilometre walk to the banks of the River Mersey ensconced by the Chorlton Water Park and Sale Water Park that I saw arrivals to the student halls of the Manchester Metropolitan University. Young men and women brought over by their parents to begin a new phase in their lives.

Then, I wondered about how my city was changing as if we had now found a cosy arrangement with the pandemic where life could somewhat return to normal. Life did return to a kind of normalcy for the freshers’ week, for each time I went out for a walk there were crowds and groups, hardly social distancing, revelling into the night, it was concerning.

Neither here nor there

Then at the beginning of the week, the government began backpedalling on the lifting of restrictions, their urging that we return to our offices was less so, we were now to work from home as much as possible, the whole saga was becoming more comedic and tragic than how the Grand Old Duke of York marshalled his men up and down the hill till they were stuck in the middle, being neither up nor down. At least they were receiving clear directions even if the purpose was unclear.

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On a personal level, health is wealth, to a country in the times of a pandemic, public health is national wealth. The latter cannot precede the former. The bungling administration of Boris Johnson who when he resigned as Foreign Secretary in Theresa May’s cabinet suggested there was a failure of statecraft, in his case, there is a total lack of imagination.

Believing in human ingenuity

Without assuring public health, the national wealth will suffer and all efforts to protect the economy would be exorbitant and consequently fruitless.

We have to believe in human ingenuity that when all things are equal with public health, regardless of how the economy has been battered, it can be revived. History has shown how war has damaged economies and the end of the war ushered in growth and productivity through some pain, but the trajectory is always upwards.

The failure to address the public health emergency with competence and strategy has left us in the throes of a second wave that would be more damaging than the first and possibly leave the economy in a more sickened state than if things were properly dealt with in the first instance.

A student life halted

The students that returned to campus life have somehow met up with the Coronavirus with 127 of them testing positive with COVID-19 leading to the self-isolation of about 1,700 students in Cambridge Hall and Birley Campus, just within 2 kilometres of my residence.

Their self-isolation is to prevent them from spreading it in the community and further down the line, if this is not contained, there is a likelihood that students will not be allowed to return home for Christmas, just to prevent community contact spreading. [BBC News: Covid outbreak: Manchester Metropolitan University students in lockdown]

Can’t blame the students

From another perspective, the students have been short-changed and scammed, universities opened to justify their tuition fees, the hostels opened to keep the landlords afloat through their justifiably collecting rent. Now, they are stuck in their rooms, they can neither attend classes nor return home. It was a catastrophe in the making for which the government would shift the blame to the victims of this pandemic, the students in this case and the public in the general surge in infections nationally.

Whereas, it is without a doubt that the UK government is totally responsible for the mishandling of this pandemic and that is why we have the highest number of deaths due to COVID-19 in Europe. We cannot spin that any other way than say it with conviction as the incontrovertible truth.

Everyone for themselves and for all

On our streets, one thing is evident, the virus is invisible, it is pervasive, it is spreading and the need to maintain social distancing, wear masks, avoid gatherings, wash hands and so on remains a matter of personal safety and self-preservation. There is no telling where in this city of three large universities there are other pockets of infection. Within the week of opening primary and secondary schools, 15 schools were shut with the pupils asked to self-quarantine.

My other concern is how from outside the UK, other countries might be watching things go awry and so place us on a restricted list of travel as both a destination and place of origin. It is obvious that Boris Johnson and his big tent of circus clowns will never get to grips with this pandemic, we as individuals must save ourselves.

 

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - XV

Cannot trust this dishonest government

On the matter of this Coronavirus pandemic, I had tuned out of the perfidious and the dishonest lying spectacle of Boris Johnson and his cabinet. Their message, direction, advice, instruction and guidance has been incoherent, ambiguous, misleading, ineffective, untruthful, distracting, lacking in conviction and in the main dishonest.

They have assumed the responsibility for nothing whilst seeking to blame others for their rank incompetence. In the same vein, I stopped watching television news, the rolling 24-hour spiel that is full of commentary but useless opinions and the false quest for balance.

Listening without the propaganda

There are respected epidemiologists who are neither in the pay of the government nor out for fame, they speak their minds with professional clout and clear messages. There is no propaganda to push and listening to them helps whatever arrangements I make for my safety.

Overnight, through muddled messages on the radio, I learnt that Greater Manchester had been put under COVID-19 local restrictions. Obviously, I thought it was the environs around the city where there have been waves of infections with the City of Manchester mostly intact.

Affected areas in North West England under new local restrictions.

We are restricted to a point

However, going to the government website, which is as navigable as to be forgettable, my city is included in the mix of places with significantly higher rates of infection that appears to be affecting more young people and affluent groups. [GOV.UK: Guidance - North West of England: local restrictions – what you can and cannot do]

For those with a vibrant social circle, the restrictions would put a stop to their socialising, making it illegal outside of their support bubble and households. Reviewing my own situation, not much changes, I have not created a support bubble, I haven’t neither been visiting nor socialising, attending places of worship is still allowed as long as they are COVID-19 aware and secure. I believe our village community gym with a booking system limited to residents of my village will still be open. I’ll be fine.

This pandemic is haunting and inconvenient, but for all the limitations on our liberties, staying alive is paramount and that requires being smart, sensible and taking no stupid risks. Manchester, we can do this.

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Childhood: Remembering the times I had no one to talk to

If we could turn back time

I do not know how I would have been able to help my parents redo elements of my upbringing that might with hindsight has made me a better person. However, I do notice there are things that I picked up by example and other things that probably would have been better imparted by clear instruction and relatable lessons of life rather than relying on the osmosis of parenting.

Two specific things I think my parents left to osmosis, the hope that I turned out the way they expected without their active engagement, first, the management of money and secondly the real usefulness of school and academic achievement. I think I understood I was lacking in financial wisdom when I was sent away at 10 to take common entrance examinations.

I was given some money which I frittered away and spent on things I rarely had access to like comics and gave some away to the cousins who could take advantage of my naivety and generosity, I was no wiser. During that visit, I was also given money by relations, it is strange as I remember today that I was able to account for everything I was given by them, but not properly for what my parents gave me. The way the questioning went, about how I spent the money suggested they were quite displeased with me.

No reason I knew

I attended primary school because that was what you did, I effortlessly passed my examinations usually coming second or third in the class, but I hated revision or homework. There were many times I was caught out in class, lying that I had submitted my homework when I had not. It was a shameful and embarrassing experience when Mrs Onyemenam would put me in front of the class and have my classmates call out in unison, Liar!

There was a time I was a bedwetter both at home and in the first year and a half at secondary school, yet, in the almost 5 months I spent with relations in Lagos and Sagamu before secondary school, I never once wet my bed until my father came to visit and I spent the night with him at his hotel when he was down for a business trip.

Blog - Childhood: Atòólé

In secondary boarding school, I probably had serious child psychology issues that were attended to with rituals, amulets, and crazy animist practices. I always lost my things, rarely took notes in class and by the third year, I played truant hating some of the classes because they were exhausting and boring. It ended up on my school report, my mother a school principal was completely exasperated that she had a truant for a son.

The cane was not my bane

Whilst I never face corporal punishment for my academic achievements or failures even when I had to withdraw because I failed a repeated year in polytechnic, there was no shortage of criticism and excoriation especially from my father, a brilliant and a high-achieving accountant who must have sometime wondered how I came to be his son.

I can say in polytechnic I was clinically depressed, I had instances when I attended classes and I could understand what was going on or why I was there. I was not abusing substances or anything, I just had a head that seemed to be completely unaware of what I was doing. It is strange that I seemed to keep my sanity by falling into religion. It did not make matters any easier at home.

It was in these areas of disagreement and misalignment with my parents’ philosophies that I suffered the most and received the severest corporal punishments, they together ganging up on me, it was also an opportunity to humiliate, as I was ejected from my room and made to sleep on the floor.

The home was not a school to success

Now, in the minds of my parents doing everything they knew how to bring up successful and well-adjusted children, they were doing their best with the tools they had. Too many times, the comparison was the weapon to refocus, an uncle there or an aunt there who somehow had some opportunity but apparently wasted it became the terror of what you did not want to be.

In the end, the greatest lessons in life that helped me out of the rut I was in was not the discipline, the disagreements, the fights that included a headbutting from my father, or that backhand swipe of my mother that so connected well with face momentarily blinding me, it was in the understanding of other uncles and aunts who had experienced failure and overcome those circumstances to be successful.

It is ironic that many of them had some guidance from my parents when they were at their lowest ebb, they repaid by giving their nephew allowances, opportunity and encouragement to turn my life around and believe I really could make something of my life. None of this is to spite my parents, but there are aspects of child development that have left scars even if they seem to be healed.

My good conscience is my guide on my spirituality and sexuality

In church for service

The last church service I attended was two Sundays ago at The Cathedral Church of St George the Martyr (St George’s Cathedral) in Cape Town, just a 10-minute brisk walk from our hotel.

My partner and I were out the night before, but as it was our last weekend together, we were determined to attend church that morning. I got up first and to get Brian out of bed I had to sprinkle water on his face, I eventually succeeded.

We left our hotel dressed in matching jackets and just missed the processional hymn. We settled in our seats and joined the sung eucharist of the 1^st Sunday after Epiphany.

Sharing our spirituality

Brian is the first partner I have had with whom I have been able to freely express my spirituality and this in the Church of England, the history of its inception is somewhat irrelevant to the scheme of things, because whilst the church appears to attempt to conform to conservative values, it has to exist in contemporary times and there is much adaptation going on, despite the public pronouncements.

We chose St. George’s Cathedral because it has a history of tolerance, acceptance, and the subversive, especially during the Apartheid era. One of the stained-glass windows has a depiction of the Garden of Eden with a black Adam, from the mid-1960s.

A traditional welcome

It is the seat of the Archbishop of Cape Town who is also the Primate of the Anglican Church of South Africa occupied once by the Archbishop Emeritus Desmond Tutu from 1986 to 1996. He has always been an ally of the LGBTQ+ community and the church in its outreach beyond the tenure of this world-renowned and well-respected archbishop continues to invite all people to fellowship and take communion in the congregation of the blessed.

It is interesting that my home church in Manchester does not appear to be as traditional as the one in Cape Town, canticles, incense and Latin feature a lot in the service. There are times when I almost feel lost in what is going on. In Cape Town, the clergy conducts most of the service in English, but the readings will be done in isiXhosa and Afrikaans along with the Eucharistic and Communion prayers.

Bearing gifts to all

It makes for an inclusive and representative church and it is impossible that we have not been noticed since we began attending the church since Easter 2019. That last Sunday, as the offering was being taken, we were approached by the ushers to help take the communion bread and wine to the altar.

Confused as we were, we were well instructed and walked the full length of the church down the aisle just behind the incense bearer to the altar where we presented the gifts, bowed to the clergy and then stood aside for the gifts to be blessed before we walked back to our seats.

The surprise, the amazement, the suddenness of being randomly chosen to serve in the church, only for a moment meant so much to us. Whilst not reading a vindication of our relationship to it, at the very least, when Brian and I get married, we would indeed seek to be blessed at the St George’s Cathedral.

On the matter of who we are

On the issue of the pastoral guidance [PDF] issued by the Anglican Church regarding abstinence from sex in gay or straight civil partnerships, it is a matter of conscience for me. That they have adopted the directive that sex outside marriage “falls short of God’s purpose for human beings” is understandable as it helps avoid the straining schism in the church between traditionalists and modernists, I do not intend for it to be dogma, instruction or commandment. [The Guardian]

I am as a human being and sexual being, I find expression for it in the relationship that best helps me thrive as a human being. I am a gay man, I am in love with another man, our relationship is predicated on more than just sex, it is a matter of the heart, of the soul and of the body, the moments shared, the love we have for each other that is not available to another, just between us. I do not also intend to return to an early time in my life where who I was consumed me with guilt and self-loathing, for what I could neither change nor deny.

In my good conscience

Maybe some people are called to abstinence and others to celibacy, it is a gift for which not everyone is equipped to observe without fallibility. The pastoral guidance seeks to impose the impossible about human expression and humanity in the fulfilment of a loving relationship, something everyone who is of age should be able to enjoy with impediment when in a committed relationship.

I will neither deny my sexuality nor my spirituality, both are a complete declaration of who I am, what I am, how I exist and where I belong. Jesus Christ went to the cross for all, not for the few. If I in my good conscience before God and man is not convicted of wrong in the person that I am, I approach the altar with humility and service, partake in the Communion and fulfil the calling on my life.

In that, I am satisfied, it is guidance rather than diktat. We live at peace with each other and get called suddenly to serve in the body of Christ. Shalom!