Paying respects to a colleague

Making the Journey

Yesterday was devoted to one main activity: bidding a dear and well-liked former colleague a befitting farewell. As the situation was, the only thing to do was to pay our respects and honour him.

His wife had advised in an email response to my indicating an intention to attend the obsequies that the best station to alight from was Poulton-le-Fylde, as it was the closest to Carleton Crematorium.

Leaving home early, I initially thought of going to Blackpool and then, closer to the time, making my way to Poulton-le-Fylde. However, after exchanges with another colleague who was changing trains at Preston (Lancs), I alighted at Preston and ended up at Brucciani’s Café, where the serving of Eggs Benedict left much to be desired.

Gathering Together

The rendezvous at the station later on saw the meeting of five more colleagues. We set off to a nearby pub, some steeling themselves for the occasion with a tipple.

Another colleague joined us there, and he drove us to the crematorium. As we got out of the car, the funeral cortège was coming up behind us.

A Celebration of Life

The gathering was a humanist celebration. The venue was filled such that there was standing room only; I took to leaning on the wall for support.

Such fantastic stories were told of him, including a very moving tribute from his wife. Many women cried, and even some men cried like boys. He was held in such great affection and deeply loved. A sombre, yet celebratory farewell it was.

The Reception Wake

The reception after the funeral, termed a wake, took place at Carleton Bowling Club. I did note, though, that we had barely exited the chapel when the next hearse had arrived, and there was going to be a last one after that, each session given 45 minutes. A commodification of death, in no uncertain terms.

We got to talk to friends, relations, his wife, and his mother, all appreciative of us making time to attend this farewell.

The Journey Home

Three of us left after dark to catch the trains, a 19-minute walk from the reception. We arrived just in time to board a train to Preston.

I changed at Preston for a train to Manchester, and it was on that train that a conductor not only checked my ticket but also asked for my railcard. He then said, "However you got that railcard, what's your secret?" Not the challenge I expected, but I was also being paid a compliment. It took a full month to be officially recognised as a senior citizen through my Senior Railcard.

An Unexpected Conversation

Then, guess what? The young chap sat beside me, fascinated by the chatter between the conductor and me, struck up a conversation. He was just about to commence his A Levels, attending a boarding school in Cumbria.

His intended career path was history, and I shared with him what I did. He had been in Cape Town last year with his school's rugby team, and he spoke of South Africa in such glowing terms.

What did we not cover before I disembarked at Manchester Oxford Road Station? Chance encounters making a journey and a day end on a jolly note.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

On parental interference and sundry matters - III

A Problem Child

I have a blessing; I still have my parents who are alive and well, but we have a situation where we are estranged. This estrangement is probably because they are embarrassed or ashamed of me, and that is something we all have to deal with in life when it comes to how we live and the choices we make.

In those circumstances, I have taken measures to manage their exposure to these things, sometimes by reducing or eliminating communication.

For those children who have made their parents proud without having to sacrifice anything of themselves, I guess you are doubly blessed. The stars were aligned, maybe angels were even singing to the shepherds in the fields, as wise men journeyed with presents of gold, frankincense, and myrrh from the East to herald your birth. Oh, the prophets foretold it all.

I was not that child; I was different, difficult, and diffident. I was at one time smart and then considered stupid; for a while, trusted, and then not trusted. I was a handful to my parents, yet a product of the environment I was in.

We Were Not Friends

My African parents made many assumptions about what they thought I had learnt from examples that were not always obvious, for instance, the handling of money. Heck! My father is an accountant, but tell me, how do you pass down the genes? I guess only one of my siblings pursued a career with any semblance of that profession, so much for the power of example.

My parents are of the generation that maintained a certain status and stature, with a school principal for a mother, someone moulding impressionable young lives. The pressure to perform was even more stifling, the need to impress was necessary, and every failing was condemned with such excoriation it left an indelible mark.

Then I failed. I failed woefully, twice. I started courses at two polytechnics, both ending with the advice to withdraw. When I look back, I realise I was clinically depressed; my mother had Psalms and white-garment prophets on the rolodex of that time, and I found religion. I had finished secondary school at 15 and was starting all over again at 20.

A Different Parent

The difference this time was being under the guardianship of an uncle, my sadly departed Uncle Cash, a close relation who had experienced failures early in life but had become very successful in his chosen profession of insurance.

That relationship was different. It was not built on a yearning to show power by demanding and comparing, but on engagement and an appreciation that I was a person first, with my own beliefs and persuasions that could be accommodated within his mentorship and guidance. My parents backed off a bit, and I thrived.

The purpose I gained moved from setting goals to make others proud to achieving success for myself. I had the power to make my own decisions, based not on what others thought, but on what I thought was best for who I was, what I was doing, and what I aimed to achieve.

We Are Really Strangers

In their eyes, I could very well still be the child they once knew, because we grew so far apart from the day they sent me to secondary boarding school. They knew one child; I am a different man, and their child still.

In the same vein, my parents have changed from the people I once knew, even as some characteristics remain, and we have never really had the time to compare notes about who everyone turned out to be.

I have issues and misgivings, many of which I have written about in my blogs. I think I have had a reasonable relationship with my father and a rather volatile one with my mother. Even as I think of them and love them, there are elements of past resentment and abandonment that have taken hold as I review their parenting of me as an individual.

My parents, I can understand, have their concerns too: they have a firstborn son who is gay, has never married and will marry a man, has no offspring, and whom they have not seen in decades. And I am comfortable with all that, because it is my own life and not theirs.

Let's Do This Again

On my Facebook page, I have a friend request, the inspiration for this blog, because it is from my father, who I once blocked, then unblocked, but did not re-establish the friend relationship. After all, he conflated the situations of parent, participant, and policing.

Allowing him to participate in my social media activities meant that he began to police me, and then I got the message: “The earlier you make a good change in your lifestyle the better; it is not too late. All the best”. I was 53. I am going to be 60 in December.

You know what? I’ll accept that friend request.

Blog - This is my life, this is me

Blog - On parental interference and sundry matters

Blog - On parental interference and sundry matters - II

Thought Picnic: That honour rarely comes

We live for others

We grow and yet we do not grow up in the eyes of some usually out of proximity and familiarity or distance and estrangement. We seem to be caught in the amber of time, fossilised in the peat of an eternal past that has never changed. We are seen in the prism of light that no longer reveals or reflects who we are.

For all the journeys and experiences of life we have acquired, it is meaningless as those who never really journeyed with you through the wildernesses and the triumphs are totally unaware of how you have changed and who you have become. Jesus Christ painted that picture clearly; “A prophet is treated with honour everywhere except in his own hometown, among his relatives, and in his own house.” [You Version: Mark 6:4 (The Passion Translation)]

With achievement and recognition garnered from many endeavours, appreciation and praise greeting you as you navigate the fields of toil away from home, you are to them the boy, the kid, the child, the son, stripped of all standing and respect, reviled and contemned with belittlement and contempt, if you crave it, your disillusionment and disappointment will be great with the pall of disconsolation.

Continue in what you know

Yet, you must stand, if not to be heard, at least not to be stymied in the expression of who you have become. Be unrelenting in the resolve that has brought you the success you have earned through the sprinkled ingredients of example, training, experience, guidance, or even indifference.

The thought I started with as with many of my blogs has been lost in the flow of this snippet of self-appreciation. When you realise how impactful the little you do is to others, it matters less whether your kith and kin acknowledge you. If they eventually do, it is a bonus. If they never do, do not let your goals be defined by those who only see you in the past and have never moved beyond it.

Thought Picnic: Those who resort to bastardry should answer for their claims

Refusing to bear the slur

It has occurred to me that there must be a time when you must divorce yourself from illegitimacy and the hold of bastardry predicated on an assessment of your situation with little regard for your lived life and achievements.

Obviously, there were circumstances where children born out of wedlock were considered illegitimate, but it is no fault of the child that they were born into that situation. Unfortunately, the label might dog them in terms of inheritance or entitlement, but what cannot be denied them is the right to live their own lives and set their own course to create their own story.

Other uses of the word bastard might come from attempting to address the child in terms of what they have failed to achieve for wanting of ability and sometimes it is just adversity or misfortune that can happen to anyone, just that someone somewhere seems to be keeping score.

Invariably, anyone can be a bastard, choose to be one or be seen as one. For those who for all sorts of reasons are declared so but refuse to let it define them, the path before them is clear as the light of day. Provenance is helpful, but without it, you can still go on to become the best of who you can ever be for the betterment of people and communities that see you as you are rather than where you are from.

Let them answer for their claims

It is interesting that even royal bastards even with their illegitimacy were rarely without honour or title and many were quite prominent in society without attainder for being born out of wedlock. A child of whom they have been born remains the child of, whether recognised and accepted or not.

If then after so having reached adulthood there are some that seek to lay that unfortunate appellation on you, it is for them to then support that with the evidence of why illegitimacy is their refuge of discourse apart from whatever else you have done and achieved.

Smarting from an encounter that elicited reference and allusion in the mistaken need to trigger a response to attendant concerns, it is not the need to continue engagement that comes to mind even if some advice has suggested a bit more circumspection to limited spheres of adverse commentary. 

Rather, one is inclined to cut off communication for the time being, for once again, a line was crossed and if bastardry was a last resort for one, it became the last straw that broke the laden camel’s back for another.

Blog: Thought Picnic: Battling a dimension of legitimacy

Never maltreat a child

I heard a child speaking

I spoke to a child this morning, and I listened to what she had to say. She was staying with a couple, her guardians far away from home, the male was her relation (a distant uncle, perhaps) and the female, was the wife of her relation. She had to do chores around the house apart from being a hawker of goods in the streets around where she lived.

One day, she counted out change from the trading purse in the sight of her uncle and then put the purse away. Her uncle then pilfered the purse which left the child accused of theft. The wife had already been wicked to her ward and could not be convinced that the girl did nothing wrong.

Saving the child from brutality

The culprit however in trying to deflect blame from himself punished the child for hours even as the child insisted she did nothing wrong. Reprieve came with an intervention from the neighbours who concluded that if the girl had been pleading innocence for over 6 hours, it was unlikely she had done anything wrong. The sadism of her guardians was just unrelenting.

Many acts committed against the child sometimes left her within the breath of death, and after that punishment, she could not attend school for two weeks, that was the severity and barbarity of their actions, such people should have ended up in jail for the brutalisation and battering of a child.

When her guardians were transferred to another city, another relation refused to allow them to take their ward with them, there was every indication they would do worse to her. Her new guardians had a kinder man (another distant uncle) and a possibly tolerable but nasty wife, maybe, a case of just jumping from the fire into the frying pan. If you’ve been to hell, any other place will present a modicum of comfort.

Maltreatment displaces honour

There was nothing to honour or celebrate about the first set of guardians when they passed on, the evil they had done would live in the memory of this child and be told in stories to which I became the audience today.

Of the second set of guardians, she was so totally distraught when he was brought back to our village in a coffin, but she did not arrive on time for the internment. That his legs were tied together with a string in the coffin only spoke to who his wife was in character and much else.

If anything, you should never maltreat a child regardless of what you might want to achieve, to violate an innocent child is considered the most heinous thing to do, especially if you are responsible for them and they look to you for guardianship, protection, guidance, and if not love, at least a sense of care and consideration of their vulnerable humanity.

A child never forgets

That child is an octogenarian who has had a successful professional career, is retired and is still involved in her community, a mother and grandmother, apart from being a mother to many more she has schooled, taught, mentored, and guided.

The child remembers quite respectfully and fondly those who treated her well, but the recent death of a younger sibling of the first guardian’s wife triggered the memories of the manifest evil meted out to her.

They might well have been forgiven; the forgetting part is more difficult. Even when Jesus said we should forgive seventy times seven times, it would suggest you need to be able to count to know how much has been forgiven. 

It is not that these issues occupy our minds or our lives, but for stories to be told as they happened, the memory recreates the narrative that we must not forget how people treated us even if out of love we release them to attend to the consequences of their actions, by provenance, intervention, or some other means of fate or opportunity.

A child never forgets even if the child has children of children of children. Do not mistreat or maltreat a child.

On my honour

On the word of a gentleman

After a 5-week stay in South Africa, I am homeward bound in a changing world of requirements, restrictions and reassurances. On the latter, I had one duty to perform to be able to check-in, I had to affirm, ‘On my honour’ that I did not have any CoVID-19 symptoms and I had not been exposed to anyone who might have had symptoms in the last 14 days.

We are being asked to rise to a gentlemanly and sportsmanlike code of integrity, truth, and honour that we are honest and true, caring and unselfish, considerate and courteous of others even to our detriment if any of the questions asked of us elicit answers that will put us at disadvantages of cost, time and much more.

The path of lies to power

I think about this and wonder about what example we have from people we have inadvertently put into leadership, people who exhibit no virtues or values, whose acquaintance with the truth and facts is as alien and distant as the east is from the west. It is in the hands of these people with the teams of similar disposition that we have laid the trust of governance and policy with the hope that they will do right.

We live in a tragedy of the times when that which is demanded of those who sit in power is lacking and depressing. Yet, as individuals, we cannot give up, relent, or allow the preponderance of the reprehensible, the irresponsible, and the unconscionable to become our guiding light.

We must stand apart

As the silent majority, we must work to bring the truth to light from under the heaped rubbish of verisimilitude, the ploys and propaganda of taking their many lies told too many times that they almost sound truth.

We can make that solemn oath that our word is our bond, shake hands and know that what is agreed will not be reneged on. Maybe we are old-fashioned, but these things matter today as much as ever. I look around me and for all the people I see, I hope they feel the same way too.

Young men need to calm down

Kicking the bus in the balls

He was shouting and probably remonstrating about something when he got off the bus and without catching his breath, still in a tirade, he proceeded to kick the bus. The bus winched and groaned at being kicked straight in the balls.

Not exactly. Whatever might have started the altercation, he was really ejected from the bus, in his anger and petulance, he began kicking the bus to make a point. Meanwhile, the bus rolled away from the bus stop and he was left there to kick a bin and then the bus stand.

It is not the end of the world

Young men need to learn to calm down. Take control of their emotion and exercise a bit of self-control. Whilst, a lot can so easily escalate, that same situation can be tempered down to irrelevance. It all depends on how a person decides to react.

He missed a bus journey he probably could have enjoyed and had to wait probably another 15 minutes before another bus came by. It is quite likely, he would have simmered down by then, rather than have fire, smoke and steam coming out of his mouth, nostrils and ears in that order.

As I pondered on this matter walking back to my hotel, at another bus stop, someone asked me a question in French that I did not understand. Before I could explain myself, he began swearing and cursing at me, he also kicking the bus stand. I was exasperated, saying nothing, I kept walking along, now wondering about the many angry young men who lose out just because they cannot calm down a bit.

Maintain composure and perspective

This brings me to an event in the news a few weeks ago. This about two young men who by my reckoning could easily pass for my son, if I had by happenstance had issue. They were fledgeling models building a profile in their professions when the one said to the other than he had slept with the other’s girlfriend. [BBCNews]

By the time you knew what was happening, they had met up for a fight, one side armed with dumbbells and the other armed with three knives including a machete, over an unsubstantiated claim of one having slept with another’s girlfriend. The young man who took umbrage at having his girlfriend in the arms of a rival got stabbed and he died.

What needless, senseless and careless loss of life over what by terms should be a trivial matter. Egos and personalities without capacity or inclination to contemplate consequence. A gross lack of apprehension for the future, by living only in the present and now. Respect has become a precious commodity, linked with a feigned sense of honour and dignity that everything is sacrificed to maintain that status after which all is lost.

What if they decided to reflect for once and step back from careering down the road to perdition? A silent voice that spoke into the consciousness of one that suggesting, backing down does not mean a loss of face, defeat or person.

Calling me chicken doesn’t make me one

I know the number of times I have been called a chicken, in the desire of that person to get me to do what I have decided not to do. A chance encounter could define an entire future, but that encounter alone when veering towards the negative is probably the best sign to disengage.

Walking into a park one sunny afternoon and seeing a friend, I went to offer greetings and pleasantries as one of his acquaintances urged me to sit on the grass. I had no intention of sitting on the grass, so I stated, I would rather sit on a bench. At which point he called me a pretentious git and asked if I thought I was better than those sitting on the grass.

I responded, everyone has made their choice to sit where they want to, I have decided, I prefer to sit on the bench and I don’t care for whether he accepts my decision or not. We parted company, not in the friendliest of terms, but I knew that only that circumstance would have put us in the same space. There was every likelihood, there would be no other encounter between us.

Take a time out and take it easy

I take a laidback approach to things, I hate to be in a rush, I make time for activities I have planned, I would step out of the way of those to whom time has become the most expensive commodity. I can take offence yet refuse to be offended or slighted. This all comes with a keen sense of self and the ability to brush it off.

The quest for respect is not a goal, it grows out of conduct, comportment, demeanour and stature. There are cases where respect needs to be demanded, it is never with brawn. We have reached a level of civilisation where conversation, ideas, knowledge and wisdom should suffice in settling issues. We can agree to disagree without becoming disagreeable as we aspire to a greater level of gentlemanliness.

I do hope that young men begin to realise there is more to life beyond that momentary hot-headed where the absolutely regrettable becomes an ever-present possibility. There is more respect, honour, dignity and integrity to be had in the future if you can walk away from a volatile situation now.

Thought Picnic: Gentlemanly conduct still matters all the time

The setting in which we find ourselves

On the sacking of Rex Tillerson as the US Secretary of State by President Donald Trump, I can reflect on an episode in my own life just a year ago. I was into my fourth year at the same organisation, where after a stint of two years I was invited back to work on another project.

When I was leaving the first time in 2016, every manager I had worked for and there were 4 by then, one on the verge of leaving the firm had the courtesy to meet with or call me, even from South Africa to thank me for the work I had done.

When I was invited back, I acquired other managers, intermediary and direct who I worked well with until a reorganisation led to my having a new manager instituted over me. For some reason or another, apart from the introductions, we never got on to a smooth start.

It was not working for me at all

For the six months that I worked for him, he did not appear to have any confidence in any I did, I was constantly asked if I knew what I was doing rather than being given the support, encouragement and backing to do the sometimes critical jobs I needed to do.

On many occasions, I was not accorded the formality or structure of understanding the direction in which he wanted to lead the team, rather, my roles, responsibilities and work activity were changed without notice, without communication and frequently learnt about through third parties.

My workplace in the space of half a year became a place of disillusionment and unhappiness as every attempt to engage my manager yielded no appreciable result. Then, one Thursday morning, it came to a head where after undercutting my influence in a change that was primarily under my control, I had literally been reduced from designing systems to shifting boxes.

In the 29^th year of my working in IT in various levels of expertise and reporting to middle and top-tier personnel, the conversation in conference came down to macho talk as to whether I was going to do what I had been instructed to do or not. That for me was the very last straw that broke the back of the camel burdened with indignity and disrespect. I handed in my phone and badge and walked out of that job. I was done.

I handed in a formal notice the next day explaining the reasons for my leaving and received no acknowledgement nor compliment, I had become a nobody to him.

Maybe some of us are too old-fashioned for modernity

There are many things I have encountered in my working life and what least impresses me of everything kind of attitude is the occasional lack of courtesy and disrespect that some people in management seem to have a natural expression of their personality that they have apparently never learnt is bad or just think is normal.

As someone brought up in a somewhat old-fashioned style of comportment, decorum and formality, in address, dress, communication and interaction, it does affect me, if those graces are absent.

It is such a grace that was absent from the way in which Donald Trump dispensed of Rex Tillerson by the deployment of a tweet. Rex Tillerson was once the head of the world’s largest publicly traded oil company.

Gentlemanly conduct still matters all the time

The very least Donald Trump should have done if he ever were a gentleman, which in my mind he never was despite the money he has, the kitschy possessions, the company he keeps and the way he presents, should have been to meet Rex Tillerson face-to-face and inform him of his intention to fire him.

To have done that with a tweet is utterly discourteous and disrespectful to Rex Tillerson, but it says much more about Donald Trump, he is crude, he is not cultured, badly brought and definitely not a gentleman.

You do not sack one of most senior members of your team without meeting them and having a chat to them, but it is sad that these basic elements of courtesy are disappearing from our communication, we are deserting the cultured for the uncouth and accepting that development as the norm. I can’t, I won’t and where such persists, I would neither tolerate nor accept it.

When a man decides I am nobody’s boy

It spoke volumes that when Rex Tillerson gave a final public address to his department, he never once mentioned Donald Trump nor thanked him for the privilege of being asked to serve his country and many noticed.

Rex Tillerson did not need to be the US Secretary of State, he was not being promoted beyond his capabilities that he needed to have fealty and obeisance in deep gratitude to Donald Trump, he was his own man, not a yes man.

There is no doubt that Donald Trump is attracted to two kinds of people working for him, those given positions they are neither competent nor capable of that they just step in not believing their luck for opportunities they never earned and that comes with serious issues, the others are stars and the successful in their professions that he taps in order to be able to brag that he can get the best people to work for him.

These stars or trophies owe Donald Trump nothing and eventually, there would be friction when whatever they do does not feed The Donald’s ego or when disagreement on issues gets taken personally for a president so insecure and constantly found defending himself caught in the warp of an impostor syndrome.

Sometimes, you have to jump first

It could be said that the smarter person would never consider the idea of working for a garrulous, truculent and immature person like Donald Trump, but sometimes a greater call is made of you and you almost begin to believe that you can contribute, for Rex Tillerson, he probably should have walked away a while ago, jumped before he was pushed.

I had that inkling too, for all that I had already done, it was very likely I would have been pushed when my contract came up for renewal in a few months then, I decided, rather than suffer that indignity, I would jump at my own choosing and it was the right decision.

Thought Picnic: Celebrating freedom without offence

My society

I was walking home last night when in a recess of a building just off the main street I saw two men canoodling in a deep embrace on anticipation of possibly greater pleasure later on.

Whilst it was a somewhat unusual sight because not a few streets away is the gay village where they could have been in a bar or club up to much more than could not be printed here, I was gratified.

Gratified that I live in a civilised society that allows the full expression of self without the fear of sanction or harm. Maybe just half a century ago, this simple act of affection between two consenting adults would have attracted the charges of outraging public decency and gross indecency, we have really moved on.

The offended mind

Now, some people might well be seriously offended by this sight, the problem in my view is theirs rather than of the men. The free world we live in makes allowances for diversity and co-existence in the face of difference and what is out of the ordinary.

It was my guess that the men would go home together to be up to whatever they may wish in bed without harming anyone, society or humanity at large.

It is with that in mind that I tweeted yesterday, “The hallmarks of civilised society: Two men kissing on the street and no fear that anyone will be bloodied by an irate mob.”

The hallmarks of civilised society: Two men kissing on the street and no fear that anyone will be bloodied by an irate mob.

— Akin Akíntáyọ̀ (@forakin) April 7, 2016

Beyond these lands

That tweet was in recognition of another man who happened to express love in a same-sex liaison with another, Akinnifesi Olumide Olubunmi [Graphic Content] who died on the 18^th of February from the injuries he sustained from an irate mob in Ondo State, Nigeria. They took the law into their own hands to rid their savage and primitive community of the homosexual and celebrated their conquest on social media.

Akinnifesi Olumide Olubunmi is one of many same-sex attraction people, gay, lesbian, bisexual, transsexual, intersexual or gender neutral people who have been set upon by the mob or adherents of bigoted and extremist belief systems, thinking they are cleansing their communities by murder and the blood of other fellow human beings on their heads and their hands.

Sometimes, we fail to appreciate the liberties and freedoms that have come from escaping intolerance, ignorance and bigotry.

In response to my tweet, someone remonstrated and posited a fallacy about whether I would want my son doing that.

My response:

My son is my son, my duty is to love and support him through any situation in his life including his sexuality. https://t.co/F9m04wFXxb

— Akin Akíntáyọ̀ (@forakin) April 7, 2016

Dishonourable parental conduct

The perceived sense of honour we arrogate to ourselves at the expense of people who in a difficult, diffident and uncompromising world need our support is shocking. We would easily sacrifice our wards to belief systems, to traditions and bizarre customs rather than protect them from harm and stand proudly with them against a hostile world no matter the cost.

Parents disowning their children because the kid is different, others taking their girls to abattoirs of female genital mutilation when there is no medical need for this outrageous practice than to satisfy a primitive custom. Parents believe religious quacks that their children are practitioners of witchcraft and giving up the children to brutalisation and evil wickedness in the name of exorcism rituals. Worse still is the ones who murder their children in what they term honour killing.

There is no honour in murder, to love differently might leave us disappointed, but that is no excuse for murder. How will any honour be restored by shedding the blood of your child to restore your status in your community, such thinking is not only warped, by such actions you cannot be deserving of anything but the toughest sanctions without the option for parole or mitigation.

It is not that the battle for the freedom of expression has been totally won, many battles remain amongst us and beyond us, I celebrate the fact that anyone can choose to love who they want as adults and not fear to express that love openly – that is the hallmark of a civilised society and we must all strive towards that state of living and let live; the amicable coexistence of our human diversity.

Opinion: It is not African Time, it is deplorable conduct

This is the limit

At an event I attended recently, I witnessed attitudes that left me too appalled for words that the need to address it head-on is pertinent.

This event was to begin at a scheduled time and I arrived with one of the organisers ahead of schedule to help set up the venue. Soon guests started to arrive and quite many were on time, including Africans from other countries.

Two hours into the event the celebrant made an interesting observation to me as I was already seething with rage that our ‘people’ had not yet arrived. Most of the guests were friends and acquaintances of the partner and they were also on hand to run last-minute errands for the event.

I’m calling them out

After the third hour, the familiar Nigerian crowd sauntered in, amongst this lot were supposed organisers too, without apology or regret and they ensconced themselves in isolation to most of the early arrivals, there was very little mingling and I doubt most of them even introduced themselves to others, talk less of shaking hands. I was both scandalised and appalled.

We have somewhat embraced the rotten and reprehensible cultural trait of not being punctual and given it a seemingly respectable moniker of African Time. It is not African Time, it is deplorable conduct, excused by too many.

With African Time, you can descend into sloppy timekeeping even if you are wearing and expensive watch, since the purpose of the watch is not to keep time, but to show off your shiny baubles like a primitive given shiny worthless things in exchange for jewels of antiquity.

With African Time, you are under no obligation to give adequate notice of your estimated time of arrival if you will not arrive on time as other better-bred and cultured people do, it is an accepted norm to absent yourself from discipline and rigour, because Africans do not do order.

It is a thing of honour and respect

Sometimes, I wonder if the irredeemable purveyors of the African Time practice will arrive at interviews for jobs late too and what stupid excuses they might have to proffer that the interviewer will be too embarrassed to comment, but that simple act of late coming will be an automatic disqualification for the job.

Some suggested, that this African Time concept is a values thing, I will go further to suggest it is first a sign of indiscipline and unreliableness, which means I will never be able to recommend such people in a professional setting and I know some recommendations I have given count for much.

Beyond this, it is an expression of disrespect apart from surreptitiously dishonouring the host. Now, whilst any host will appreciate being respected and honoured with the attendance of guests at any function they arrange, the greater honour and respect are shown and fully acknowledged when guests arrive on time and more so when they stay to the end.

Keep away if you can’t be punctual

I cannot imagine myself arriving at a function late without giving advance notice, besides, I try to communicate to ensure my host is not left worrying where I might be. If the matter is tentative, we can work on probabilities, but if an assurance is given, then, my word must be my bond.

I write this blog utterly disgusted by conduct that leaves me close to reaching for a sickbag, African Time attitudes are learnt and to see this contemptible activity deployed to the point of expert utility by Nigerian youths is both unacceptable and untenable.

I have many times raised this issue with some of these youths to no avail and I am no more to condone or tolerate this utter uselessness. If you cannot respect and honour your host with being punctual or giving proper notice of why you will be late, please just stay away from the gathering of respectable and cultured people, it is evident that swine associating with people will not turn swine into ladies or gentlemen.

#LindaGate: It was mainly about Plagiarism

“Plagiarism is the copying or paraphrasing of other people’s work or ideas without full acknowledgement. Intentional plagiarism may incur severe penalties, including failure of your degree.” University of Oxford. [1]

Conflicts of lessons not learnt

As one predicted on Monday, enough evidence was presented to Google to have the gossip blog pulled down.

There is no doubt that the lady would regroup and re-launch, however, it is unlikely that the hard lesson of life and experience has been learnt going by the rebuttal she posted yesterday.

Unfortunately, many were quite conflicted and confused, abandoning the objective for the subjective, she played victim and we were suckered.

Nigeria in a big world

We must recognise that anything we do online today is no more confined to Nigeria, we are part of a global village, and there are rules and standards to play by. We are constantly put up to global scrutiny in terms of our attitudes and conduct.

The many things people got away with on the Nigerian streets would find sanction and excoriation when given a global review on the Internet. It behoves us to know how those rules work so as not to be caught out by them to the extent that we might suffer dire consequences.

Breaking the rules

The Linda Ikeji Blog, broke the rules with impunity and the blogger was deluded into thinking the small fry that accused her of infringements could do nothing to have the blog taken down. Now, she knows better.

What we must never lose sight of is the reason why the blog was taken down - PLAGIARISM - and the blogger was an unrepentant plagiarist, we should not be confused or conflicted about this fact and truth.

Plagiarism is wrong and it is worse when material you did not originally produce is falsely passed off as yours on the one hand and you use that material directly or indirectly for financial gain.

Measuring character over success

We also have to check our values and appreciate that success mainly measured by wealth, power, influence or following without character or virtue is fleeting. Our measure of respect for a person which might include position should really be of a higher standard of being seen and known to do the honourable thing, having integrity and a modicum of humility.

A person of integrity has no need of things to express that innate virtue and it can be learnt if we have a teachable spirit.

We need to understand how the seemingly grey areas can blacken and besmirch what we have painstakingly built and invariably bring ruinous reputational loss.

Know the bad behaviour

Moral equivalences are no excuse for bad behaviour, we need to declare conflicts of interest and maintain the transparent standard of full disclosure so as to avoid being labelled hypocrites and worse still, dishonest or frauds.

If whatever we publish is not originally ours, we must, acknowledge, attribute and reference or we are plagiarists. If we need to seek permission and we receive no expressed consent, we risk being labelled thieves.

In all truth

Plagiarism however is no trivial matter; students have been rusticated and indicted criminally for cheating, journalists and politicians have lost their jobs for being plagiarists, it is dishonest and reprehensible; careers and reputations have been ruined because of it.

‘Plagiarism is the "wrongful appropriation" and "stealing and publication" of another author's "language, thoughts, ideas, or expressions" and the representation of them as one's own original work.’ Wikipedia. [2]

It is the greatest slight to be proven a plagiarist and there is no badge of honour in copying and pasting the work of others and passing it off as yours. What is wrong is wrong, and nothing can excuse plagiarism nor should it be tolerated when exposed.

Finally, lest we forget, the Linda Ikeji Blog was taken down on proven evidence of serial unrepentant PLAGIARISM whether people had a hateful, jealous or envious agenda is beside the point. Google acted on evidence of misappropriation of material, intellectual property abuse and infringement, not on sentimentality.

Read up on plagiarism.

[1] University of Oxford – Plagiarism

[2] Wikipedia – Plagiarism

I acknowledge to my observation that the first use of #LindaGate was by Funmi Iyanda.

Thought Picnic: Only statues stand immortal after men have long gone

I stand before great men

As I visit cities around the world I am attracted to statues, monuments of stone or marble built to the memory of men whose passage in time is recorded for a viewing.

Before you, on a plinth higher than man is the edifice to man and it is usually a man though rarely a woman, the name, the year of birth and the year of death, between the years is a hyphen and that represents the long story of a life so honoured.

Yet my sight plays with my mind for seeing statues at night almost excites my imagination into thinking they would come alive and converse with me.

Men long gone

Then one reflects that statues are very much the yearning for immortality, great men personified in stone as a symbol, a memorial and a story, having walked the earth, they are long gone, dead and buried.

In the square in front of the fantastic neo-gothic Manchester Town Hall are five statues, I know only two of the men, Prince Albert the consort of Queen Victoria had a grand statue set under a canopy held up by four columns, his honour came by reason of marriage and great it was. Albert Square it is.

A few plinths away stood a greater man, William Ewart Gladstone without much ceremony, four times called to be Prime Minister of the United Kingdom during the reign of Queen Victoria, yet the greater honour of a grander memorial fell on him who married than on him who achieved.

But for the stones, there is no remembrance of the men except in history or in conversation where what they did or the lives they lived mattered.

We are transients

Man on whom power has fallen for stewardship yet fails to see this passage of time, a long period of passage that is an eternity and a future also which is an eternity, we men being markers on the chart that offers an opportunity to live, but never the gift of immortality.

In our folly, we grab money and grab power and act as if for us, time has stood still, as if the reckoning has stopped and history ended yesterday, but we are all transients, some for a moment, some for longer, like flowers we bloom, we wither, we die and blessed be the work of nature as we return to dust or ashes to be fondly remembered or completely forgotten.

If honour outlasts us, a statue rises in a likeness for a moment in time when we were most comely, and as I visit another city square, I sit again observing monuments to great men long dead. Lifeless statues with names, the year of birth and the year of death.

When I depart, my slow long walk or journey back home continues as I contemplate how well I shall be truly forgotten, not having made a dent in time.

The memorials in Albert Square, referenced from Wikipedia

• ·         The Albert Memorial by Thomas Worthington and Matthew Noble (1869)
• ·         Bishop James Fraser by Thomas Woolner (1887)
• ·         John Bright by Albert Bruce-Joy (1891)
• ·         Oliver Heywood by Albert Bruce-Joy, (1894)
• ·         William Ewart Gladstone by Mario Raggi (1901)

Alan Turing: Victim of Prejudice, Champion of Modern Expression

My country of acceptance

As I left a Starbucks Café on Sunday, I saw two men sat quite close together in a posturing that could only mean they were at a rendezvous and they were probably lovers.

I felt gratified to live in a country of liberty, tolerance, acceptance, accommodation and understanding. This was a country quite different from 60 years before.

A great and different man

To a man, we owe much and yet he was different, persecuted and prosecuted but a genius, a gift to our world lost because the establishment frowned on an expression of himself that in no way affected the abilities he brought to his vocation.

To him we owe much for his contribution to the war effort during World War II for which he was honoured and as one of the 100 Most Important People of the 20th century, the Time Magazine had this to say of him, “The fact remains that everyone who taps at a keyboard, opening a spreadsheet or a word-processing program, is working on an incarnation of a Turing machine.”

For Alan Turing is today, a man, pardoned, celebrated and appreciated as the father of Computer Science.

Celebrate humanity above all

We all have needs and in all of us is a sexual expression acted upon by reason of our sexuality which in essence does not deduct from our ability to perform with excellence in other spheres of life to benefit humanity as a whole.

And as I trekked back home, I stopped by at Sackville Park where I also paid my respects to Alan Mathison Turing, 1912 – 1954, who as a victim of prejudice with the knowledge and expertise he brought to this world gave us the democracy of expression.

Choose acceptance

I would not speculate as to what else Alan Turing would have done with his far-thinking genius and ability if he had lived for longer, but we now know that the world we had 60 years ago is far different from the world we have today.

For we have the capacity for understanding diversity to accept difference and the ability to exercise tolerance for the greater cause of our humanity, if we choose to be better than what age-old beliefs and traditions have constantly taught us to do.

We must happily or grudgingly come to a point where we are able to express gratitude for our shared humanity, where we would not prejudge before we understand or castigate before we embrace – we all have a duty to be examples regardless of our beliefs, of tolerance rather than bigotry, whether we would rise to that challenge is for each individual to decide.

The Gift

I have a gift

It dawns on me daily as I write that I have a gift, a great gift like talent put to my care, to tend, to nurture, to grow, to use, to do many things to the glory of my creator.

They call it cognitive dissonance, the idea that we believe what we cannot logically explain, inexplicable but wondrous. Yet all around us nature breathes miracles of order and disorder, my perspective not dimmed that as order prevails over disorder, each day is a blessing to be thankful for.

Unforced expression

I know the power of originality, the spontaneity of inspiration, the presence of flow that comes with each moment I set my fingers to my keyboard with a thought seeded in my mind and growing on my screen as if possessed of something beyond conscious arrangement.

For many a time, I have started with something and ended with something else, the direction like a boat on the water, resting on the rocking of the waves even though a rudder ensures we reach the place, the place called a destination.

The gift comes in the first draft, a rough diamond of a gem, if that draft is lost to the ravages, imperfections or careless use of technology, I am left with signs that a gift has been used but I can never reproduce that original stream of inspiration. My memory only recollects what it believes it has seen rather than what my brain has first processed, it remains a wonder when I read back to myself what I have done.

The talent

Yes, the gift shows up in many of the things I have written, that is because of use, it is not because it has been perfected but because there is a realisation that ability exists. God-given ability.

Then I confessed to a niece as I have confessed to a friend and maybe too many others in one way or the other about this gift. For it is not one that comes for the reason of money, of fame or of glory, for it brings something greater, it brings honour. I have learnt to be grateful for the absence of popular recognition but the abundance of honour from those who know and know it well.

“I am coming to the realisation that somehow I have been blessed with a gift, yet, like the one talent given to that servant, it has been buried for the fear that I might not use as well as I am supposed to.”

Such great honour

Each time I recognise the blessing of the gift I have, I feel like the servant who was given just one talent according to his ability.

I know I am no accomplished author, no distinguished writer, no recognised commentator, I would win no prizes, I would make no lists, but the gift has enduring quality. Buried as it seems to be, the talent has not increased like it increases for many whose talent feeds them, but its value is undiminished.

One talent, used for over 10 years, giving words to deep things of experienced life from the ordinary to the deep, from the joy to the pain, and now, I come into 2014 full of gratitude as I unearth this one talent and pledge not to be fearful and ungrateful, but to find ways to use it better and increase it.

To give voice to the voiceless, to give hope to the hopeless, to encourage those facing defeat, disease, despair, disgrace, debt, denigration, denudement and much else, for I know by experience and observation many of these things have tried to take cornerstones in my life, but have been smashed to smithereens.

As I began writing this, I was listening Steven Furtick of Elevation Church on the New Year’s Eve party and he said, “Count your battles* and consider them blessings.” @stevenfurtick

*The battles that didn't beat you

*The beatings that didn't break you.

This is God

This is beyond counting our blessings, and yes I have had battles, prominent amongst them is my battle with cancer in 2009. I have had many other battles and beyond measure I am blessed above anything I have ever deserved to wake up each morning to new life, to new hope, to new things and new inspiration.

That is grace, that is favour, that is mercy, that is kindness, that is love, and that is God.

Take it or leave it, believe it or not, because Albert Einstein is considered one of the greatest minds that ever lived, soon after he died, his brain was removed by Thomas Stoltz Harvey for analysis. Then, he did not think there was much special about the brain until recent science suggested differently. [NPR]

In the knowledge of 1955 pathology, that gray matter was no different from that which we all have except for what the man who lived in the body that had the brain did with it.

Know your gift

And so, as we realise the gifts bestowed on us, let us know to use them better for application, for usefulness, for increase, for good, for honour, for goodness, for humanity and for the glory of God, whether you believe or not.

The talent you have is useless when there is no life in the body that needs to utilise and express the wonder of the unique and amazing gift you have. Each of us is unique, as you can read from the stories shared on my #YourBlogOnMyBlog Series, 24 to date with 11 stories to go to commemorate my Decade of Blogging.

Blog - To Celebrate My Decade of Blogging

Use your gift

This gift opens doors, as I was made to realise after discussing how I got 35 people out of 44 confirmed interactions to submit blogs from the 9^th of December to Christmas Day inclusive.

This without as much as a strict deadline but through sheer persuasion with the greatest latitude given them to write anything that takes their fancy. I am blessed, and I am thankful, full of gratitude the gift has not given me enough words to express yet.

You have a story, you have a gift, you are talented, let it shine. That is my resolution for 2014, to be as expressive as I can ever be of this amazing gift and bring increase to the talent placed in my care. My responsibility can no more be left to others to wonder why it is being wasted or being left unused. Think on this.

Happy New Year, Happy 2014.