Men's things - XXIII

Ignoring the specifics

I was looking forward to my hospital appointment set for Friday, the 4^th of April 2025, though I seemed to have a different level of expectations, for my last visit to The Christie Hospital was the 9^th of October 2024, when I took my last session of hypofractionated radiotherapy to the prostate gland.

In my euphoria about what the visit might entail, I was already announcing to others that it was going to be a conclusive kind of meeting, ignoring the fact that it was a nurse-led urology clinic. Maybe I chose to ignore the details, expecting something that was not on offer.

I was neither consulting with a doctor nor an oncologist; I was meeting with a nurse from urology when every other consultation I had attended from July last year was with a multidisciplinary team with an oncology perspective.

My engagement with urology ended in another hospital after the referral for the multiparametric MRI scan of the prostate gland, which led to an ultrasound-guided transperineal biopsy of the prostate, indicative of cancer, after which I was handed over to The Christie Hospital.

A name mangled

On arrival at the hospital, I was electronically checked in and ushered into the waiting room through a labyrinth of passages in Department 22. This visit was not as daunting as the very first, the place was familiar enough, buzzing with activity and full of medical personnel and the many who required their expertise.

When the nurse called my name, I heard another mangled version of it, a steady reading of the arrangement of vowels and consonants would have garnered applause for a brave attempt, but it was such that I had to mutter to the hearing of others, that name has been murdered again. However, there was no doubt that I was the patient being called to an examination room.

She offered to have another go at my name with my guidance, if she deigned to get much better, I doubt it could be achieved without a major surgical intervention. Even Brian’s attempts at Yoruba words and phrases bring such mirth, for the jollity he presents, we can overlook his incapacity.

Assessing the PSAs

When the urology nurse arrived some 15 minutes later, it became obvious that this was just an assessment meeting, one to determine how I was coping to the symptoms around radiotherapy and to enquire whether I needed additional support medically or mentally, and to answer any questions I might have.

It seemed they had lost the test results for the bloods taken on the eve of commencing radiotherapy when I attended the planning review in late August. She was using the readings presented in March last year, which on the surface suggested a considerable improvement, but I knew that there was a slight change in relation to the blood work done last week.

The Prostate-specific Antigen (PSA) result was slightly elevated but within range and higher than the result in August, but well below that which set us on this journey in March 2024. We agreed to have another meeting in four months rather than another six months, and I left to bask in the sunshine of beautiful South Manchester.

Lest I forget, I had a conversation with the Uber driver about Men’s things. I find that I am also being asked to share my experience; I might have to create slides to explain the intricacies of the prostate and the reasons for having early investigations and interventions on intimate issues.

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How Akin became Yankee

Ticking the funny boxes

When it comes to the context of identity, I find that I can be quite pedantic and regimented in my thinking. I recognise the many influences that form the expression of who I am, by heritage, birth, association, involvement, recognition, and soon also by marriage.

The way I have for all intents and purposes become something of a world citizen, though I am yet to travel the world enough to lay that claim, I wield a passport that at least provides a welcome to most countries for a sojourn, but not a residency.

When I am asked to tick ethnicity boxes, the one I want to tick is Black English rather than Black British, sometimes, I would write in the box for Other, Black English, then we have orders of granularity, Black Caribbean, Black African, Black Other even as there are large populations of in the Americas, both north and south. These boxes do not fit anymore.

The quagmire of identity

Then with the recent penchant for claiming whatever identity or pronoun you desire, you wonder if you can detract from the obvious to impart the almost superfluously ridiculous; yet, conviction, is one you cannot dismiss easily if I have convinced myself I am Caucasian or Asian, who is to question me when they have assumed by default and accepted norms that I am what they see rather than what I seem?

There is no keeping up with identity politics, and we old fogies have a lot of catching up to do. Who I am is so different from what you see, and to make assumptions without enquiry to ascertain and verify what I have become because of what and who I think I am, without having to explain why it is that way is slowly becoming a hate crime.

Now, you need to be aware of deadnaming (2013), misgendering, pronouns, and much else. I am surprised the first two words are not neologisms, they are in our English dictionaries.

An English American

However, I have a nickname at home, that everyone can subscribe to and by that, we reduce the power-distance index to the point where we can communicate easily as peers. I like that kind of conversation with my siblings and it works well for me.

It was only a fortnight ago in a conversation with my mother that I learnt the real provenance of my nickname. It would appear strange that for someone who is quite proudly English, their nickname would be so distinctly American, also too American for my liking, yet it stuck and I have not quibbled about it.

Attending an office where my mother had to have my name registered, for the many times she said it to the hearing of the official, he just could not get it. He twisted and mangled my name into the spectacle of him giving the rendition of a patriotic nursery rhyme. That is how Akin became Yankee. [Yankee Doodle – Wikipedia]

I purposely did not use Anglo-American in the last section title.

Too much wine down the spittoon

Traipsing a new wine trail

Having missed out on understanding the essence of the Garden Route wine trail in not visiting a wine estate, or a distillery as there were many in that area, we decided we’ll do at least tour of wine estates close to Cape Town with the view to doing something different.

We booked a tour on Monday night and had a phone call informing us that our tour guide would be round to pick us up from our apartment at 9:00 AM, we were up and ready well before that time, thinking we were going to join a tour group on a bus, but it soon dawned on us as we drove out of Cape Town that we were on a privately chauffeured tour.

We arrived at Meerlust at 9:30 AM, Felix, our tour guide thinking we were up for wine tasting at that time. I could not countenance the idea of swilling alcohol that early, I come from a good home, we cannot be tasting wine at that time. Even as we saw people walking towards to the tasting rooms, we did a U-turn and continued our journey to other wine estates.

Music for posh wines

De MorgenZon (Established 1699) in Stellenbosch was acquired by the Applebaum’s in 2003 and they have a penchant for playing classical music to the ears if they exist of the grapes to make fine wines, at which point I was rolling my eyes. Apparently, according to Kudzai, the sommelier who conducted the wine tasting at our table, the vibrations from the music help the vines.

When I visited the restrooms, there were music scores on the walls leaving one captivated by both the familiarity and the strangeness of the music. Some new knowledge we gained was that for certain wines, the grapes were pressed with the stems to give that lemon zest taste.

My question was whether this excursion into the musicology of viticulture had made allowances for changes in vintage if the genre were hip-hop, blues, or jazz, for which no research could be provided. However, the vines were on Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart on our visit, the day before, they were given a serving of Antonio Vivaldi, to which I quipped as the weather was changing, if it was The Four Seasons.

A platter to clatter

Next, we arrived at Neil Ellis, a rather modern looking setup where we were told by the Tessa, the sommelier that they mostly buy in their grapes, though they have recently come into possession of a number of vineyards. Then again, this would suggest the wines made here are down to winemaking skills than the end-to-end from planting to bottling or core viticulture.

We availed ourselves of the platters of cheese, Parma ham and somewhat bland melon, but of the wines we tried, we came, we saw, we drank, we left. Nothing more to be said than the evident prospect of no return. Thank you.

At Haute Cabrière (Established 1694) in Franschhoek, by Pierre Jourdan for whom their Methode Cap Classique wines are named. Bongile, the sommelier, whose name attracted a twisting fate of mispronunciation, was helpfully at hand to explain as we took in the amazing mountain views from the tasting room. The bubbles go to my head.

Down a snake-winding staircase to the view of a cellar of barrels in a temperature-controlled room. To the right, the gents with urinal bowls full of ice cubes that creaked to the heat of your urination. Dare I say that might have been the highlight of my visit to this wine estate. We cannot for the snobbery of wine accept as good what our taste does not perceive, regardless of the medals earned from wherever.

Just at the very last

We invited Felix to have a late lunch with us in Franschhoek before visiting the last wine estate on our itinerary, Rickety Bridge (Established 1797) which for all its old money looks as part of an old estate La Provence now had such avant-garde names for their wines as Printer’s Devil from a few decades ago. In my own opinion, the range of wines were without character, though almost with distinction in aroma and definitely not in taste.

On being asked about my assessment after tasting 4 wines, I suggested they were a bit arboreal, a word our sommelier whose name I cannot recollect might not have understood, having not been provided with a spittoon, we had poured it all down the roots of a tree by our table.

The fifth wine had desperate attempts at effecting character but coming short in defining itself, that it verged on the quite truly forgettable. She returned with a Pinotage that did go down well, the first glass of about 25 wines that I had tasted in the day that I drank all up. Much as I sympathise with the winemakers along with the art, craft, and expertise involved in making their wines, to the individual, it is down to taste, palate, and comfort, one man’s poison is another man’s elixir. C’est la vie.

In the slipstream of Uber

Uber on the pulse

Anything over a few kilometres or if we are quite tired out from walking, we have Uber cabs come to our rescue with opportunities for feeling the pulse of the city from the perspective of people who might know a lot more about what it going on from the many diverse riders they fare from one place to another.

In this modified lockdown setting, you here of whether tourism is thriving or not, it isn’t compared to before the pandemic. Bootleg alcohol is on offer at exorbitant prices, I think we can survive teetotal for a few weeks. Brian has been trying out presumable 0% alcohol at restaurants, barely fermented effluent with hops to give that distinctively bitter taste.

For all the opinions I have heard about the Coronavirus pandemic, I don’t challenge the assertions from believers or unbelievers, but we can agree on one thing, you do not want to contract CoVID-19 at all because it is just not a nice thing to have from what we have read from survivors with long-term issues referred to as long-CoVID.

Every name a winner

Another trigger for conversation is the names of the Uber drivers for which I can say something funny, we met Yen; a rich man named in a unit of Chinese currency, Enos; an alternative spelling of Enoch who in the Bible purportedly walked with God and never died a natural death, probably sent to take us to a holier place. On our way to have brunch, we got Ramadhan, we had not planned to fast on that day.

The most fascinating of these names was Mitterran from Cameroon. I immediately thought the name was spelt wrong and I was right. His birth certificate was acquired on his behalf by his headmaster who did not care to find out how the French name given to his pupil was written and probably in his rural setting might have been unaware that there was a world leader Francois Mitterrand, the President of France, thereby formalising a misspelling with the last letter D lost to posterity.

There is a likelihood no one had said anything about this to Mitterran before I did, but for my failings, a misspelling will hardly pass me by even if many of my blogs for the lack of effective proofreading might be full of spelling errors that I correct years down the line. Meanwhile, if I come across Gianfranco Zola, I will have to remember Zola sends his regards from an Uber in South Africa.

Double life: Brief encounters of the uncomfortable kind

Angst meetings

There are lessons to be learnt from the collision of pseudonym and a reality that generally carries stigma that suggests the anonym is the best representation of self with the fleeting and the incidental.

People live secret lives and find places for the expression of such with sometimes dire consequences for others who are in many ways accepting of who they are.

Experiences of angst-ridden double-life episodes should make one the wiser of such encounters that the less said, the less harm is done and consequently the less trouble for all concerned.

Rein in

Why there is any need to rein in is a dilemma met by many in settings that are supposed to provide the freedom of expression, yet one learns that reining in risk and reining in honesty are the valid actions in self-preservation; that being the preservation of anonymity and sanity, if you rein in loquacity.

Sadly, where some refuse to take responsibility for the actions they as sane, sober adults in pursuit of a thrill or fantasy indulge in, deciding to have others shoulder such for them in a society where the blame culture is the first sanctuary of the irresponsible, the honest and true is bruised.

The ignorance is worse

Beyond angst, the worst encounters are those with the ignorant, despite the surfeit of knowledge and information of risk, precaution, protection and vulnerability, they have not taken the time to understand the basics, such that it becomes a crash course in passion-killing discourse, the cue taken to immediately abort the liaison.

No words except for what one will not deign, no truths except for when it is necessary, avoiding the tangling webs of deceit woven by the curious in search of the abominable to those with whom they partner in life, to wit the visitation of the magi of the law, that in fright anonym, pseudonym and orthonym collide, with all laid bare by the intimidation of that number.

Jots taken, future uncertain, ringing in the new on the wings of controversy. Becalm thyself, ye have done naught wrong.

Thought Picnic: Where Everybody Shares Your Pain

Some cheers for the dawn

This morning I woke up to the playback in my mind with the refrain - Sometimes you want to go, Where everybody knows your name – and as I thought that through, the words of the song formed into a sense of existence - And they're always glad you came.

But, I really did not feel like being there, the familiarity, the catching up, the questions, the answers, the concern, the sympathy, the empathy and much else was weighing on my mind – I wanted to be present somewhere whilst being absent elsewhere.

Somewhere elsewhere

Basically, I did not want to be where everybody knows my pain, and whilst some might be glad I came, I was not ready to take the strain, even though my excuse does sound lame.

There were some things I was not ready to deal with until a more convenient time. So, I moved to another section of the song - You want to be where you can see, Our troubles are all the same; - I wanted to be in church, just not my church.

Antipodean flavours

My friend observed that the churches I seem to have an affinity for were planted by Australians, I dare say, there is something refreshing about the antipodean perspective of the same revelation that has been in Europe, gone to America to be exported round the world and emanating from Africa too with the contaminants that belie a tendency to error, levity and licence, I am persuaded of a different allegiance.

And though having attended C3 Amsterdam and now C3 London, I found myself visiting Hillsong London at the Dominion Theatre on Tottenham Court Road where I found welcoming and friendly faces unified in song and common humanity that one had to reflect on whether one was being swept away by the awesomeness of mass hysteria or a personal experience similarly expressed by others.

Words and meanings together and apart

I began to understand the need for songs if you did understand what the words meant; for in song, you invariably were chanting the affirmative in the structure of verse and chorus almost repetitively without it becoming a mantra – the accompaniment of music then engaged your whole being with some being exercised or overcome with emotion.

There is life in participating, and when the prayers are said, you being to realise that our troubles are more or less the same and we all want insight, ideas, inspiration, results and solutions to take us to a better place.

Sometimes, that is what church is all about, amongst friends and amongst strangers, the fiendish and the strangest things can find root, but we can find firmer foundations in how we believe that together we can reach for a better day.

Cheers!

Making your way in the world today 
Takes everything you've got; 
Taking a break from all your worries 
Sure would help a lot. 
Wouldn't you like to get away? 

All those night when you've got no lights, 
The check is in the mail; 
And your little angel 
Hung the cat up by it's tail; 
And your third fiance didn't show; 

Sometimes you want to go 
Where everybody knows your name, 
And they're always glad you came; 
You want to be where you can see, 
Our troubles are all the same; 
You want to be where everybody knows your name. 

Roll out of bed, Mr. Coffee's dead; 
The morning's looking bright; 
And your shrink ran off to Europe, 
And didn't even write; 
And your husband wants to be a girl; 

Be glad there's one place in the world 
Where everybody knows your name, 
And they're always glad you came; 
You want to go where people know, 
People are all the same; 
You want to go where everybody knows your name. 

Where everybody knows your name, 
And they're always glad you came; 
Where everybody knows your name, 
And they're always glad you came...

Theme song for the situation comedy TV series – Cheers, written by Gary Portnoy & Judy Hart Angelo – Where Everybody Knows Your Name.

My own history began on the 21st of December, 1965

Words and names

As I was told a few years before, I really was not expected the day I arrived and I did not get to go home until two months later.

Meanwhile, the somewhat accidental parents set about preparing for my arrival home and not three weeks after, the Registrar of Births and Deaths in the Walsall First sub-district typed in four names the first from my paternal grandfather, the second from my father and the third from my mother and my surname - meaningful and interesting as I began to master the Yoruba language.

Yes, I was a boy born on the Twentyfirst December 1965; the date was spelt out in words on the certificate of birth and thus began the documentation of my history.

Thank you all

So, today, after a time that has been eventful as it has been interesting, I find myself, 47 years young thankful, grateful, blessed and favoured in more ways than I can find words to express.

For the life I have lived, for the successes I have seen come and go but with undiminished hope of even better things to come, I have much to be happy for.

I have family, relations, friends, acquaintances and well-wishers who have sustained me through times that many hearts would have failed to see through, I have people who believe in me, people who trust me, people who lift me, people who praise me and people who honour me, all beyond anything I could ever deserve; why would I not be full of gratitude.

And thanks again

To God the strength of my life who gives me reason to expect beyond what I can imagine, I thank God for my wonderful 47 years and I thank you all for celebrating it with me – all your messages have been amazingly comforting, your generous help has been more than timely and for each year I get to see the glorious 21^st of December again thank you for being my friends.

I am still standing – Cheers!!! 

Opinion: You're Nobody Without A Name

Of reputational value

Almost 10 years ago, I went on a walk around my neighbourhood with my uncle as he lamented the apparent disobedience of his sons to obey an order he had given.

I could sympathise with him at the same time that I was strongly disagreeing with the premise of his irritation.

His sons being European citizens resident for just about a decade in England were instructed to send a letter of invitation to a distant cousin of theirs, which they refused to comply with, the circumstances of which I will not delve into but the fundamentals remain the same.

Unlike anywhere else, your name, your address and all your dealings in the West make up your reputational value that determines your credit rating for credit worthiness and other issues of integrity.

Your name is all that matters

Especially, in circumstances where you are legally resident and gainfully employed, you want to be in control of all the variables that make up your reputational value and most especially the people you decide to vouch for as referees, guarantors, sureties or witnesses.

My cousins had in their time in Europe understood this very salient point that they were ready to defy patriarchal authority to protect what many might think is intangible but is of the utmost importance to their livelihood, integrity and reputation – especially in an era where background checks are becoming quite standard for things as mundane as basic employment contracts.

A tarnished name by reason of acts of omission, inadvertent activity or unfortunate circumstance of some misfortune can take more than a decade to repair, the price for such a lapse in judgement, process or attention to the minutiae is just too high to expend on the apparent mundane act of writing a letter of invitation for a relation that can be vouched for by your father – the stakes are too high and in my view the boys were right – reputation counts, integrity counts and perception counts, always.

Farouk Lawan

This brings me to two recent events that Nigerians will be familiar with, the first relates to the Fuel Subsidy probe conducted by an ad-hoc committee of the House of Representatives.

We were literally glued to every communication device we could find that relayed the proceedings of that committee headed by Farouk Lawan who in the chair achieved almost hagiographic levels of praise for exposing the corrupt enterprise that was a nexus of government institutions, political appointees and private companies siphoning untold amounts of money to the tune of 10 times more than had been budgeted for by the Federal Government, it was an unprecedented scam that threatened to drag the name of the Presidency into the muck.

As it transpired a report was published and as it was being deliberated on, Farouk Lawan asked for the House to exculpate two companies because the committee had lately received fresh evidence on that matter. The House obliged.

Unbeknownst to us, a sting operation apparently engineered with the security agencies involving principals of the exculpated companies had successfully mired Farouk Lawan in a corrupt transaction that purportedly had him recorded on video collecting moneys from an oil baron in the dead of the night.

Lost on all fronts

Whatever plans Farouk Lawan might have had to expose the attempts of persons close to the Presidency to suborn legislative process and cast aspersions on the report he helped pen came to naught when those persons went public before him and then he did not immediately quash the rumours, he dissimulated, he deigned, he confessed and then spun tales.

His fight back was timid at best, but his reputation had been done irreparable damage and the report we had so greatly lauded was about to go down the drain with him.

The House of Representatives has done the minimum possible to restore the integrity of the report by censuring Farouk Lawan, deposing him and restoring the exculpated companies to the original indictments made in the report.

Ideally, I would have preferred the House of Representatives audit that report independently against the originally collected evidence and then reissue it, but that is a matter of process and procedure.

Perceptions on reputation

The second concerns people I respect and engage with, mostly on Twitter but in certain instances we have communicated through other channels.

They have not reached the point where their integrity and reputation is irredeemable but this and Farouk Lawan’s situation highlights how differently we tackle these matters between those of us in Diaspora and those of us back home in Nigeria.

Whereas, we in Diaspora will put in place systems, processes and safeguards to ensure that nothing ever touches the issues of our person, our character, our integrity, our reputation and every perception of our standing, our people back home are more poised to wait to defend the same when it comes under attack but risk losing the battle of hearts and minds when they are not prompt, forceful and immediate in disputing all assertions and aspersions.

This is not to confirm the presence of an impropriety, in fact, there is probably none and the circumstances within which they work and operate might impact on their ability to respond as promptly as might be required.

My view on Dana Crash Action

Once again, I find myself sympathising and even understanding but disagreeing with their approach to reputational and integrity issues, these are not matters to be trifled with and to tackle the same with deference to a few, seeming indifference to some and possibly arrogance bordering on hubris to others with the view that they are being so principled and above reproach is to misunderstand the considerable fallout that might ensue from this matter.

Much more than Dana Crash Action rests on how the principals respond to the attempts to besmirch their good names, their humanitarian efforts, the friends they interact and associate with, and each subsequent worthwhile campaign launched in spite of and despite the government on Social Media.

I have been informed a comprehensive report debunking all claims and assertions will be released at the end of the month.

However, it is not a matter of being answerable to anyone or being accountable to anyone, it is one of being seen to be accountable regardless, acting transparently regardless, doing that promptly regardless, protecting the present and future reputational value above all else and at the same time learning one serious lesson from Farouk Lawan that no matter the hundreds of millions of dollars that oil companies will pay in fines and restitution with regards to the fuel subsidy scam, a man’s honour and integrity is still priceless.

You are nobody without a name.

Editorial: How do we capture the desire we all have for Nigeria?

A desire we all have for Nigeria

Great is the wish and desire for better topics than what I am about to write about Nigeria. This is a great country with amazingly unrealised potential that appears to be continually rundown by those who we have elected to represent us at all levels.

The problem is however not just that of leadership, it includes the people too and sadly an inability to grasp the fundamental truths of a situation, an idea or a conversation if there is something emotive to offer upon which they can gorge their sentiments on.

Nigeria cannot be doomed, there is prospect and promise beyond compare and ability that needs to be nurtured to wrestle power from the malefactors in charge and command the heights whilst mentoring those coming up to occupy and take Nigeria to where it rightly belongs – a prosperous thriving country with people willing and able to pursue their goals in happiness with all opportunity and ability at their disposal to succeed.

Those who hold us back

Things need to be uprooted, overturned, jettisoned, condemned and completely excoriated. These things are exemplified and personified in people – men and women who present no glowing future for the entity Nigeria or the identity Nigerian. They clog the corridors of power and need to be bulldozed out of the way, swept into ignominy as light gets shone on their opinions, activities and alliances.

Today, it was the turn of the Minister of the Federal Capital Territory to be readied for the scrapheap of odium so vile that it cannot be countenanced by rats cavorting in a metropolitan sewer.

“May I suggest to the Executive Secretary of FCDA, who has the Abuja Master Plan and the Coordinator of Abuja Metropolitan Management Council to rename this place as Goodluck Jonathan District.” He started [1].

“This is because we have not named any district after any president in the past. The president I know is President Goodluck Jonathan and the president I know that is bringing good luck to me and to Nigerians is President Goodluck Jonathan.” He then said.

“Therefore, by the powers conferred on me, I change the name of this district to Goodluck Jonathan District.” He concluded.

Is there just cause?

Now, there is nothing wrong with naming places after past leaders of Nigeria, we have universities, airports, roads and buildings named after many of our heroes past, many long gone but with places in the history of Nigeria.

In most cases, these naming acts though unilaterally done by those in leadership do have popular appeal and support with many Nigerians knowing why.

It is quite strange to rename a district in the Federal Capital after a sitting President who has only been in office for two years and yet to prove himself as an effective master of his brief, talk less of being an all-embracing and inspiring leader of all Nigerians.

Maybe I am being harsh with my assessment so let us hear the citation the Minister gives to make the President worthy of such an honour.

Of the many deserving

"A district has never been named after a President ..." – that is a valid point but we have had many, 14 in all [2], starting with Nnamdi Azikiwe, the 1^st Governor General and the President of Nigeria; Johnson Aguiyi-Ironsi, the 1^st Military Head of State or Murtala Mohammed, the 4^th leader of Nigeria assassinated in 1976. Sani Abacha for his despotic reign is not offered a podium of honour but he is one of the 4 who once ruled Nigeria and have since died.

Other leaders of distinction, I use distinction with a bit of levity are Yakubu Gowon who lead the country through a civil war, ruling for 9 years or Olusegun Obasanjo who ruled the country twice, first as a military ruler and then as a civilian president altogether for 11½ years.

Only last week with full military honours and all the state accoutrements, Emeka Odumegwu Ojukwu was buried, he led the civil war for the secession of Biafra and had long been revered as the leader of the Igbo tribe, it would appear he was the next for the synonymous and eponymous but you cannot curry the favour of the dead. – Surely, there is much to be said for these people.

Really?

The Minister goes on to say, “The president I know is President Goodluck Jonathan …” This could mean the Minister is completely oblivious of Nigerian history or cynically one might be persuaded to suggest this was blatantly currying favour since he is minister at the pleasure of the President.

He concludes the citation by saying, “… and the president I know that is bringing good luck to me and to Nigerians is President Goodluck Jonathan.” Is that all? You ask.

The President is honoured in a shameless display of sickening sycophancy as a fawning minister is innocuously 'bribing' the President to maintain his post by flattering the President and appealing to his ego, building graven images of district renaming like we have returned to the Babylonian times of King Nebuchadnezzar.

The Court of Goodluck I

We sometimes forget we are in a democracy and we operate like an absolute monarchy because it can only be the reason why a Shaykh kanti Aiki Ibrahim Zuru has a calling card with the title Loyalist to His Excellency, Dr. Goodluck Ebele Jonathan (GCFR).

Obtained from a tweet by @Seedorf with thanks.

This whole charade of leadership in Nigeria is playing out like the Court of Goodluck I where patronage is rife and obsequiousness that can provoke extreme emesis is the norm, as for corruption, that is the currency of the gaining audience with the potentate whose name might soon be emblazoned on anything that can be named or renamed just before our prayer beads are replaced with the mini-busts of Goodluck Jonathan.

Impunity without a care

To crown it all, the Nigerian Senators who receive 350% of their annual basic salaries as car loans payable over 6 years at the annual interest rate of 4% were given cars [3] all same at additional cost of N1.3 billion to the public purse on the premise that they will be used for committee activities. It is illegal and criminal but impunity is the name of the game and accountability is as unAfrican as let’s say homosexuality.

We cannot be sentenced to this travesty of a democracy which is in fact fawning kleptocrats at the head of an unconscionable kakistocracy – Nigeria deserves a lot better than all this.

Sources

[1] FCT Minister renames Abuja’s Maitama District as Goodluck Jonathan District | Channels TV

[2] List of heads of state of Nigeria - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

[3] Senators receive N1.3billion new cars | Premium Times Nigeria

Other references

Nigeria: Prince Ade Adesanya is expecting your call

Nigeria: The Court of Goodluck I - Special Advisers

Nigeria: Presidency seeks the nth opinion