When Are You Going to Sit Down?

An Unexpected Enquiry

Just over two years ago, a man whose history in journalism stretches back more than 45 years contacted me for a copy of my CV. He had held top editorial positions at four of the most prominent Nigerian newspapers and magazines, and he still writes syndicated copy today.

He had come across my blog and, from a link on the page, requested access to my CV. To satisfy his curiosity, he wanted to determine whether I had a journalism background that might explain how I had sustained a blog for 20 years. On reading my CV, he expressed both shock and surprise that I held no formal qualifications in the humanities; I am an engineer who has broadly pursued a career in IT.

Recognition and Striving

Acknowledgement and recognition come from many places, and I hope I am able to take a compliment with grace whenever it is offered.

However, even as one strives for excellence, there are others who observe what you do and for whom you are not yet performing at your best. There is always that feeling that you could do better, and that in itself overrides every other concern.

Why I Began

When I started my blog in 2003, I saw it as an outlet for my views, and I had no intention of turning it into a commercial venture. I did everything at my own pace and wrote as I was inspired, usually hoping to bring a fresh perspective to matters that others tended to cover with a common view.

I do not believe I ever came to any agreement with anyone that my blog would become a platform for other activities, such as publishing a book. The idea of writing my story only took hold after my first bout with cancer and the period following treatment in 2010. Things developed from there, and I also battled prostate cancer in 2024; today marks two years to the day since I received the diagnosis of adenocarcinoma of the prostate.

A Loaded Comment

Imagine my surprise, then, when a comment was left on one of my recent blogs to the following effect: “When are you going to sit down and assemble relevant topics of your writings into books for future generations, particularly in Africa, to benefit? Your use of the English language and construction is superb. Some of your writings could come under, for example, tourism, based on your experience in South Africa and Amsterdam, or business management.”

You could take a good deal from that comment; the commendation and the suggestion were both gratifying and informative. Yet you could just as easily miss the criticism buried within it, and I heard it in the voice of the writer, as I have many times before, whenever their expectations were not met by my application, rigour, or initiative.

Refusing to Please

One thing I learnt a long while ago was to jump off the bandwagon of trying to please people. I do my work to the best of my ability and constantly strive to do better. That is my conviction, and it is the energy I bring to every endeavour.

It is the phrase “When are you going to sit down…?” that does the heavy lifting here, implying that you are not directing your abilities and faculties towards the essential.

In this case, that means writing books for which I have so far received no commissions. I have no obligation to write either another blog or a book, but I do have the desire to, at a time of my own choosing, if and when I convince myself of that need.

Parents and Approval

I still have my parents, who are octogenarians. I receive the occasional expression of pride in me, but that can easily be a speck in a bowl of displeasure at one thing or another. The fact that I am totally estranged from one and barely in communication with the other is the sum of the difficult relationship we have had since my childhood.

I was a difficult child and adolescent; I had my own issues, just as they had theirs. However, I am so completely past seeking their approbation that the desire fizzled out at twenty, and, as far as possible, I resolved that their influence on me would be as minimal as it could be, just as my dear uncle, around that time, shielded me so that I could flourish in my own way.

Words That Matter

What could it have cost to word that comment another way? “Your use of the English language and construction is superb. I can see elements that might lend themselves to books on your travels to South Africa and Amsterdam. Other topics, such as business management, I have seen in your recent writings, show that you could benefit future generations, especially in Africa.”

Imagine how warmly I would have received that version, responding with gratitude and grace whilst taking the ideas into consideration. The manner and tone of a conversation, along with the order of the words, do matter. Instead, I am riled, annoyed, and spitting tacks. It might have been well-intentioned, but it failed to hit the mark.

I might just have lost the desire to write a book. The medal for royally pissing off your child must surely have been awarded in the King’s birthday honours list, released on Friday.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

New Year, Ancient Praise

Àwá yìn ọ́, Ọlọ́run (Te Deum Laudamus)

Crossover Services

There is an Anglican tradition in Nigeria that I miss: the celebration of the advent of the New Year, where we go to church to worship God, praising and thanking Him for the past year and ushering in the New Year in prayer and the worship of the Almighty God.

Nowadays, this is called a crossover service, sometimes with a kind of pompous religiosity that suggests we have decided to spend time in church rather than in drunken revelry at a bar. Though where I have not been able to attend church, I would rather stay at home and celebrate with my partner or with friends whilst watching the world ring in the New Year.

A Multicultural Feast

However, recently, I have found that some multinational evangelical or Pentecostal churches do celebrate this crossover phenomenon. I did find one nearby that had a feast of multicultural cuisine before we settled down to a sermon, then praise and worship. I am quite comfortable in those settings.

For this New Year's celebration, I decided to attend the !Audacious Church ticketed event, for which one has to move promptly before the tickets are sold out. It was going to be a standing-only event, but seats were provided for those who needed that kind of respite.

!Audacious has a very youthful attendance; I could easily be in the cohort of the elderly with grandchildren rather than just being a parent, but I do love the energy in small amounts.

A Foretaste of Heaven

As we sang praises, many with the word 'Holy', I was caught up in the awesomeness of how this could be playing in heaven: angels, archangels, and all creation worshipping the Father, the Lord God Almighty; the Lamb upon the throne, Jesus Christ; and the Holy Spirit.

I imagined the language in heaven would probably not be English but one which, to our hearing, would fill us with indescribable wonder and awe beyond anything a human mind could ever fathom. Just for that alone, I'll rather go to heaven than anywhere else.

Even in a heavenly crowd of a thousand generations, lost somewhere in the mix of the glory that is beyond the realm of comprehension, it can only be the best place to be. I am thankful for the foretaste we have been given on earth.

Te Deum Laudamus

Then, back to the Anglican traditions I referred to earlier, modernity has changed many of the things we used to do, like chanting or singing the canticles. As the clock strikes midnight at church, we sing the Te Deum Laudamus (We praise thee, O God) in Yoruba.

Maybe it is my engineering brain or something, but the Yoruba language is a tonal language with pitches of acute, grave, and mid tones, mostly represented on the vowels.

I cannot elucidate on the mechanics of representation to the extent of a linguist, but I did learn and master the application of diacritical marks (accents, tone marks, and under dots). As far as I am concerned, they are critical to the understanding and comprehension of Yoruba when written and read.

AI and Linguistic Precision

However, all the versions I found online did not have this essential distinction, so in the age of AI, I asked three different AI bots (Google's Gemini-3-Pro, then Anthropic's Claude-Opus-4.1) to attempt to annotate the text. The last one (OpenAI's GPT-5.2) even engaged me fully in Yoruba, and that was impressive.

The result was good enough, but I had to review the full text against the English version to ensure everything was correct to the best of my knowledge of Yoruba. Then, usually, accents are not put on the consonant N, but the reality is that in speech, for certain words, when N is followed by another consonant, it is prudent to get the right tone.

Finally, the last line of the Yoruba version in the prayer section of the canticles can take many translations and interpretations, but it is the most effective in Yoruba: "Láí, má jẹ́ kí n dààmú." To me, it reads, in context, as: O Lord, I trust in You; let me never be bothered by anything, because You are with me.

I wish you all a Happy New Year!

Te Deum Laudamus
Yoruba	English
Iyín Mẹ́talọ̀kan	Praise to the Trinity
Àwá yìn ọ́, Ọlọ́run, Àwá ń jẹ́wọ́ Rẹ pé ìwọ ni Oluwa, Gbogbo aiyé fi orí balẹ̀ fún ọ, Bàbá aiyé títí láí. Ìwọ ni ẹni tí gbogbo àwọn Angẹ́lì, ń kí gbé pè, Ọ̀run àti gbogbo agbára, tí ń bẹ nínú wọn. Ìwọ ni ẹni tí àwọn Kérúbù àti àwọn Séráfù, Kígbe pé ní gbà gbogbo pé: Mímọ́ Mímọ́ Mímọ́, Olúwa Ọlọ́run àwọn ọmọ ogun, Ọ̀run òun ayé, Kún fún ògo ńlá tí ò gọ Rẹ. Ẹgbẹ́ àwọn Apóstélì, Tí ó lógo yìn ọ́, Ọgbà àwọn Wòlíì, Tí ó dára, yìn ọ́, Ogun àwọn Mátírì, tí ó dára yìn Ọ́., Ìjọ Mímọ́ ènìyàn Ọlọ́run Ní gbogbo ayé ńjẹ́wọ́ Rẹ: Baba ẹni ọlá ńlá, tí kò ní pẹ̀kun; Àti Ọmọ Rẹ nìkan ṣoṣo, Olólá, Olótìítọ́. Ẹ̀mí Mímọ́ pẹ̀lú, Olùtùnú ni.	We praise thee, O God: We acknowledge Thee to be the Lord. All the earth doth worship Thee, the Father everlasting. To Thee all Angels cry aloud: the Heavens and all the powers therein. To Thee Cherubim and Seraphim continually do cry, Holy, Holy, Holy: Lord God of Sabaoth; Heaven and earth are full of the Majesty of Thy Glory. The glorious company of the Apostles praise Thee. The godly fellowship of the Prophets praise Thee. The noble army of Martyrs praise Thee. The holy Church throughout all the world doth acknowledge Thee; The Father of an infinite Majesty; Thine honourable, true, and only Son; Also the Holy Ghost: the Comforter.
Iyín Kírístì	Praise of Christ
Kírístì, Ìwọ ni Ọba Ògo, Ìwọ ni Ọmọ láílái ti Baba. Nígbà tí Ìwọ tẹ́wọ́gbà fún ara Rẹ láti gba ènìyàn là, O kò kórìíra inú Wúndíá. Nígbà tí O ṣẹ́gun oró ikú tán, O ṣí ìjọba ọ̀run sílẹ̀ fún gbogbo Àwọn onígbàgbọ́. O jókòó ní ọwọ́ ọ̀tún Ọlọ́run, Nínú ògo ti Baba. Àwa gbàgbọ́ pé O ńbọ̀ wá Láti ṣe Onídàájọ́ wa. Nítorí náà ni àwa ṣe ńgbàdúrà, Sí ọ̀dọ̀ Rẹ: Ran àwọn ọmọ ọ̀dọ̀ Rẹ lọ́wọ́, Tí Ìwọ ti fi ẹ̀jẹ̀ Rẹ, iyebíye rà padà. Ṣe wọ́n kí a lè kà wọ́n kún àwọn ènìyàn Mímọ́ Rẹ Nínú ògo tí kò ní pẹ̀kun.	Thou art the King of Glory, O Christ. Thou art the everlasting Son of the Father. When Thou tookest upon Thee to deliver man: Thou didst not abhor the Virgin's womb. When Thou hadst overcome the sharpness of death, Thou didst open the Kingdom of Heaven to all believers. Thou sittest at the right hand of God in the glory of the Father. We believe that Thou shalt come to be our Judge. We therefore pray Thee, help Thy servants whom Thou hast redeemed with Thy precious blood. Make them to be numbered with Thy Saints in glory everlasting.
Àwọn àdúrà	Prayers
Olúwa, gba àwọn ènìyàn Rẹ là, Kí Ìwọ kí ó sì fi ìbùkún fún àwọn ènìyàn ìní Rẹ. Jọba wọn, Kí O sì máa gbé wọn lékè láíláí. Àwa ńgbé Ọ ga, ní ojojúmọ́; Àwa sì ńfi orí balẹ̀ ní, Orúkọ Rẹ Títí ayé tí kò ní pẹ̀kun. Fìyèsíni, Olúwa, Láti pa wá mọ́ lónìí ní àìlẹ́ṣẹ̀. Olúwa, ṣàánú fún wa, ṣàánú fún wa. Olúwa, jẹ́ kí àánú Rẹ kí ó máa bà lé wa,  Gẹ́gẹ́ bí àwa ti ńgbẹ́kẹ̀ wa lé Ọ. Olúwa, Ìwọ ni mo gbẹ́kẹ̀lé, Láí, má jẹ́ kí n dààmú.	O Lord, save Thy people: And bless Thine heritage. Govern them and lift them up for ever. Day by day we magnify Thee; And we worship Thy Name, ever world without end. Vouchsafe, O Lord, to keep us this day without sin. O Lord, have mercy upon us. O Lord, let Thy mercy lighten upon us: as our trust is in Thee. O Lord, in Thee have I trusted: Let me never be confounded.

References

Te Deum Laudamus - Awa Yin O, Olorun | Yoruba Chant with Lyrics – Source text

Andrews University: English Text of the Te Deum

Wikipedia: Te Deum

Church of England: Te Deum Laudamus – Modern

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

With Such Ruthless Efficiency?

Travelling by nature’s gift

One beautiful afternoon walking up Boulevard de Strasbourg in Paris, I noticed on both sides of this broad arterial route were shops purveying a wide variety of hair products catering to the African woman. More notably, were the hair extensions that I was made to believe came from the indigenous peoples of Brazil and India.

The exploitation of this resource and the middlemen that make money from this trade would be a study of world economies and how sources of extraction rarely benefit fully from the market of the produce or products.

The other unusual insight I gained from my observation was the way these indigenous people whose world is limited in its locality have inadvertently travelled the world with their gifts of beautifying customers in Paris, London, Lagos, or any other metropolis where the augmentation of natural hair demands these accoutrements.

Blog - Paris: Boulevard de l'Unpretty (February 2016)

Blog - Paris: Boulevard de l'Unpretty - Revisited. (August 2018)

Readers around the globe

I have had a blog for over 20 years, it started in Germany, I set up the domain in the Netherlands and I reside in the UK. I have posted from many locations and have been completely unaware of the reach of my blog in terms of readership apart from ballpark numbers of readers, locations, search terms, browsers used and so on.

For instance, looking at the statistics on my blog, I cannot account for why there is any interest in my blog from Iran or Cambodia and these are in the top 10 countries with readers from Nigeria coming behind these two countries in the last week. The fact is my blog is travelling to places I could never have imagined, garnering interest that I cannot explain, yet it somewhat engenders something relatable that is not done for engagement, influence, or monetary gain.

They happened upon my blog

Such is the experience I had yesterday when a renowned personality requested access to my résumé which I granted even as I pondered why ever they would make such a request. The follow on was the receipt of an email commending my blog and the work I had put into it for over two decades. They also referred to the fact that my career path which is totally at variance with my journaling and blog deserves deep respect and honour.

Apparently, I have maintained this blog with ruthless efficiency (their words), I only wish I had, as it is the kind of praise that comes to your hearing, and you find yourself looking around expecting it to have been directed at someone else rather than yourself.

My partner and my best friend have already started pointing fingers, “I told you so” said one, “You do not listen” intoned the other. When does self-deprecation morph into self-depreciation? You question your instincts as modesty remains the better virtue to self-promotion. Indeed, I do little to promote my blog, most of the traffic is organic. I have also kept intrusive and cluttering advertisements off it because it is not a commercial venture, nor do I intend it to evolve in that direction.

If like the hair extensions, I am like an indigenous woman who profits little apart from the knowledge that my hair, of which primarily I have none, adorns the heads of sophisticated women around the world, even for the praise and acknowledgement I have received, I would be both fulfilled and grateful. My blog is made up of many stories and I hope each day brings inspiration for another story. 

I’m a child of silent wonder

I’m a child of silent wonder

I’m a child of silent wonder,
In the things I quietly ponder,
When I thought I was under,
I learnt of love more funder,
I serve a God of wonder.

I daily see the miraculous,
Putting aside every loss,
Not in how I fought to win,
But in the grace of him,
Who came for the great cause,
My weary soul to win.

The times I felt dejected,
When I was often rejected,
So many things were affected,
As if nothing was protected,
Good left me neglected.

Yet in the soil of my wailing prayers,
Dead seeds planted of failing affairs,
I cried lakes of sailing tears,
Almost fell to availing fears,
But I saw his prevailing cares.

Wait, I have a testimony of praise,
Not just of a passing phase,
From every slump he will raise,
Set your crazy life ablaze,
To sing of his goodness always.

This extraordinarily amazing woman of Ejigbo community

 A life quite interesting

There is one person I do not sing enough praises of, a kind of strangeness and then familiarity that seems to escape the purview of acknowledgement of humanity, service, motherhood, tenacity and all-round extraordinary. A prophet that is somewhat without honour in their own land.

There are stories we have heard that could be hair-raising, a childhood that seem to offer opportunity but was suffused with such guardian cruelty, yet against such no malice is borne. I watched how distraught they became when that guardian passed on and the final rites were missed by an hour.

In tribulation triumphant

Dockets of tales in a matrimony that seemed to all perfect whilst it was any but, the witnesses of tension and worse that dotted occasions of détente never so sure to survive a season, the spouse pretending to fidelity rarely not there, but we do believe the best of everyone.

In offspring sometimes affected, tainted, or traumatised by that environment, there remained such support hardly appreciated or understood, a dogged focus on protecting the brood and shaping destinies in ways sometimes unintended, yet fundamentally consequential. Here is a masterful ability quite unheralded.

Exceptionally gifted to lift

A person who has charted courses less travelled to become a symbol of relevance that set them out as one to be chosen to pioneer a project of investing in young lives to build a future. The project was tough and arduous, yet adept with skills to manage and marshal, in the pit of the fire and the cold workface, hands were calloused, and faces blackened with soot, but gems were mined that have appreciated in value year on year.

And this is not a culmination, but a journey that overnight a pilgrimage was embarked on fully sponsored by the former uncut rough diamonds whose horizons were not that clear but were given the prospect of a world beyond their locality. They have in this day become persons of means and influence, extending the hand of their mentor into places of power and significance.

Dams of gratitude bursting walls

They return season after season to that anvil of life where they were forged and moulded into implements of change and the chief blacksmith invited time and again to inspect the workmanship of exquisite and priceless provenance wrought in that forge. The power of gratitude flows like brooks into streams, into rivers, into seas and waters that lap lands all over the world.

It is in this that our person is celebrated; Mrs A. J. Akintayo, daughter, lady, woman, teacher, wife, mother, administrator, principal, businesswoman, prophetess, leader, fighter, voice, pilgrim and this list is hardly exhaustive. I salute you, enjoy your trip of a lifetime and there are more to come. You shine and we are exceedingly proud of you.

With the Class of '85 of the then Ejigbo Community High School on the 27th of July 2021
You can laugh this well if you have made lives so good. My mother is in the middle.

The presentation made by the Class of '85
to my mother as the pioneer principal of the then
Ejigbo Community High School that was founded in 1977. 

It cannot be unlooked

A predator without shame

It cannot be a term of praise as the review of someone who for all his achievements is in particular everything a philanderer is. Contemptuously in denial and feigning unconvincing innocence in the face of incontrovertible evidence, the pleadings wear thin to the point of irritation and annoyance.

The roving eye with its propensity to quarry some prey for activities quite reprobate and adulterous is never without its focus. Caught at all times that the force of personality is used to enervate those who might expose the truth.

Sing praise chorus insult

He cast his net when away many times and once netted a pupil for whom a time of matrimony was never one to be termed of any bliss. Animosity finds excitement in first and the second, that any prospects of the third should have a man checking himself for his flaws and faults. Therein, is the problem for which a eulogy will not by any stretch of the imagination be hagiographic.

A church he helped build, but a saint, he never was. Honoured he is, but it cannot honestly be for the remotely honourable for which conduct may be viewed as exemplary. If there is praise to be sung, there are stanzas and choruses of opprobrium to chant. In a human being is the good and the bad, let the story be told of all that makes a man what he has lived.

After death, what do your tributes matter?

Speaking good of the dead

I have always wondered about the eerie spectre of tributes about someone has passed to the Great Beyond because, except if we know quite differently, whether the person so fondly memorialised and eulogised to the point of hagiography ever in the realm of time and space beyond the realm of our perception gets to have a viewing and hearing.

For in the beautiful things we get to say, have we once ventured when the person was present and able to interact and respond we deployed the effusive praise that they are left to gush and blush at the surfeit of encomium and praise that they are left speechless in accepting compliments and so emotional in experiencing the genuine expression of love, respect, and awe.

To the hearing of others

In the absence of that uniquely special case of tributes breaking through the veil to the intangible ethereal eternal timelessness that encompasses, you are left thinking, the glowing obituaries and expressions of sympathy, condolence, and regret are all demonstrations for the living, for once the spirit and soul have left the bodily presentation of the person we once knew, they are forever gone and out of reach or touch.

It should make us reflect on what we could have done with the chance and opportunity to speak and act, it should not matter if at the end one brings another perspective to the enigmatic personality, but to have done things when they could be fully appreciated and not so much in search of recognition but in the unconditional celebration of those who matter.

Doing it when it matters

It does not mean we should be quick to act, to speak or to praise, however, every acknowledgement and recognition of another is not just an act of genuine kindness, it is an expression of gratitude for what they have brought to and contributed to our lives. Until we can hear and speak with the dearly departed outside of esoteric and questionably paranormal environments, our tributes, though making for interesting listening and hearing are absolutely worthless to those we portend to celebrate.

The words of Mark Antony ring loud and clear, for there was nothing more he could do for Ceasar after he had been assassinated, but to lead the procession for his burial.

Nigeria: We come to bury Abba Kyari, not to praise him

Mark Anthony: I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones;
Shakespeare – Julius Ceasar Act 3 Scene 2. [Poetry Foundation]

A disambiguation of similarities

Overnight, I read that the Chief of Staff to the Nigerian President, Abba Kyari, had passed on. Now, I was neither shocked nor moved by the news of his death, I did not know him. It was only recently that I realised there were many unrelated prominent Abba Kyaris in Nigeria. [The Guardian]

The one I was familiar with was a Brigadier Abba Kyari who was the governor of North Central State with the capital of Kaduna from 1967 to 1975, during Yakubu Gowon’s regime.

Being such a prominent member of President Muhammadu Buhari’s cabinet, with an extensive portfolio bordering on a megalomaniacal abuse of power, his loss to the government would be hard felt and as one would expect, hagiographies would be posted with reckless abandon to the praise of the man. One even dared suggest he sacrificed his life to the country. The jury would never reach a favourable decision on that assertion.

The hubris of prominence

Abba Kyari had succumbed to the Coronavirus having returned from Germany a few weeks before, he had underlying conditions that would have made him susceptible to the virus if he contracted it. Whether he quarantined himself after returning to Nigeria is unknown, but in a political setting of patronage and neopatrimonialism, I can imagine that courtesy calls and visits would have greeted his return from abroad.

In acknowledging his overarching influence in the federal government, I tweeted, “His Grand Eminence Cardinal Richelieu has departed the Court of Buhari II. All flags in the empire and dominions at half-mast.” [Twitter] There are ways in which one can say he is an unfortunate victim of systems he implemented, for in other times, he probably would have rushed abroad for medical attention, but borders were closed for medical tourism, he had to face the realities of Nigeria, albeit in a private hospital.

One of the legacies of his alleged abuse of office was out of an apparent power tussle with an erstwhile Minister of Health, he transferred procurement authority from the Ministry of Health to the Federal Ministry of Agriculture and Rural Development in October 2018 and never reversed this edict even after a new minister was installed. Invariably, this would have hampered the Nigerian preparation for a pandemic virus as the one which took his life. [Punch]

Being honest to the dead

Now, I will not at any time speak ill of the dead, but that does not mean we should deny the truth of the dead also. The truth can be spoken without it coming across as ill or the lack of sympathy. What would do the most injustice to the memory of the dead is to lie about their lives and craft falsehoods to beatify their passing, quite undeservedly. In speaking of the dead, honesty must always be the best policy or one must keep their counsel in silence.

As we were taking in the news, some people posted anecdotes of meeting Abba Kyari, his friendship, his concern, his humour, his courtesy and much else featured in their recollections. In a way, outside of his official capacity, he seemed to be a likeable everyday human being. I would concede that even the evillest people to the public quite likely has private relationships and engagements that paint a different story of who they are.

Every Caesar has a Mark Anthony

In my view, I think those anecdotes are necessary, for as the person is dead, the book of accounting is closed and trial balance is done of all accounts of who they are, what they did, how they operated, who they affected, and it all comes together in a simple biography of the person, exemplifying a broad spectrum of humanity from virtue to villainy, from good to bad, from nice to nasty.

In that vein, I would recall the oratory of Mark Anthony at the execution of Julius Caesar, for there would always be a Mark Anthony of our times to eulogise a contemporary Julius Caesar and they will only ask for you to lend them your ears, you have every right to lend your ears or close your ears, but we must allow Mark Anthony the stage to speak, not so much about the ambition of Caesar, but the humanity of the Caesar he knew.

Abba Kyari was interred earlier today, but it would appear the essential social distancing rule was not adhered to at the graveside, I hate to think this folly might presage the death of some of the attendees and others they might come in contact with. It is as if they did not realise that the man in the coffin was proof that the Coronavirus should not be trifled with. May Allah grant repose to the soul of Abba Kyari, his deeds in his lifetime, however, are for the record of history.

Decade Blogs - Raymond Inkabi - Ten Years Of Blogging

Decade Blogs

As an Englishman, we are quite well schooled in modesty and self-deprecation, yet, there are circumstances where we must come out of our shells to trumpet a cause.

That is what I have had to do to persuade many to write for my blog in commemoration of my Decade of Blogging.

Blog - To Celebrate My Decade of Blogging

Raymond Inkabi is one such who on reading of my milestone blogging anniversary honoured my request for bloggers to join my #YourBlogOnMyBlog campaign on Twitter. Yet, when I saw the acronym of that hashtag, I thought the better of it.

What Raymond has written below, leaves me reeling; the praise, the comparisons, and the deference – he has been too kind, too kind for me to find that words to express gratitude than effusive thanks. Thank you Raymond.

His handle on Twitter is @Aklis_01 and please enjoy this piece.

Ten years of blogging is a good thing

To have different forms of creativity of different orientations respectively, from different spaces like Ten years of blogging immeasurable life changing content; constitute consistency in wit, as constituting constancy in drive. Suggesting the existence; of truly diverse specie floating in space.

Ten years, they say is enough to define one's self. But in order to be accountable post humans, we must see the near futures; create tactical little goals and also a strategic unification of issues that increases the expressivity of other sapiens nodular moments on the way towards an ultimate creative future of joy - a future that we humans cannot think.

Just as many sapiens come, make their mark and go to the great beyond. Father Mandela passed on 5th of December just 3 days to your anniversary. With tears we celebrated a life well lived. With love we now also celebrate a decade well blogged.

Akin, akin to Tata to be a book, then we are today lost in its multiple narratives and countless miscellanea. If we take it as a medium through which to reflect and explore the world, this book is no longer able to up with the speed at which narratives now unfold in it.

What led Akin to blog, might as well lead us to the question of chaos and the stubborn Pandora. The struggle with chaos is the only instrument of a more profound struggle against opinion then peace. For most people misfortune comes from opinion. Like Akin; again like Mandela.

But can we imagine an earth without landscapes, books without pages, fruitful deserts, more optimistically we must celebrate Akin. With whom I have developed a voracious appetite for, having become a pupil - thanks to Twitter. We must celebrate him through the exhaustion of the now - a decade of blogging - with joy and happiness let’s rejoice in the now, which is the future.

Akins’ vocabulary can be likened to that of strong cowboy's whiskey - undiluted wine and liquor - bringing tears to inexperienced eyes, forcing those tiny lights off and rendering one into temporary darkness; grinning before finding way down the bowels. Just a sip needs courage. So is @forakin's choice of wine.

And are there other things to be found within these barrels? Yes, beyond these depths: namely wit and trust, not forgetting great subs (subliminal messages on Twitter called subtweets) also! Simply put, the present may be the moment of imagination and of space travels again.

This I reason in spite of our utopian belief, we may now have the means to extend our imaginative potentials further than ever - ten years of blogging is a good thing!