Pa Ikhide Unravels That Despicable Human Trafficking Yarn

Trust, but verify

One thing we must never lose regardless of our experiences and how we age is our sense of curiosity, a questioning mind, a precociousness that is adventurous, the boldness to challenge the conventional and the ability to maintain a modicum of healthy scepticism.

This is where I am wont to commend Pa Ikhide (Ikhide R. Ikheloa) who has singlehandedly blown apart the foundation of that human trafficking story supposedly written by Tobore Mit Ovuorie for the Premium Times Nigeria in collusion with ZAM Chronicle in the Netherlands. Much of this discussion has been on Pa Ikhide’s Facebook page.

Blog - Opinion: My Views About That Human Trafficking Exclusive

No one is disputing the truth in the criminality and the atrocity of human trafficking where lives are wasted in petty street thievery, sex trade and organ harvesting, but one should be sure of who has experienced this situation and who is telling the story.

Ghost-writing is no crime

As it has transpired, from Pa Ikhide’s investigations of Tobore Mit Ovuorie and her social media activities, when she was supposedly undercover being trafficked in 2013 and the many questions left unanswered with many of us being carried away on the sentimentality of the narrative to the detriment of the veracity of storyteller, we can very well assume we have been conned.

I do not think Tobore Mit Ovuorie would have been less celebrated if she had ghost-written the gory tales of people who escaped the clutches of those rotten human traffickers, but to have constructed a fantastic thriller of a fictional tale around herself as the main actor in a drama where she was at risk of losing her life is not only dishonest and contemptible, words really do fail me.

Reputations like dung

The supporting cast that appeared to give credence to this travesty are no less beyond repudiation and excoriation. Premium Times with its many award-winning laurels was ready to stake its well-earned reputation on giving this fantasy a veneer of truthfulness by attacking sceptics when it should have addressed the questions, sombrely, honestly and honourably.

ZAM Chronicle with its under-the-railroad offices in Amsterdam has not only been dishonourable, but lent itself to propagating the stereotype of African savagery whilst pretending to be more concerned for the dignity and reputation of Africans in their ambivalence between revelation and concealment – nothing could be more sickening than false empathy.

Thank you, Pa Ikhide

Again, we must thank Pa Ikhide who did not wane or shrink in his tenacity to get to the bottom of this matter, when a majority of us had been taken for a long rocky emotional ride that deprived the real victims of human trafficking of their voice and their story, because some unscrupulous, dishonest, reprehensible, ignominious and detestable journalists and newspapers had an eye for self-serving awards to the exclusion of others.

Shame on all of them and for those whose stories you stole for your selfish ends, you are no better than the human traffickers, their blood is on your heads as it is on the heads of the traffickers. Shame on you.

Opinion: These Narcissistic Religious Homophobes

You don’t know me now

I just got on the train in London, and there I recognised an old friend from secondary school, this was 13 years after we left school and 8 years after I last saw him in Nigeria.

We had hardly exchanged greetings before he asked, “Where do you church?” it was a Sunday, and I was not coming from church nor going to one. As I answered, that I was not going to one, the conversation ended there, and it was like I had become a nobody, invisible and inconsequential.

Now, this was someone who in secondary school was not just a friend, there was much else that happened between us, that is another story.

A fiend of a friend

However, today, that memory was revived when my friend who is somewhat like a kid brother too, Bisi Alimi shared on Facebook a letter he received from a ‘friend’ who he had not seen for nigh on 20 years and on seeing Bisi’s appearance on CNN with Christiane Amanpour wrote an atrocious missive questioning Bisi’s sexuality and much else.

This was my contribution to the commentary that followed on Facebook:

“This is what tires me about people who profess to be Christians, they ignore the person for the purpose of their religious pomposity. I have no time for people who having not seen me or interacted with me for ages think they suddenly can begin to impact any aspect of my life in anyway.

The effrontery of intrusiveness is not only disrespectful, it negates whatever purpose they have in mind and it is utterly annoying to think we all think the same deluded and blinkered way.

These hardly travelled ignorant nonentities who suddenly think they know the world and the expressway to heaven make me sick. Very sick indeed.”

Whatever I am is not your business

I make no bones about the fact that I love gays, anyone who has followed my blog or the catalogue of my writings over the last decade would have noticed that I write a lot about homosexuality, amongst other things as child sexual abuse, the abuse of women, religious abuse, heinous cruelty, intolerance within humanity, human rights and else.

Yet, I do not believe my sexuality is for public discussion, it is my business alone who I decide to love and share my sexual favours with, it should be of no concern to anyone but myself and whoever in a consensual liaison decides they want to spend intimate and quality time with me.

The pursuit of happiness, my happiness, is mine and mine alone to pursue, I do not subscribe to the communal or society view that I should be assimilated into certain cultural or traditional norms to satisfy those with familial, filial or some other relational affinity to me.

I am human, first

It is no secret that I am not married, I have never married, I do not have children and well, basically, I cannot have children after chemotherapy. I have made peace with myself about what my life is, I am blessed, and I am a survivor.

Most importantly, I am human first, I celebrate humanity, I celebrate diversity and seek to be a better person with thoughtfulness, understanding and knowing that if I have not walked a hard, long mile in another’s person’s shoes, I am far from pretending to the full knowledge of their experiences.

The marriage debate

After that Anti-Gay Bill was signed into law in Nigeria, I have been quite enamoured by the greater tolerance and reasonableness amongst many straight Nigerians who have elevated their core humanity above beliefs, traditions and altars of gruesome impugning accusation of others to embrace diversity, justice, fairness and human rights. They have displayed a very rare example of Good Samaritan humanity recognising that difference is no excuse to persecute, prosecute and execute.

Blog - Nigeria: Arrest Him! He's Homosexual!

On the matter of marriage, I am quite open-minded, much as I have never experienced one for myself, I have no qualms about whatever pairing of sexes decides to consecrate their union and have that recognised by civil law with all the civil rights that accrue to respecting that that relationship is in and of itself unique and separate from every other partnership.

We all know that there was no advocacy for same-sex marriage in Nigeria, a society where homosexuals are hardly expressive, talk less of seeking the kinds of freedoms of expression that we freely enjoy in Europe, in particular.

Same love celebrated

However, at the Grammys last month, the rapper Macklemore performed his amazingly unifying gay-rights activism song, Same Love and Queen Latifah conducted a mass marriage ceremony of 34 couples, many of whom were same-sex couples.

Macklemore & Ryan Lewis, Queen Latifah, Mary... by dm_51b0b9210644b

Lyrics - “Same Love” by Macklemore with Ryan Lewis, featuring Mary Lambert

Earlier this evening, I read that Bizzle, a ‘Christian’ rapper had given the lyrics of Same Love a typically contemporary homophobic Christian rehash with all the traditional railing, vituperation and stereotypes trotted out by those who subscribe to such beliefs.

He thinks he knows best

Slate, the magazine did an analysis of this corruption of Same Love in the broader context of attitudes to homosexuality from those of a particular religious persuasion with the title - Bizzle’s Response to “Same Love” Reflects The Narcissism of Today’s Homophobia.

I would excerpt parts of the write-up liberally in the following paragraphs, but I beseech you to read it in its entirety, without prejudice and with an open mind, then reflect.

Slate - The Narcissism of Today’s Homophobia

“Homophobic people seem unable to see past themselves, to transcend their most rudimentary emotions and arrive at a place that’s often reachable only if we apply a modicum of reason—often spurred by empathy—to challenge old mental habits.”

“The late philosopher and psychoanalyst Elisabeth Young-Bruehl once wrote that those with narcissistic prejudice ‘cannot tolerate the idea that there exist people not like them.’”

“Borrowing another concept from psychoanalysis, homophobes may be especially likely to project their own narcissism onto others as a way to deflect taking responsibility for their own issues.”

They know nothing of the other

“The fixation of some straight people on the sex acts of gay people is another incarnation of homophobic narcissism.”

“But gay advocates are not asking for any and all relationships to be validated as marriages, just same-sex ones that otherwise meet state criteria. And gay people don’t claim equal rights based on our desire to have gay sex; we claim equal rights based on the argument that there is no good reason to treat us any differently from straight people, that granting such rights harms no one and helps millions.”

Usurping God’s place

What I found most profound in that article was this indictment of the narcissist, “It also reflects the narcissist’s limited capacity for empathy—an exercise in stepping out of the self to imagine the feelings of others.”

That is why I have found myself writing this blog, I have been always intolerant of intolerance and mostly, I cannot countenance those who lack the capacity and proudly demonstrate their incapacity for empathy.

These are the many who have hardly walked an inch in the shoes of another and already presume they can dictate, prescribe, proscribe, censure and control the lives of others because they know best, believe better and are secured in their holier than thou tents to look down on the ‘dregs’ of humanity passing God’s judgement from on high.

Thought Picnic: My continual outrage at sagging trousers

Redefining the man

Now, I ask you to read this without prejudice and a modicum of seriousness despite the possibility of being carried away with the imaginations of your mind.

It was on a television series that a lady’s thoughts were put to sound when after a pleasurable session, the man whose sexual prowess she praised got up and walked into the bathroom revealing what she thought in comparison was a 50-year old butt on a man with the performance of someone half his age.

You only have to look at the Michelangelo’s David to see what the form is, the function, however, is open to interpretation or exploration. [Italian Renaissance Art]

Rounded at least

As I have written many times before, nothing looks as revolting as a lack of care to the backside usually due to unfashionable half-exposure revealing unsightly underwear on a backside that is neither comely nor interesting.

The buttocks (singular: buttock) are two rounded portions of the anatomy, located on the posterior of the pelvic region of apes and humans, and many other bipeds or quadrupeds, and comprise a layer of fat superimposed on the gluteus maximus and gluteus medius muscles. [Wikipedia]

The definition above suggests the backside is “two rounded portions of the anatomy”, I would lay emphasis on rounded which should not need definition.

Pants down dawdle

Obviously, no man can successfully answer the question, “How does my butt look in this?” There is no smart, stupid or indifferent answer that would not put you in the possible collision course with a flying brick.

That is not to say whether rounded or not, I want to see your trousers sagging and worse still, as a result of the low-hung apparel, the wearer presents in a group of many of that ilk, the gait of a badelynge of ducks. It is so ungamely that when they run, you almost expect to hear them quack, yet, I’ll rather watch wild ducks paddling in the village pond.

Why on earth these people cannot pull their trousers up escapes me because it is nothing to do with length or fitting, because in most cases they have rolled up the trouser leg.

This is not fashion

There is no positive validation in this sagging trouser culture because it apparently emerged from the US prison system where the incarcerated were not issued with belts for their ill-fitting clothes. This has since entered popular culture and with it, we have watched the many fashion suicides that traipse our streets in classless abandon.

BBC – In pictures: Sagging Pants

You can call me old-fashioned, in fact, I do not care for what I am called, and as much as everyone is free to appear as they like either by outraging public decency or respectfully in cognisant of presentation and demeanour in the public space, let us not be in any discord about who automatically earns respect and essential courtesy.

Subjectively, if not subliminally, first impressions are first impressions are first impressions, go as you mean to be acknowledged.

Thought Picnic: Of Charity and Sacrifice

Welcome to the temple

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

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

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

Accommodation and ceremony

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

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

Enduring charity

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

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

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

Recognised piety

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

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

Honour of sacrifice

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

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

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

Thought Picnic: Catching my breath

Reassessing the situation

A bit of quiet is the essential for rest and recovery, this being in blogging and other things that tend to occupy yet not distract.

However, one must not be given to recidivism and lethargy, there is much to do, much to achieve and much more to be thankful for.

The month past was to one from one engagement to another, the beginning of new relationships and a rediscovery of self in matter whether one once blazed a trail of lasting activity praised long after one had departed.

Challenges around

Between the continuous and the chequered, to a point there was the former and in the recent times there reigns the latter whilst demands are made for sainthood in issues where one for life and issues is just human. A journey difficult but truthfully told might be insufficient, it is all one can do.

Besides, we rehashed, refreshed and upgraded, at least that is what took up most of yesterday where one walk brought profit and the longer walk was just fruitless. That desire to be revisited elsewhere.

In these times one is inconvenienced by some radical changes one encounters, everything traditional, unusual, unique and useful seems to have disappeared from the shops, they are only to be found online and delivery becomes a difficulty if where you are is far from where you say you stay.

Life and changes

Immediacy is lost to expectancy trimmed by doubt as to whether what one desires is what would be delivered.

All sensuality has been lost to relative virtuality, you are spoilt for choice presented on screen but abstraction is game of dreamy reality as we elevate trust to the pantheon of escrow systems, this technological civilisation makes the experience more plastic than it is human.

The honest truth is, I hate this, but this is where the world is at and one has to adapt to this change as it begins to dominate all things.

Yet, in all, opportunity and means becomes the empowerment of desire and attainment for which one must first be thankful and never blind to those who cannot for every reason reasonable and unreasonable.

Thought Picnic: Know the joy of hope

Open to embrace

In the last 5 and more weeks, I learnt a lot that came from doing what I know to do and continuing in doing what I know to do best, being myself and no other.

In probably 4 days of interacting with my colleague, he could read me like a book, imitate my accent, take words out of my mouth, laugh at me and laugh at my jokes, we were developing a bonding trust that I hope would result in a lasting friendship.

The people I work with are my friends; if part of your life and some of what gives meaning to life and existence is at work, then the people you meet at work should be trusted to form productive relationships with, I do not do miserable at work, not if I could help it.

Thankful for the past

No clearer has this been than in the many congratulatory messages I received on LinkedIn, the moment I changed my status that I had found work, it was not just the congratulations, but the blessings of encouragement that accompanied them from wishing me the very best to saying it was well deserved – I can only be thankful.

I did continue doing what I knew best, I attended too many interviews to mention where what was asked of me was well within my capabilities but my answers to their questions were not entirely to their satisfaction.

They chose others or returned to the market seeking a more perfect fit, yet, I desired not to be perfect but to be human, to know and yet to be curious, to be smart and yet inquisitive, to be challenging and yet understanding, my pursuits are many yet I would not be chased down by things, I have received the blessing of knowing myself without knowing what the future holds but one of hope and expectation.

Battered but not weary

That hope and expectation led me through days, weeks and months as I pondered and thought, but returned to write in the strength of knowing that whatever it was that bothered me in health, in wealth, in good fortune, in choice or in opportunity shall pass, and pass it did.

I look for the opportunity to bless for words have been granted me to speak and to write, though some seek the lesser of me by using the worst of themselves to interact, neither of us come away blessed from the encounter as I am both saddened and restrained in what great damage the appeal of words so unedifying could have, if written or spoken – in that, I seek to be a more perfect man.

Driven by desire, I have erred and still I find time and place to repent for the better I can be, my darkness fades to let in more light.

In hope, I still stand

When I left home, I had nothing to my name, but the possibility of building a reputation, friend and dear friend open their hands and urged me on, what I feared became what I could dare and as some other heaped indignity upon indignity on me, I walked the path before me unsure but assured that change has come.

Three weeks ago, I wrote something that informs a result today, I stuck with what I knew and with it came something I never knew was held in store for months when I had little or nothing peering into nothingness.

Blog - Thought Picnic: Moderating my decision tree

Then at the limit of what I thought I could endure, I wrote again, something difficult to express, yet a reality I could not suppress.

Blog - Thought Picnic: Opportunity, Lack and Situation - Help!

The joy of living

What I thought I would have to wait for because I had literally completely run out, yet I never panicked about, but left it to take care of itself, today brought surprise, amazement and laughter. That is the joy of living.

Know the joy of hope, be ready to bless, keep expectation high, desire good in all things and watch the unexpected work in your favour by people, things, times and circumstances all without your prompting that it seems miraculous. Before you pooh-pooh it, I have faith, tomorrow is another day.

Thank you.

Thought Picnic: Murdering the wheel

A journey to pain

For we found a road so rough that we thought we would reinvent the wheel to make the ride smoother than it had ever been.

So is the wisdom of they with whom we have to deal and yet the pain that results from our shaken bones, neither the ride nor the journey brings any comfort than a terror for a future we must prevent at all costs.

The horse in gallop was given too great a wallop, it died in stride the rider fallen, broke his neck, but lived to tell a tale never looking like he once looked or anyone looks if they were well.

A journey to gain

A lament, a fidget, a curse, yea, bless the man who sees a rope and hangs himself instead, why bring woe to things so simple because ye knowest not what to do when a rope is given thee?

May the sun set on the day when what is easy is made difficult by the atrocious, the wise in their own ways, but hardly in the ways in the really wise – what a battle to fight, a victory to extract, may peace come to his soul, the writer of these words and his anger be quelled by reason appealing to those who can see reason and will be persuaded by the reasonable.

It hurts, it pains, it bleeds, the wheel is strong, the work must be on the road. Be gone, ye workers of iniquitous scripts, be gone. Let us rescue the wheel from vandals of true progress who complicate things to assure their indispensability and their selfish places.