Thought Picnic: Between flawed diamonds and flawless pebbles

The battle for the perfect

“Leave your mind alone; your intuition knows what it wants to write, so get out of the way.” Ray Bradbury.

Intuition as Google defines it “is the ability to understand something immediately, without the need for conscious reasoning.”

It goes without saying that in the realm of blogging, conscious reasoning is the enemy of the instinct to just write and allow the flow of whatever urge to write there is. There are times when I just begin to type at my keyboard or write in my notepad things that are just there to write.

Before I get enough of that spring of words into unstoppable traction, my mind interjects and interrupts, fearful of what arrangement or words might emanate and stemming the flow by channelling what was in freeform into the processing of thoughts and views, becoming the gamekeeper of expression.

The fearful interloper

Yes, my mind almost always gets in the way and at that time, it is almost impossible to politely ask it to move out of the way and allow free rein to what is innately there to express.

Intuition in writing can be your internal madness, a madness with a veneer of genius or even stupidity, you can never really know. If you can find a place to just scream, it is surprising what release it can be, jettisoning all inhibitions and letting ripping without abandon.

It is not thoughtlessness, per se, practice over time does create an inclination to do things literally subconsciously or even unconsciously. Taking away the impediments of the conscious might well be the panacea to the dreaded plague of Writer’s Block where we burden ourselves beyond our expression with what reception and assessment would be.

When Voltaire in his moral poem La Bégueule (French) wrote,

Dans ses écrits, un sage Italien,
Dit que le mieux est l'ennemi du bien.

(In his writings, a wise Italian
says that the best is the enemy of good.)

I do not believe what he intended was to make do with the imperfect, but that we should allow what naturally comes to be itself without adjustment or embellishment. Sometimes, the inspired or the natural is ruined by intervention.

"Better a diamond with a flaw than a pebble without." Confucius

Thinking of Feyike - My sister, my daughter

My sister, my daughter

When I bought my apartment in November 2001, my youngest sister was the sole beneficiary, her name appeared on all the forms even though she was never aware of that fact.

She was for me not only my youngest sister but as there was a 17-year gap between us, there are ways in which I considered her my daughter too. Yet, I was like an absent father to a daughter I knew I had but never bonded with.

When she was born, she arrived home on the day I was leaving for school, I did not attend her naming ceremony and for that my father and I got into a physical where he head-butted me out of rage because I did not rise to expected familial responsibilities.

Away and unaware

I had left home at 10 for boarding school and the time I spent at home after that was for holidays apart from the 16^th year when I was a student at the Lagos State Polytechnic before I moved to Yaba College of Technology in late 1982.

In many ways, I was unaware of what was going on at home, siblings fell seriously ill, some were admitted to hospital, another had an operation, I was oblivious of everything and only heard after the event whenever either of my parents deployed an accusatory put down to gain some leverage, I was a problem teenager who got them annoyed about most of what I did.

In hurt and blame

After I left Nigeria, in snippets of conversation I would hear of my sister’s condition, her undulating health status and the complaint that she was not giving enough consideration to her health. That was confirmed when I was able to obtain a full diagnosis from the doctors after her health deteriorated rapidly in mid-2015.

I had begun to mourn my sister and my daughter from that point, not out of resignation but in understanding the gravity of the diagnosis and the prognosis. I still hold the view that in a way my mother bears some responsibility for the way things turned out. We have not spoken and we probably would never speak because of this.

Respecting her choices

From the moment I was acquainted with the situation, I did communicate with my sister through other means apart from speech. It appeared some decisions were being made on her behalf that she was not happy to follow, she did not want a kidney transplant even though that would have given her respite and there was a time she suggested moving abroad to continue her education, giving her the opportunity to have better medical treatment.

At a time when she appeared despondent, I shared my own story about how I lost everything after cancer and invariably that included what she would have been a beneficiary of. I respected her being adamant about the choices she wanted for herself. Then when I was told that she was beginning to think of dying, I resigned myself to honouring that decision and so a few weeks after that she died.

For a memorial beyond the memories

My brother and third sister made the burial arrangements and she was committed to earth that same day somewhere far from home and unmarked. Tradition dictates difficult accommodations for grief, for she was survived by her parents and many older siblings.

A few days ago, I asked if a tombstone was being put over her grave, the response I received broke my heart, and at the point, I knew I had not even begun to grieve the passing of my sister. I do not think I understand or appreciate the gravity of the loss and this is from a distance in all ramifications compared to people saw her everyday, as her health declined and life slowly ebbed out of her tormented body.

I took the day off work and returned the next day pre-occupying myself back into work to weather the loss without pausing to emote and reflect. I busied myself to take my thoughts off it and have not given myself the time to consider until I started writing this blog.

I think of my mortality too, times when I wonder if I would be discovered before the maggots have had their wicked feast on my remains. Yet, even if there is nothing after death that I could either do or feel, I would like something to exist as a token of remembrance that I passed through this world noticed for more than a day. I would like that for my sister too because we never said goodbye and after she had gone, I did die a little.

Erratum:

My first sister and her church members made the burial arrangements, I did read that my third sister bathed her body and they all were pall-bearers at the end. As the blog read, I only so much about what is going on in my family.

Why Do I Blog Again?

The ‘Why do I blog?’ Question

Every once in a while, I find myself writing one of those “Why do I blog?” pieces. Sometimes, there is no particular answer to that question, when I consider the times I have written the silliest stuff and found that someone else can relate to the silliness.

It simply means no life or life story is insignificant, we all have stories to tell and we restrain ourselves from telling those stories because we over-analyse the interest, the import, the humour, the readability or our ability. The simplest stories are sometimes the most impactful to the reader.

Then again, in my 14^th year of blogging, I can assure you that blogging is not easy, it is difficult, it can be inconsistent especially if you set goals for blogging and most of the time, there is no inspiration or drive to write anything, for days, for weeks, though rarely ever months.

The way you feel

I have written many times before that blogs are the way you see things, how you are affected and possibly what your opinions are. By the time you’ve written a sentence for each of those points, you already have a blog. The framework or skeleton of a blog is a blog, you don’t have to stress yourself about it.

I did not start blogging to gain popularity, notoriety or recognition, I just blogged because I have an active mind, lots of thoughts, many thoughts crazier than you can ever imagine and out of my love for expression. That I have garnered any readership of my blog is just fortunate and I am grateful for that.

It’s about moments

I am not a professional blogger and my activity on other social media platforms as Twitter, Facebook and Instagram do not substitute for the rich expression in blogging. Blogs are more manageable. I would go as far as to say that you may rarely get the inspiration to blog, do not depend on it as the impetus to write. Blogging grows out of moments and if you live the moment and cherish the moments, you will always have something to write about, your perspective of things.

Life is full of moments and that is what is unique to every individual, each moment is a story mostly untold. In some cases, all I have done is to begin to write or type, the thoughts become the words that become the blog. I wrote this in the waiting room of a clinic this morning.

The masterpiece of self-expression

The length of a blog is immaterial, some blogs are long and others short, there is an art to expression and the canvas we are offered to express ourselves is broad and free, if we dare to wield the brushstrokes daubing the canvas with colour, we might end up with a masterpiece – live dangerously.

Why do I blog? I blog because my life is full of moments, some forgettable, many memorable and in all, the moments are journaled into what has become a 14-year catalogue of what is essentially an ordinary life.

Everyone is a blogger, you have moments, those moments are stories, stories that need telling. Start telling your own story in your own words. Start blogging.

Why do I blog? Over the years.

Blog - Tardy as it goes (January 2004) Written after a month of blogging.

Blog - Blogging for my own pleasure (July 2006)

Blog - Still learning to write blogs (January 2010)

Blog - My Own Blog Writing Rules (May 2011)

Blog - Thought Picnic: Losing the might to fight (write) (March 2012)

Blog - Blogging: Facing the shame of my bad writing (September 2013)

Blog - Blogging: Why You Should Blog (October 2013)

Blog - Thought Picnic: Finding purpose in the therapy of my blogs (November 2013)

Blog - The Gift (January 2014)

Blog - Thought Picnic: On why we should all blog (September 2014)

Blog - Thought Picnic: And more graffiti with punctuation (September 2014)

Blog - Thought Picnic: I write to please myself (July 2015)

Blog - Why do they read this blog? (November 2015)

The waiting room

What is there to hate?
For all the time we had to wait,
It’s not like we were late,
For what wasn’t really a date,
A walk-in centre at any rate,
Yet over four hours at the gate,
Flustered and ready to berate,
One man’s anger I had to deflate,
For he was beginning to grate,
Without a cue or a queue to abate,
And though I was not feeling great,
We all chose to relate,
Then I was three down from eight,
Before I knew my fate.

Thought Picnic: Taking the animal out of the workplace

The jungle at work

In a working career that is in its 30^th year, I have only twice encountered a situation where the one bestowed the privilege of leadership has been no less a member of the fraternity of the silverback gorilla in the jungle.

It is as if every concept of leading men was taken out of the management guide of Tarzan in his element. They having mastered the jargon and act of obfuscation where the multitude of words suggests the vacuity of purpose, everyone enduring the onslaught of bullshit laid out by the trowel.

Courtesy always matters

In some instances, I have considered myself probably too old-fashioned for certain environments from the surfeit of expletives in the speech to the lack of basic manners in address and conversation, the act of communication might well be served with grunts, growls, barks and quacks.

I have seen better in the animal kingdom in terms of social development and grooming, like who sits beside you on the train or on an aeroplane, you can’t choose the class, breeding or comportment of most of the colleagues you would end up working with.

In the main, even the difficult ones for whatever reason I always found accommodation for and cultivated the means of creating mutual respect which has developed into a friendship. I like to think I am quite easy to get along with. Courtesy matters to me and it is completely in my manner, nature and rearing to be courteous.

Of rotten disrespect

What I cannot stand and abide is indifference and disrespect, especially from those I need to work with daily. Situations where requirements, goals and deliverables that are primarily my function to provide filtering down to me via the grapevine rather than communication and where such attitudes when challenged do not elicit a positive response. A case of persons impervious adaptation within a diverse environment or maybe they cannot handle diversity at all.

Such was the situation that one has had to face in those two situations, animus and uncouth behaviour caught within the metaphor of a rocking horse, much activity, many meetings, idiotic jargon and unnecessary stress borne of being belittled and patronised as if your sojourn in that setting is the pinnacle of your career achievements.

We are first human

The workplace is where people come to work, but primarily the people are human beings, from all backgrounds too diverse to list but amenable to the vagaries of good business conduct. The have feelings, families, lives and much more. When you take away the fundamentals of humanity in your dealings with your colleagues at work, you create tension leading to the untenable.

The absence of the human touch regardless of your inadequacies, prejudices and even ineptitude, leaves one with no other option than to walk and there comes a time when a man has too much self-respect to be treated with disrespect.

Seeing the unnecessary and Nigerian dysfunction through a Kaduna Polytechnic vacancy

Long ago in memory

This morning, a tweet flashed through my timeline that attracted my interest, nostalgic interest at that. The Kaduna Polytechnic had published a vacancy for the post of rector. The polytechnic currently has an acting rector and in the recent times, there has been some industrial action by the faculty which apparently led to ousting of a previous rector. [The Nigerian Voice]

The nostalgic part of my interest stems from the fact that we first settled in Kaduna after my parents returned from their studies in the UK. Both were lecturers at the polytechnic in 1971, before my father moved to Jos in early 1972.

In the mid-1970s, we returned in Kaduna and lived in Tudun Wada, an uncle of mine towards the end of that decade graduated the best student of his class in Quantity Surveying, I used to walk by the front of the polytechnic to the Panteka ironmongery, scrap and arts market and further on to the main Kaduna market where my mother ran a side business market stall.

A vision without sight and a mission without path

However, going back to the vacancy notice, reading through it, I began to see issues with the way it was crafted, the kinds of information required and I will provide an analysis of the vacancy as a prism into how unnecessary processes make Nigeria a difficult working environment, why easy of doing business is fraught with red tape, bureaucracy, rent-seekers and ineptitude.

The Vision and Mission Statement aspires to a practice that does not exist, nor does it show any indication that anyone desires it. Reading the text of the vacancy, it states: “To be recognized (US English spelling) as a unique Polytechnic of international repute, setting (a) high standard in education, training and innovation.”

The mission in the vacancy goes on to state: “To be an innovative institution of repute, empowering people to compete successfully in the global arena of work by providing relevant research centered, technology driven and skill-oriented education with (an) entrepreneurial outlook.”

The needed and the unnecessary

The responsibilities related to the post of the rector suggest the person will be the chief academic, administrative and accounting officer of the polytechnic. The requirements for the post look nice enough requiring a minimum academic qualification, experience, leadership, published papers, information technology proficiency and the capacity to attract funding and grants.

The evidence of medical fitness is probably a requirement, though you wonder if it is necessary, the judgement elements of morally sound, of impeccable probity and integrity are in general subjective, though useful for anyone who would aspire to such a role. Being free from financial embarrassment is loaded and probably intrusive.

That the candidate should not be more than 60 years old at the point where they assume the role is in my view unnecessary. Our political leadership tends towards the septuagenarian. Someone in their 60s probably brings at least 30 years of experience to a role that would be more than useful to advance that institution. The age-limited qualification for academic roles is at best an anachronism if the said person meets all the essential requirements that pertain to performing the role.

This is reflecting the stone age

The methods of application, however, must come in for sanction and excoriation. Why an institution that vaunts its claims to innovation, technology driven and skill-oriented education requires an application to be submitted in 15 copies in 2017, beggars belief. It makes you wonder if they are promoting an ascetic existence harking back to prehistoric times. Whatever happened to electronic communication?

The post of rector should be one filled by qualification and merit, such that several elements of information asked for in the application are both unnecessary and superfluous. State of origin and local government area, makes no sense, either in Nigeria or if a foreigner decides to apply for the job. One would think the institution would be going for the best person for the job.

Patently unnecessary

Whilst knowing the marital status of the applicant can be useful, would there be an issue if the person never married? It is very likely if the person were married the age requirement might put the person in a grandparent bracket that the need for the number of children and their dates of birth makes no sense.

Obviously, if the institution does have to make provision for relocation of families of the successful applicant, that can come up at interview stage and should primarily be with the human resources department.

There is no reason apart from the subjective to require that information for an academic role. If they are asking for an email address, then this whole application should be accessible online and posted online, that is innovation.

Surely, you can do better than this

The other parts requiring supporting documents for academic achievement and publications could be done at this stage or they should better apply for transcripts from the academic institutions, it is 2017. Publications can be referenced online, especially if they are in reputable journals. There is probably not one need for a piece of paper submitted for this vacancy beyond showing an identity document.

Applications submitted in sealed envelopes, come on, Kaduna Polytechnic, you can move swiftly into the 21^st Century. In fact, I believe there are probably people who because of the lack of technical nous in the publication of this vacancy that would give it a miss except if they want to take on the challenge the status quo, dragging the polytechnic out of archaic times into the modern age.

For one of the premier institutions of higher learning in Nigeria, the mode and method of the publication of this vacancy is a great let-down to its history, to Nigeria and many of us who have nostalgic affinities to Kaduna Polytechnic. This is a shame and shambles, fix this travesty.

Opinion: We are not Khalid Masood

The surfeit of names

His name was Khalid Masood at the time of his death, aged 52 and meeting his end having mowed down innocent people on Westminster Bridge and then running into the grounds of the Palace of Westminster where he stabbed an unarmed police officer to death before he was shot by an armed policeman and there he died, whilst receiving first aid from someone more human than he had ever been.

Khalid was born someone else, he was born Adrian Elms to a mother who was 17 at the time, when he was 4 years old she married Philip Ajao who became Khalid’s stepfather and the Adrian Elms became Adrian Russell Ajao. [Telegraph]

None of this would have been significant apart from the fact that a religious extremist had taken on a form of religion that in his mind gave him licence to commit senseless murder on the streets of London towards a goal that leaves one begging about the suicidal exploits of these mentally deranged people who think they get nearer to some deity by unmitigated evil, nothing could be further from the truth, if they and their handlers are visited by the truth.

The complex of identity

Janet Ajao, Khalid Masood’s mother lives a quiet and idyllic life in a Welsh-speaking village of Trelech, making bespoke cushions and until this terrorist attack perpetrated by her son upset the balance of her life with Philip Ajao, her husband being ill in hospital. They have been married since 1966 and have two boys who seem to be doing well. [Telegraph]

It was the Ajao surname that immersed me into this narrative because it is of Yoruba origin from South-West Nigeria and I am of Nigerian heritage.

Within the complex of identity and community, it is very easy as a minority to find issues to relate to and identify with. As a black man, I would celebrate the successes of other black people just because they are like me, and there is no link between us apart from that. It is a subconscious response schooled into our sense of identity and being that we should be ambassadorial and representative, we carry a mantle for the identity that we have.

Of subliminal identification

Breaking it down, you begin to find affinities with race, with nationality, with tribe, with clan and any element of diversity that differentiates you from the majority in the quest to retain some form of identity even when you find that you need to integrate with other cultures, communities and societies to be of relevance.

Therein lies the conundrum, we live in societies predicated on individuality and separateness, responsibility is rarely imputed on broader communities of the majority, but once the majority finds a collective by which you can be identified, it is easier for the majority to address the collective and individual and vice versa.

Stereotypes are the Shibboleths that we inadvertently lend ourselves to, that in celebrating the good amongst us, they are seen is individual but the criminals amongst us give licence to label all of us the same.

Of individual responsibility

Khalid Masood, Adrian Elms and Adrian Russell Ajao were one and the same person, in various stages of his life that was completely and essentially British. That he had a Nigeria stepfather did not make him Nigerian by any stretch of the imagination, he was not radicalised by a Nigerian construct, he charted his own path and must be held responsible for his own crimes.

Khalid Masood was a home-grown British-born terrorist, radicalised by anything from disaffection to persuasion within a frame of reference that is entirely British. His stint as an English teacher in Saudi Arabia was a projection of his Britishness, maybe not of British values, but that is debatable.

The association of his terrorist criminality with Philip Ajao is at best tenuous and even though there is some affinity with Philip as possibly of Nigerian heritage, he has spent a good deal of his lifetime in the United Kingdom, so it begs the question why we allow the mischief of depicting Khalid Masood as having anything to do with Nigeria.

On the crisis of identity

It is very likely that Khalid Masood’s conversion to Islam was related to a crisis of identity in a society that can be institutionally racist. Some disaffection about who and what he represents in the British society might have given impetus to his decision to murder people in broad daylight, that it was done in the name of religion is completely beside the point, a criminal is a criminal and a terrorist is just that, a terrorist.

However, within the forming of our core identity which is heightened in a different cultural setting and host society, as we celebrate successes we find ourselves conflicted and afflicted by the failings of some amongst us, we coalesce in trying to understand what has gone wrong in our communities rather than with the individual, because in our home cultures, we are brought up within a village construct of family, extended relations and society at large. To be individual is to go rogue.

We are not Khalid Masood

Yet, we need that essential individuality linked with purpose to thrive in societies outside our native ones, in that, we must conserve identity more to the individual and resist the temptation to identify easily with groups such that when the majority is looking for someone to blame, we get lumped together, blameless as we are.

Our identity is significant and must be constantly refreshed with wholesome community activity, but we must cultivate how we identify before we are consumed in a guilt complex brought on by no other association that the remotest tenuous links.

No, we are not Khalid Masood, he alone must answer for his crimes, not the black community, not the Muslim community, not Nigerians, not the Yoruba, not his stepfather, not his mother, not his half-brothers, not his wife, nor his children, except where they as named individuals have been co-conspirators or accomplices to his crimes.