Guinea: African leaders are indeed mortal

Lead to the death

The death of Lansana Conté [1] the Dictator of Guinea in West Africa on the 22^nd of December 2008 brings to close another chapter in the history of leadership in Africa where eternal incumbency thrives, as a country rich in resources fails to realise any of its potential and after decades of leadership the people remain poor, destitute, deprived and mendicant.

It is assumed President Conté died at 74 because there are no records of birth that could determine when he was born except the probable year of 1934 and we now know that know that he died after a long illness, a diabetic and a chain smoker [2].

What this proves for all concerned is that African leaders can be vulnerable and succumb to disease if they are vulnerable by reason of the power they wield beyond which we learn in stark light that they can be mortal – unfortunately, the President of Zambia succumbed earlier this year, he being of the new breed of democratically minded and honest brokers of good governance in Africa.

Aren’t there capable others?

General Conté came to power in April 1984 and he took over in a bloodless coup just soon after the President Ahmed Sékou Touré [3] died in office. In short, Guinea [4] after 50 years of independence with an estimated population of 10 million has only be able to produce two credible leaders who have presided over a country that ranks as one of the least developed countries in the world.

The last paragraph was not written in the right Contéxt because there surely would have been people with talents, ideas, ability, vision and purpose to lead Guinea and make it realise some of its potential.

However, in Africa, we have the leadership of potentates who dabble with a pseudo-democratic function that is rigged to entrenched their positions rather than offer the people real choices to choose good leaders who can address long-term development issues rather than short-term needs through populism and repression.

The idea that those in power have that they and they only can offer leadership is megalomania at its extreme, it is interesting to see that President Conté ruled for 24 years and ably ran through 8 Prime Ministers; one could be forgiven for thinking the government in Guinea was a monarchy.

Long rule and nothing to show for it

The real failure of leadership is exemplified in the fact that 2 leaders after 50 years of ruling Guinea have probably not progressed the country any further than its feudal origins.

This should be contrasted with the kind of democracy in the United States that limits the terms of their presidents to a maximum of 8 years after which they move on and do other things because the people and the democracy believes that there can be others to do the job, whether the president ends up doing a better job is a matter of conjecture or history.

African leaders seem to be unable to move on; I would Conténd that if their fear is about securing their legacy, then if what they had put in place had the enduring quality of benefiting the people, there should be no reason for successors to dismantle things that work, rather they should be persuaded to retain and improve on that concept.

But no, they should wield power, be king or kingmakers, meddle with every activity and seek to thumbprint everything so as to have their egos massaged to the point of severe abrasion.

No succession planning

The other failure of leadership is poor mentoring, organisations have means and ways of succession planning that allows for a few subordinates or equals to vie for leadership when the leader departs, African leaders seem to seriously politicise their office that it is almost impossible to find a successor without the system imploding.

What then happens is that the leader is kept on as a figurehead of derision and despotic provenance as the underlings fight amongst themselves to gain ascendancy to the distraction of the job of real governance.

It would appear leaders have no concept of planned retirement until they are permanently retire by the reason of death.

To that end, President Conté is a colossal failure and the apotheosis of what is wrong with leadership in Africa because hardly before the country has had the time to rejoice at his demise rather than mourn, the pseudo-civilian succession seems to have been overthrown by the military [5]. Even I expected that to happen, only not so soon.

A military coup in 2008 is as primitive as it can become, it is however the legacy of a failed tenure, an atrocious reign and utterly, utterly appalling government.

Sick leaders should be in hospital not in office

To add insult to injury, the temporary successor, Aboubacar Somparé, the President of the National Assembly said, “Conté hid his physical suffering for years in order to give happiness to Guinea [6].”

How much longer should we Africans have to suffer the indignity of being lead by incapacitated comatose vegetables clinging on to life, propped up by their courts of sycophants, who fear that they would lose their influence if the Dear Leader fails to keep pace with the life support machine?

Presently, we have a similar case in Nigeria where no one knows if President Yar'Adua is living flesh and blood or a remotely activated mummy [7] – the issue of the health of our leaders has to be of public record, especially in a democracy and when they do realise that they cannot for the fact that their illness is almost debilitating, it is only right to resign and allow another to assume the mantle of leadership.

History, would however repeat itself, again and again in Africa as we await the day that the requiem mass for the Grand Despot of Africa [8] to be said with the chorus of a million Amens.

It is nice to know that the leaders of Africa are mortal, if they will depart in dignity they shall truly depart never to return again eventually with all the finality that can be finally expected.

Sources

[1] Lansana Conté - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

[2] BBC NEWS | Africa | Guinea's hardline president dies

[3] Ahmed Sékou Touré - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

[4] Guinea - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

[5] BBC NEWS | Africa | Military 'seizes power' in Guinea

[6] Guinea's dictator, Lansana Conté, dies - International Herald Tribune

[7] The Punch: Anxiety heightens over Yar’Adua’s health

[8] Robert Mugabe - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

The day I was born

Springing a prayer for offspring

Chatting to my dad yesterday as he congratulated me on my birthday with incessant prayers about my getting married and having children in his lifetime, I was on the verge of getting emotionally blackmailed.

Indeed, one is press-ganged into the henotic and obligatory amen in response to every stanza of required, desired and unwanted prayer, I would suppose the ones answered would be the ones in which we are in agreement – it would appear the exception clause I invoked sometime ago has lost its potency.

Ask daddy first

As the conservation went on, I asked, since I had only heard most of the information second-hand, what really happened on the day I was born, some 43 years ago, even though I also spoke with my mum, I was not sure asking mother would elicit any appreciable response apart from the memory of the agony of labour; only in exceptional cases should such an enquiry be made of the mother.

What transpired was an amazing review of differences and changes between then and now, my father’s memory was quite keen and I listened with rapt attention.

What really happened

Quite early on the 21^st of December 1965, my mother felt some discomfort such that she arrived in hospital with my dad around 2:00 AM, nothing was expected because I wasn’t really expected; but my mother was kept in for observation whilst father returned home.

When he woke later that morning around 7:00 AM, there was a telegram under at the door announcing that he was the proud father of a baby son born at 3:20 AM; he danced for joy and went immediately to the hospital. (Telephones were not in most homes then, a telegram was the fastest way to get messages around in those days.

By the time he arrived at the hospital they were already expecting him, his consent was required to have me transferred to a teaching hospital where I could receive more care as I was born at least 10 weeks early.

He said I looked so small, not quite bigger than a hamster, when a name was desired he suggested Young Akintayo for the meantime until when a name arrived from home in Nigeria. (In the Yoruba culture, the child is not named until the 8^th day and the parents usually defer to the elderly generation of relations for given names.)

Waiting around the incubator

When I was transferred he enquired about what should happen to his wife and he was told she could return home with him – hardly anyone knew she was pregnant, talk less of having a baby that was now some 30 miles away in an incubator.

She was back at work within a couple of days, though the Christmas holiday allowed for them to share my first Christmas with them as visitors but not being able to come too close.

I eventually had a room to myself with a nurse taking care of me morning, noon and night – to which a cheeky friend alluded the Genesis of my liking to be waited upon, apparently, it had always been part of my survival, if not upbringing – don’t know where people get all these silly ideas from.

Anyway, I was in an incubator for 2 long months before I could go home by which time I was much fully developed. He also noted that I was one of the very few boys born into the Nigerian community in the West Midlands then.

Good job! England

My father surmised that he was both grateful and impressed with the attention and care lavished on my fragile being to keep me through the early critical hours to the point when I was ready to leave for home.

That little hamster in a time when the father was not necessarily in the maternity ward holding hands, when telegrams were the quickest messaging system, when the mother was back to work almost immediately and you could trust the hospital to do all to preserve life is now 43 with not one iota of littleness about him.

What a story, the story about the day I was born.

Why I Blog About Africa

I was tagged by Loomnie to write about Why I Blog About Africa

It is almost impossible to be original about this because most of us who get tagged would simply answer that we are African and we almost always express a form of anger, a disappearing sense of pride and have a hope for Africa that we never think can be realised in our lifetimes - try, can the United States ever have a black president just about a year ago.

Having clarified the reason why I cannot be original, part of what I write is Nigerian-centric and in other cases applies to Africa as a whole, but here goes.

Because I am African

In fact, it is because I have the best of all worlds, I am English by birth and Nigerian by descent – I am able to thrive in the West because my formative years were in Africa, it means like I have written many times before, my blackness was always part of me and hence I do not have to sweat about my identity, my purpose and the right to be anywhere I choose to be.

Without Africa, I would be less of who I am, just as without the West I would not be completely who I am, I am a product of both cultures and as a result I comment and blog on how ideas, events and people affect me in those places and further afield.

Because I am angry

We think that it is the exclusive preserve of the West to be pragmatic, objective, compassionate, honest and willing to implement change. Take an upright African into the bear pit of politics and commerce and he gets names for wanting to do the right thing, this must change.

We have leaders we have not genuinely elected as the express wish of the people who lord it over their countries like fiefdoms, who let their countries degenerate into anarchy, chaos and penury without any consideration about it but for staying in power – the winner takes all model of democracy needs to be revisited – it should not be a do-or-die affair.

We have taken religion to a new level, everyone is seemingly in a religious house but very few have the innate virtues of integrity, trustworthiness, honesty and candour, we are superstitious to the extreme and really believe in nothing but self-preservation to exclusion of every other – Gosh! I am cynical.

Because I am really angry

Yes, I am angry that I am proud of being African as an identity for myself but ashamed to be an African for the things that are done to my people by eternal incumbents, tyrants, despots, dictators, leaders, elders, politics, religion and tribal associations.

Rather than address those issues head on, we find excuses for everything rather than solutions to the problems and situations – for one; colonialism has long left Africa, we have been in charge for too long to be hoodwinked by that anymore.

Oh yes! I am angry, but this is not the day to do too much of that, I would still blog about Africa, I earnestly search for good news that genuinely improves the lot of Africans – I really do.

That is the sum of Why I Blog about Africa.

If I may, I crave the indulgence of tagging Chxta, Ijebuman and Imnakoya.

Four before three, I am 43 today!

Thanks and gratitude

First of all, I give thanks for this day, a day that commemorates the day I came into this world, little in the hand and struggling to survive. I thank God for His grace, His love and His bountiful blessings.

I am by the grace of the most benevolent and merciful God, the most potentate who rules over heaven and earth wherein I find love, joy, peace good health, hope, faith and expectation, 43 years old today.

I have been blessed beyond measure and been stingily grateful – I cannot give enough thanks but I am thankful that another landmark has come, another year has passed, and a day has arrived for some celebration but I solemnly remember that one of the five people I know, with whom I share this day passed to the great beyond a few months ago.

The identity of birthdays

I have always wondered why I get so sentimental about my birthday and I am not as particular about other big celebrations as Easter, Christmas or the New Year – they are all important and all give cause for thanks and celebration but they are general in context.

My birthday is part of my identity; it is what represents me in all those forms where they ask of my age, when I pick up the phone for some inquiry about my details, beyond the name, account number and address, you will not get far without your date of birth.

It is like everyone wants to know when you joined the club of the world and first drew breath on earth, we live in a birth-ist society that passes albeit benign judgements on when you arrived – it determines what vaccines you get, when you enter school, when you can drink alcohol, when you can vote or if certain tests should be conducted because you have reached a certain threshold.

Accepting where we are

Hence, we should not be afraid for the age we have reached but be satisfied and content that the numbers are increasing and we are adapting better to living in this world, being grateful is not too much to ask for because the elixir of youth is really in accepting where you are, you cannot change your age, it constantly increases every beating nanosecond.

Obsession with looks is vanity; eventually there would be nothing else to pull back without looking like the Bride of Wildenstein [1] or getting ossified whilst externally looking good in Death Becomes Her [2].

If I look 25 at 43, I am either immature or looking good for my age, if someone says I look 65 at 43, I say to them, just hope you look this good at 65 – I feel good about me, warts and all.

Now, at 43, I am happy, I intend to be happier and I expect it to be one of the happiest years in my life.

Join me with a glass of the best bubbly – It’s my birthday.

Courtesy of alcoholstuff

Sources

[1] Is this the scariest picture EVER of the Bride of Wildenstein? | Mail Online

[2] Death Becomes Her - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia