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This will be the absolute last time I will be drawn to the travails of the Nigerian polity. Oh well, that is not exactly true: I am talking as a father to a wayward daughter whose exertions on life are deplorable. He would swear he was done and would come back for the GA-zillionth time to render one more treatise on the virtue of ethics and morality. (I may have to revisit this issue sooner...

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The fact is, COVID-19 apparently has come to stay, and frankly, there may be no such thing as post-COVID-19 except to the extent that we are prepared to create new reality moving on, notwithstanding. The latest events from South Korea leaves indelible lessons on how post-COVID-19 may likely be created. South Korea is one of the leading lights in the fight against COVID-19 and among the first countries to reopen after swift repression of the...

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“Dear John, You Have Left Me With No Choice” Ten thousand men, and it could be more were determined to liberate France on D-Day. Those soldiers that survived the carnage could have said a couple of Our Fathers and maybe, just maybe, another couple of Hail Marys…that is, if they had any love for the Mother of God. The Germans themselves were lying in decapitating waste in their vast beach dug-out, in the thousands, as...

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Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa: Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault. Catholics! Catholics…they never cease to amaze me. You should know, I am a dyed-in-the-wool Catholic and wouldn’t trade this faith for another. Glad we have that out of the way. Somewhere at the beginning of Mass, those lines appear in a faith recital to absolve everyone in attendance of sins they might have committed. As a result,...

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Writers aren’t born…they are self-made. Creative writers are therefore nurtured and cultured by self. Most writers I know carry a portable/digital recorder back in the days of yore. Today, it is in their hands. They carry it around all day, drive and text on it, and text some more even as the Professor is standing before them, wafting poetic. They sleep with this modern day contraption, and only record those moments with pure disdain for...

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So, the Finance Minister rallied a crowd of reporters and declared we had been fleeced by fire…that seven hundred billion Naira went up in smoke because a dingy little office complex where an accountant practiced his iniquities and decadent morality was scorched. How could we contain ourselves and sleep till dawn, while our golden flute in damp and dew lay forsaken and forlorn? Classic? Well it is. Vintage? Of course, it is. The words belong...

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When it impacts your culture and who you are…it matters A Rose by any other name… Maybe this Shakespearean adage couldn’t alter a Rose and her scheme of hodgepodge attributes of great smelling whiffs to stand as something else: A Rose would remain a Rose, if one called it by any other name. Enter Jerry Rawlings of Ghana talking about nomenclature, the Christening of persons born in East, West, South and Central Africa, and of...

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Exactly one week ago I had the shakes…that cold feeling that the world could be coming to an end with a virus that seemed to know where you live. I went to sleep that night believing that man had bitten off more than he could chew. The things scientists try to generate and regenerate in obscure lab locations in the name of a crazy discipline could be escaping these crucibles and dishes to infect a...

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Most boys grow up believing they are going to end up in the arms of a fair lady. Fair lady, because she is graceful and well-mannered is all the boys are looking for, even as most would borrow robes and dress up the one woman your mother had warned you against and had advised you not to marry. What does mama know? After all, her time has passed, and the new dispensation has a different...

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Art is barren today, long with dawdling densities tomorrow, and when the future arrives, the twisty intricacies are nothing new; they are century-old patterns recalled. Julie Adaka…I mean Adaku, has a sculpted looking face; one where, you, the art connoisseur, the interpreter of convoluted aesthetics, couldn’t tell if the countenance about her airbrushed aspects were borne out of years of domestic brawls with whomever she once lived with. You, the quintessential Hound Dog, call them...