AT 52, AM I STILL A FOOL? I was opportuned to hail from a part of the world where culture is held in great esteem. One of these cultures is the respect for elders and for those that has or nearing the golden age of 50. Now, I am 52 almost 53, I need not to be told that there is need for evaluation, performance appraisal of the past years and the prospects for the remaining years ahead. The hypothetical question that is a worthy tool for this evaluation and appraisal is “at 52, am I still a fool” Reminiscing on the events that shaped my past, can people just for the sake of my age vouch for my wisdom. If they conclude that I am indeed wise, are they economical with the truth. I can vividly recall the day I clocked forty, 40. The popular saying ‘a fool at forty is a fool forever’, dawned on me and I looked around me for the mechanism that could promote me in the comity of friends as a wise man, I found none. Since my conception in 1960 and the final birth in 1963, I have been living in total and outright darkness. Little wonder why major sectors of my economy had been epileptic in nature. Celebration, jubilation, shout of joy greeted my birth as the new giant of Africa was born. I was huge in stature, blessed with natural endowment, rich in values and culture. Truly there was need for the African populace to rejoice. I was inadvertently declared the giant of Africa; the most populous black nation of the world. I started well, as it was expected of a new baby. I grew, crawled and the world was on its feet because the giant of Africa is walking. I was a force to reckon with in the comity of nations, friends. I strived with nature’s natural gift and strength. I was a farmer, agriculture was my pride; it was the mainstay of my economy. I built lovely structures, constructed link roads in my abode, bought lightening shades for some of my siblings. I even loaned money to some of my friends. My medium for exchange was entrenched with values much more than that of some of my biggest competitors. I was just over 20yrs doing great things. I sponsored some of my children to get the best of education outside my shores without jeopardizing the intrinsic developmental policies and programs. As I write my tales, I weep especially when I make a comparison between the past, present and the future. I was just taking a nap after the day’s schedule when I was woken up by my friends that there is huge amount of treasure just beneath the grounds that surrounds my environment. They were ready to pay more for it. I barely knew what it was, its value or what it could be used for if processed. I fared well just for the moment. My life was characterized ‘with too much money’ that there was no room critical reasoning about what to use the money for; I was quoted as saying ‘my problem is not money but what to do with money’. I have indeed arrived. I read sometimes that money is the root of all evil, undoubtedly, it was the root cause of all the problems I face today. My children had grown from patriotic ward to wayward wards. I can no longer control them. They devised all forms of dubious means to milk me. Now I am nothing but a moving corpse waiting to be delivered from this scourge, if I have any chance of resuscitation. Picture a boy that wakes up each day and finds huge sum just under his pillow. The amount exceeds his daily expenses. Wisdom originating from mediocrity will stop him from working, make him abandon his dream, vision, and hope of becoming great. This was my case, I abandoned my major source of livelihood and depended majorly on what I get from foreign friends. I live on it, shared it but most of it was stolen, misappropriated and siphoned into thin air. Just a myopic few enriched themselves while a vast majority wallow in poverty. There is fire on the mountain, things were fallen apart and the center can no longer hold. My educational sector is fallen apart, the roads dilapidating, wards loosing basic tenets in culture and values. I must go back to the source to salvage the impending calamity that is befalling me already. I molded and developed several policies, vision like the operation feed the nation, (OFN). Setting visions from 2000 to 2010, pushed it to vision 2015 and vision 2020 respectively. Yet, the worse is bringing out its ugly face. I battled, struggled to manage. I believed strongly that if I once did it, I can do it again. I enjoyed appreciable peace until recently. I am suffering from intense internal crises. My wards from the northern area of my province engage in cold blooded fight. A guerrilla warfare that has shifted the target from development to mere existence. I can’t die now. I have to exist. They tagged it ‘BOKO HARAM’ but I know it’s as a result of prolonged hunger. There is no limit to the destructive power and tendencies of an hungry man. No, not at all. If I bore u with my stories, I won’t do myself any good. Why cry over spilt milk. The next 4 months is my 53th birthday, I need you to tell ma if I am still a fool. 9ja!
Posted on: Wed, 03 Jul 2013 02:35:15 +0000
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