The politics of bombs and voters wooing

It is election season in Nigeria. Surely, everyone – even those not usually concerned about things of that nature – must know that. Constant adverts on TV, Billboards and posters, pasted on buildings and streetlights – which by the way, break the very law politicians swear to uphold – make sure ones attention – no matter how unwilling – is drawn in and held.

Just like Christmas spirit afflicts the very air, election fever chokes the very essence of the country. The main actors, those who have more stake in the scheme of things – those a seasoned writer, whose name is jumbled with hundreds of other names – great and not – in the recess of my mind, called “the political class” – are out in force. Like in the not-too-distance past, they are all jostling for the right to govern our very existence, to impose their will us for another four years – which essentially, is what leadership in these climes entail.

Though the fever is yet to peak, the usual bloodletting, which many had hoped would not play out this time around, has already claimed Nigerian lives. Early March, at a PDP rally in Suleja, Niger State, Nigeria, the culture of indiscriminate bombing – Middle East style – was introduced to the Nigerian political equation.  This new tactic is a very clear departure from the old method of eliminating opponents via assassinations. Opponents, it would seem, are still the target of this new tactic, which appear to be an indirect attempt to scare away potential voters.

In suleja, 10 lives were untimely sent to the greater beyond. For what? Does stopping the election of one man justify the taking of human lives? NO! I say, not by a long shot.

While I do not seek to hold brief for the crop of people that call themselves politicians in Nigeria, who mostly lack a sustainable plan to move even a small local government forward, not to talk of a state or the Nigerian nation, it is imperative that we reassess ourselves. We need to call to mind those core values that used to be our bastion – whatever happened to being our brother’s keeper – and I very much doubt if there is any glory in planting bombs that go off when the perpetrator(s) is too far away to be harmed. That, I believe, is the height of cowardice.

There is no gainsaying the fact that the perpetrator(s) of this and similar heinous crimes against the Nigerian nation need to face hard-hitting justice, at least now we have the anti-terrorism law in effect, some examples need to be set.

This assertion should not read as exonerative to either opposition forces. Violence, it seems, is one thing the Nigerian politicians do not have in short supply. They swagger around during campaigns with a “do or die” mien that signals their intention to take on all comers. They buy thugs indiscriminately and sponsor same to follow them around in motorcades that remind one more of an all-conquering army advancing against enemies, than a peaceful political movement heading to actualise our collective dreams. The bitter truth is, if they devote half the resources they put into seeking for votes and strategising new rigging methods into the job of governance, Nigeria would be a much better place to live in.

The present state of Nigeria calls for us all to not just be onlookers. We should do more than pray for change, we should make change happen. The Nigerian youths have already proven that they have the power to make things work for them in a very oppressive environment, need I point out the growth of the Nigerian Movie, Music, comedy industry, and upcoming, the literary arts. Perhaps it’s time we transfer this ingenuity to the political arena, by not just voting in the right leaders, but constantly snapping at their heels to keep them on the right track thereafter.

first published in www.dailytimesng.com


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• Bomb explodes at PDP rally, killing at least 14, in Suleja, near Abuja (saferafricagroup.com)

Africa’s Development: The Word Is Emancipation

Image by annieo76 via Flickr

Why is Africa underdeveloped?

This question has been asked intermittently over the years and several answers have been provided, especially when African countries south of the Sahara are compared with the Asian Tigers with whom they were at par in terms of development as colonialism winded up, .

While some commentators, mostly Africans and the so-called liberal minded westerners, tend to lay the blame at the doors of the European colonial powers who they say took, and is still taking Africa’s resources while paying so little for these benefits. This group believe the colonialists have been replaced by multinational corporations that have effectively replaced the piece of broken mirror that bought dozens of slaves in the old days with bribes paid in dollars to a few corrupt politicians who then sanction the continuing rape of a much-exploited continent.

Others, less liberal, perhaps less politically correct, contend that the reasons are easily traceable to the genetic makeup of the African, that natural trait that gifts the black race a much lower intelligent quotient than other races, or so they say. For this group, the fate of countries like Haiti and Jamaica, which are not too far removed from that of sub-Saharan African countries, and that of the African American community, is too visible a point to be ignored.

However, another school of thought believes that neither the Africans nor the European colonialists are without blame. For this group, to which I must confess to belong, the culpability of the African in the continuing rape of the continent and the current culture of micro development is of utmost importance to any discourse on the reasons Africa is the way it is.

To this school of thought, Africans, even if a very minute number made up of corrupt politicians and technocrats, constitute the biggest hindrance to the development of the continent. Though they argue that lack of willingness by the political class to implement far-reaching policies contributes greatly in keeping Africa underdeveloped, they are quick too to concede that the western multinationals, through purchased influence, are doing everything possible to keep the status quo, which aids what many have come to believe is their exploitation of Africa.

However, beyond the political class and the multinationals, there is a bigger culpability; that of individual Africans who refuse to heed the call for emancipation from what the late Bob Marley so aptly called “mental slavery”.

To many Africans, mental slavery is a myth, something coined by people who needed something for which to blame the west. However, the truth is more effervescent than that. Without recourse to the dictionary, mental slavery is a concept simply explained to mean a psychological inclination towards self-depreciation. It is a disease that is widespread amongst people of sub-Saharan African decent wherever found--be it in the neon lighted avenues of Hollywood, USA, or in the stone and mortar house neighbourhood of my hometown Nkwe, Enugu state, Nigeria. It has found expression in our way of life, inflecting our speech patterns, our mode of dressing, our dances, and how we marry.

Though many seem not to know it, but the truth is there, we are daily losing ourselves, one bit at a time, to the dictate of a culture that is not perfect by a long haul.

The way we were

Our culture, in the past, was dynamic and tailored to suit our environment and temperament. Our forbearers were wise, very much so. The laws they gifted us, largely forgotten, were all embracing and suited for every foreseeable situation.

Most Africans have forgotten their culture or know so little about it that they easily deride it for being what they term ‘fetish’--a consequence cleaving to an European heritage Christian church that found new expression in Africa.

Even though a woman is not considered married in most African societies until her bride price is paid and other traditional rituals of marriage performed, the norm these days is to consign that act to mere formality, while more effort and money are spared towards a lavish ‘white wedding’ whose history or significance most African brides know little or nothing about.

These days the hype is all about Saint Valentine’s Day, Easter, Christmas, and of late and strangely too, Halloween and thanksgiving. One hardly hears about the new yam festivals, the coming of age festival, new moon and other stuffs that our fore fathers celebrated. We seem to think them too old fashioned.
Sometime ago, I was talking to a friend about the need for us to look backwards if we are to become more relevant, and she countered: “we are not farmers anymore, what would a new yam festival be about?” Anyway, I did not get mad or laugh when she could not explain the reason for thanksgiving, which she was advocating as a replacement.

Therein lay the source of our problems, and consequently, Africa’s continuous battle with under-development--our mental enslavement to western culture.

Our emancipation lies in our languages

The most visible aspect of this enslavement is our dependence on European languages for communication among ourselves.

Many reasons were proffered as to why most African countries chose to use the language of their colonial masters as ‘official’ languages, but most of these reasons, no matter how logical, all point to a belief that the salvation of the African lies without. Hence, the recourse to adopt foreign languages to act as a buffer between African tribes existing within an European demarcated territorial border.

This, I believe, is the greatest obstacle to development in Africa. Many people will readily contest this point, believing, erroneously, that Africans countries using European languages, as official language is a plus in the present age of globalisation. It is my belief that had African countries chosen to communicate with each other and the rest of the world with their own languages; they would have done much better than they have so far.

However, aside the much-vaunted advantages of using an ‘International’ language for communication, there are the dangers and disadvantages, usually under the surface, but becoming more glaring in Africa. Here, one finds that since the end of colonialism in Africa hundreds of languages have died out or become so adulterated with European words that they are now, functionally, hybrid languages – Igbo and Yoruba are ready examples.

Had we allowed our languages to be our medium of communication and expression within our countries, even if not with the outside world (as India and many others did) we would have made more impact at the world stage. The multinationals would still steal, but they would need to learn our languages to do this. The west would still cheat us by making sure we sell raw materials cheap to them and buy same back as fabricated goods, but they will need to program the computers in Hausa or Igbo. Imagine the joy of learning maths in Igbo, discussing theorem and logic in Yoruba or exploring the gray areas of law in Bini.

Yes, we would have had most of our citizen fluent in their mother tongue, with youths more eager to record the thoughts of the elders and write our traditions, largely oral, in the ink that will preserve them for tomorrow.

Years ago, we had a choice between our culture and the western culture, just like the Chinese, Indian, Japanese and many others had. Drawn by lack of respect for our heritage and urged on by the religion of our oppressors, masquerading as liberators, we chose to be more western than the white man was. Thereby consigning our soul to the dregs that history says it is at today.

Becoming western, we lost our culture, and with that loss, went the checks and balances that kept us on a straighter path than the new religions can only hope to dare.

By choosing to be western, we lost a chance to be relevant in the world, hence our underdevelopment.

Now we look on, as the rest of the world continues to run way ahead of us; praying that we someday catch up. We dream on, even as our culture, the messiah we ignored and continue to ignore, loses the battle to survive, every day.

Jos burns again: so let the talks begin

Once again, like uncountable times in the past, the north is in the throes of ethno-religious crisis. As usual, the security agencies are caught napping and aside from accusations of complicity in the crisis, seem to be all thumbs, with little or no idea of how to handle the situation, besides its age-old ‘shoot on sight’ solution. 

In a previous article, written some years ago, I dwelled on the nature of the north and after examining the numerous crises I witnessed and luckily escaped, while living in the north, concluded that ethno-religious crisis and the north of Nigeria are Siamese twins that may forever remain conjoined, unless the drastic is done.

I warned then that the north would blow up again way before the Boko Haram clash and the first Jos affair. My forecast was not based on any form of prescience, but as a result of a brief study of the history of ethno-religious clashes in the north.

In the north of Nigeria, from Jos and beyond, the truth about Ethno-religious crisis is not if it would occur, but when it will occur, again.

Let us not be deceived, the fight is more ethnic than religious, it is more about land than which prophet is greater, it is ultimately more about the language of your ancestors than the language of any sacred text, it is more about political control.

This fight is about the rights of the individual to exist with all benefits that accrue to a Nigerian anywhere in this country. In Jos, the Hausa-Fulani is fighting for relevance. They could not get the control they sought through the ballot; hence, the resort to violence, something evidence over the years have shown them to have a large stock of – fuelled by large-scale poverty and miss-education, something this country have a large stock of. The so-called natives of Jos – the Birom et al – are fighting to hold unto what they say is ancestrally theirs.  

However, before we accuse the people of Jos of ethnic discrimination, let us remember that every Nigerian is guilty of this one way or the other. Many Nigerians will argue this point, countering that the Nigerian constitution grants liberty to every Nigerian, but when you think about the possibility of an Igbo becoming governor of, let us say, Lagos state, then you will really understand what is at stake.

I grew up in the north and can say without fear of contradiction that the Hausa-Fulani is as prone to bigotry as the Igbo, Yoruba or Birom. I recall the policy of indigenisation during my primary and secondary school days, which allowed for two separate sets of school fees, one for the so-called settlers another for the so-called indigenes.  I still laugh anytime I remember the name changes that many of my friends had to endure in other to benefit from the considerable lesser school fees meant for the so-called indigenes. I still recall the dropping of surnames and the adoption of perceived Hausa names by many of my Igbo and Yoruba neighbours just to belong to that class. It was as if being Nigerian was not enough, you have to be something else too, in this case a pseudo-tribesman.

I am not a lawyer and have not paid much heed to the Nigerian constitution (this will change soon), but it has always been my belief that people are indigenes of where they are born. That should be the standard, but Nigeria is a peculiar place with peculiar ways, uncanny most times, of interpreting the law. In Nigeria, you are an indigene of where ever your father/grandfather hails, whether you know that place is not of consequence; hence the dropping of names native to any tribe by those who want to be seen as indigenes their present domicile.

There lies the genesis of the problem in Jos, the Hausa-Fulani, having lived more than 150 years in the area, feel they should be treated as equals. They seek to wield political power, to have a say in how they are governed. While there is nothing wrong, fundamentally, with this desire, the peculiarities I mentioned earlier deny them this right, just as it denies millions of Nigerians every day.

As an Igbo man in Kaduna and now in Lagos, I cannot recall the number of times I have been reminded of my status as a visitor. I was a visitor in Kaduna, despite spending my first 22 years there before leaving because of the constant threat that hangs over the neck of any southerner in the far north and the constant, unconscious, seeking of fastest routes to an army or police barrack as Friday prayers wind up.  Though perceived as a visitor in Lagos, that fear of decapitation by a seething mob is gone, but not altogether, as I now endure fear of one chance and whatnot. Its naija, you are not really safe anywhere.

Yes, Jos burns, again, and will do so again. Just as many other trouble spots in the north will too unless we stop deceiving ourselves, continuously believing, perhaps hoping, after every blow up, that we have seen the last. Far from it, we will continue to see these crises until we wake up and admit that we need to rethink and rephrase the laws that hold us together, albeit loosely, as a country.

Let us look into the past and learn. Let us set far-reaching goals that will ultimately make us a greater country. Let us not fear change, for it is inevitable. I believe the solution is a simple one; it only needs a willing leader to get it done. Some say this is one crisis to many, I say it is the hundredth of many more to come if we do not address the root causes.

Let us sit together and answer the question that desperately needs an answer, “are we Nigerians first and members of a tribe second?”  Let us throw away this constitution if it is not working properly and draw up a new one that will guide us into the light we so seek, or if need be, grant it the muscle it needs to properly work.

 I say let the talks begin! Enough is enough!

PS

I wrote this stuff before the new year eve bombing in Abuja. as such, my arguments have changed a little since then.

Tale of the Siamese twins: the North and Religious crisis

If one takes the tedious time to research the numerous religious cum ethnic blow ups in the country, one will invariably arrive at the sad conclusion that more than ninety percent of these occur in the geographic north of Nigeria. Looking at a map marked with incidents of that nature in the last twenty years will reveal a gloomy picture of rage that turns this beautiful landscape red with innocent blood periodically.

Yes, the south has its own blowups but the frequency and scale of those of the north gives one constant goose bumps. Also, reason tells us that many in the south are offshoots of quakes in the north, where brothers seek out perceived tribesmen of the northern perpetrators in blood-lust induced violence that can only hurt the innocent.

My family lived through the horrors of the Matasine riots of the 1980’s (though one was then too young to understand the real story), the 1987 riots that claimed a big ECWA church opposite our house in Dutse Close Kaduna, the zango kataf crisis that spilled into Kaduna and other towns, with reprisal killings that felled not just southern Kaduna indigenes but also those of ethnic nationalities that were presumed alien; and during the sharia riots of 2000, We witnessed killings and mass muggings that forever tainted our minds -- the gruesomeness of butchered bodies, which became feasts for pigs and dogs for days following the incidents, and the helplessness of those that lost not just loved ones, but everything..

It was only later, at an older age that I came to understand the psychological impact of those gruesome early life sightings and the agony of having to live with constant fear. It took me years to relearn the humane act of flinching away from corpses, though an instinctive fear that warns caution still abides with me, especially when I am sojourning in the North.

Why the North?

I still seek answers to the same nagging question, WHY THE NORTH?

Yes, why do these crises always occur in one part of Northern Nigeria or the other? Why not in the southeast or southwest? Why must residents of Kaduna, Zaria, Katsina, Kano, Maiduguri, Jos etc submit to periodic carnages that alter lives forever? Why do they have to live in constant fear?

The answers to the questions above eluded me as a child and still elude me now. Some argue that it is in the genetic makeup of the Northerner to be violent; others still swear that it is within the tenets of the Islamic religion. I personally don’t agree with both as I have had close personal ties with Hausa Muslims who are as upright in their dealings with their fellow man as any Christian southerner can ever hope to be. More so, when I know that the average Hausa can stand at par with any tribe, anywhere in the world, when trustworthiness is called for – think that is why they are in great demand as security men in the southern part of Nigeria.

If blames are needed, I think a better scapegoat should be the poverty and disinformation by a minority of the otherwise well informed Northerners. I place my reasons solidly on the door of things I have seen and infallible facts.

On the other hand, if you would rather doubt the strength of my submission and deny that poverty plays the stronger role in these recurring crises, consider the fact that always, without fail, the Goverment Reserved Areas (GRAs) and other zones where the rich abode are spared the carnages. They usually don’t know that anything is happening, until they see in the News or, perchance, bump into the seething mobs in the streets.

Strange patterns

During the riots of 2000, I noticed a peculiar pattern that if looked into will check the damages to life and property that occur during these crises. If not for the swift nature of the crisis, my family would have gotten the usual advance warning from our Hausa neighbours. In this case the warning still came, too late for us to escape to the barracks but early enough for us to shelter in the homes of our Hausa neighbours until the tension cooled several days later.

These neighbours fed my family and several other families and even on occasion, physically prevented the mob from embarking on a room to room search for non-indigenes. Later on, my family moved – having lost the medicine store that feed us – into the home of an Hausa police man, a friend of my father’s, in the police barracks, where again they stayed for days.

It was during these trying times that I made a strange discovery that further strengthened my belief in the inherent good in humankind. Of the mob that was bent on taking our blood, not one face was even faintly recognizable. Later when those of us that survived the horrors met to trade survival stories, a pattern emerged. Apparently, even the mob found it difficult to attack those they know, be them Igbo, Yoruba or Igala, they instead moved to a part of town where the incident of them having to carry the death of a childhood friend on their conscience would be minimal. For example, those that attacked our area were Rumoured to have marched down from Badrawa and Angwan Sariki – both towns some kilometres removed – while those within our area either moved towards Abakpa or further on to Kurmi marshi.

It should not surprise the reader that some of the individuals that constitute these so-called savage mobs have one or two Christian families hidden in their bedrooms, away from danger.

This brings me to the government’s failings in times of these recurrent attacks. As a starter, I believe the government has never handled these crises with the kind of decisive force that will make them a thing of a very dark past that one should only read about in the history books. Granted, this does not happen only in Nigeria but one thinks it’s time we move into the league of enlightened nations that know the worth of an individual life, or must we be as savage as our fore fathers to prove our manhood to the women of our age. I think the greatest problem the government has is its seemingly disregard for the importance of localized information and usage of the available human and natural resources for a common good.

The carnage in Kaduna in 2000 lasted about three days, with mobs moving from one presumed Christian or Muslim (as the case may be) enclave largely unmolested by the unavailable police force. The major reason that particular crisis claimed more life and property than those presiding it is mainly because those who used to run when trouble calls, leaving their property to the mercy of merciless looters who usually burn what they cannot carry away, decided that enough is enough and stood their ground to fight for their possession, in the process destroying the heart of a town that had survived several blowups in the past. We thought it was all over, but like the calm within the storm, two years passed and in 2002, the hosting of a miss world beauty pageant gave reason for another fracas in Kaduna. One should not forget the Danish cartoon incident or the Maiduguri crisis and more recently that of Bauchi, Jos and Jos again.

Strange, I say, especially when the panel(s) of inquiry that is(are) looking into the Jos crisis are/is yet to sum-up their report, when we still hear of people seeking their missing loved one, when bodies, left in dark nooks, are still being brought to light. It gives room for bitter thought; it gives reasons to grieve for our generation. Then anger pushes one to ask a question whose reply is steeped in mild treason, should the North be left alone, to the Northerners?

Old history serves to point out the worrisome continuity of these mass killings which made a former governor warn that revenge killings may be the only solution to it.

Instead of deploying law enforcement officers as soon as the first blow is struck, the government usually plays a game of ‘let’s wait and see how far it will spread’ while angry and hungry Nigerians range the landscape on the lookout for anybody with a different tribal marking, religious affiliation or accent to maim.

The popular belief amongst the so-called non-indigenes in Kaduna is that the government and traditional rulers usually have a hand in most crises that occurs, pointing out the seeming disregard for prompt action by either.

A way out

If anything concrete can be done to check the occurrence and spread of these blowups, the law enforcement agents must be on hand in all the little Angwas that make up the towns in the North especially in those areas noted as trouble spots. It doesn't serve anybody’s purpose to keep soldiers in front of houses already looted and burnt for months following a crisis when such weren’t sent to nip the crisis in the bud and save the homes and lives of thousands.

In Kaduna, the division of the town into two sections of Muslim north and Christian south, bordered by the Kaduna river, seemed to serve a dual purpose, a ‘Berlin wall’ for safety and a line of fear that tells you, you are entering enemy territory and should be cautious. Though the government might go beyond denying any division and try to explain the benefits of it – if any exists -- the influx of Christian settlers from areas north of the river into this steadily overpopulating area and movement of Muslims northwards tells a bitter tale of intolerability.

If the bitter truth be told, no one really gains from these carnages. For example, the riots in Kaduna have forever changed the face of that once beloved city and I am sure those who grew up in Jos, Maiduguri, Katsina, Kano etc will agree that these cities lost much more than years can ever replace to the crises that rocked them to their bedrocks.

I know every war has its heroes and its villains but the villains in this tale are not really those who lift their hands to kill, and loot but the veiled faces behind them who put the perpetrators into bloody motion.

Words of caution

To those southerners who must visit the cities of the north, and they are all worth seeing; if for nothing, for the beauty that generations of town planners bestowed on them and for the historical buildings and architecture that abound therein, stay away from things that might cause friction like:

Religion – no matter who you are with don’t discuss religious dogma with a Muslim unless you know what you are talking about, and can keep within the safe bounds (most southerners in the north know this).

Alcohol – drink only at places designated as alcohol areas like army barracks and Christian quarters.

Religious books – do not rough handle a Muslim book in any indecent way as this might be construed as desecration -- most free spirited Christian fall into this trap and become victims of the fanatics that are always around the corner. Recall the young lady that lost her life to her students a few years in Yobe state for allegedly desecrating the Holy Quran.

Above all, try to make friends with an educated indigenous Muslim who can and usually will tell you of things to avoid, warn you away from trouble and explain your mistakes to any ill tempered person out to fight God’s battle – this is another major difference, most Christians tend to see religion as a personal business with the creator while many Muslim tend to see it as general movement that involves not just the individual but those around him, they are willing always to stand up to what they see as God’s right. Killing and dying for these ideals are not far-fetched for the willing.

Finally, the average northerner is friendly and easy to get along with. The towns are accessible and easier to live in than most cities in the south and housing is generally affordable (I pay 70 thousand for a one-room apartment in Oshodi while a friend pays 50 thousand for a two bedroom flat in Kaduna – he still says it’s exorbitant).

N/B

I wrote this piece two years ago, at the height of another the intermittent clashe in the North. It was not my desire to end the year on a sour note, but one finds it hard to turn away from the carnage that have become synonymous with Northern Nigeria. With my first hand experience, I know the solution, but would the government be able to implement this? That the question most Nigerians ask, without hope for an answer. May the souls of those that died find rest.

Behind the Painted Faces

I had been in her room for 30 minutes, inhaling the sweet, lavender flavoured scent that intermittently wafted out from the electronically operated air freshener on the far wall.

Having spent that long holding back a need to empty my Gordon Sparks distended bladder, I requested to use her bathroom. As she pointed towards the door, a glint of something, perhaps unease, flittered past her eyes; more intent on answering nature’s call, I didn’t dwell on that.

It was only when I entered the well appointed, pink tiled bathroom that I began to understand that brief look of hers. Arranged in an order that I, the cosmetic novice, would never understand, were rows of bottles, tubes and palates—enough cosmetics to keep a little corner shop in business for long while.

Through with my nature call, I moved a little closer and my awed eyes flowed past a hundred names. Now, they were not in singles, as each brand name found expression in powders – cakes and conventional, lipsticks, lip-glosses, eye shadows, hair relaxers, hair treatment creams, conditioners, hair sprays, deodorants, perfumes and hair removal creams. Some I could understand; even explain, but the ones that lined a lower, somewhat hidden shelf, defied grasp. Prominent among them was a L’Oreal breast lifting gel, two brands of tummy tightening creams, a buttocks firming cream, a face lift cream.

There were more, tucked further back in the shelves and peeking from the corners of bags hanging from hooks, by the side of the same overstocked shelf. Wow! I was really impressed.

I went back to the room, now knowing the look I had received earlier, to meet a stoic faced friend, who couldn’t help but act like I had caught her stealing meat from a pot of egusi. I knew deep within me that the low-keyed conversation that followed had a lot to do with what I had seen and this got me pondering on the battle she endures to look better everyday

What is it about today’s women and the need to coat up everything with layers of cosmetics?

What happened to the conventional dab of power and touch of lipstick?

Clear answers elude me, but I can sniff hints from the women I see on the streets every day, looking like art pieces on an abstract canvas. What with the way they match up colours and re-invent the natural lines of the face. Geniuses, I called them, but that was before I stumbled into every woman’s secret in my uptown lady friend’s bathroom. Artists they might be, but their art is fakery, superimposed upon a canvas – their faces – better appreciated in its natural state.

I admit to being unapologetically old school, especially where it concerns female beauty. I do not believe that letting my woman experiment with any new fad and accompanying her to salons, spas and whatnot identifies me with women’s’ lib; there are better ways to cut that, I think. Perhaps if women really knew what men want, they would save themselves the stress and money it takes to look like the modern woman.

We, even those modern-thinking brothers my female friends are wont to compare me with, like those lipsticks sparse. Why, because it saves us those embarrassing smudges that tell tales we’d rather keep to ourselves. I am yet to meet a man that understands the need for those coloured eye shadows that women tend to wear, sometimes matching shoes, wristwatches, clothes and even the colour of their cars.

Consider the mini supermarket in my friend’s bathroom. One might understand the need for some, less physically endowed persons, to maximise their looks through application of cosmetics, but that is hardly the case with our babes, as use cuts across all strata.

I have seen the ridiculous, the humorous and the downright stupid; facial paints that can easily compete with the greatest works by Da Vinci and others that remind one of the worst of Hammer House of Horror – those ones that make you want to run and hide when you encounter their bearer at night. What about those fillers – they call them foundation – used to patch up every foreseeable smudge. Walahi, a well-heeled modern woman carries around, on her body, more chemicals than NNPC can readily identify.

I know our ladies will never agree to toe this line, I mean, give up on this drive to cosmetologise (na my gift to oyinbo language, leave am dia) their existence – well, that’s how I explain the craze – but the plea is for them to simmer it down, at least.

As I remarked to my uptown lady friend, you mustn’t all be artists and panel beaters to look good, joo.

Published in 234next.com on December 12, 2010