How I Am beating Type 2 Diabetes

Diabetes care: Photo credit - Medical Care Today

I was diagnosed with diabetes in late July. At the time of diagnosis, my blood sugar was at 365 ml and my vision was already very bad (I couldn't make out the features of people who are not standing right in front of me. If I know you, I would know you are the one, but I wouldn't be able to describe your features if asked. My fingers were constantly tingling (A symptom of nerve damage caused by the extremely high blood sugar) and I felt like a total wreck.

I knew I was overweight but didn't feel it was that bad (I weighed like 90kg, weigh below 80 now). At least I was hardly ever the biggest person in the room. I do drink, but very passively—once in a long while—mostly while hanging out with friends and at most 2 bottles.

I didn't consider myself a candidate for diabetes as I didn't know of a family member that had it. So getting a diagnosis that read diabetes was a shock.

Selective Outrage: Are we guilty of ignoring human suffering?

Photo credit: Mazi Nwonwu

Years ago, a Dana aircraft travelling from Abuja to Lagos ploughed into a two-storey building in the Iju area of Lagos killing everyone on board and some others on the ground. News of the crash soon spread as social media went abuzz. In the ensuing weeks, the fatal incident hogged the headlines on blogs and websites, while many dedicated status updates to mourn the departed, especially those on board the plane.

As is common with Nigerians, some constituted informal committees to measure how certain people mourned: Did he/she cry enough; or show enough concern by taking one week off work? Was the government’s three-day mourning period too short? Did the officials who lost bosses or subordinates in the crash mourn for a respectable enough period?

Questions were asked and people were called out.

The gang wars no one is talking about

There is an ongoing gang war on the streets of Lagos that the media is ignoring.

I choose to call it a silent war, but this classification – my attempt to stress the media’s seeming disinterest in the matter – is false. The war is by no means silent; it is loud and, as anyone who pays attention to happenings on the streets of Mushin, Bariga, Oshodi and affected parts of Lagos know too well, bloody.

I became aware of this war when I moved from Ajao Estate to Mafoluku, Oshodi, in 2008. Armed robbery and other associated crimes were at that time an issue in Ajao Estate, a town once considered prime real estate by the 419 dons of the ’90s (Eze Ego’s house still stands impressive and imposing opposite the CPM chapel). Ajao Estate later became a magnet for Yahoo-Yahoo boys and the Pentecostal preachers that are ever drawn to owners of easy money.