Ancient Treasures

The wonder of the Old World is not just a wonder of beauty. It would be condescending to look at the Pyramids of Egypt and wonder that it could have been made by those people. That will be assuming that our generation is a more intelligent one. I would rather say our generation is older. And age does not always translate to wisdom. That might be why historians tells us that the only lesson we learn from the past is that we learn nothing from the past. If that is true then the study history is a worthwhile development. Anything that can teach a man a lesson, any lesson, even if the lesson is that he cannot learn, is a dire needed blessing.
History is representative of the ancient. Although everything old isn't a treasure, the mundane will become a celebrity if it acquires enough sense to outlive its more accomplished fellows. Antique dealers and other collectors will do well to bear me witness.
""Since hunters have learnt to shoot without missing, I have learnt to fly without perching", said Eneke the bird when he was called to court." Igbo proverb.
The lesson this bird shared with his questioners was the lesson of adaptability. This is also the lesson from antiques. They weather storms and endure generational changes. It's only those who survive that will be celebrated. Eneke the bird found that out and decided to learn something new, adapt and survive.
This is the first lesson I would learn of history. It is the fact that some survive while many others do not. Those who survive are those who have learnt to adapt to the changes in the Ages. That is why Mona Lisa survived the industrial revolution, the Holocaust etc. Since Photoshop has learnt to create without clay and water, she has learnt to smile without ceasing. Although none of history can be written off, some remain with us while others leave us perpetually wondering about their identity and whereabouts. We appreciate those who remain.
I would rather be part of those who survive like Eneke the bird, those who choose to adapt for survival. Surviving asks different things of us. At times it asks that we be radically different. Sometimes it asks that we simply go the extra mile. Some other time it simply asks that we be like the coin that falls into the drain and there endures the kindness of humanity for 200 years when it'll be dug up in the building of a new subway. Those who survive, they are the heroes we know. If in the midst of a deadly battle a soldier hides only to emerge after both sides have all killed themselves off, he has by hiding won the battle for his kingdom. He is the survivor and hero.
History may not have been kindest to those who have sacrificed the most. That is a question for another day. But we ought to decide to remain and survive. Those who catch the world's imagination and never let go have that rare opportunity of whispering into the minds of generations. Their impact is more lasting.
The problem of every nation is the mindset of the majority of its people. Democracy isn't only a form of government. The minds of the people rule even where their votes are denied a voice. Those mindsets are imbued by the loudest voices from their history. We all can speak into our futures. We ought to.
The matter more pressing is the voice with which we speak. Every good dream ought not to be denied a place tomorrow. Those who do not dream well should keep sleeping till they learn the art. The shaping of the future started long ago. Some of it continues today. Those who will champion the future are those who survive, who remain relevant in those ages, those who adapt without aging. You choose how to.

Puss and the Queen

She got to London and she saw the Queen. It was a dream come true! She was given a tour of Buckingham Palace. She saw the portraits of all the rulers of England from the 10th century. Finally she got to see the official living quarters of the King Henry, the Tudor. Puss had heard so much about him.
Puss got so many autographs she had to ship them down to the country separately. The weight of the autographs exceeded the weight of goods any aircraft would allow. Her shipment of autographs would have landed long ago but the ship suffered a mishap. And of course the stupid deckhand felt a cat's luggage was no use. So they threw them overboard. Puss contacted the local Animal Rights' group about the incident and they promised to take it up. She would have shown all the doubters at the monthly Lagos Pussy cats Meeting! She had been so prepared for it. Her pictures alone filled an entire suitcase! That's why Puss had to make do with the few pictures she came back with.
Her greatest moment was the minute she got a snapshot of the queen. Unfortunately she couldn’t snap with the queen. Some over-zealous security agent felt a cat had no business taking pictures with the queen. The impunity! Puss nearly spat at him but she remembered her latest regimen for dealing with anger. She took many deep breaths, took a walk round the gardens of the palace then walked back. By that time the Queen had stepped into her study and couldn’t be disturbed.
Puss still keeps her favourite pictures from that journey hanging round the house. It is a pity rats have gotten so clever and determined these days. They nearly ate off the Queen’s head from her favourite picture. Thank goodness, the head was only partially chopped off. A good observer will still see it’s the Queen. That was when Puss decided to carry the picture in her wallet. It’s safer that way. She just tries to always avoid the rain always.
After liaising with the local school authorities, they approved Puss' travelogue. It details her journey to London to see the Queen. The book quickly became a worldwide bestseller. A nursery rhyme about her going to see the queen also came out of the book. Puss was the cat who had gone to London to see the Queen! She was the cat that made history! The newspapers and magazines sought her for some weeks. Her pictures covered front pages of big magazine issues. And like everything that is news, she finally became olds.
The Benue still flows into the Niger and the Niger into the Atlantic but the world no longer remembers the Pussy cat that went to London to see the queen. It’s not a tragedy. It is just that “celebrity” is a dubious word. The world celebrates what now is. While Puss was celebrating going to London to see the Queen, the world went ahead of her, crowned a new Queen, and then crowned a Prince and King in her stead. Then the world evolved and made palaces museums and tourist centres. It was a harsh deal for a Puss intent on hanging on to old glory.
The Pussy cat Association finally decided on new measures to gain the world’s attention again. They will send someone to go see the president. If that doesn’t get any attention, they will form a militant group and go on strike. Their strike will be in place till the world hears them again. No pussy will chase, eat a rat or run from a dog while the strike lasts. I totally concur with them. At least cats going on strike is NEWs!

Pussy cat, Pussy cat, where have you been?

She has been to London to see the queen. I doubt she made it through. My concern wasn’t whether she got to see the queen. My concern was what she wanted to see the queen for. That kind of insight bothers me because I wonder if I can still wonder like that rather than wish to be the pussy that went to London on such a mission. Many would gladly become cats if it mean going to London to see the queen.

It must be a mighty big deal being a queen, isn’t it? You can’t smile when you want to because someone is there to record it. You can’t be in a molue laughing at the story about Mr. President’s last visit to the zoo, that time he ate all the bananas. You’ll never hear the story of how FIFA banned India because they beat Nigeria 99-0 using jazz. The ball always turned to a lion when the Indians shot it towards our goal. Our goalie ran for his dear life. Your instructors will tell you fabricated stories about Indians not playing soccer. You need to meet my dad! He’ll smash all their theories. I bet you never ran around naked in the rain and you never tied your mum’s wrapper on your neck, flying around like Superman. You also believe aeroplanes don’t throw down sacks of cash. You really need to meet Obiozor. an airplane threw him a sack of cash. That's why the village witches kept troubling him till he lost it all. You didn’t throw stones at a lizard or chase a chicken till you were out of breath. You were never chased by a stray ekuke dog. Sadly, you never wondered at the remote control. How did such a little thing have so much power over those large TVs? And you never shouted “oku NEPA” when electricity was restored, not knowing it was “UP NEPA” others shouted.
I wish I could remember the time I mixed garri and sugar then carried it around in my pockets, eating at intervals. Then there was the time I disgraced my class teacher. I wish I could remember it as well. I was fresh from the village and couldn’t speak a word in English. And here was my class teacher taking advantage of the little kids in my class. She actually claimed she knew everywhere. The naïve fools kept asking her about streets in Lagos. I was incensed. She didn’t know anywhere. When I could hold it no longer, I burst out in Igbo, “Aunty, i ma Ezi-igwe?” Ezi-igwe is the junction to my house in the village, more than 700 kilometers away. Those kids laughed me to scorn for being a bush boy, but I won. Aunty did not know Ezi-igwe! I was so scared of those kids. They spoke English as easily as I ate onugbu soup. And whenever I wanted to sit, they would draw the chair away and I would land flat on the ground. Sweet terror, it was Biodun that did that. My pain was that Wunmi laughed at me too. If I could remember those stories, I would share them with you. You really missed childhood. Did you ever marvel at iced water? How water ended up stone after hours in the freezer? I stopped taking my tea in the mornings when I discovered it. I kept it in the freezer. Then after school I had iced tea to lick! I’ll have to ask my Kaodili my big bro. I didn't know we were cousins then because I didn't know the meaning of cousin. If he remembers we’ll tell it all to you.
Did you ever dream of riding limos and living in big houses? Did you ever fly a kite, watching it till it was out of sight? Did you ever dream you were a kite? Did you ever pray for rain so you wouldn’t go to school the next day because you were sure the wicked French teacher would flog your buttocks red?
Did you ever dream of some things you couldn’t have because mum would never buy them for you? That’s the fun of childhood. You get to imagine. You create the things you can’t have. You just pretend you have them, then play with them and all is well.

I'd Rather be Free

Historians reminisce, philosophers wonder. I would rather be free.
I have the memory, and I have the wonder. I would rather be free.
The memory is past, the wonder is yet to come. I would rather be free.
The past is a treasure, the future is the dream. I would rather be free.
Day threatens, night beckons. I would rather be free.
Failure looming, success impending. I would rather be free.
The melody of the funeral drums, the rhyme of the birth dance. I would rather be free.
To remember, and to forget. I would rather be free.
To forget, and to remember. I would rather be free.
Yesterday, today and forever. I would rather be free.

I’d rather be free to fear than be scared of freedom. Freedom is what I have. And it’s not on the market.
I’d rather be free in the unknown than be a prisoner of the known. Too many are bound by what they know, so much so that they cannot explore what they shouldn't know. They end up knowing a lot of nothing.
I’d rather be free to fly than be a bird without wings. Flying is real easy. Just spread your hands inwards and dive.
I’d rather be free to walk on water than analyse the buoyancy, upthrust and surface tension of the Atlantic. Too many analysts spoil the broth.
I’d rather be free to forget and remember than be bound to forget and remember. Memories are great. But they ought to remain behind and to speak in hushed tones. That’s why toilet doors are always, always closed.
I’d rather be free to walk free than be held to work bound. It’s really a question of perception. Prisons are mind games.
I’d rather be free to smile today than dream of yesterday’s laugh and memorize tomorrow's dance. Well, what can I say?
I’d rather be free to live than be destined to die. The fatted cow bragged he really had a better lot than the lab mouse, and he told the mouse so. That was until he met the rock badger through a mutual friend.
I’d rather be free to rule than be the Prisoner of prestige. Only free people get elected President. You could ask Obama. Ask Obasanjo as well.

I would rather be free. Captivity makes no sense to me, especially when it’s self imposed. I choose to be free. I am free to remember and to forget. I keep memories in their place. The unpleasant ones will not keep me chained. The pleasant ones will be my code though. I am free to respond to love; to love and be loved. I am free to be human; and also not to be human. Lifted is a place someone took me. Fear is the ultimate captivity. Fear of failure or of success, they are both makers of the Prisoner. That's why freedom is the opposite of fear. And love doesn't fear.

Being the Prisoner doesn’t exempt you from work. No, it doesn’t. It simply means you make yourself too small to work for yourself.

Kings dream up palaces. Prisoners build them. Then kings live in them. Do you still wonder why I chose to stay free?

may we NEVER remember

Memories are good for lessons. They are also good stuff for prisons. Greater prison none ever built than the one in between his ears.
Record keeping is good business but accounting should never take the place of manufacturing. The latter is the reason for the former. And records are for erasers and shredders.
When we say we are products of our upbringing, we’re simply saying we are prisoners of certain experiences we’ve had. And we all are. It’s a cheap prison to build. It is also very cheap to maintain. But slabs of concrete and pillars of granite do not compare. Iron bars and electric fences are nothing but sham. They are quite superficial, mere illusions. Memories far outweigh these. The man who has entered the solitary confinement of Regrets, Self-pity and Inferiority complex is the Prisoner.
And he’d rather be there than be free. A prisoner behind walls of concrete and bars of iron wants to walk home free. Not so the Prisoner. He doesn’t want to be free. He’d rather grovel in his pity and righteous indignation of his terrible mistakes. He just knows how wrong he is. And he knows such a mean person as hisself ought only to be remanded in a multi—maximum security prison. The Prisoner is such a sensible fellow. He just doesn’t want to hurt humanity with the burden of another low-life.
“If only”, the Prisoner says. If only I was smarter, a little taller and a wee bit nicer. If only I was Mother Theresa with a little Mohammed Ali and perhaps a pinch of Hitler. If only I was… If only the Prisoner would open up the door. If only he would rather be stupid than smart. If everybody was smart what would geniuses and Nobel prizes be for?
“If only” is not a Martian. ‘If only” is the lady next door who chose to commute the sentence she gave herself and walk free. “If only” is the kid disobedient to the sensible voice telling him nobody wants to hear a smart punk any way. “If only” is doing it, although the Professor from Wharton knows you’re going to fail at it any way. If only is walking out that prison door.
May we never remember we grazed our knuckles learning to drive a train. May we never remember the resolution to ignore the mail-man that was broken after long months of hard labour. May we never remember the leash holding us glued to Pityland, St. Failuresburg. May we never remember we are so like the circus elephant. It is held by a pole at childhood.  It struggles with the pole and doesn’t get free. After months of experimenting, it discovers with empirical proof that it cannot move the pole. Then the baby elephant also forgets to remember it is growing. It just remembers to remember it is held by a super-human pole. He is another prisoner to fact.
The Prisoner will no longer try. He has discovered there’s no point trying. He will fail. The walls are too heavy and the bars are made of the finest steel. He just can’t get out. Such a sensible fellow, the Prisoner is.
But the journey is also something. The means is an end in itself. And the fact that you who were dumb at birth has learnt to turn at the honk of any car is proof that you are indeed stupid. But you’re stupid enough to merit a place on the earth, stupid enough to keep trying. Failure is a fact. And memories of facts flush easily. That’s the reason for the loo. Try it every now and then.
The guy who forgets the night has not done well. The dream and the journey to the dream are priceless. We sing songs of night.
I have asked the Prisoner to open wide the gates and step away from solitary confinement and from the prison of self-doubt. I have asked him to sing again. And to dance.

May We Always Remember 2

Israel of old was termed stiff-necked by their King. They didn’t remember the victories of yesterday. The man without a past neither has a present nor a future.

Imagine a world without Facebook and Instagram. 2001 perhaps. Now imagine a world without the Internet, storage devices and the modern computer. 1947 maybe. Go ahead and imagine a world without cameras. What did Galileo really look like? Imagine a world without paintings- without pencil and canvas. Was Spartacus really a dwarf? What of Alexander the Great? And Jesus Christ?

Imagine a world without memories.

What if I can’t remember my family? What if I can’t remember my friends? What if I have to find a new sweetheart everyday because I forget the last one as soon as s/he is out of sight? What if I can’t remember the scent of my mother’s hair, the tilt of her lips when she smiles? What if I can’t remember me, or you?

The function of the distant and the near past is to furnish us with memories. The point of interaction is memory. We live to provide ourselves with the memories that will guide tomorrow. Knowledge is an accumulation of memories. Creativity is an intelligent application and manipulation of accumulated memories.

Memories make life worth living. They make it pretty. Cherish your memories. They are your pivot. They are your connection to reality. Don’t despise your memories. They are the reason you’re human.

Imagination is the ability to look and to see. It is the ability to live. Sightseeing isn’t bad business. And sight isn’t the privilege of a few. The blind aren’t those without optical eyes. They are those who have only working optical eyes. The dead aren’t in the cemetery. They live among us. Some of them are friendly, wealthy, healthy neighbours. But they cannot live beyond their senses.  Reality to them is only what they perceive. To imagine is to create. And to create is the privilege of the living.

 Remember yesterday. Remember today and tomorrow also. Imagination and creativity- they are our memories of the future! Memories are the winds for your sail. Build up memories. Let them fill your thoughts. Every story is a lesson. Everything is something.  And until we draw something out of everything all is not done.

May We Always Remember

I owe this quote to Chimamanda Adichie. It looked so beautiful. It seemed an apt introduction to a book on a war many would rather forget. Personally, it captured a lot for me- an adept at remembering.

May we always remember…

They call it Aphantasia. And it’s the reason I can’t see your face now. It’s the reason I can’t bring you up, examine the smoothness of your skin, the smile on your teeth. It’s the reason I can’t put you in your favourite suit. It’s the reason I can’t give you life, have you walk through my dreams. When I close my eyes I see pitch blackness. When I try harder I can conjure a little whiteness every now and then. When I open them I might have a vague idea of your picture I just saw. Mine must be a mild case. Aphanatasia. That’s why I just might not recognise you when we see tomorrow. May we always remember.

May we always remember: that the random passenger on the Lagos “molue” is a collection of stories. That the okada man who splashes mud on you without stopping or even waving sorry; that the policeman asking for his offering without fear or discretion; that your twin who you’ve shared every memory with, is more than meets the eye. That she is human just like you are. That you ought not to judge yourself by your intentions and then judge her by her actions. “I meant well”, you say. Well, so did she! May we always remember that “I” isn’t the only human on Earth.

May we always remember: that yesterday is the foundation for today. And that foundations are immensely foundational. That memories are precious. So precious they ought to be preserved. That history is a celebration. That the past is a beauty. Simply because it is a teacher. And teachers teach us to learn.  And learning to learn is life’s most important skill. May we always remember to learn; and always remember those lessons. A man without a past doesn’t have a place in the present.

May we always remember that day we laughed till our sides ached. That day we loved till our hearts hurt. That day we dreamt till our wings strained. May we always remember the songs that have made us merry hearts, the jokes that have tagged us jolly fellows, the claps on our backs that said we was always gonna be friends- old boys! And may we always remember to laugh harder, again and again. May we always remember the music from our dreams, the dance we so adeptly perfected there…