Monday 19 December 2011

THE CONTEMPORARY POLITICIAN


Marketing is often misconstrued in this part of the word as an activity associated with harassing people by shoving products and services down the throat of the intended target market. Whether it is beneficial or essential to the end user is absolutely none of the “marketers” business, the bottom-line which is to sell is all that matters. For example, our hustlers go to “Jand” or Dubai at calculated periods to take advantage of reduction in prices of goods. They return few days or weeks later with a fake accent like “johnny” in Fela’s track “JJD” and storm into any indiscipline office idle enough to entertain them during work hours. There, they showcase their loot and cajole their victims (many who have got something quite identical to what is on display), who have got no self control to pick their choice like it was a gift from the Salvation Army. Even where some earn pittance of a salary, the marketers gag them to the point where they pick up wares like they were forced at gun point. This isn’t marketing, it is called personal selling, a component of marketing.

The Chartered Institute of Marketing although not exhaustive, defines Marketing as “The management process responsible for identifying, anticipating and satisfying customer requirements profitably.” So the harassment scenario is one in many tools of marketing.

This is applicable to the astute politician we find in our political arena today. They have thoroughly done their groundwork, identified the flaws in the system and society, anticipated possible reactions and devised clandestine but devious strategies to satisfy their ingenuous target audience albeit temporarily but more importantly, achieve  profitable gains for themselves and their cronies.

I see the manifestation of this new breed of politician as a brand, a brand like Coca-cola. Like a brand competing with other brands in the market, they have formulated a strategy, a strategy they have mastered, and have applied to grow their tentacles and expand their presence in the political scene. For those of you familiar with marketing terminologies, one such business model organizations apply to develop, grow and expand its presence is the Ansoff matrix. This model entails implementing four marketing strategies at the operational level namely Market Penetration, Product Development, Market Development and Diversification. All strategies will be discussed in greater detail. 

The contemporary politician is the product in question, and the market the electorate and all other mechanism deployed in firmly entrenching their position and clout. The shrewd contemporary politician has studied their environment scrupulously and is well aware of all the societal ills, including morale decadence, the majority of the masses living in abject poverty, the stoical nature of the citizenry despite despicable acts making a mockery of democracy, endemic nepotism and tribalism, religious strife etc. They have taken into cognizance the fact that all these issues circumlocutory play to their own advantage. Here is how they go about executing the four strategies to achieve their sole objective of clinging on to power or being politically relevant as long as they are breathing.


Through Market Penetration, they sell their brand to the existing market. This is the most routine of the strategies particularly if the community is considered a home turf. This market include the party “faithfuls”, those that bankroll the political movement, and those that will do anything to maintain the status quo since they will benefit from their man’s tenure, even if that requires maiming those who dare attempt to confront the status quo. They also organize rallies during campaigns, need I mention that all personnel involved are on the daily payroll of their “highness”.



As Fela sang decades ago in the track sorrow, tears and blood …… “we always get reason to fear…….I no wan die, I wan enjoy, papa dey for house, mama dey for house, I wan build house, I wan enjoy, i no wan go”. It’s the truth; we are unsurprisingly timid and highly tolerant. All it takes is to recruit the ever reliable linchpin, even officials that should be enforcing the law, who then hires miscreants (awon omo igboba executing ise ijoba) to snatch ballot boxes when things aren’t exactly going according to plan, smash a gulder bottle or two or leave another scoundrel from the opposition party limbless during a skirmish at the polling booth; basically anything to create a scene to intimidate anyone with ulterior motive other than theirs. By the way, majority of the miscreants used after the brand becomes the market leader, live in penury until the next general elections.

Through Product Development, they try to gain market share to firmly establish their clout and see off the competition. As they currently hold power, things won’t exactly be rosy for those in opposition. You recall I made mention of excessive greed as one of the societal ills which plays a huge role here. They (some opposition members) need a share of the spoils plundered by the ruling incumbent which can still be evenly distributed. They can’t afford to be “dulling” like whiz kid rightly advised, so they become disillusioned and disgruntled with their own brand. So they brazenly jump ship and join the “winning/ruling team”. The new recruits now become products utilized to further fortify the dominance of the brand of that contemporary politician.

After attaining much success for the brand on home soil, it’s only right they try to extend the brand’s footprint in other markets. This should serve as an avenue for more loot to plunder, and the merrier for the brand and its products. That is where the Market Development strategy comes into play. After a research has been conducted, it equips with a better understanding of the market segments and who can possibly buy the product and indirectly the brand itself. The ploy here is to affiliate with a local product that seemingly champions the cause of the community at large, when in truth every promise made is just sugar coated fibs. Remember, I said we are a gullible bunch, and what we want to eat will shut all forms of logical thinking capacity. As it is usually done, empty promises and commitments to white elephant projects dominate the product’s attributes, and after a few years, the market realize it was all a farce but a little too late. Besides, what more can the market do as alternatives available to the market aren’t any better.


When the brand now becomes too powerful such that all other competing brands are subject to its whims and caprices, it becomes a god. It is worshipped, sycophants soar in their numbers. The brand becomes a monopoly dictating every move in the market. Here, the market desires become irrelevant. The least of the brand’s problems is the yearnings of the market it brainwashed to acquire its dominance. But some elements still exist that can be a pain in the brand’s behind. So it adopts the Diversification strategy, a diversion from the core activities of the brand to something entirely new. This entails investing heavily on machinery that can divert all negative reports directed at the brand such as establishing media houses like private television and radio stations, or simply investing in vibrant sectors that can guarantee unprecedented funds other than funds acquired from activities of the brand and its products. But the brand’s core activities remain the cash cow used to inject the much needed funds to manage the new businesses till they attain the growth and maturity stage.

Slowly, the contemporary politician has dug deep into our political system and it will take a momentous and resolute effort to recover as their influence is widespread and given the nod by majority of the populace. And even while some are clearly against all that the brand stands for, they can’t say much. This is probably because they have at some point, soiled their hands in retrospect. The contemporary politician has used the societal ills to his own advantage. And every time potent allegations spring up against this brand, the manner with which such is swept under the carpet is jaw dropping. Like in the words of the Legendary Fela, “I see am, I shock, ah! Just like that, I see am, I react, ah!” just like that”.

What does the future hold for us? The brand didn’t get there itself. It used products, and the inertia of opposing brands to hoodwink the market to get to where it is today. If only my people will look beyond kickbacks, contractual agreement, the Ghana must go’s, and review this country’s position after 51 years of independence; they should realize the bigger picture and resist this brand. This brand is a threat to our existence in the long run. Desist from wasting your precious time and prayers because heaven they say helps those that help themselves. I pray we start to help ourselves.

Ositelu Eniola

@doublegeneral

Tuesday 13 December 2011

Stalemate

Phones rings!!!!


Me: Yes! Who’s this?

Wale Gates: Why are you doing this?

Me: Doing what?

WG: I’ve been pressing the door bell for so long; my index finger’s now numb.

Me: And?

WG: Please open the door, it’s really cold out here and you know my wife just kicked me out.

Me: That’s news to me, but a very welcome arrangement

WG: How do you mean?

Me: One stupid woman just became wiser

WG: Very funny, but why are you talking like this anyway? Have you been waiting for this all the time?

Me: How?

WG: Please just open the door jo; I’m sure you can tell from my voice the horrendous weather is taking its toll on me

Me: The pints of liquor consumed earlier you mean?

WG: (interrupting) won’t you open the door?

Me: Nop!

WG: Why are you so heartless?

Me: Thanks for stating the obvious. Tell me something I don’ know

WG: OK, I’m sorry, I repudiate the earlier statement.

Me: Thanks for the vote of confidence, might work some other time.

WG: But what's your problem?

Me: Problem? From what I've gathered you've just been kicked out by your spouse, you're drunk to stupor and stranded in the mean, cold streets of London. Now that, my friend is a big big problem!

WG: You mean you will leave your brother to loaf around the streets of London?

Me: Even if my father was a promiscuous man and a stark illiterate, he’d still count his sons accurately and you, my good friend will still not make the cut!

WG: Preposterous! I can’t believe this men.

Me: Believe what?

WG: That you actually plan to keep me out in the cold

Me: What a wife can do, a relative can do better I guess!

WG: Hen?

Me: The liquor’s now affecting your hearing?

WG: OK, take my phone and charge it for me at least, the battery is getting flat.

Me: Ask a passer-by, there’s a better chance they might help you during your self inflicted predicament. Trust me.

WG: This is not fair!

Me: Then what is? Interrupting my sleep in the middle of the night?

WG: Hah! Please, don’t do this

ME: My girlfriend is on the other line, talk to you some other time.

WG: Wait! Wait!! Wait!!! You mean you intend to hang up?

Me: Yes ke!

WG: Fu@# you! Go to hell! Thank God you’re not god! Ori e o pe! (Click!)…..Hello? Hello? Hello? This guy really hung up sha? Let me try again....... (Sorry, the person you‘re trying to reach is not currently able to accept your call). This guy is cold men, I had better find a place in the tube station to squat and pass for the night before some destitute grabs the best spot

Things we do for love...and a Blackberry

Part one

“Dele....Dele....Dele now”..... Reading one of the dailies Dele grudgingly directed his gaze at her. “I’ve been thinking”, then she paused like a spoilt daughter about to ask her dad for the unthinkable. “Go on” he said, Staring back at his paper hardly listening to his acquaintance. “Dele you’re not listening to me” she grumbled. “Well that’s because anytime you think it always ends up having a negative impact on my pocket!” “Aha now! That’s not true” she retorted. “Ok correct me if I’m wrong it’s one of those frivolous things again isn’t it?” “No, not at all” Jennifer fibbed. “Oh really?” With his face brightening up, “then it must be a business plan or a proposal of some sort?”

She gave him a disdainful stare “dele please don’t start”. Obviously disappointed, he slumped back into the leather sofa and resumed reading the dailies. Massaging his shoulders softly she called “Dele.......”In a dour pragmatic tone”Yeeeesss.....” he replied. I....I...I need a blackberry she finally manage to pour out. In an apologetic tone Dele wailed “whatever for? Thought I just bought you a new Sony-Erickson few weeks ago. Gesticulating she responded “you know now”. He shook his head slowly yet vehemently. “If I pretend I do, I’ll be speaking the devil’s native language!” “Status now" she said...besides all my friends have it plus my reputation is on the line as a trend setter. I’m always first to get things and now I don’t have a blackberry” she continued. With a bit of disgust he interrupted “And? What status? You’re unemployed and rightly so because you’re still studying if for over 7 years, whatever is wrong with that? Why would you want people thinking otherwise? At this rate prospective employers would assume you own a chain of restaurants”.

“Oh Dele! What has a blackberry got to do with my life history now? hen?” She blurted. “Ok, how about that Alhaji that sent you that raunchy text message the other night? He interrupted again. An explosion rocked her torso as she felt it beneath her feet and fear caused her insides to congeal. But this was not a time to fall apart. How could she have been so negligent? How could she not have deleted that message? Oh well, she’ll have to compose herself and real fast she thought. She always does she said to herself. “Which Alhaji” she queried. “Oh, you didn’t know I read your message that came in when you were taking a shower?” “I have no idea what you’re on about”. Snapping his fingers in an effort to remember something “yeeeee....what’s that bastard’s name again.... after like 10 seconds, he had a sudden jolt of memory, “Yes!” he exclaimed. Alhaji Daudu. Calm, collected and bullish she reacted, “Oh that stalker? I’ve warned him to stop sending me such messages”. “Ehen? I didn’t know stalkers get a piece of the pie as well" dele quipped. Giving Dele an obnoxious gaze she replied “What?”

Looking rather stern he warned “Don’t give me that look”. I remember reading *I can’t wait to eat up that juicy*....eemmm...what’s that vulgar word he used in that message again, staring at the ceiling with his index finger on his lips, she cut the brainstorming session short. “Dele, that was long before I met you. I’ve distanced myself from the man ever since. Obviously unconvinced he replied with a modicum of sarcasm “yeah right”.

She then walked down in her Jimmy choo heels, locked the door and gave the knob a tug to double check it was locked. Turning around she smiled seductively lifting her dark conjoined eyebrows to make a letter "v". she tossed her jacket down south and started to unbutton her blouse to unveil her cleavage. Dele, bereft of speech watched helplessly as he swallowed his saliva hard and looked on like a mesmerised Pinokio staring at a watch swinging in a hypnotist’s hands.

Anyway she started to crawl on Dele’s glass desk (something I would call “ere gele” meaning dangerous play) like a pussy cat. Now Dele had for view two pristine succulent you know what dangling across his face. “What are you waiting for?” she asked the poor hypnotized boy. Still wearing her seductive smile, she placed both her palms on his cheeks and caressed his lips with hers. Taking his hands she helped him with what felt like water in two cellophane bags. Dele turned red and needing no second invitation obliged and grabbed them and held on tight. The room was getting hot! Dele finally murmured something that sounded like “wait!” Pulling off his shirt he rummaged through his wallet for the essential ruffryders because this was going to be one hell of a rough ride. “You know my wife, very inquisitive. One lip gloss stain, one unbearable month ahead” he quipped. They soon resumed where they left off with Jennifer seating on his laps all the while. I’ll let you tell the rest of the story.

Part 2:

Jennifer flipped open her Mac for the umpteenth time, pushing her lower and upper lip back and forth to even out the lip gloss. She scrutinized her painting through the micro mirror and took a deep breath as she was finally convinced it was just as perfect as Picasso's finest pieces good enough to fool Dele’s secretary and the poor visitors at the reception. “Can I have the money now?” Adjusting his pants “how much?” he interrogated. “A hundred and twenty grand” she responded. “What!” he exclaimed. “That’ll be tomorrow then, I’ll leave the cheque with my secretary. She then walked up to him, squeezed him and kissed him on the left cheek.

“You’re the best I’ve ever had” she lied. “And you’re the best ever as well” he lied back. Heading back to his sofa she unlocked the door. “My kind regards to your mum” he uttered. “Bye!” they chorused in unison as she swung the door open. She walked down the aisle and past the reception, keeping a straight face and looking crispier than ever. She barely stopped as she ordered the secretary “Mr Johnson will like to see the next client”. A spark of malevolence gleamed in the secretary’s eyes and Jenny cat walked past offering a view of her rounded calabash like “behind”. The waiting visitors gazed lustfully and chuckled as she strutted away, her hips swaying in perfect rhythm to the bob of her braids and the swing of her arms. They seemed to have forgotten how long they had been waiting. The sprezzatura of Jennifer; effortless.

Foreplay or a quickie?

When the late notorious b.i.g once stated in one of his songs years ago “I feelin kinda itchy for a quickie, don’t take off your clothes all you gotta do is **** me” , I could barely understand what the man was on about.

Quite evidently, sexual deviancy isn’t my area of expertise but I’ve been married for over 24 months now and can’t help but think of a way to spark up my sexual prowess. I am convinced my major problem is the foreplay why should I use the phrase “long tin”. The entire journey of sending raunchy text messages from work to looking at/touching each other, running the shower or a message and finally to the bed I barely find exhilarating these days.

This morning however, has been a different story as my work colleagues and even the security personnel can testify to my unusual upbeat mood. I’m sure my wife can barely explain what transpired in the early hours of this morning as I have been obnoxious the past few weeks. I was fully dressed (excluding my jacket) in the kitchen sipping on my coffee when my wife barely awake strolls into the kitchen muttering something that sounded like “morning hun” to make my usual egg and bacon sandwich. While she was at it, I kept staring at her wondering why I’m putting her through such ordeal. As she had her back towards me, all I had for view was the type of figure that makes the arsenal down below disrespect you such that you can’t stand up after the close of a board meeting else you’d have everyone taking your hand and looking down below. How embarrassing!

Anyway all I could make out from the view was the “8” figure and the emphatic apple like bottom in the middle. The rest as they say was history. Not only did I have to swop my white shirt for another, I also left behind my lunch basket on the kitchen table! Such was the feeling. Absolutely titillating.

As I seat on my desk, I’m thinking …have I reached the saturation point for boreplay…..sorry I meant foreplay and a “quickie” kinda guy? In the British Journal of Sexual Medicine, a professor after conducting a survey on 2,300 women concluded that foreplay lasted an average of 15.4 minutes and intercourse 16.2 minutes. But the warm up proceedings (foreplay) could be considerably shortened as it contributes little as an aid to female orgasm. I think I’m in sync with women if this is a true indication of how majority of them feel because as I’m writing this, my wife has interrupted me with a couple of text messages telling me how I’m such a star and something about a multiple orgasm never felt in a long time.

I look at it in brand management terms. I am the product going through the PLC stages and I have reached the maturity stage. One of the strategies deployed for a product at the maturity stage is to find other ways to use the product. Presently, Coca-cola in Nigeria is positioning its flagship product to complement a good meal, and not just for refreshment only. So I’m positioning myself as some bloke “not strictly for the foreplay to final destination bed/sofa kinda guy” but also in any absurd place like the copier machine, toilets, cars and even in the traffic should a drunk BRT driver decide to block the entire 3rd mainland bridge. For you deceptive work colleagues claiming you’re just friends and he/she is just dropping you off at home these are options you ought to consider.

The main goal for me (at least for now) is giving my woman a by far preferable “quickie” than the humdrum journey of foreplay. Today we conduct our lives amid constraints of a time-poor world, money worries and palpable fatigue amongst others. You lovebirds will reach that maturity stage at some point so here’s my advice. Consider the “quickie” strategy to rejuvenate the product in you. It has worked for me at least for the moment.

As I’m writing this, I’m anticipating catching up with my wife at home still in her skirt suit trying to fix us a hotplate in the kitchen; then doing my thing and ramming it from the rear (As we have no kids or employees yet). All of a sudden work is so boring and I can’t wait to get home and get me some. I’m looking forward to putting on another coital virtuoso performance!

PLEASE be discreet and don’t get fired on the quickie campaign!

Thanks for reading.

A day in the life: O.J City

Part 1:
The weekend finally came and I couldn’t wait to show off my new boots and try out new skills I’d observed watching the Champions League during the week. It’s been a while since I set my foot on Emmanuel High to watch or play the beautiful game (football) as I have been a recipient of a horrendous tackle some guy called “Stone” well renowned for taking pride in maiming anyone better than himself had bestowed on me. A very clever strategy to cover up for his inadequate skills I suppose.

I was excited not because I was looking forward to getting maimed again, but because I just had this undeniable passion for both watching and playing the game. If you don’t believe me, why would I leave the comfort of my room early Saturday morning and play footie (as it’s called in the UK) where hoodlums trade and smoke all sorts of drugs such as “igbo”, “Gbana”, you take your pick. Why would I risk ruptured spleens, broken metatarsal or bruises on my velvet skin? And why would I hustle and tussle with folks who would give skunks or a drove of swine a run for their money? If you don’t believe me by now then that’s your problem. But I just hope you didn’t believe in the tooth fairy during your toddler years either.

The state of elation was short-lived though. I hadn’t even passed through the gates of Emmanuel high and I could envision the pandemonium. I think I arrived just about the time to witness the heavy weight bout between two prominent hooligans. A colony of grimy looking men were chanting and inciting all provocative words they could muster such as “ko ni da fun ya maja” (i.e. any diplomat thinking of breaking the fight had better think again else his mother will be highly unsuccessful no matter how hard she strives to succeed in life) as they were getting frustrated the brawl was taking longer than they had expected. By now the thugs had passed the stage of merely staring at each other, trading insults or pushing and shoving. It was time to bring the factual drama. One thug was very muscular, had the height and reach advantage; the other, stout and a little taller than lil’kim but he had a distinctive weapon; his mouth.

The fight was finally in full swing! All techniques deployed from Greco-Roman locks to kick boxing. The brawl lasted 3 minutes before something tragic happened. The stout soldier had slumped and remained unconscious! In a split second the muscular thug went from hero to zero. The same hoodlums cheering him on during the fight turned against him in a quick instance. “Now that you have killed him, we reckon you take his corpse to his parents,” they exclaimed. Some went a step further and initiated a happy slapping session. How art the mighty fallen I thought. You think the story ends there? Don’t hold your breath!



Part 2

Guess whose back? You remember the fall guy? I mean the stout thug? Yes that’s the one. While the unfortunate victor from the ill advised fight received a mauling from his “before-before” fans for committing murder (at least we thought he did), the stout thug regained consciousness, got up to his feet, clinched his fists together and bellowed “wey Ifeoma dey?” In bewilderment, everyone turned around and saw Lazarus eager to resume the fight. We were in shock! The whole field went as quite as Atan Cemetery at midnight. Ifeoma swiftly squatting on both knees and slapping his palms together as in our Lord’s Prayer position broke the silence; pleading shamelessly and even conceding victory to a guy he had obviously beaten “black and blue”.

The dwarf was confused by this kind gesture well aware of the consequences of defeat in “da the hood”. You either had to move out or face the incessant embarrassment and stigma attached to being defeated in a brawl or stay in the neighbourhood and take the solo walk of shame with your face down for an indefinitely long, long time. Neither was any thug’s option to be honest, but Ifeoma would rather be anything but a murderer for now at least. The stout thug was even more perplexed when he heard hundreds of people including myself laughing with tears rolling down our cheeks. I wonder what must have been going on in the midget’s head. He must have thought everyone came to Emmanuel high, high of something. Till this day I wonder if he ever believed he slumped for a few minutes during the clash. O, how I miss O.J city!

Ositelu Eniola

@doublegeneral

Encrypted "Footie" Talk

Player one (kunle):: Hey brov!

Player two (idowu): hey dude!

Kunle: how's work? And the family?

Idowu: family's doing just fine. Work? Mehn I'm contemplating retiring. This pain is getting unbearable.

Kunle: (bewildered), what! Early retirement? That's like theo "quickie"cott asking to retire from the game because of a few injuries by the way.

Idowu: (cogitates for a few seconds), yeah maybe. I might just make a comeback you'll never know;Jordan style, not schumacher suicidal stylee o! (Kunle chuckles). I'm fed up of injuries. Now my "physio-chemist" claims I'll be out for six weeks!

Kunle: so what? Quit talking bullcrap. Its the pain and the hennessy doing the talking not you so I'll just ignore. Anywayz, I warned you about the risks of playing with no "skin guard" didn't I?

Idowu: The "skin guard" right? Now I'm learning the hard way (Winces in pain).

Kunle: see now one top striker is sidelined for weeks thanks to your recklessness.

Idowu: (sighs) well I'm confident my strike partner will be more than a handful in my absence.

Kunle: next fixture is away to "barbcork" united this weekend and your partner will be the lone striker.

Idowu: (mood lightens up). Well, my injury won't be felt during that fixture with "babcork" united....phew!!!

Kunle: but you know that fixture and the best tactic to employ is coming from behind and you and I know nobody does it better. You reign supreme!

Idowu: I still think my strike partner will come off good but I disagree on being a specialist with a particular tactic. I'd like to think I'm versatile.....all I need is one chance regardless of the tactic or opposition and BAM! Its in.....

Kunle: I trust you.

Idowu: so how's *MLS season going by the way?

Kunle: (nods head continuously as he speaks) great! Doing great. You know I always find the opposition "wanton" and I'm quick to capitalize.

(Other phone of kunle rings....*hello? Hey! You outside already? Ok......I'm on my way hun..)

Kunle: hey! I gotta go now player! Duties calls. Stay out of trouble matie! Peace.


Idowu: peace bra!!!

*moral of the story: you don't have to be a player. And if you decide to be one, ensure you always stay protected with a ever reliable skinguard. They are available in stores around you. Some injuries are career threatening, some life threating!

Monday 12 December 2011

THE TRIALS OF THE "DYING BREED"

My eyes blinked continuously in as many seconds. Enough of this battle trying to force myself to get a long stretch of uninterrupted sleep. I must have hissed for the eighty fifth time. This is what I call “waking up on the wrong side of the bed”, only that this was starting to become a regular occurrence. PHCN/NEPA had deprived us of electricity since yesterday morning as usual, and I never leave the generator running after 12 midnight.

I glanced at the wall clock; it was already 6:45! As I reached for the towel, I hissed for the eighty sixth time with eyes barely open, scratching my body soaked in cold sweat and blighted with heat rash. I slapped my back for a moment as I cursed at the mosquitoes that have obviously grown immune to the several brands of insecticide I had employed the past few months. It was too late to catch the BRT bus I thought to myself. By the time I get to the bus-stop, the queue will be much longer than fans eagerly awaiting Lady gaga to sign a copy of her album they just purchased, only that people on this queue will be everything but gregarious. My only other option was to use the car if I’m to avoid getting a query at work for coming late. Although I’d suffer the consequences, facing heavy traffic on my way back home. So I did the daily early morning ritual, stuffed my food flask with all sorts of unhealthy pastries and fizzy drinks and stormed into the car.


I am a member of the “dying breed”, the one popularly referred to as “the middle class” in my country. Slowly we are at the brink of extinction. This social class is fast becoming an endangered species like the remaining six tiger subspecies. Such is how difficult things have become and how social classes are being redefined by such harsh economic conditions. If radical changes don't  occur, if economic policies by the next decade fail to bring about the much desired change, my social class status might just be extinct by then.


The journey out of my neighborhood shouldn’t take up to 5 minutes, but for the deplorable state of the roads, add an extra 10 minutes to that. I usually drive carefully, meticulously studying the depth of the potholes and death traps to avoid them accordingly. While I was at it, I must have irritated a pedestrian who didn’t hesitate to let me know he wasn’t a fan of my driving. “ewo ni gbogbo osi yi?” (What’s with all the nonsense?). I wasn’t exactly in a good mood anyway, so I fired back, “as road big reach na only this place you fit pass? Abeg make I hear word jare”. (Isn’t the road wide enough for you to avoid this spot? Please leave me alone). The pedestrian was obviously in a belligerent mood. “na so all you rich rich people go dey drive motor dey chance poor man for road, e no go better for all of una!” (That’s how you rich folks drive around in cars and exploit the poor man on the road, may you all not know peace!). That despicable statement surely triggered a robust response, as the chest of my car hit the asphalt. I was incensed. Not only did I fail in my quest to avoid that particular pothole, the pedestrian had the effrontery to call me “rich” and insult me as well. Rich? I wish I was as rich as he thought.


I popped my head out of my window and launched a tirade of all the foul languages I could muster in Pidgin English at the poor pedestrian. We exchanged back and forth for like 20 seconds till I could no longer see him in my rear view. I still threw my five fingers in the air regardless just in case he could still see me. As I was catching my breath from that shameless outburst, I heard a loud bang!


Someone must have struck my car with his fist. Again my meticulous driving must have left another person exasperated judging by his comment, only that this time, it was an Okada driver. “una go dey steal money, come buy motto dey do yanga for road”. (You loot the nation’s treasury, then buy cars and oppress the less privileged). I was livid with rage. He had already trotted past my car, but I didn’t care. I hauled all the abusive language twice the pidgin vocabulary content I could manage last term. I had exceeded the boiling point; it was more like the volcanic peak.


Ironically, I was listening to the legendary Fela’s “power show”, only that I felt like the oppressed. The song didn’t make any sense to me at that moment. All I wanted was to make it to work on time without having my vehicle destroyed. Now I’m so worked up and I can’t even think straight. What car was I driving that warranted such cruelty? It was just a Hyundia Accent I acquired few months back thanks to the loan facility made available to me at my job (By the way, I’m still servicing that loan).


Maybe I’m not being rational or maybe I’m just the regular selfish Nigerian, but should I drive my car through those dreadful roads to appease the poor pedestrian? Should I have ignored the uncouth okada driver who decided to hit my trunk with his fist? After all, it’s his fist not mine. But then again, why are they taking out their frustration on me? I didn’t implement the policies that have driven the Nigerian economy deeper down into the mire. I haven’t looted or been a beneficiary of looting the national treasury that has deprived millions of Nigerians either (to the best of my knowledge).
We and I mean the less privileged (because I always refrain from calling people poor) and the middle class are in this together. Mikano or Jubaili brothers for example don’t fuel my generator; they don’t give me complementary power plants as I don’t hold any important public position. I go through virtually most of the things they go through (well almost). I don’t have overzealous police officers as escorts who blew sirens at the slightest and flimsiest excuse to disobey traffic laws and harass poor civilians.


I have also not been introduced to any influential business mogul who might look at me with pity and give to me a brand new Prado jeep so I can hastily drive through the appalling roads in my neighborhood and avoid a potential spite with the angry pedestrian or the uncivilized okada driver. Only that my driving might hoist so much dust into the atmosphere with the jeep, but I will be long gone by the time they can haul abuses at me and they might even choke at it. But really, why do we allow the actions of the privileged few frustrate us to the point where we take it out on each other?


I reiterate, I’m a dying breed and not exactly so comfortable to fold my arms and adopt the “siddon dey look” approach. I’m on the same side of the less privileged. It’s very difficult not to get caught up in all the mess emanating from frustrations as a result of the current economic state of our dearly beloved country. I am guilty, and most of us are guilty too but we must look beyond that and act civil. We cannot allow these privileged few continue to make us act like “animals in human skin”. If we are to take out our frustrations it should be directed at those at the helm of affairs with their protruding belly merrily stirring the ship of Nigeria to nowhere in particular. We have available instruments at our disposal such as social networks, our pen, peaceful protests amongst others.

The time is now, enough with the lackadaisical attitude. I’m just getting started with my pen.

GOD bless Nigeria.

Eniola Ositelu

@doublegeneral