Wages of irresponsibility, by Muyiwa Adetiba
Traffic jams along the Lagos/Ibadan Expressway are not new. They are in fact, almost ritualistic. It is as if some gods want to exert some toll on commuters from time to time and we are yet to come to terms with ways of appeasing them without donating blood. The traffic gridlock around the notorious Kara […]
Every day is minus one
The year 2019 and its baggage, came to a final, inexorable end this week. It was without a whimper. In fact, it was so seamless that one had to make an effort to notice its passage and an even greater effort to stop whatever one was doing in acknowledgement. Yet, with it came the end of a decade—some would say a momentous one—to make it two decades after the much hyped millennium.
Touch a life, save a life
I woke up late morning to a darkened room and looked out to see heavy clouds. I had started my morning devotion when the elements opened up. Thankfully not in torrents but in drizzles. It was one of those days you wished you could stay in bed and curl up with a good book. But it was a day I needed to venture out and rain would be a dampener.
Orji Uzor Kalu as a scape goat
A man who has lived the greater part of his life in opulence having made money early in life and the latter years in superlative opulence—according to the picture of one of his homes that went viral—having allegedly appropriated the commonwealth of his people, recently changed his address, albeit unwillingly, to a much poorer abode.
A disturbing signal
In any case, Tunde Fowler is gone. He has been replaced by a man of lesser visibility if not pedigree. The same day, Muiz Banire, the Chairman of AMCON was removed. Some will say rather unceremoniously. Some will say it was in line with the provision of the institution. Both are Yoruba men. Both were replaced with Northerners. Ordinarily, it shouldn’t matter where a replacement comes from as long as a better man gets the job.
It is that time of the year again
It was palpable; this air of expectancy. I felt it as soon as I drove into Police College Ikeja, for the second of my twice weekly exercise. I felt it in the banners that were conspicuously placed in strategic places; I felt it in the white chairs and the huge tents that took over the playing fields; I felt it in the huge loudspeakers that faced outwards rather than inwards; I felt it in the kiosks that were already bursting with activities; I felt it in the excitement of the young men and women as they trickled in with tracts in their hands; I felt it and I sighed. It is that time of the year again. What I had just seen were the trappings of another end-of-the-year vigil.
