Our readers deserve to know that their Column is interested in silent revolutionaries who are unsung and uncelebrated largely because of society’s default and its apparent preference for rabble-rousers who only succeed in heating up the world around them.

LAST Sunday, I drove my children back to resume the new school term. The night before, I held a discussion with them about the responsibility of being educated, as a holistic pursuit of the life process.

In this unfolding crisis of the ruling Peoples Democratic Party, PDP, I have kept my eye on the familiar antics of one man. This man has almost single-handedly shaped the type of democracy we are practising.

The house of cards that is the Peoples Democratic Party, PDP, seems to have finally fallen apart. From the beginning, the PDP like the typical Nigerian party was a marriage of convenience among persons and groups united by no greater purpose than the desire to share in the Nigerian national cake that everyone is loathe to bake.

THE story you are about to read will no doubt evoke several emotions in you by the time you finish reading next Thursday. It is the pathetic story of a young lady seeking to know her true identity. I was moved to tears after listening to this lady as she narrated her story. At the end of it all, I concluded that this was a classic case of over indulgence on the part of this lady’s grandparents as well as sheer wickedness and lack of fear of God and humanity on the part of her mother. That is if indeed she qualifies to be called a mother.