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A man, his mission; a nation of headlines; a slap in the face; Ogufere, my friend

It is not yet up to a year since I began to feel differently. I believe I have written about that change here. It is not anything as earth-shaking as St. Paul’s conversion. It was simply a growing awareness of an inward uplifting – that is the only way I can describe it; an internal effervescence that fills you with a gripping desire to ascend to a plane of higher thoughts and nobler deeds.

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* “mj” and fela, *helluva road, *Halliburton “a-go-go”

And that was the way it was, until I linked up with this cherub-faced bundled of sheer music, with every fibre of him a sweet, sweet sound – Michael Jackson. I can’t remember when I first heard him, but I do remember the song – “1-2-3″, a song for the young which left the old calling for an encore. He was fronting the “Jackson Five”, and the driving seat suited him to a “t”.

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*seven-three years younger *the soft under-belly *the young shall grow

So many “ministries” are caught in the groove of “prosperity” that the gospel of the naira and kobo once entirely dominated our religious horizon. Perhaps it is because the Roman Catholic priesthood is shorn of that pre-occupation that the Cardinal, as well as other clerics of the same order, has found the space to turn around to the commonplace considerations of life … and that to the benefit of the common people.

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