Naira Re-denomination: Complications Arising

Things have actually been a little quiet in Nigeria for a while now (never mind the restlessness in the Niger Delta, the prosecution of thieving ex-governors, the new- I beg your pardon, recycled government officials etc.) so when I learnt on Tuesday evening that the Naira was going to be re-denominated, re-decimalised, re-juvenated, re-valued, and so on and so forth, I was like yeah something to talk about in the office tomorrow. And true to type, us lawyers who really have no clue about economics, discussed the issue with all the gusto with which we analyse and dissect legal principles (of which we at least have some knowledge). I hadn’t really thought about the ramifications of the new Order and so I accepted it with childlike enthusiasm. With further reflection on the issue however, I am thinking: s**t!!!

This issue of the [re... choose your noun] of the Naira finally convinced me of the importance of dialogue and extensive consultations before crucial policy decisions like this one are taken. If only Chukuma had taken the time to consult widely, we would have alerted him to the effect this new policy would have on the economic and social lives of hapless Nigerians.

Take as the first example- Who Wants to be a Millionaire? That show is either going to have to go through a name change (ideas anyone? and no, not thousannaire) or be scrapped. And if it gets scrapped (which the franchise owners will most likely do if anyone so much as even thinks 'thousannaire') Guess what happens to all the producers, directors, costumers, lighting guys, stage arrangers etc...? They are out of a job; while the participants are out of hope.

Secondly and definitely more importantly, what is supposed to happen to our spraying culture? Methinks that I certainly don’t want anyone splattering me with coins. Coins--- Oho! I get it now!! No more spraying!!! The bagger gets to have his way at last!!!!

Chukuma and his men are only going to put us under pressure. Because now, I have to get my act together and get married before August next year. The thoroughbred Naija girl that I am, I cannot even begin to contemplate my wedding without the naira rain which will serve to reimburse me all my wedding expenses.

So Chukuma thanks, but no thanks!!!

For Those I Loved

The first time I lost someone dear to me … didn’t quite happen to me; my friend lost her father and I was almost 19 years old at the time. Up until then, I had been sheltered from the pain of death. I haven’t forgotten the moment when my friend told me over the phone. I cried. A lot. Fast forward 8 years and I’m thinking “Goodness girl! Crying more than the bereaved!!!”

And then it didn’t stop there. In quick succession four of my very good friends lost one or the other of their parents. It wasn’t the floodgates opening but there were more deaths than I appreciated.

About two years ago, my friend died. We had been very good friends in secondary school but lost touch over the years. We bumped into each other in the streets of Lagos much later when we were all grown up. She told me she was seeing someone and they were planning to get married. We made plans to see again- but we never did. I couldn’t even be at her wedding. The next thing I heard, Dupe, God bless her soul, had passed on. This was the very first time I would lose a friend and the news did to me what I assume news of a death does to most people; I thought about life and how fleeting it all is and how we are supposed to make the most impact while we can. That thought I have come to realise, passes quickly… until the next news of a death.

Mama died about the second quarter of this year. Mama had been ill on and off for a number of years but she had just celebrated her 69th birthday and we were all optimistic that she still had a couple of years left in her. Mama was my friend; the age difference notwithstanding. She was one of those people who just love; it didn’t matter who you were or what your antecedents were. She just took you in and loved you. I was a beneficiary of her love. I was Mama’s daughter. Many times when I was ill as a child, my mother would run to Mama who would nurse me back to health. As I grew older, she became more than my nurse and became a friend. She wanted to know about school, boys, and most other things young women experience as they get older. On my first trip to the United States, I went to see Mama to inform her and she bestowed me with a dollar bill. I kept that bill for a while but I eventually spent it. She almost got me to love flowers the way she did; it didn’t quite work out. But maybe, just maybe I will take it up, … as my memorial to her.

Femi was tall, dark, and good looking. He was a husband and a father to a son who just turned one in January. I howled. “What happened to Femi?” Death happened to Femi. Femi was my big brother as well as my friend. I met him at my first job. It was between my penultimate and final years as a law student and I needed to fill in the idle days ASUU had thrown my way. Femi and I worked together for about three months and in that short time, we developed a bond that remained until he died. The last time I saw Femi, we had met up to catch up on all that had been happening to us. He told me of his plans. He had big plans for himself and his young family. I spoke with him after that and he was making plans to go on a holiday. The next communication I had of Femi was a text message: “Sad to inform you but Femi has passed on; Burial is at …” That was when I howled.

My people say that eni to kan lo mo; it is he who has been hit that feels the impact. I remember that after Femi’s funeral on a Friday afternoon, everybody was in a hurry to get back to work. (I, for one, had to leave the office through the back door and I had had to impose on my colleague to do some stuff for me.) I wasn’t sure whether to be upset about this state of things or not. There we all were, mourning- but then again, in a hurry to get back to our lives. It felt like a shame. A bible passage came to my mind then: “let the dead bury their dead”. It must have sounded callous of Jesus to have issued such a statement to a guy who only requested to be allowed to go and bury his father, and then return later to Jesus’ calling. Only God is wise. Jesus knew what he was talking about. When someone dies, the rest of us must continue to live. It is no excuse to shirk our responsibilities; neither is it an excuse to live like one who is dead or dying.

In memory of all these people whom I have loved and lost, I will live. A good life. Until when it is my own time too to take a bow.