The Introduction

Watch the Video: The Introduction

Many had an exciting weekend and, so, became gloomy about Monday (as if that has not not become the norm); even wishing it away altogether.

Others did not. These are the ones wishing Monday and Tuesday be converted to Saturday and Sunday so as to compensate for their losses. And rightfully so I must say.

My advice to you all is to be patient as the President will attend to your heart cries immediately he comes out of the OUTER room.

In the meantime, whichever category you fall, here is to help you smile, and even have a cozy handshake with the purple faced Monday morning.

Akanot com and kill maself!

Behind the Clouds

That night none of us could sleep as she battled with a recurring stomach pain all through; she had at least two sessions of diarrhea. It was April 16, it was a Saturday night.

Earlier, days before then, she had gone to see the Doctor and, to best of our knowledge, had received adequate treatment. So when the stomach upset started again, we placed a phone call to the same, and there was a reassurance of some sort. He said it was adverse effect of the drugs prescribed. He advised that certain ones be discarded for the moment, and that one be continued; we did accordingly and there seem to be calmness for all. Everyone slept very well afterwards for the shorter part of the night that was already close to dawn.

Dawn set in and we got up, got up to a Sunday morning that was ordained to be memorable. We urged her to take some pap and were encouraged by the quantity she was able to ingest. Till that time, every food nauseated her – once they get in, she throws them up again; but this time was different. She took the pap slowly and it stayed, we were so glad about that. The ache also has disappeared; now that is another reason to rejoice. She sat up on the bed and we joked about all that happened through the night – it was fun to reminisce on past unpalatable events of the night. She became her normal lively self again.

It was a Sunday morning and I was supposed to have been in the Church at six, but due to prevailing circumstances, I decided to stay a while back to monitor the progress before setting out. I sent words ahead that I will be coming for the second service only. At nine, while I was getting prepared to set out, the pain suddenly picked up again. I helped her to the restroom and she threw up; this time, there was almost nothing to throw up. Until that time, she had been reluctant to go to the hospital, I was not so eager either especially because of the continuous reassurance we were getting from the Doctor, but now she requested that it is best we leave if only for the purpose of re-hydrating on all she had lost, I obliged absolutely; and preparation commenced immediately. I went in to get her dress so she could change up; her Mum was also around to lend a helping hand. I went downstairs to arrange for a ‘Keke’ to convey us and I was fortunate to get an empty one on time. I went up to pick her but she advised that I urge the Keke into the compound so as to reduce the walking distance even if it is by 5 meters. I went down to do as bidden and came up again. Many things happened very quickly afterwards.

While I was holding her by the side trying to help her out of the house, she cried out that I should carry her quickly as she cannot explain how she was feeling. I carried her in a hug-style her head hanging on my right shoulder with the purpose of making the most of the narrow staircase. Then suddenly, she started convulsing; she threw up again and went silent afterward – she fainted. This was totally unexpected.

For a few seconds, I was a bit confused as to what to do next. During the convulsing stage, her legs had dropped off my arms, it was her Mum who noticed that and I urged her to help lift them up, then I carried her like a Baby with both hands now that it was no longer possible to maintain the old style since she was unconscious.  And, somehow, I managed to get her down the narrow staircase and into the awaiting ride. As events unfold, I fought hard to resist the voices in my head saying ‘Look, she is no more breathing; there is nothing you can do now’ – voices from hell, I ignored them completely. I kept my mind solely on the promises of God for us.

Just before entering into the ride, she came back again - it is obvious she wasn’t going without a fight; so, with her head laid over my laps, she started confessing in a barely audible voice what she has learnt and believed over the years:

“I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord in the Land of the living”

                                                                    And

“With long life, the Lord satisfies me, and shows me His Salvation”

I was encouraged by this act of faith and I could see she said them genuinely – I think I can sense when confession is said in fear or unbelief – so I urged her never to change her confession. I also joined in using you for I, directing the same words to her while the driver of the tricycle charges down to the hospital at a horse’s speed realizing the need for the moment.

We got to the hospital and I paid for the ride, and then bare her in my arms again to the reception. At the reception, a dramatic event happened. The Nurse on duty was quick to attend to us and she started taking her vital signs. I was not impressed by that protocol especially in the face of such an emergency, and I voiced my mind; but she replied that this was just as important as anything else, so I let her be. While the nurse was about being through with her protocol, she slumped backwards on the chair again, I holding on to her  and the other ladies around, two of them, whether they were patients or visitors I cannot say, clearly panic-stricken, started shouting while snapping the fingers and hitting their palms against their legs… ……”Hey…Hey!!! You will not die……..Jesus…Jesus….hey…hey” Their reaction, if it wasn’t in a serious situation, was laughable, but no one laughed. Rather, somewhat calmly, and very confidently (Only God knows where the strength came from) I started confessing again….”You will not die, but live, and declare the words of the Lord”. By this time the Nurse was done with her protocol – misplaced protocol I could almost say, so I lifted her up again taking the lead, being familiar with the place, as we made haste to the wards upstairs.

The personnel all did their best; they administered drugs to stabilize her while I was told to make arrangement to move her to a Teaching Hospital as the situation was beyond them. They carried out many tests that could make the heart quiver the more….very low PCV, low Blood pressure, high this, high that. I had resolved in my mind that I will not be moved by anything – not a single inch! She was obviously pale, and frail.

Pale, so I heard, is the colour of death; with that kind of awkward colour, who will choose death? Why would anyone choose such a lifeless colour when we have so many beautiful colours in the world. Life is colourful, I choose life. Life is good, life is beautiful.

It was extremely difficult to locate a vein through which water could be passed to the system, but with much effort, one was eventually located. Lying on the bed, she passed out several times and came back again with same words on her lips. The Pastor kept calling speaking words of faith and agreeing with her confessions.  After doing all that was humanly possible, with God’s intervention in the background, she got a bit stable.

A good neighbour of mine brought his vehicle to convey us to the General hospital; I carried her again downstairs into the waiting car. The traffic somehow favoured us as we got there in good time. Even though she was a bit stable – at least, more stable than before, she could not still walk due to the pain and weakness, so I carried her again into the Casualty ward of the Teaching Hospital, a place where many entered and never came back.

**************************************************************************************

Through the valley of the shadow of death you went while Saints offered sacrifice unto the Most High, and God kept you.

I still wonder where the strength came from, strength of the mind I meant, not strength of the arms. But that is just a normal saying because I do really know where the strength came from – the Lord Jesus Christ is my Strength and Shield.

Thanks to Family and Friends who stood by.

On Sunday the 24^th of April, exactly one week after the incidence, I held you by the hand while we walk side by side through the places you have been carried, out of the Teaching Hospital and into our house. Our God is ever faithful.

On our wedding day, the oath we swore to was that of Togetherness and staying forever. Even though forever is not really attainable here but in the hereafter, togetherness is a certainty. And the togetherness in health and wealth is going to be a long one, 70 years being the least. And if ever there is going to be any going, I should take the lead (another possibility is that we transit to glory same time at ripe age), but be assured that I’m not going anywhere anytime soon; like I said, 70 years from now I’m still kicking.

Sunday, 1st day of May was your Birthday. One Sunday you were down, another one you were up, another one you were up and doing; now, tell me, what other life is worth celebrating more than this? A life that was gone now returned. We give glory to the Giver of life.

The clouds, though horrible, come with its benefits. Having surmounted this challenge, we have acquired more strength to overcome others; that is the Silver lining beneath every cloud.

What do you see behind the Clouds? What do you see beneath the dark patches up in the sky?

 I see long life long and Prosperity, I see health and wealth. I see an ever radiant sun and a great galaxy of bright shining stars. I see you celebrating the hundredth year in the midst of Children’s Children, and Children’s Children’s-Children if the literary community will permit me to use such words. I see you testifying to the faithfulness of God in the Land of the living.

For now, and for many years to come, I will commit myself to writing on commendation, recommendation, celebration, graduation, solemnization, convocation, appreciation, and all other positive 'tions', for my loved ones. I will never write an epitaph on any one (save the very aged) as it doesn’t even fit in all of the foregoing groups.

This is for my beloved wife, Elizabeth Oluwaseunlafunmi Bamidele, on her Birthday.

(May 1^st, 2016)

THE TWO BLACK BIRDS

On a lighter mood:

Many were taken by surprise that the duo making up the brand P-SQUARE have split and that Peter was the first to make the move. I wasn't surprised one bit!

How can I when I already saw it coming a long time ago in my Nursery Rhymes, The Two Black Birds. I'm even surprised to see anyone surprised.

"There are two black Birds sitting on a wall,
One named Peter, one named Paul. 

Fly away Peter, fly away Paul.
Come back Peter, come back Paul.
O, come back black birds sitting on the wall"

From the lines above you can see that Peter was the first to fly. And, predictably, if there will be any coming back, it will still be the same Peter that will take the lead.

I conclude therefore that this Nursery Rhyme was written by a prophet in the ranks of Nostradamus.

‪#‎justtryingnottotakelifetooseriouslyasifitscoconutjor‬!

Man leaves paid employment for Bread Hawking

In other News:

Somewhere in the City of Lagos, a known Bread Carrier, on the quest for fame, has deliberately walked into a Photo-shoot of Big Sam, an unknown Music Manager.

The transformed Bread Carrier, who also is a Professional Photographer, who prefers to shoot people rather than been shot at went contrary to his inclination on this occasion bumping into an on-going photo session which is meant to feature on the online site, Facebook.

Since the emergence and swift ascension of Olajumoke Orisaguna into stardom, a former Agege Bread seller turned Icon of great repute, many young people are now treading on the same path, hoping that, somehow, TY Bello or some other benefactors like her will show up and change the story of their lives forever.

Wishing you Good luck and Divine Favour as you go Mr. Corporate Bread Seller!

(Note that this is a farce)

AN UNUSUAL KIND OF WISDOM

I once knew a man who is given to cigarette, who is a Grand-Master at it. When he is happy, he takes one stick to celebrate; when he is sad, he takes another to lift his spirit. When he needs inspiration to carry him on through life’s challenges, he takes one; when there are no challenges in view he finds solace in the same. When he is nervous he takes a stick to calm him down, and when he feels he is being too soft and that his weakness may be taken advantage of he takes another to help get him on the high side. It is funny how that he takes it both in a particular situation and in another situation that runs directly contrary to the first. It is therefore appropriate to conclude that smoking, for him, is habitual rather than circumstantial; circumstances are just used as a cover up for nurturing our habits. Thus, the smoking continues day in day out - one stick at a time. To be honest, though, I have never seen him put two sticks in his mouth at the same time.

He will certainly out-do a faulty automobile’s exhaust in a smoking competition, this man. And if he is seated beside a chimney doing his ‘business’, one would find it difficult to determine the exact source of the smoke. As a matter of fact, if you are not a careful observer, you could even conclude that he and the chimney are one and the same entity; or simply put, that he is the Chimney himself! He’s got some tendencies and he is capable of doing the unlikely; that is, if all match sticks were taken out of the world, if all lighters and naked fires were eradicated, he could result to the early man’s method of striking two granite stones against one another just to light his cigarette. And if stones and all other sources were altogether taken off from the earth, he could cut his cigarette sticks into smaller bits, get a cup half-filled with water, add the bits of cigarette into the water, add a pint of salt to taste, and drink the mixture as one would drink an oat meal.

But for all that he is a chronic smoker, he is such a nice person; very understanding, peaceful, humorous and absolutely intelligent. Also, he is weary of the habit himself, though it seems he has been enslaved by it (anybody remembers Lucky Dube’s Liquor Slave?) Once, when I was preparing for my church’s annual convention, knowing my affiliations with Christ and His body, he said jokingly but with every sense of sincerity:

‘Ajibola….you people who are more spiritual…..remember to pray for me to stop smoking o’

To which I smiled and responded in the affirmative, that I will surely do. It appeared now, though, that it is either that my prayer was not enough - and really I didn’t pray well enough - or that his own case needs an anointing greater than mine; maybe that of the General Overseer of the Name of Jesus Ministry is what he needs after all. For last time I checked, ‘business’ was still doing very good.

He bought a new car, this man; a very sleek car it was both in appearance and performance. One day, driving the car, his itinerary took him along a section of the city where serious rehabilitation of roads and related infrastructures was going on, a place he had not visited in the recent times. He got to a junction and took a familiar one. Due to the rehabilitation project on-going, the road was a smooth drive, no pot-holes, no wear-offs - just a smooth and perfect road all the way; but something seem to be wrong.

For about five minutes he has been driving, he realized that no vehicle had overtaken him neither has he overtaken any. He realized that no car was either in his front or at his back; he realized too that there was no human being in sight, but that he was all alone on a beautiful but lonely path. Anyone living in Lagos knows that that is abnormal especially on a major road; hence, there is the need to be more cautious and tread softly - Yes, there is. I stay close to a major express road, Lagos-Ibadan Express road to be precise, and I know that vehicles still move even at 2 in the morning! Sometimes when I get up to ease myself in the middle of the night, I still hear vehicles moving – at least one passes in an average of two minutes even at 2 a.m! So, my man has got every reason to be concerned especially when the time is not 10 p.m yet! But he continued going forward anyway, hoping that the road leads to a U-turn or some other way, but there was no such thing. He went on and on and then got to the end of the road at which point there was no way forward. He parked the car and got out. Putting his hand over the pocket on the right side of his trouser feeling for his lighter, and, as usual, was about to find strength in one stick when he saw something that made him had a rethink.

There they are in their own company - Area boys of Lagos, simply known as Agberos. This Pride has deliberately pitched its lair at this point for the purpose of taking advantage of the unsuspecting. There they are with blood-red eyes in Black faces; breathe that smelled of a mixture of concentrated liquor and weed; notable scars all over; burnt teeth made so by constant fire and nicotine; and a distinguishing attitude.

Seeing this, he comported himself and, for the first time, rejected the idea of smoking; he decided to execute the idea that came to his mind. He went towards the Pride of Area Boys, raised a finger in a manner requesting that one of the boys give him a taste of the wrap of weed in his hand, the boy obliged. He collected the wrap, took two or more sips at it, and shook his head to allow it settle down. He handed back the item to the owner, thanked him for his generosity and tipped him a little amount. The boys, thinking he might have been one of them in the past were very cool with him. They asked him if he wanted some more wraps so they could help him get, but he told them that he was okay with the one he took. Then, they showed him the way to maneuver his car out of the place; he thanked them and left. Note that before that experience he has never tasted weed before, he only acted that by instinct, and that act was his saving grace.

Now, wisdom can be divided into four classes: Innate, Intellectual, demonic and Divine. Innate is inborn, inbred, natural endowments; Intellectual is acquired wisdom, that is, from studies in institutions, professional bodies, self-developmental engagements etc; demonic wisdom proceeds from the devil; and Divine wisdom is from God. I will leave you (readers) to categorize the wisdom in the above scenario as you deem fit. As for me, if not that I do not wish to be too hasty so as not to be guilty of blasphemy, I would have concluded that the wisdom displayed could have come from no other place except from above!

Faced with the same situation (God forbid!), if similar thought ever crosses my mind, I would have done likewise, and even a little more. I would have requested for the wrap like he did, take a long deep single sip at it, shake my head as if to allow the substance simmer down. Then, I will squat down for a moment - say 10 seconds, stand upright again, hand over the loaned wrap to the generous one and request for my own take-away pack. I will pay for the service and salute them in their customary way with two hands in the air, and take my leave. Leaving, I will walk straight to the car, instead of entering through the driver’s side, I will enter through the passenger’s side climbing over the Gear compartment to the driver’s seat, stretch my hand from this position to pull the door on the passenger’s side to a close. Then, I will start the ignition, put the car in reverse gear and slowly drive off in that state till they are out of sight; after then will I start looking for a way to turn the vehicle around to a normal position. By this act, they will be fully convinced that their therapy has had the desired effect on the beneficiary, and they will be glad about that. After all, as at that time, they, having had enough wraps earlier, are wont to see every upside-down thing as right-standing, and all of my acts especially one of driving in reverse mode would have been lauded by them all.

Wisdom, certainly, is a principal thing.

On the Subject of Army Cadets' Brutality gone viral

Speaking on the issue of the recent video of Army's brutality that has gone viral, an event which happened on the last day of 2014, which, definitely, must have put the poor victim in a sober mood through the festivities of that year.

Even though I partly belong to the Military constituency having spent 6 years behind the walls of Command Secondary School, Jos; even though I speak about the Army with a sense of pride having benefited much, especially in area of Discipline and Knowledge, from the same; even though I now have many of my old boys as part of the military whom I have great respect for; I condemn, in its entirety, the attitude of some members of this respectable group of taking undue advantage of others especially of the civilian community. 

This is very saddening and, to say the least, shameful.

It kind of makes me wonder if this present crop of Cadets from the Defence Academy will be able to sustain the values of patriotism, dedication and dignity that the Nigerian Army is known for.

I have not said that excesses of a Bloody civilian - as they normally say - are not to be curbed sometimes; but please, let this be on justifiable grounds and in an acceptable manner. 

There is a way of the jungle, but Nigeria is not a jungle!

And for the innocent victim to have restrained himself from pressing charges, but rather appealed to the Federal Government to engage our Men-at-arms in proper orientation programs before letting them loose is ironic, and highly commendable on his part. Sometimes you see maturity in a child (the victim in this case) and much stupidity being exhibited by supposedly elderly ones (the molesters in this case). 

The victim has forgiven the past, I would have done likewise. But one thing I am certain of is this: If Army means dedication and loyalty to the Fatherland; the ones I saw in the video will never make good soldiers, anyway. There are many of such cases, though, which goes on off-camera unknown, unreported and unattended to. It is consoling to know that the Army has taken this one up.

To this end, I therefore add my voice to that of the victim and to that of all well-meaning Nigerians, that the Army should take seriously the appeal of re-enforcing discipline among its ranks, and also strengthen its recruitment and enlistment process such that only the ones loyal to the call and to the Nation make it to the finals; and not some power-drunk injukas whose ultimate aim of joining the military is to wear the uniform.

Truth is there is more to being a soldier than being kitted up in a cute, heavily-starched, finely-ironed Khaki; a shiny black boot; and a well-fitted green beret or whichever as the case may be!

NEVER START A FIRE THE FLAME OF WHICH YOU CANNOT QUENCH

This will most probably be the most off-road of my write-ups; off-road in the sense that it will take me along paths I seldom tread. I will be forced to use words which, in my real self, I would never have used; except, and very rarely, for educational purposes. There are certain words which I have never been convenient with; words which, even if I were left in complete solitary where no humans can reach, I would still not have used. If I have my way, I would have kept the event to myself, but I just cannot. Writing, for me, is a passion and, much more than that, an obligation. Therefore, whenever there is a conception upon the mind it must be let out, else, it will be a passion unfulfilled. Every conception on the mind is like a burden, and like any other kind of burdens, the bearer alone suffers from the weight. So as not to fall victim of a known outcome therefore, I write. I will not hold anything back even at the risk of sounding unusual, as any omission will be a distortion of facts.

I had my NYSC orientation in 2008 at Iyana-Ipaja Lagos; I was mobilized with the second stream of the Batch A corp. members of that year. That day, we had gone out for the routine early morning exercise and, afterwards, returned to the hostel for the day’s chores and to get ready for other activities in view; it was a tiresome outing. For me, the whole morning exercise was boring. Not about the physical trainings - anyone who spent one week in the gates of Command Secondary School, Jos at the time I was there would know that the NYSC exercise is just a child’s play compared to the drills we got in the school; but sitting outside under the sun all morning taking lectures most of which I had no interest in really do wear one’s mind off. Having had so boring a day, we decided to get the mind a little bit elated.

Though I have never been a ‘Hip-hop’ person all through my life, though I have always been trying my best to see that nonsensical music do not get the better of me, though I keep a strong filter for sieving contents of odd music before it gets settled upon my mind, some stubborn ones still find a way of penetrating into the core parts of my mind taking advantage of my sincere love for music. Even when I tune my mind completely off the frequencies producing them, there are still some emanating from street radios, buses and other public gatherings that my antenna finds irresistible. There are some amongst the lot, though, that I really love, those when weighed against my conscience I find hearable and singable, those whose level of perversion is light or considered reasonable and harmless. That day, the operator in the OBS (Orientation Broadcasting Service) as usual was playing some jamz, and he played one such song that I love.

“Photocopy – ko easy! You can never be like me, it is my identity…Teni n’teni…Takasa n’ta’tan……Apa lara, Igunpa ni iyekan……………”

In response to the song, in order for us to amuse ourselves, Alhaji, a good friend I met at the NYSC Camp who incidentally was from the same school I graduated from, and I started dancing comic dance to the lyrics of the music. Soon, some other guys on the first floor of the three-storey Camp building joined in taking it more seriously than us. My favourite song ended and I went inside the hostel to do one or two things, meanwhile, music kept streaming out of the OBS. By the time I came out again to the balcony of the first floor, it was filled with dancers, and Alhaji was in their midst. The spirit continued spreading, and soon, everyone on all the other floors was out to either join in the dance or feed their eyes.

Again the operator played.

“Lori’le – o di gonbe………E so fun Sisi Ologe koya faya…………………..!”

The people shouted. The dance continued. The operator kept changing the music with increasing tempo. The dance continued.

I looked up at the space in between the building - it has a big quadrangle at the centre, I looked up to see balloons flying in the air giving the inhabitants of Iyana-Ipaja and passers-by a false sense of Independence Anniversary celebration. The balloons all of the same colours but different sizes flying in the space within – a thousand balloon in the midst thereof. But these were no ordinary balloons.

Permit me to dwell a bit more on these balloons. These young men, having preconceived upon the tablets of their minds to achieve certain aims along the line of sexual immorality before leaving their houses to the Camp trusting that they will meet their female counterparts who also would have preconceived in similitude – like a case of a man going on the quest for suicide who, at the point of crossing the road to drown in the river at the other side, was knocked down dead midway by an oncoming vehicle: even though the means of death was different from what he set out for, the ultimate was achieved nonetheless – came with some of these items. Also, leveraging on the ‘generosity’ of the various health organizations present on the orientation camp, who freely distribute these items, which, I suppose, was invented for the purpose of birth control but which, overtime, has turned into an instrument for encouraging promiscuity, to desiring persons. For the too-curious reader who claims he doesn’t get what I am talking about at this point, not wanting to completely deviate from my ideals with respect to decent usage of words anyday anytime, I can only suggest you find out what modnoc is all about. 

(I can see someone eagerly typing out the letters M-O-D-N-O-C on Google; but that is none of my business! Curiosity is known to be capable of killing any kind of cat!)  

Armed with such supply of these items, it was not surprising to see a quantum of strange balloons flying in the air. The significance of this act is that these young men have thrown sanity in the air, that whatever piece of sanity in their possession had been thrown to the winds. And what is now left is lesser than the alertness of the beast of the fields. What was left was a null!

The beat goes on…………

‘Gongo Aso…kutuke awo….anywhere I dey….Aji sebi Oyo la nri, Oyo o sebi Baba enikan.......!’

And the usual shout that greets every change came up again, this time reaching to the high heavens. Now, everyone stood outside the veranda on all floors - saints and demons united as one; some watching with great interest, some dancing like wild beasts. But the jumping and dancing seem not to be to this particular beat coming from the OBS, there was some other music from some other place…..but from where?

If your inner eyes were half as keen as mine, you would have seen Satan and his host ascended from the pits of hell and took the centre stage; and he, Satan, sat at the Turntable and began to ‘cook’ such beat as to make men mad being a Pro in the art of music himself; and his Sergeant-at-arms holding a pair of cymbal one on each hand and hitting them against one another producing an equally dangerous sound – I could almost swear I saw at least one of the corp. members moving to this particular beat; and the other lesser demons clapping their hands together while moving round and round in circles as we see in some spiritual centres when demon is supposedly being cast out of a person. This other music was the one dictating the moves even though it was not obvious to the ordinary eyes.

In consonance with the new lease of spirit, the OBS operator played the next line:

‘Omo na mental craze! Start to dey craze…kolomental….ooohh..Oh..oh oh oh oh oh…Kolomenta!’

Having thrown sanity to the winds earlier, this song helped to seal the deal. The spirit of insanity had been let loose on the children of men. The noise went completely overboard; the young men jumping and shaking their heads on this side, ladies dancing and screaming on the other side, the devil and his host laughing hilariously for a job well done at the centre. I, on the first floor standing a few steps from the main activities on the boys’ side, was watching the drama with a mixture of confusion and interest - who would have thought that a little fire could generate this much smoke? This was not my intention, this could never have been my making. God save the king!

Then the whole thing took another form, a form sharply different from what a normal party should be. Seizing the advantage of the moment, the young men, who have been on the camp for a little over one week or so, started complaining of having been deprived of their right to ‘pleasures’ for so long, and started shouting:

“We want s***************************!!!”

To which the ladies on the other side (the shameless ones amongst them) responded excitedly by turning their bums toward this side, shaking it vigorously as if to say to them ‘Say that to the bum bum’. This they did several times responding to the continuous call by the young men for the unimaginable, they have no shame. Then the boys took the request many steps farther, as they say, give the devil an inch, he will take a mile. They requested that the ladies pull off their dresses. By then, the centre of main activities had shifted to the upper storey of the building, and it was from there these weird acts and strange requests were coming from. 

I later heard that one of the boys actually went inside the hostel, pulled off his clothes and came back to the veranda with nothing on save a bucket turned upside-down over his head to conceal his identity, a bucket to conceal his folly. So, it was on this basis that the boys on this side were requesting that the ladies make bold to do likewise while displaying their now nude comrade as a trophy of some sort. Now, the spirit of nudity has been unleashed on the sons of men, and they were trying to infect the daughters of Abraham with it. I was on the first floor so I didn’t see this display, but I could judge from the outburst and excitement of the ladies on the other side while pointing up towards the boys’ hostel that it actually happened. The ladies, though, truly speaking, never obliged to this request, at least, as far as I knew; but they were indulgent of it, and were quite obviously excited by it. 

And the beat goes on and on.

Just at the moment when fire and brimstone was about to be sent down from above to consume the children of men like the days of Sodom and Gomorrah, Mr. Anthony Ani, the NYSC State coordinator at the time, who is the current Director of Mobilization (I saw him granting an interview on Channels television not too long), having first gone into the OBS studio located on the ground floor of the building to stop the music, came into the centre of the quadrangle - the same point where the host of hell pitched its tent, looked up towards the source of the madness, and shouted passionately:

“What is wrong with you?! Are you all children?!!” 

In the next instance, everyone disappeared from the verandas into their hostels and the place became as silent as the Grave – not even a bird was left to sing. Nothing was left save Mr. Ani, the spectacle on his face and the echo of his voice. And that was how everyone was saved from imminent destruction. I felt so relieved that all came to an end.

Had it not been for the intervention of Mr. Ani, that event would probably have made headlines the next day. It would have degenerated into something else. It would have been reported that some young men at the Lagos Camp jumped off from storey buildings and took to the street naked. And that before they could achieve their aims, fire came down from heaven and devoured them all. And the face of a certain boy named Aji, and his friend Alhaji would have made it to the front cover of all bestselling newspapers around the country being the main culprits.

My Name would have been mentioned and my face as shown in the picture below would have made cover pages even though we started the dance without any evil intention, we started it just for personal use and it was meant to ease off the stress of the day. This, therefore, brings me back to the title of this bizarre episode: NEVER START A FIRE THE FLAME OF WHICH YOU CANNOT QUENCH. Ours grew into an inferno and would have gone worst if that word of caution hadn't come in time.

Let this word of caution guide your acts and attitude wherever you find yourself.