David Diop, a Senegalese poet uses his poem entitled “ Africa ” to describe our independence as possessing a bitter taste after he chronicled our long-suffering experiences and plight through colonialism and post colonial era. Nigeria is the landmass composed of the remnant of many ancient empires and kingdoms. The nation was thus forged from the anvils of hegemonic tendencies, human diversity, conflict and history. Agitations for the independent state of Nigeria began in the early 50s by the likes of Azikwe, Awolowo and Ahmadu Bello. We got that liberty quite alright. But after fifty eight years, the question we should ask ourselves is: How does its fruit taste? Barely seven years after our embryonic conception, civil war broke out ! We went to war against each other; brother against brother in a senseless and preventable orgy of violence that was born out of immaturity and nationalistic infantilism. The war consumed more than two million souls. This despite the ref...
Let me start by saying: Your Destiny is Greatness. The day comes when every person must leave the security of the nest and pursue their destiny. However, there are people who never came out of their nests because they lacked courage. They lacked confidence. When their future was presented to them, they lacked that intestinal fortitude to embrace it and step into the totality of their destiny. They chose mediocrity. They chose a low life. They chose obscurity. They chose smallness. They chose survival mentality. They chose small goals and weak ambitions. They chose to be a tenant in the terrain of their own destiny! There is a voice in you. There is a greatness that wants to break forth in you. There is a destiny waiting for expression. That voice is within you. Let me say this: Your future is not a date on the calendar; your future is a voice inside you. Your future will come from deep beneath your surface and locating your own core of potential. But our tendency is to l...
Even if the road to the cemetery is closed, We would buried our hero in the earth of Words. Uncle Pius Adesanmi, Thoughts are deep but the words are few, Humanity is paled by your gallant death, You are a deep fountain of intellect and illumination, Whose streams run through the crevices of the earth, Of which we have all worshiped and drank. For the first time in many moons , Humanity is stunned by the demise of a towering figure, The shadow of which influences our literary world, Vanguard of our fragile democracy, Shepherd of our national sanity, The mid-wife of our emancipation: Your words beautifully and humorously crafted, Nurtured the fading silhouette of our dreams, And we long to dance to the beats of your creativity. But suddenly the beats stopped… The water spilled and the gourd split! And what manner of life is this? Even if the road to the cemetery is closed, We would buried our hero in the earth of Words. Uncle...
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