Two reports dominated the front page of New Zealand’s largest circulating newspaper, the New Zealand Herald today.
The first featured photos of the dungeon of Horror in Austria where a 73 year old man had kept his own daughter captive for 24 years and fathered SEVEN children by her!
The repugnance I feel for this act is so solid I can almost touch it. What drives a man to commit such a heinous crime? What level of depravity? I cannot relate on any level to this episode and I wonder how much this is going to hurt the psyche of Austria the country.
Invariable comparisons are drawn between this case and that of the now 20-year old girl who was held in captivity for about a decade by a man before escaping last year.
In that case, you watch in morbid fascination and hope no one you care about ever gets into the hands of such a predator.
But how do you ward against your own father? One of the nearest and closest persons to you?!
Repugnant. Sick. Horrifying.
And I wondered what sort of punishment would be appropriate to this crime? The death penalty is out anyway with Austria as a member of the EU, and besides like a colleague of mine rightly pointed out, a quick death is probably too good for this monster. What crimes would he be charged with anyway? News reports indicate Incest, Kidnapping, intent to cause bodily damage and maybe even murder as one of the children he fathered died at birth and get this… was burnt!!!
My God… I am squirming in my seat and boiling with rage all at the same time!
I would suggest assemble a team of the best doctors first, and then proceed to drag him behind a car everyday, get the doctors to treat him and get him back to health. And then brand him with hot irons everyday while infecting him with a slowly debilitating disease. As a start.
It galls to know that he will spend the remainder of his life being poked by doctors in fancy institutions at the state’s expense eating three square meals and not having to show any remorse for his deeds.
The other story on the front page today was of a 28 year old guy who attempted to jump into the harbour from the balcony of an eight floor seaside apartment. He landed on the concrete walkway and died instantly. Sounds pretty stupid doesn’t it? He had a few beers in him and had been described as an avid snow boarder and general outdoors type.
For those of you who don’t know, New Zealand is the land of the great outdoors. Sky-diving, scuba diving, Surfing, white-water rafting, snowboarding, skiing, Bungee jumping are part and parcel of the tourist industry here in New Zealand. The topography and geography of the land has made kiwis into one of the most outdoors people in the world. Adventure and a sense of pushing your limits be it on a bush trek or mountain range, is part and parcel of the kiwi experience. The fact that the conqueror of Mt Everest is a kiwi was no accident at all.
But jumping off an eighth floor apartment into the harbour still seems a bit hare-brained.
I have every intention of going Sky-Diving, Bungee Jumping and Scuba diving just as soon as I get off the blood-thinning medication I have been on for the last year and a half. Apparently I am not allowed to do these high-risk endeavours while my INR count is so high. And the fact that I am even thinking of engaging in these sports means I am well and truly a member of a high-consumption society. God knows that my friends who have to battle traffic in Lagos, guard against being victims of crime, endure a night without electricity or one with combined with the noise of a generator will have far different recreational activities in mind.
But hey… when in Rome… right?
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
The Youngest Person I have ever met
I met a new-born baby on Sunday April 13. The youngest I have ever met.
Kayode and Jadesola’s baby was born at 4.40pm NZ time in the Auckland Hospital. We (Tope and I) visited at about 7pm.
He was swaddled in cloth, had very curly hair and was already looking around very sleepily at the huddle of adults making a fuss over him.
I was sort of expecting to have to stare at him from behind a glass partition like they do in the movies. Yes the movies. Other babies I have met have almost always been a few days (or weeks or months) old. The ones I could possibly have seen (my nephews) a mere 2 hours after they were born were all born in different countries from the one I resided in at the time.
Anyway… apparently Auckland hospital has a policy of not separating mother and child unless it is for medical reasons so we were all able to touch, coo directly in his face and even lift him up. (I didn’t attempt this last, what if he peeled in my hands!!!).
I have to confess that walking into that hospital was like entering into another world. There were terminologies and whole conversations that seemed almost alien to me. Epidurals, Induced labor etc. And there were all these posters on the walls promoting breast-feeding advantages and graphically showing techniques.
Its one thing to have a biology class on reproduction or even to attend a Nigerian style naming ceremony and its quite another thing to share the first few hours of a living breathing human with the amniotic fluid still unwashed off his body, mother looking radiant and exhausted all at the same time and the father unable to keep this idiotic satisfied smile from his face.
And then there was Iyin.
Iyin is the big sister. She is four years old and has the precociousness of her age and then some. She kept announcing to the nurse doing the half-hourly checks on her mum, “That’s my brother sleeping there” or “Wont you take my brother’s temperature too?” and when told to be careful and not poke him in the eye she replied rather tartly, “but he’s MY brother”. As if to say none of us could quite make that claim. Which we couldn't.
A baby is always a good reminder of the sublime miracle that life is. It is also a huge reminder of the responsibilities and experiences that I fully intend to be taking up within the next 2 years. Or three. Or lets make it a round five years! Hehehehehe. No hurry afterall.
Or is there?
Kayode and Jadesola’s baby was born at 4.40pm NZ time in the Auckland Hospital. We (Tope and I) visited at about 7pm.
He was swaddled in cloth, had very curly hair and was already looking around very sleepily at the huddle of adults making a fuss over him.
I was sort of expecting to have to stare at him from behind a glass partition like they do in the movies. Yes the movies. Other babies I have met have almost always been a few days (or weeks or months) old. The ones I could possibly have seen (my nephews) a mere 2 hours after they were born were all born in different countries from the one I resided in at the time.
Anyway… apparently Auckland hospital has a policy of not separating mother and child unless it is for medical reasons so we were all able to touch, coo directly in his face and even lift him up. (I didn’t attempt this last, what if he peeled in my hands!!!).
I have to confess that walking into that hospital was like entering into another world. There were terminologies and whole conversations that seemed almost alien to me. Epidurals, Induced labor etc. And there were all these posters on the walls promoting breast-feeding advantages and graphically showing techniques.
Its one thing to have a biology class on reproduction or even to attend a Nigerian style naming ceremony and its quite another thing to share the first few hours of a living breathing human with the amniotic fluid still unwashed off his body, mother looking radiant and exhausted all at the same time and the father unable to keep this idiotic satisfied smile from his face.
And then there was Iyin.
Iyin is the big sister. She is four years old and has the precociousness of her age and then some. She kept announcing to the nurse doing the half-hourly checks on her mum, “That’s my brother sleeping there” or “Wont you take my brother’s temperature too?” and when told to be careful and not poke him in the eye she replied rather tartly, “but he’s MY brother”. As if to say none of us could quite make that claim. Which we couldn't.
A baby is always a good reminder of the sublime miracle that life is. It is also a huge reminder of the responsibilities and experiences that I fully intend to be taking up within the next 2 years. Or three. Or lets make it a round five years! Hehehehehe. No hurry afterall.
Or is there?
That Latin Feeling...
I attended a party the other day. It was for one of my colleagues who was going on secondment to the USA for a few months and since her birthday was about the same time she decided to have a few friends over for a bit of a sizzle. (kiwi for barbeque).
Said colleague is an Argentinean (albeit married to a kiwi) and so the majority of her guests were all Spanish speaking. Mexico, Colombia, Spain, Ecuador all had representatives there. There was a kiwi guy there who was with one of my other colleagues and he spoke fluent Spanish as well. He had learnt in London if you believe it. Anyway, being a predominantly Latin party, most of the conversation was in Spanish and although I couldn’t understand a word it seemed like I was at a party in Lagos Nigeria.
I have written here before on the similarities between African and Latin culture and I was feeling that closeness all over again. I mentioned to Tope that we should really sit down and learn Spanish together and then when we have kids we could switch to Spanish whenever we didn’t want them to follow our conversation!
One other funny thing happened, I had a lot of anecdotes and stories from Sweden (Sverige Sverige Sverige!!!) and I shared them quite expansively and humorously as only I can do. Later Tope mentioned that a lot of those stories she had either never heard them before or heard quite distinctly different versions. I then proceeded to let her understand that one of the creeds of a story-teller is never to let the truth get in the way of a good story!
Ask any charismatic speaker or motivational speaker and they will tell you how the re-telling of a fishing trip will progress with bigger and bigger fish until it turns into a whale of a story! And if you are still not convinced, ask Hilary Clinton how a sedate walk down a tarmac turns into a Special Forces op Jerry Bruckheimer style! Sniper fire, camouflage paint and near death experiences become an intricate part of the narrative.
I still think she will be an excellent President though. And with her recent win in Pennsylvania the super delegates who will decide the nominee might start thinking she will be THE winning President as well.
Said colleague is an Argentinean (albeit married to a kiwi) and so the majority of her guests were all Spanish speaking. Mexico, Colombia, Spain, Ecuador all had representatives there. There was a kiwi guy there who was with one of my other colleagues and he spoke fluent Spanish as well. He had learnt in London if you believe it. Anyway, being a predominantly Latin party, most of the conversation was in Spanish and although I couldn’t understand a word it seemed like I was at a party in Lagos Nigeria.
I have written here before on the similarities between African and Latin culture and I was feeling that closeness all over again. I mentioned to Tope that we should really sit down and learn Spanish together and then when we have kids we could switch to Spanish whenever we didn’t want them to follow our conversation!
One other funny thing happened, I had a lot of anecdotes and stories from Sweden (Sverige Sverige Sverige!!!) and I shared them quite expansively and humorously as only I can do. Later Tope mentioned that a lot of those stories she had either never heard them before or heard quite distinctly different versions. I then proceeded to let her understand that one of the creeds of a story-teller is never to let the truth get in the way of a good story!
Ask any charismatic speaker or motivational speaker and they will tell you how the re-telling of a fishing trip will progress with bigger and bigger fish until it turns into a whale of a story! And if you are still not convinced, ask Hilary Clinton how a sedate walk down a tarmac turns into a Special Forces op Jerry Bruckheimer style! Sniper fire, camouflage paint and near death experiences become an intricate part of the narrative.
I still think she will be an excellent President though. And with her recent win in Pennsylvania the super delegates who will decide the nominee might start thinking she will be THE winning President as well.
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