Enough is Enough!

Rhetoric is a fine thing.

When properly executed, it can inspire a whole generation. Or two. Gettysburg address, 'I have a dream...', 'Ask not what your country can do for you...' and so on and so forth. These three examples all come from the US of A.

The same US of A that the half-Kenyan dude took rhetoric to whole new levels two years ago and got himself the job of the most powerful man in the world. Jury is still out on if action is matching all that lofty rhetoric.

Which is always the problem with rhetoric of course. By its very definition according to Wikipedia, "...the art of communicating effectively... to move audiences to action with arguements". It becomes very difficult (in my opinion) to sustain that action you have moved your audiences to take. So while it might stir the heart and emotion and get otherwise warring factions to sing 'kumbaya' together, after a while rhetoric becomes inadequate to achieve real change.

Unless each rhetoric piece contains a nugget of directed action.

Stir the heart, stoke the emotion, swell the head and take this specific course of action. This is how persona cults develop around these intensely charismatic individuals and you have people commiting atrocities or showing saint-like behaviour on the say-so of a rhetoric-driven individual.

Which is why I really like the piece below. Some of you might have seen it already. If you haven't, you're in for a treat. It stokes the right embers of nationalistic fire and caresses the right parts of your ego while still containing a simple course of action for you to take to back up the rhetoric. It's brilliant.

The one thing I found annoying about it was the insertion of the mantra of said half-Kenyan above. I mean, its all very well to 'borrow' the idea but to import it wholesale without editing? Almost threw me off the patriotic horse it had put me on but didnt.

Enjoy!

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Feel free to share this on your Facebook wall, blog, website or newsletter. Copy and paste it into emails and blast it out to all your chummy paddies who you’ve been sending all those silly, annoying forwarded messages to.

By January 08, 2011, there will be approximately 35 million Nigerians between the ages of 18-35. We will embody the hopes of another generation, a generation neither touched by the civil war nor old enough to have enjoyed the brief period of prosperity that followed the oil boom.

We will represent a generation that cannot remember any cross country journey we undertook without encountering craters in the middle of the road. A generation that inherited broken down schools, discouraged teachers and a confused education system. A generation, forced to compete in a world they were not adequately prepared for.

We, 35 million of us, are an advance guard for a generation of Nigerians who grew up drinking from boreholes, streams and ponds, who lit their way at night, and in the early mornings with lanterns, candles or torches. To whom luxury meant to sleep in your own bed with the, ironically, comforting noise of a personal generator providing the assurance that your home appliances will be useful, for a little longer.

Our generation has been unfortunate to emerge in a time when the HIV/AIDS pandemic is at its peak. Gripping fatally at the lives of our contemporaries, cutting them down at their prime. To make matters worse, we have the added misfortune of being born in a place where the healthcare and social welfare systems either do not exist or are incapable of protecting us from the fate imposed by this or any other ill of its nature.

We remember the police for bribery, politicians for corruption and the public utilities for ineptitude. We will insist that we have survived so far in spite of, not because of, the contributions of these people or institutions.

For our generation, a great Nigeria is a dream or a collection of stories and doctrines handed down by our fathers, read in textbooks or chorused out in the National Anthem. It has never been our experience. We have experienced no greatness from which we can weave stories to inspire our children or grandchildren. Our memories will be of malnourishment in boarding schools; violence debauchery and strikes in University; robbery, rape and death at home and in our neighborhoods.

We have never voted in an election considered to be free, fair or credible. We have never controlled our fate.

But we can rewrite our own story.

We can respond to our challenges together, like the great Nigerians we so desperately want to be. We can shake off complacency and embrace collective action. We can become the heroes of the great stories we will tell our children.

We are doctors, lawyers, engineers, planners, musicians, actors, models, handymen, builders, cleaners and students. We are the minds that will imagine a new dawn. We are the hands that will make it happen. 35 million of us. We can tell a better story than our fathers told. Our children can inherit a greater Nigeria than we were born into.

Yes we can!

And we must!

For none of our individual brilliance, or industry will amount to anything if the collective wellbeing continues to be at peril. For even if we attain our individual dreams, our marble palaces will be surrounded by slum, and stagnant gutters. Our walls and shadows will be hounded by robbers, and hoodlums who – having been denied existence by society – will seek to prey on our success. For survival is a basic natural instinct, and when it is not guaranteed, it expresses itself in vice.

Our standing in the world will continue to plummet. We will continue to be treated as lepers - the butt of cheap jokes and scathing satire. And we will not have a better story to tell, to balance any of these.

Unless we say Enough is Enough!

So come October, 2010, just as our nation celebrates 50 year of little or nothing after independence, we will come together as the most numerous political force in its history. We will take the opportunity of this unique anniversary to start a quiet revolution that will spin this country on its head.

We will find the nearest INEC registration center, gather our friends, colleagues and family and go Register. Then we will spend the next few weeks (after registration) scrutinizing the field to Select credible candidates who speak to our issues. During the elections in January, we will come out (with our friends, colleagues and family) – in the rain, sun or sandstorm – and Vote for those whom we have selected. Beyond casting our votes, we will stand firm and together to Protect our vote. Ensuring that it counts for whom we have cast it for.

This RSVP will be the start of our quiet revolution.

For when we have shown our numbers at the polls, we can now collectively demand that our issues be addressed. We would have shown that our generation cannot be ignored. We would have started a journey to take back Nigeria from the mischievous minority that has held her hostage.

And if we succeed, we would be the ones who our children will be singing about in the 5th line of the national anthem: “…the labor of our heroes past shall never be in vain”.

So if you agree with me that “yes we can”, you must forward/share this message to 100 more people within the next 24 hrs. (LOL)

If you are interested in leading the RSVP effort in your neighborhood or vicinity, you can register here:

http://www.enoughisenoughnigeria.com/register/

If you want to find out where your INEC registration center might be, check here:

http://www.inecnigeria.org/election/find_polling_station.php (polling stations are used for registration too)

Start expressing your opinion by partaking in this poll: “What attributes would determine your choice of a President?”

http://twtpoll.com/r/z8gsg2

To learn more about the campaign focused on one of the major issues going into the 2011 elections (electricity) visit:

http://www.lightupnigeria.org/

Yours Sincerely

Amara Nwankpa

Praise Poetry

My mother in law arrived to Auckland last Tuesday.

It's been drama of shakespearean proportions to get her here a la immigration New Zealand. But the important thing is that after a 36 hour journey which included 28 hours of flying time, 3 stops and endless cups of airline tea, she arrived safe and sound to the Auckland international airport.

The tiger cub and I were on hand to welcome her at the airport and it was very moving to see her take Anjola, go down on her knees and give thanks and adoration to God Almighty. I guess the sight, sound and feel of your first grandchild on your breast will do that to a person.

A few friends I had been excitedly telling about the impending visit had asked me rather cheekily how much patience I had gone to buy from the patience bank for the visit. I didn't need to pretend how much I was looking forward to her visit. I have known couples who are always at daggers drawn with their respective in-laws but in this case, I can safely say there is a lot of mutual affection between my wife's mum and I. A bit about her:

A bustling middle-aged woman with the beautiful dark skin of the kind that glows, you can see that she lives for her children. Stylish, modern and extremely fashionable, she has a laugh and quiet intensity to her that creates a connection between her and individuals who have been a bit over-pampered by their mothers.

She also has a command of the Yoruba language that I stand in awe of.

People my age and generation, especially of the middle urban class in Nigeria while mostly bilingual, sometimes still struggle with our mother tongue. Take me for example. I speak Yoruba fluently-ish. I can read it fairly well, a bit haltingly and with only occasional mis-pronunciations and I am unable to write it with the correct inflection marks and phonetic sounds. And besides the variation of Yoruba I speak is the 'bastard' version. The marketplace Yoruba which is spoken and used by the different sub-groups.

I almost exclusively think in English as well.

No surprise there as living in New Zealand, surrounded by English speakers, working, communicating and reading (writing) in English, it becomes normal to start to think in English. Back home in Nigeria, surrounded by more people speaking Yoruba, one starts to think (as well as interchangeably speak) in both languages which is perfect for a growing tiger cub to pick up both languages.

So one of the first requests I made to my mother-in-law was for her to speak exclusively to the cub in Yoruba. She's only here for a short time but my cub is at the stage where he is actively interacting with his environment. Everything... and I mean EVERYTHING is this intensely interesting phenonenom to explore. And stick in his drooly mouth. You can almost see the synapses firing away in his brain (and being extinguished when we sit him down in front of the E! channel).

So I reckon we better make the best of my mother-in-laws presence here and get some Yoruba lessons in at this stage. I mean, you should hear my mother-in-law pray in Yoruba. It's one of those goose-pimples, shivers along the back, head swelling experiences. And its a skill Tope and I can only dream of having.

Of course, we will make every effort to continue his Yoruba education when his grandmother leaves but for the reasons above, this will not come easily or naturally to us. One thing she will leave for us however is the tiger cub's Oriki!

A cultural phenomenom among the Yoruba in South-west Nigeria, a person's oriki consists of the achievements of a prominent ancestor; the portents of achievements to come and; recording of achievments actually made.

By the above definition, an oriki is therefore a constantly fluid and updated piece of work. Usually rendered in poetry, it is sung as a sign of praise and is a favorite for grand parents especially to soothe and encourage a child.

My tiger cub has the beginnings of a solid foundation for a long and varied praise poetry...

...Olufela Anibi juwon...

...I am unable to give anymore as an oriki also doubles as your true name. And we all know how powerful those can be. If I told you anymore, I would have to kill you.

What's your own oriki?

Substance Over Style

I can be very charming when I want to be.

And I want to be almost all the time. I have always been an attention-seeker, right from childhood when my mom's friends would exclaim, "oh what a cutie" to yesterday when I made the pretty 17 year old Indian MacDonald's worker blush. (pushing the boundaries there I know)

Being a shameless attention seeker, I have discovered ways in which to attract, retain and feed on said attention. My personal style accounts for a large part of that process. Sanguine, open, friendly, dominates a room if I have to and yet can blend into the background waiting for the exact right moment to give a booming laugh and announce my presence to a hitherto unsuspecting public.

And all that affable personal style had absolutely no effect on the spreadsheet I had to work on today!

Spreadsheets are amazing tools. The vast amount of information you can package and present using a spreadsheet is nothing short of miraculous. A reporting analyst I work with swears that with the right commands, not only can you turn last year's dairy product volumes into a pretty graph, you can get Microsoft Excel to also make you a cup of coffee too...!

Four hours I spent collating, copying, pasting, cross-referencing, transferring, filtering, and proof reading this damn spreadsheet! 'Where's my bloody charm to help me get through this one now?' I muttered to myself intermittently. When I started seeing the figures and numbers start forming into battalions on their own accord and screaming lines from various Disney movies, I quickly got up and took a 15-min break.

But of course, when my manager met me at the coffee machine and asked how I was going, on went the charm switch and I smiled confidently and assured her it was all hunky-dory!

I knew a long time ago that I really didn't like detail work. Or routine work for that matter. Give me detailed routine work and expect hari-kari within a very short time! But if I have learned anything at all in this life, it is the fact that you CANNOT avoid the detail work. It usually is where the substance comes from.

Long have I admired those with flamboyant personal styles. But scratch most of them below the surface and you find very shallow individuals. When I call all that attention to myself, I don't stop people at the front door but like to invite them all the way into the vast recesses of my personal being. It galled when as an 18 year old, I was described as shallow. It is a moniker I have consciously tried to correct ever since. I mean, whats the point of inviting all that attention to yourself if there's not something for everyone to snack on?

So I have learned to love detail work... OK... love is a very strong word. But there is a certain kind of satisfaction in clicking on that send button with a well ordered spreadsheet attached complete with graphs and pivot tables and a little summary table in the corner. And when you have to give a presentation based on that spreadsheet, why right there is a lethal mix of substance and style. You kill all them doubters right dead I tell you!

I heard Warren Buffet makes a whole lot of intuitive and instinctive decisions. What they don't tell us is that he employs an army of statisticians and number crunchers who work on providing cold hard evidence on why the decision was a good one. And if there's no hard evidence forthcoming, the 'instinctive decision' is very quietly dumped and no one talks about it anymore!

Style will only take you so very far. Substance will take you much much further. And if you want to go far and have more fun doing it... then build up substance and hire me to coach you on the style!

Tales of the Tiger Cub

Have you ever lost touch with someone for years and years, not even consciously thinking of the person but upon seeing the person, instantly recall their full name and all the good times you had together?

Happened to me today.

Adaeze Achinivu. One of the funnest(sic), funniest, life-loving, big buxom ed girls I have ever had the pleasure to call friend.

And to make it even more interesting, I didn't meet her in the flesh but online. I was logged into my email when the new message ping sounded. I looked at the screen name and Ada's face jumped into my mind. I instantly recalled every single bit of skulduggery we got up to in AIESEC (where else?) but couldn't immediately recall her name "Amaka?" I thought to myself. But that didn't sound right.

She typed one more question and her full name suddenly flashed in my mind like neon lights on a popular Vegas strip joint!

Adaeze is doing very well indeed, lives in the UK now has a Masters degree I believe and works for some fancy company I didn't quite catch the name of.

But I remember her from a more innocent time of my life. When the most important thing in the world was how to get to the next AIESEC conference. I took a few road trips with Ada and she it was who introduced me to the taste of fried snail. (of the Giant African variety) on the highways of Eastern Nigeria. We didn't have a lot of money but we were also debt-free. We didn't drive fancy cars but seemed to get around much much more. We didn't plan beyond the next weekend but there was never ANY doubt about what we wanted to do and become in life.

How things have changed in the last 5-10 years.

I am 29 years old. I have been married for 2 years or almost 2 years depending on how you look at it. I have worked for the same company in the same business unit for the last 4 years. I have recently started a part time post graduate program at the University of Auckland that will earn me either an MBA or a Masters of Management in 3 years. I have a six month old son.

My Tiger cub. Born in the Chinese year of the Tiger, he constantly amazes, amuses, inspires, and motivates me.

It's a cliche I know but my life has not been the same since he came into it. I have heaps of single friends who make it clear they are in no hurry to jump into parenthood. But who wants to do this in middle-age? My tiger cub is slowly starting to show me exactly what "the energy of a toddler" really means. I am humbled at the thought that of all the prospective ones out there, he chose me to be his progenitor. His pack leader.

So these are no longer just 'my' stories. They are his. Everything I do, touches upon him. Daunting for some individuals to be laden with such a huge responsibility and some even label it a burden. I consider it a privilege.

So watch out for our stories. We have taken too much time off from sharing. Those bestsellers are NOT going to write themselves.

13 out of 20

The plan had been to write a blog post about each of the secrets of happiness stolen from the Time website, add my own unique slant and nuggets of gold to it and then wrap up with a grand finale-post celebrating how happy I was.

That was 5 months. Got through 13 out of 20 secrets. Story of my life.

Full list (with Time.com commentary) can be found here:


1. Count Your Blessings
2. Hear the Music
3. Snog. Canoodle, Get it on
4. Nurture your spirituality
5. Move Your Body
6. Laugh Big
7. Do Something Nice for someone Else
8. Make More money than Your Peers
9. Seek Positive Emotions as a Path to Success
10. Identify with your Heritage
11. Use a Happy Memory as a Guide
12. Play the Part of an Optimist
13. Try New Things
14. Tell Your Story to Someone
15. Balance Work and Home
16. Be Like the Danes: Keep Expectations Realistic
17. Make Time
18. Visualize Happiness
19. Smile
20. Marry Happy

I had been looking forward to writing on "Tell your story to someone" but ah well...