I haven’t written in a long while. Even though I had so much to say, I couldn’t bring myself to a logical final finish. Logic is subjective. What I call “a while” is, for me, a phase layered with several tons of ideas. Sometimes, I want to write about love and hate, and at other times, I want to talk silly to the government and her citizens. It is these many ocean waves of thought that have since stolen my while.
Even now, I am trying to reach into myself so that I can fetch something solid, meaningful, and useful. Life is not perfect; it is a collection of odd and even, ugly and fine. Life is dual effect. Even when men call themselves “life coaches”, it only takes a moment of crisis to find out that none is truly a coach except God, the author and finisher of all.
I told you that I was trying to reach within myself. Well, I haven’t gotten to the end of me yet. However, this part that I have gotten to carries a memory of several thousand hours ago. I was seven at the time. My dad sat me down on an ordinary evening. Then he began to shove words into my soul. First, he told me about a certain boy who brought so much loot to his mother. Every time that he went out, he always brought stuff home. His mother loved them all. One time, the boy went out as usual but got unlucky. He was caught by the authorities, and in no time, he was sentenced to death for his many atrocities. On the day that he was to be killed, he was given the opportunity to make a request. He asked to be allowed to speak to his mother up close. The mother came, leaned forward, waiting for her son to whisper his last words into her hearing. Perhaps, she was expecting him to tell her about some secret safe hidden somewhere. After all, she only cared about things. However, the boy did the unthinkable. As she leaned closer, he chopped off his mother’s ear with his teeth. The mother cried out in pain. Then the boy said to the hearing of all:
“I always brought home stuff. My mother never told me it was a wrong thing to do. I stole whatever I could because she never said no. If only she had cautioned me, I wouldn’t be dying today. I have bitten off my mother’s ear as a permanent reminder to her for doing a bad job — she was supposed to train me in God’s way. To all the parents, guardians, and people of authority here today, please be reminded that you have a duty to teach the younger generation the right way to go.”
Today, I look on sadly at the crops of leaders and citizens of Nigeria. The nation had and is doing a bad job of raising the next generation. The real reason behind all the social vices that Nigeria is experiencing is related to the story told above. The people groomed for themselves men with questionable character. And so, even if we cry blood, these men wouldn’t change because we missed and are still missing the opportunity to train properly men fit for tomorrow. We hail our kids for fraud. We say, “my pikin don cash out.”
Weeks ago, maybe two or three, a village was invaded by the evil men we curated years ago through acts of negligence and corruption. They killed many and abducted some. Actually, it wasn’t just a village; it has happened in several other villages as well as in urban areas.
The government, as usual, condemned the act and promised relief materials. Can we pretend that verbal condemnation is nothing but empty noise?
The real problem is that there is now a generation that has been taught that the means to wealth is of no essence. If killing a hundred souls would yield millions of naira, it is only proper to carry on with the looting, kidnapping… This evil that we have propagated will consume us all if we refuse to train properly the next generation.
– Olayinka Kayode
Ogun State.
