CAUTION: This be death matter.
"Cooking and frying, only news of the fire wey them hear, ibi roasting; wey see the fire naked."
Everyday for our life people we sabi dey die, ibi like news we dey hear (cooking and frying through life) as death land for your top, ibi that time man go see naked truth about dis life we all dey hustle through.
Whether na metaphor, hyperbole, onomatopoeia, allegory or anything your literature/grammar teacher call am, DEATH na one word wey get plenty idiomatic uses – I suspect say death like gari be ubiquitous, no dey stay one place so, so roaming wal Laahi (I swear).
One time, na bucket someone kick, then another time for ‘life highway,’ someone pass away or pass on, some self say ibi visit to ancestors. One quotation I sabi well well about death be: De black camel wey dey stop for everybody gate mouth if no bi today, for the future. Camel see matter ooo
Reality [call am true matter] be say, whoever you be now (present), you be before (past) or you go be for the later (future); somebody like you – for past, present or future – die before, die as I dey write wey you don dey read, or go die later.
Shebi na man/woman, light/dark, tall/short, rich/poverty don, sick/strong etc. you fit die anytime, no be you alone even me: na die I go die someday me too.
I sure say, this no be issue wey people go dey want to yab yab for top, but … as ibi inevitable phenomenon – na im be say everybody wey mama born am go die, I beg read if you want. If not, no be me go advice you wey thing to do.
A- Ah! Shebi, no be me for wish you dead, why at all I for do dat?
After all me too go die someday. But as i dey so, I just want roll am for my head say: One day if I die, weything go happen? Seriously this na BIG question even you too for start dey toss for inside your head.
I no sabi why, but so them dey say: that as person die pam, you for no talk any evil about am. But what I sabi be say: whoever you be, just die finish… bam! Some people go talk good, others go talk bad, then the middle batch, just go dey there indifferent.
The reactionary reaction towards your ‘mutuwa’ (Hausa for death) all go depend on how you relate plus them [fellow man], the time wey you still dey fit breathe air courtesy Oga God and HIM boundless providence and grace.
Some go hear about your death immediately (shebi social media dey), some go hear am days, weeks, months even years later, trust me; some never go hear till them too go die. But all that no be matter ooo. So i see say you want yab say "what be matter?" True matter be the obedience, respect you give to Baba God. Then the way you live plus your fellow son of Adam. Period! Matter be dis oooo....
As for me, I sure say if I die, my mama and siblings [2 brothers and 3 sisters go cry] – this I sabi sake of how me plus them collaborate to cry as wanna papa die. Other relatives for de family go cry, some school and makaranta colleagues go cry and I sure say the kiddies wey I dey teach and those i teach for past too go mourn big time.
Seriously, all of that no go help in anyway, it just go be say, them spare some optical fluid coz as you go, them never go see you again. At that time too, dead body – renamed corpse – no go know who dey cry or who happy say you die. Coz na die you die be that!
As I want exit dis world on good level plus God and mankind – wherever I find my body; I dey guide myself with this principle: LEARN RIGHT, SABI AM WELL WELL THEN SPREAD AM TO ALL AND SUNDRY.
As Baba God bless you, die go; people go mourn you but you go dey enjoy fine fine meeting with ALLAH.
Peace!
11th Rajab 1436 = 30th May, 2015
Thursday, 30 April 2015
Tuesday, 28 April 2015
Night Soil Chronicles: #Brave Carriers OF Our "Sh*t"
Introduction
It was usually kept under lock and key. It was strategically located asset at the far end of compound houses. After all the slurp and gulp, when digestive systems also complete their cycle; each member of the household visited the place.
It was mostly a square structure, with corrugated sheet roof, no ceiling. It usually had a wooden door and a small opening that served as a window. Climb two steps up the elevated “pulpit,” wherefrom you squat and aim for the holding area. A typical toilet/lavatory in Accra New Town back in the day.
Those were the compound house days when the spirit of neighborliness meant that we shared so much. From food, access to television, telephone lines, a same compound even kitchen in some places and of course, bathrooms and toilets.
Hard Job, Tough Guys
Emanating from nature’s own calculated sequence by name excretion, all except the medically unfit visit the place to release digestive residue deposited in the anal region of man, more specifically referred to as the rectum.
Question that crossed my/our minds most of the time, after we have deposited our unwanted lot and seen the container full, who comes to empty it and at what time. How much paaa would he be paid for that?
There were the night soil carriers (colloquially apologies, can I say SHIT carriers?) at least so we were told. And for long we continued to wonder why someone accept to carry the contents that almost a two scores of people “deleted” for want of a better word, over a period of time; into the container.
Where I grew up had an estimated 11 households, with an average population of five people in each, that comes up to about 55 different shades, weights, and components of the unwanted matter. Yet; that brave guy and his like elect to carry it and be paid for it.
It was a night operation. It had little accoutrements to execute but trust me, a very big heart. A short but hard edged broom, a pair of gloves, some foldable cloth to place on one’s head, surprisingly at the time, no nose mask. T’was that simple!
These guys (Krumanu, as they are referred to) carried the fecal matter to the nearest public toilet for primary deposition awaiting a further collection of deposited materials by waste trucks.
At Offloading Point
Information has it that these guys deposit through the manhole opening at the public toilets then get some water to wash off the walls of the container before returning the empty container for refilling.
And if for any reason you are not asleep during their operative hours and dare to pass a derogatory comment even insinuate that they have come along with some putridity, the vicious ones with hand you a raw deal.
Instances of such are, to dip their broom into the booty and sprinkle the contents on the ‘offender.’ Leaving contents behind is another option as is going to deposit and coming to pour watery remains at the offender. Smelly deal indeed.
An innovation that popped up back in the day was the fecal trucks that threatened the job of our good old krumanus, I was pleasantly surprised to see a mini waste truck going from house to house doing the job those brave individuals did.
Yes, it brought dignity to the job, but I learnt in places the truck is unable to access, good old krumanus are the “ish.” When the toilet is uncollected and is full, we trek to the public toilet to salute nature.
Years On
Roll forward the years and we virtually live with toilets in our respective rooms, the effect of a more “civilized” society that more than anything respects solitary living and with that respect for one’s privacy.
In today’s era of architectural awakening, rooms in houses have their own toilet and bathrooms. Hardly does even a parent share their moments of smelly privacy even with their kids, let alone visitors to their home.
Yet in most compound houses, the toilet’s close pal (bathroom) is gradually finding a place in the room. A personal toilet still remains an overly ambitious dream in the setting I grew up in. Maybe only after such houses are restructured.
If I have time, I will write another part of this piece, much shorter and share nostalgic experiences of why you should not shout at who is in there and how to identify whether it’s an elderly person or not. The ideal time to visit and of course the sweaty jogging sessions as you awaited your turn on a high turnout morning.
Hmmmmmmmm!
10th Rajab 1436 = 29th April, 2015 (Wednesday)
--
It was usually kept under lock and key. It was strategically located asset at the far end of compound houses. After all the slurp and gulp, when digestive systems also complete their cycle; each member of the household visited the place.
It was mostly a square structure, with corrugated sheet roof, no ceiling. It usually had a wooden door and a small opening that served as a window. Climb two steps up the elevated “pulpit,” wherefrom you squat and aim for the holding area. A typical toilet/lavatory in Accra New Town back in the day.
Those were the compound house days when the spirit of neighborliness meant that we shared so much. From food, access to television, telephone lines, a same compound even kitchen in some places and of course, bathrooms and toilets.
Hard Job, Tough Guys
Emanating from nature’s own calculated sequence by name excretion, all except the medically unfit visit the place to release digestive residue deposited in the anal region of man, more specifically referred to as the rectum.
Question that crossed my/our minds most of the time, after we have deposited our unwanted lot and seen the container full, who comes to empty it and at what time. How much paaa would he be paid for that?
There were the night soil carriers (colloquially apologies, can I say SHIT carriers?) at least so we were told. And for long we continued to wonder why someone accept to carry the contents that almost a two scores of people “deleted” for want of a better word, over a period of time; into the container.
Where I grew up had an estimated 11 households, with an average population of five people in each, that comes up to about 55 different shades, weights, and components of the unwanted matter. Yet; that brave guy and his like elect to carry it and be paid for it.
It was a night operation. It had little accoutrements to execute but trust me, a very big heart. A short but hard edged broom, a pair of gloves, some foldable cloth to place on one’s head, surprisingly at the time, no nose mask. T’was that simple!
These guys (Krumanu, as they are referred to) carried the fecal matter to the nearest public toilet for primary deposition awaiting a further collection of deposited materials by waste trucks.
At Offloading Point
Information has it that these guys deposit through the manhole opening at the public toilets then get some water to wash off the walls of the container before returning the empty container for refilling.
And if for any reason you are not asleep during their operative hours and dare to pass a derogatory comment even insinuate that they have come along with some putridity, the vicious ones with hand you a raw deal.
Instances of such are, to dip their broom into the booty and sprinkle the contents on the ‘offender.’ Leaving contents behind is another option as is going to deposit and coming to pour watery remains at the offender. Smelly deal indeed.
An innovation that popped up back in the day was the fecal trucks that threatened the job of our good old krumanus, I was pleasantly surprised to see a mini waste truck going from house to house doing the job those brave individuals did.
Yes, it brought dignity to the job, but I learnt in places the truck is unable to access, good old krumanus are the “ish.” When the toilet is uncollected and is full, we trek to the public toilet to salute nature.
Years On
Roll forward the years and we virtually live with toilets in our respective rooms, the effect of a more “civilized” society that more than anything respects solitary living and with that respect for one’s privacy.
In today’s era of architectural awakening, rooms in houses have their own toilet and bathrooms. Hardly does even a parent share their moments of smelly privacy even with their kids, let alone visitors to their home.
Yet in most compound houses, the toilet’s close pal (bathroom) is gradually finding a place in the room. A personal toilet still remains an overly ambitious dream in the setting I grew up in. Maybe only after such houses are restructured.
If I have time, I will write another part of this piece, much shorter and share nostalgic experiences of why you should not shout at who is in there and how to identify whether it’s an elderly person or not. The ideal time to visit and of course the sweaty jogging sessions as you awaited your turn on a high turnout morning.
Hmmmmmmmm!
10th Rajab 1436 = 29th April, 2015 (Wednesday)
--
ABDUR RAHMAN ALFA SHABAN
Friday, 17 April 2015
You Aren’t Nigerian; Why The Buhari Fuss?
Motive: After a Buharic blitz on my social media handles, twitter, facebook, whatsapp; a question popped up about my interest in the Nigerian political terrain as a full blooded Ghanaian. My response is buried here in. Nagode!
Introduction
Long before the Nigerian election became big international news and even had to postponed for six clear weeks because of the vexatious insurgency of Boko Haram, I hadn’t been a keen follower of Nigerian politics.
That Nigeria’s own electoral commissioner, Prof. Attahiru Jega had decided to allow the polls to be moved because of security especially in the North Eastern part of Nigeria, whipped up some interest.
I must admit that a twitter onslaught (word advisedly used) by some Nigerian friends and the unmissable hashtag #Febuhari (given that the election was in February) got me into the groove.
That resulted in my facebook following of General Mohammadu Buhari and @ThisIsBuhari (his twitter handle). At the time I restricted myself to just a few facebook likes of anything Buhari and APC (the political party he was leading)
My crush on Nigeria’s North
Once a colleague asked where else I would love to live beside Accra, my present location; almost instantaneously I replied; “Northern Nigeria.” But that was an answer that threw the entire office into a state of hysteria.
What! One exclaimed and continued; “as for you, for all the places in this world, you want to reside in Northern Nigeria?” Well I don’t care about New York, London or Paris insofar as I can have Kano, Katsina or Zamfara.
Disclaimer: Makkah and Madina are places I love and long to visit insha Allah ta’aalaa but for me Northern Nigeria has always been top of my list of places I would love to stay. Surely a religiously, culturally, politically, socially and artistically balanced stretch that lies atop Africa’s populous country is my dream destination.
Death of Yar Adua: Divine Test To The North
My meager tracking of the Nigerian political landscape was about the North – South, South – North unwritten rule within the ruling PDP which produced where a candidate from one side had to pick a running mate from the other side.
That arrangement produced three successive presidents two of southern extraction (Gen. Olusegun Obassanjo and outgoing Goodluck Jonathan) and one Northerner (Alhaji Umar Musah Yar Adua.)
The death of the latter was to be a turning point in Nigerian political dynamics as Goodluck then vice – President was sworn in as president but expected to step down after completing the Yar Adua term for another Muslim candidature. That was not to be. Goodluck soldiered on with his first full term (2011 – 2015)
All through the tenure of Obasanjo, Yar Adua, Jonathan; one name almost always popped up as opposition candidate. That is the president – elect; General Mohammadu Buhari (native of Daura in Katsina State, same as the Late Yar Adua)
Buhari was a losing candidate to Obasanjo in 2003, Musa Yar Adua in 2007 and Jonathan in 2011, against Jonathan running for a second term; Buhari beat Jonathan in an election which’s main record is the first to defeat an incumbent president in the fourth republic.
Now to the question of why Buhari?
For any country that is referred to as a big brother in Africa with it most populous record, matters to do with them especially political must concern us all one way or the other.
First and foremost Buhari was a Muslim and with a record of having governed Nigeria with sweeping reforms and decisions, all be it in a military ambience. It has not all been rosy but certainly his sense of discipline and incorruptibility was undoubted.
Shekau and his Boko Haram hooligans were running riot in the North and cheap political enough, the PDP would rather blame Buhari for it and call Boko Haram the Islamic wing of Buhari’s party the APC.
“I assure you that Boko Haram would soon know the strength of our collective willand commitment to rid this nation of terror…. We shall strongly battle another form of evil even worse than terrorism – the evil of corruption. Corruption attacks and seeks to destroy our national institutions and character” (typical Hausa tonation) quote from Buhari’s first address as president – elect. General: I salute!
Nigeria’s economy was booming with the instrumentality of rebasing and ingenuity of the Ngozi Okonjo Iweala, yet cronyism and corruption was gradually eroding the gains that had been made. The wind of change had began blowing.
The Buhari candidature was more focused on issues of security and basic needs of the Nigerian whiles the ruling party was among others, questioning his school certificates and playing other mischievous pranks.
My Conclusions
All that said, it is not as if the General can turn Nigeria around as though it was a saloon car on a roundabout. More than anything; Nigeria is like an ocean liner going towards an iceberg, it would take time and tact to avoid the crash and make a turn.
Bold decisions would have to be taken, friends may turn into foes overnight. Foots shall be trampled upon, and the challenges would have to be handled like a rogue bull; by the horn.
A northern Nigerian wife won’t be a bad idea at all and life lived in Yobe, Borno, Katsina, Kaduna, Kano, Jigawa or Zamfara would be dream come true. For now, an old family connection and Nigerian social media friends are the main bond.
Once a military ruler and three times failed presidential aspirant. Today the landlord of Aso Rock (presidential Villa), Chief, Igwe, Oga, Oba to the southerners and Baba and Sarki to fellow northerners but above all, federal boss of a Nigeria in dire need of security and incorruptibility.
May Allah grant the General the neck and shoulders to carry the hopes of that great country. In his words: “… with the help of God, we pledge to do our best to bring forth the Nigeria you seek.” God bless Africa’s BIG brother. Ameen.
28th Jumadath Thaane 1436 = 17th April 2015
Introduction
Long before the Nigerian election became big international news and even had to postponed for six clear weeks because of the vexatious insurgency of Boko Haram, I hadn’t been a keen follower of Nigerian politics.
That Nigeria’s own electoral commissioner, Prof. Attahiru Jega had decided to allow the polls to be moved because of security especially in the North Eastern part of Nigeria, whipped up some interest.
I must admit that a twitter onslaught (word advisedly used) by some Nigerian friends and the unmissable hashtag #Febuhari (given that the election was in February) got me into the groove.
That resulted in my facebook following of General Mohammadu Buhari and @ThisIsBuhari (his twitter handle). At the time I restricted myself to just a few facebook likes of anything Buhari and APC (the political party he was leading)
My crush on Nigeria’s North
Once a colleague asked where else I would love to live beside Accra, my present location; almost instantaneously I replied; “Northern Nigeria.” But that was an answer that threw the entire office into a state of hysteria.
What! One exclaimed and continued; “as for you, for all the places in this world, you want to reside in Northern Nigeria?” Well I don’t care about New York, London or Paris insofar as I can have Kano, Katsina or Zamfara.
Disclaimer: Makkah and Madina are places I love and long to visit insha Allah ta’aalaa but for me Northern Nigeria has always been top of my list of places I would love to stay. Surely a religiously, culturally, politically, socially and artistically balanced stretch that lies atop Africa’s populous country is my dream destination.
Death of Yar Adua: Divine Test To The North
My meager tracking of the Nigerian political landscape was about the North – South, South – North unwritten rule within the ruling PDP which produced where a candidate from one side had to pick a running mate from the other side.
That arrangement produced three successive presidents two of southern extraction (Gen. Olusegun Obassanjo and outgoing Goodluck Jonathan) and one Northerner (Alhaji Umar Musah Yar Adua.)
The death of the latter was to be a turning point in Nigerian political dynamics as Goodluck then vice – President was sworn in as president but expected to step down after completing the Yar Adua term for another Muslim candidature. That was not to be. Goodluck soldiered on with his first full term (2011 – 2015)
All through the tenure of Obasanjo, Yar Adua, Jonathan; one name almost always popped up as opposition candidate. That is the president – elect; General Mohammadu Buhari (native of Daura in Katsina State, same as the Late Yar Adua)
Buhari was a losing candidate to Obasanjo in 2003, Musa Yar Adua in 2007 and Jonathan in 2011, against Jonathan running for a second term; Buhari beat Jonathan in an election which’s main record is the first to defeat an incumbent president in the fourth republic.
Now to the question of why Buhari?
For any country that is referred to as a big brother in Africa with it most populous record, matters to do with them especially political must concern us all one way or the other.
First and foremost Buhari was a Muslim and with a record of having governed Nigeria with sweeping reforms and decisions, all be it in a military ambience. It has not all been rosy but certainly his sense of discipline and incorruptibility was undoubted.
Shekau and his Boko Haram hooligans were running riot in the North and cheap political enough, the PDP would rather blame Buhari for it and call Boko Haram the Islamic wing of Buhari’s party the APC.
“I assure you that Boko Haram would soon know the strength of our collective willand commitment to rid this nation of terror…. We shall strongly battle another form of evil even worse than terrorism – the evil of corruption. Corruption attacks and seeks to destroy our national institutions and character” (typical Hausa tonation) quote from Buhari’s first address as president – elect. General: I salute!
Nigeria’s economy was booming with the instrumentality of rebasing and ingenuity of the Ngozi Okonjo Iweala, yet cronyism and corruption was gradually eroding the gains that had been made. The wind of change had began blowing.
The Buhari candidature was more focused on issues of security and basic needs of the Nigerian whiles the ruling party was among others, questioning his school certificates and playing other mischievous pranks.
My Conclusions
All that said, it is not as if the General can turn Nigeria around as though it was a saloon car on a roundabout. More than anything; Nigeria is like an ocean liner going towards an iceberg, it would take time and tact to avoid the crash and make a turn.
Bold decisions would have to be taken, friends may turn into foes overnight. Foots shall be trampled upon, and the challenges would have to be handled like a rogue bull; by the horn.
A northern Nigerian wife won’t be a bad idea at all and life lived in Yobe, Borno, Katsina, Kaduna, Kano, Jigawa or Zamfara would be dream come true. For now, an old family connection and Nigerian social media friends are the main bond.
Once a military ruler and three times failed presidential aspirant. Today the landlord of Aso Rock (presidential Villa), Chief, Igwe, Oga, Oba to the southerners and Baba and Sarki to fellow northerners but above all, federal boss of a Nigeria in dire need of security and incorruptibility.
May Allah grant the General the neck and shoulders to carry the hopes of that great country. In his words: “… with the help of God, we pledge to do our best to bring forth the Nigeria you seek.” God bless Africa’s BIG brother. Ameen.
28th Jumadath Thaane 1436 = 17th April 2015
The Borla (Rubbish) Crown: Create, Gather and Dump
“Hey, quickly fold that rug and station it on your head and let me help you carry it. Be careful not to share the contents with people on your way. Do all it takes to come back without it,” the words of my mom.
As if by design, I met up with other friends also with similar contents either in well tied polythene bags, boxes, baskets or spoilt silver pans. Together we navigated the labyrinth of houses in our neighborhood chatting about any and everything.
Those were the early teen days in Accra New Town, where we had to move from New Town and cross the infamous Nima gutter to dispose off the very refuse that we created and lived with till the container stationed in the far end of the home was full.
Sisters more often than not did the sweeping and refuse collection, whiles it was our duty as boys to go dump the refuse, contents of which included food parts, very minimal plastic (compared to today), pieces of paper, tins and cans etc.
Note: The smell that emanates therefrom was pungent to the extent that it contained feathers and intestines of a feast fowl, in such case full or not, refuse had to be disposed off asap.
So we walked till we arrived at the big container that was a median between household refuse and the main dumpsites. Dumping styles varied, you either tossed your package into the bin or climbed the mini stairs to do so.
The former because the container was not needed and the latter because need to go back home with it for the next consignment. If you mistakenly toss it in, would have to jump in and fetch it if the borlaman was not around.
After dumping, if you need to return your container, you hit it on the ground severally to ensure that no maggots and ants would make the return journey back home with you.
The borla man, a tall stout man usually spotting a cow boys cap, wellington boots and a construction workers apparel more often than not, tucked into the boots. Mostly standing atop of the refuse organizing the heap.
As best as I can recall, it used to be a free dump. What we never thought of for one moment was how who paid the borlaman to inhale all that stench and continue organizing heaps of refuse.
For those who know the Nima Mamobi road stretch well, if the Nima Public Toilet (Hollandians) container was full, next stop was on the junction that connects Nima to Mamobi township or the container that was stationed close to the Mamobi public toilet.
Later, payment for dumping started and you dare visit the container with less than required or no money at all, chances are that you would have to return with your load intact.
Hard luck in matters of waste disposal was to visit all three places and realize that all containers were absent or filled and “sealed” (covered with net the size of that used for a football goal post.)
Last option: to walk all the way to the otherside Nima Mamobi Highway and toss your heap right into the gutter. And I look back at those times with disgust and shame. That psychologically we found nothing wrong with such an act.
Roll forward the years and till date, people in the area still do that and more so when it rains, that is when they come out to empty their refuse bins. In our day 50% plastic (polythene bags, bottled water, slippers etc. but more nauseating is the disposal of sanitary pads and pampers. The gutter is now a refuse dump. 2015!
Years on, these containers are still very much a part of the setting in Nima and Mamobi even though the work of refuse collection agencies are also popular and pervasive, news about the filled land fill sites means more often than not, these containers get fool and are flanked by well arranged polythene bags, sitting in wait to be carried away.
The worse days are the days when you have to return home with the refuse because there wasn’t an available container, so the borla had to wait longer to be disposed off.
You count yourself lucky if someone from the direction you are headed redirects you with news that a particular container was full. Balanced on your head like a king bearing a crown, borla has ever sent us walking long distances once upon a time.
And how can I write this piece without the mechanical aspect of matters. It was a privilege to be present when the borla truck came to pick the refuse. We looked on as the truck presented an empty container and mechanically braced up with moving parts and shafts cranking and fastening at joints before the filled container rises up and settles in place of the empty one.
At that stage the vehicle “belches” and leaves a throe of dust behind before the driver switches gears and drives off with all that God knows how many households have produce of trash transported by the likes of myself and other carriers.
An experience I wouldn’t mind living all over again. Borla chronicles got a lot more vibes and insofar as nobody will keep it, we shall forever dump it; caveat being “if you gotta dump, dump it right yeah?”
Thanks for reading my latest dump.
28th Jumadath Thanee 1436 = 17th April, 2015
Abdur Rahman Alfa Shaban