Redefining the weekend

For years I saw weekends primarily as time off work; they were the two days in a week I didn’t have to wake up early to get to work. It was all about work, even when it wasn’t!

Most of us define ourselves by what we do, so it makes sense to define our weekends in terms of work, i.e. being away from it. But does it have to be this way? What if we made a mental adjustment, and made Thursday and Friday our “weekend”?

I suspect those two days are pretty slow in most companies anyway, so why don’t we use them as time for reflection and preparation for the following week? We can still be active at work – we are expected to be – but we can also deliberately schedule fun time for the evenings of both days.

That would leave us with Saturday and Sunday free to pursue our own passions, with all office issues confidently parked away during the work week. Fun events on Thursday and Friday evenings would also remove some of the pressure to “do it all” on Saturday and Sunday. We can then invest the best of ourselves in our own projects in the first two days of our new week. 

An added bonus is that making Monday the third day of the week – and not the first – suggests to us that our own projects are more important than our employers’ (as they should be). We must never forget that our jobs are just one means of expressing who we are, and reducing their primacy in our lives – by making Mondays day 3 – may help to remind us of this.

So try making Saturday and Sunday your first two – as well as most important – work days, and see if you make any progress on that project you’ve always wanted to work on.

To your success.

The reluctant celebrity

He came in like a tsunami. He didn't have an entourage, but the energy he emanated could easily have come from 10 people. He was that charismatic. Naturally people noticed him - who wouldn't - and he lept at the chance to mix with adoring fans. He was like a cat that had just discovered a large bowl of milk - he lapped up the adulation. It was clear he was enjoying this, that this was what he lived for.

His partner, on the other hand, snuck into the departure lounge. I and my colleague wouldn't have noticed him had he not made a beeline for the bench we were sitting on, which was conveniently set apart from the other benches in the lounge. It was clear Don Jazzy thought exactly like Femi and I, though our professions couldn't be more different; we were consultants coming from a site visit to a client's factory, he was a musician cum music producer flying back home the day after a concert in another soon-to-be-forgotten city

Professions aside, Don Jazzy was clearly like us, personality wise. His partner was anything but. I watched Dbanj as he practically went from one person to the next, shaking hands, cracking jokes, laughing out loud, and enjoying being the centre of attention. Just watching him tired me. Looking back now, I can see how he managed to get Kanye interested in signing him up to his record label, when their paths crossed at the Dubai airport. I guess you could say Dbanj has a way with people at airports, and probably anywhere else, for that matter.

Don Jazzy's airport manner was more cautious, more introverted. He didn't speak with us or make eye contact, much less acknowledge our presence. He watched Dbanj work the crowd, and looked at a device in his hand every now and then. The contrast between the two celebrities couldn't have been starker. Femi and I didn't know what to make of it, so I did what I thought was the sensible thing - I tried to strike up a conversation with Don Jazzy. "Don Jazzy, you no go greet us?" I heard myself say. He looked up and let out a tired "Bros, I hail o," and went back to his device. That was as much as we were going to get from him. Meanwhile, the self acclaimed "Koko Master" was still dishing out love.

To be continued...

Defining moments of leadership failure - The case of General George S. Patton.

The best three paragraphs on a defining moment of leadership failure that I have ever read.

From Nicholson, Nigel. "The I of Leadership: Strategies for Seeing, Being and Doing" (Kindle Location 368 - 383). Wiley. Kindle Edition.

"George S. Patton was an extraordinary man – a US general of vision, great force of personality, tactical brilliance, immense personal courage and an esoteric erudition in the classics of ancient Greece and Rome. He first revealed his military brilliance in skirmishes in WWI, languished uncomfortably through the inter-war years and then came into his own in WWII as a peerless attack machine – disciplining and inspiring his armies to victories across Africa and in the Battle of the Bulge that effectively terminated the war in Europe.

So many leadership moments, but, tragically, one of the most defining – memorably captured by George C. Scott in the eponymous movie – took place in a field hospital where he slapped the head of a shell-shocked soldier hospitalized from battle fatigue, calling him a coward. The disgrace of the incident removed Patton from the front line of war for the best part of a year and cost him the chance of becoming the Commander-in-Chief of the entire Allied armies in the European theater of war. This also possibly prolonged the conflict by as long, for Patton was an attack dog – a force of nature greatly feared by the Axis powers.

It has been said that all of the most important of life’s battles are fought within the Self. This was Patton’s problem. He was larger than life; his Self was a neurotic and tortured organ, bound into his story of himself – his “destiny” as a hero. His personal vision was a source of magnetic power but was rendered useless when found shorn of the rudimentary forms of self-control that enable etiquette, protocol and correct behavior to be carried off without error. Poor Patton – his affronted beliefs triggered him straight into a monumental anti-leadership moment."

Professor Nicholson's book is a wonderful read for those that study leadership. Can't recommend it highly enough.

From Generation X, To Generations Y and Z

“To whom much is given
Much is expected”

It’s an old saying
The kind of wisdom nugget
That used to get handed down
From father to son
Mother to daughter
Headmaster to student
Master to apprentice

It would not surprise us
If you’d never heard it
It’s too simple to trend on Twitter
Too basic for Facebook conversations

And given your desire for independence
Coupled with society’s growing disdain
For things religious and non-rational
As well as traditional relationship structures
It’s unlikely you are an apprentice
Or a student in awe of their headmaster
And no
We won’t talk about your child-parent relationships!

Dear Ys and Zs
You have been given much
Much more than you seem to realise

For example
Universal suffrage, regardless of
Gender, race, land ownership
Keep in mind
Women couldn't vote in Liechtenstein
(One of the richest countries in the world)
Till as recently as 1984

You have the internet
And its multitude of social media channels
You live in an increasingly global world
That allows you to experience
Different cultures
And work in different countries
You have tools to influence your governments
From leaking stories on government excesses
To taking to the streets to ask for change
We your parents could only dream of these!

You have received much
And we have expected much from you
And in some cases, you have delivered
But there is so much left to do...

You tell your personal stories
On Facebook, Twitter, Google Plus
But you refuse to truly listen to others’
And think you know all about them
Even before they speak

You build barriers between yourselves
It seems any excuse would do
Class, race, economic background
It's the human way, you say
But somehow, we thought you would
You could, find ways around that

Because we know
And you know
That you know more, much more
About the sciences
Physical and social
Than we ever did

You are smarter than us
So be wiser than us
Don’t make the mistakes we made
Like starting wars and arms races
That whoever won
Would eventually end up losing
In other ways

Dear Ys and Zs
These are just some observations
On how you
And all your “friends” and “followers”
Can do much better
There are a myriad other ways
But you’re smarter than us
We’ll leave it to you to figure them out!

In memory of Fatai "Rolling Dollar" Olagunju

“About to lose my breath
There's no fighting left
I’m sinking to rise no more
Searching for that open door”

“I Look to You,” by Whitney Houston (From the album “I Look to You,” released August, 2009)

------------------------------------------------

I started being fascinated with the twin topics of death and dying sometime during my teen years. What must it be like? What does one experience? What are the most common regrets people have? Questions like these began to intrigue me at some point. As I look back, I can’t recall why I developed a fascination many – perhaps including you, the reader – may perceive as macabre, but I do know my initial curiosity has stuck with me ever since, evolving into strong interests in philosophy, psychology and faith over time.

My initial interest in the "two Ds" (death and dying) led me – primarily through self-study, and also via required reading at university – to several books on the topics. The first of these was Elisabeth Kubler-Ross’ seminal work on the subject, “On Death and Dying.” I never got around to reading the book in full, but by reading summaries of it, as well as excerpts in other psychology books, I got a fairly good overview, as well as a deeper appreciation for the two topics. I still find it quite interesting that she was brave enough to write a whole book about both topics – subjects people typically shy away from discussing – as far back as 1969. I doff my heart to her!

Notable books that deal with the two Ds – directly or tangentially – and which I have read cover to cover include: Viktor Frankl’s masterpiece “Man's Search for Meaning”; John Izzo’s brilliant “The Five Secrets You Must Discover Before You Die”; Mitch Albom’s delightful “Tuesdays with Morrie”; and M. Scott Peck’s thought-provoking “Further Along the Road Less Traveled.” These are all great books, classics in their own rights. However, none of them – to the best of my knowledge/recollection – gives an idea of what people typically experience at the point of death; they provide information about what happens leading up to death, and also about what happens after death, but they are largely silent on the few seconds in between.

An unlikely fellow gave a hint of the nature of the experience within those few seconds – Steve Jobs. In an article released shortly after his death, he was reported to have said something along the lines of “Wow. Wow. Wow” just before he “gave up the ghost” (even the metaphors we use to describe these events are interesting). A man that had spent a major part of his adult life “wowing” others had been “wowed,” and the experience had been so intense he could not help but verbalise it. What “wowed” him? What had he experienced?

Another unlikely person gave an idea of what Steve may have experienced, but I only saw it after she had also passed away. Some have speculated that Whitney Houston used one of her songs ("I Look to You") to tell the whole world, in plain English, that she was close to rock bottom. I do not know if that is true, but I do sense that only someone who had come to viscerally appreciate their own sense of mortality, could have chosen to sing these words, and sing them with such raw emotion:

“And every road that I've taken
Led to my regret
And I don't know if I'm going to make it
Nothing to do but lift my head”

The lines that describe the seconds leading up to death may be particularly striking for those with artistic leanings and/or a strong appreciation for metaphor:

“About to lose my breath
There's no fighting left
I’m sinking to rise no more
Searching for that open door”

Searching for an open door. Sinking. Giving up the fight. The imagery that comes to my mind is of someone falling upwards in water (if that makes any sense), and hoping to find a source of light when they eventually come up for air. Played over a simple piano tune, her words stand out. The picture she paints (in my mind) is beautiful in its realisation of mortality, as well as in its surrender.

As neither Steve nor Whitney is around today, we are unlikely to ever know what each experienced at their point of death. We can also only hazard a guess about what Fatai “Rolling Dollar” Olagunju, a popular Nigerian musician who died earlier today, experienced when he passed away. 

Part of me would really like to know, out of curiosity. But my curiosity is tempered by the belief that what one experiences over a lifetime is significantly more important that what one experiences in one's final seconds. And I need not speculate regarding what Rolling Dollar, Whitney, and Steve experienced and accomplished while they were around, flaws and imperfections notwithstanding. They touched our lives with the things they created. They stood up to be counted. 

May their souls rest in peace.

In memory of Fatai “Rolling Dollar” Olagunju (and Whitney Houston and Steve Jobs).

PS. For those that have not heard the song "I Look to You," find below the video (from YouTube):

Letter to a friend

Dear friend,

You took my questions too literally.

I was trying to hint to you that long-term results come from little steps, repeated over and over.

So you are as tall as you are for several reasons, some being that you have been breathing continuously all this time (which has kept you alive), you've been eating food and drinking water almost daily, and also getting rest (through sleep) most days.

Once you decide where you want to end up, the trick is to do things on a daily basis that will get you there. Make it such that these things become habits. Build your life around them. And surely, one day, you will find yourself where you sought to be.

I hope you understand.

When love becomes a crutch...

What do we really mean when we say "I love you"?

It occurred to me tonight that the almighty three-word-phrase, when said and meant, should really be a statement of two related parts:

1. I love me through you - that is, being with you makes me feel very good, because of certain things about you (things you do, things you say, how you look, etc);

2. I will do my best to help you love you through me - you also deserve to feel good by being with me, so I will do my best to make that happen by saying things you like to hear, doing things you like, looking good, etc.

When one looks at things this way, it seems business like, transactional, and very unromantic (full disclosure: I have never being accused of being the romantic type). But bear with me as I develop this train of thought.

I was recently thinking about a very young friend that I care a great deal about. As I thought about him, a smile came to my face. Then the logical side of me asked - "What causes this? Why do I always seem to experience these emotions when I think about this friend?" So I began pondering.

I'll spare you the details and go right to the conclusions I came to: I feel this way about this friend because being with him makes me feel good. Not exactly rocket science, but let me explain. The nature of our relationship is such that when we spend time together, we both end up feeling good about ourselves. We like how we feel, so we seek to repeat the experience. As we do this we build bonds and develop a shared history, which makes it easier to feel good when we spend time together. This goes on and on, until it doesn't (life happens, distances lead to communication gaps, etc).

Sounds obvious, doesn't it? What is less obvious is why so many of us (myself included) seem to believe we need intermediaries through which to love ourselves. Why do we find it so hard to love ourselves directly? Why do we set up the game so we need others to trigger the biochemical processes in us that make us feel that sense of being loved? After all, it is not like my young friend sticks his hand in my brain and triggers whatever mechanism gives me the "love feeling." All the work happens inside of me, but he acts as the trigger. Why can't I reduce my dependence on him (and others) and learn to generate this feeling by myself?

The way we've presently set this game up, love becomes a crutch for many of us. Is it really love if we are too scared to bear the thought of losing those we say we love? If we get jealous and possessive, if we stifle their freedom out of fear of getting hurt? What if what will make the friend or lover feel good, will make us feel bad? What do we do then?

So to avoid love becoming a crutch, I propose adding a caveat to the two elements we started with, and it goes thus:

The name of the game is self-love, independence, and inter-dependence. If each of us loves himself/herself directly, then what others bring to relationships are extras that we can enjoy, for as long as those relationships last. There's no need to grasp and fear loss. We grieve if/when relationships end, but we do not mourn because we have lost love, but only because we have lost a lens through which to experience it.

That is the ideal state, and many of us will never reach it. But in striving to develop self-love, we may at least manage to live with fewer self-imposed restrictions.

Love yourself, and share that love with others.

How to make "work" work.

I want to make good use of social media and blogging going forward, so my plan is to share ideas from interesting books I read via different channels (Facebook, LinkedIn, my blog, emails, etc), and get thoughts/feedback from others.

Here's the first one: I just read something very interesting in Ricardo Semler's "The Seven-Day Weekend". He argues that companies need to let employees follow their interests and meet their needs, within the framework of the traditional work arrangement. His view is that people want to work, and will do so if treated like adults (i.e. given responsibility for goals and means) and allowed to work in a way that does not make them give up interests and needs that matter to them.

I resisted the idea at first - I have had way too many colleagues that have shirked responsibility, and that didn't want to work, but wanted to earn salaries. But as I thought about it, it occurred to me that perhaps these colleagues behaved the way they did because their jobs did not align with their interests. I typically don't know most of my colleagues outside of work, but by chance I found out last week that a colleague has an e-library of hundreds of crime fiction books. You don't keep that many books if you don't like the genre. No one forced him to build up the library; he just followed his interest. Now this colleague is very industrious and works hard, but I wonder how much harder he would work if he was in the crime fiction publishing industry. Interests matter. Round one to Ricardo.

How about needs? Isn't work all about sacrificing our needs, to meet the needs of our employers or customers? At least this is what I'd always believed, until Ricardo forced me to challenge this view as well. I thought back to when I worked for a bank. The rule was that we all had to be at work by 8am. For most of us, early morning traffic meant we had to leave our homes before 6am, to be sure of getting to work by 8am. So some would leave their homes at 5:30am, get to work by 6am, and sleep in their cars till just before 8am (or go to the gym). What made matters worse was that to avoid traffic in the evening rush hour, most of us would stay in the office till 8pm. Our needs to spend time with loved ones and to recuperate sufficiently were definitely not being met.

But what if the bank had come up with work shifts, whereby it paid two people to do one job, and one came in early and left mid-day, and the other came in mid-day and left late? In one stroke I estimate employment would go up between 50% and 80% in the banking sector (not all jobs can be accommodated under this arrangement), employees would have more time for life, they would spend less time in traffic, and they would get more hours of sleep. Of course they would also earn less, but I know several people who would gladly earn less if they can get time to enjoy what they earn. It's now 2 to Ricardo, 0 to Mayowa.

So it seems Ricardo is right - work does not have to mean employees giving up interests and needs. But it requires effort from both sides: workers need to follow career paths aligned with their interests; and employers need to structure work so employees can meet their needs.

One caveat, though. There is an inherent assumption in Ricardo's thought process. He assumes that people have the skills and knowledge required for the jobs they are asked to do. He takes that as a given, and focuses on making it easier for people to apply their skills and knowledge (via aligning interests, and structuring work arrangements so people can meet their needs). Unfortunately, this is not always the case; I have met too many people who do not have basic skills like critical thinking, time management, business writing, etc, talk less of technical skills required for their roles. That's where the government should come in, by providing the right kind of education at primary and secondary school levels. And that's where universities and employers also come in, by helping graduates develop theoretical and practical expertise; it really does take a village to raise a (good) child.

That caveat aside, Ricardo's book has challenged my thinking about what to expect from work, and the kind of work environment that I can possibly provide as an employer of labour. Challenge accepted!

Poster for June 6 Port-talk

White and black apples in a cart

I was watching the news with two white friends last Friday, when a story came on about a woman who had been blinded by her boyfriend. The man and woman, both white, had been involved in fights before, but this time he "went too far," according to the woman. It was a really sad story. There was a particular moment that was really heart wrenching - when asked how she felt about what happened, the woman responded that she felt like a ghost, as she is totally blind and can't see anything (not her two children, and not even her hands). Tears began to flow from both eyes, and she said sorry to the interviewer as she dabbed them with a handkerchief. 

This is the kind of story that makes me want to do something (write an article, contribute to a cause, be on the lookout for signs of domestic violence, etc). I don't know how my friends felt, but I was sad and angry at the same time - sad for the woman, and very angry with the man. Nobody has the right to hurt, talk less of blind, another human being! I was so angry that if I had come across the man later that evening - which was very unlikely given that he had been arrested - I would have likely approached him and given him a piece of my mind. 

But as I reflected on my conflicting emotions, something occurred to me. My white friends spoke more about the sadness of the woman's condition, than the injustice of what her boyfriend did. It was almost as if they had accepted (rightly, I guess) that there are sick white people in the world, and that these things happen. I found myself wondering what their reactions might have been had the man been black. Would they have reacted the same way by focusing more on the victim than the assailant? I do not know. But I do know what I saw and heard during the London riots last year - white friends of mine mentioned to me that black kids often end up as gangsters that cause trouble, and that the police should come down hard on the rioters to deter other would be gangsters.

And that's when it occurred to me that when a white person commits a crime, most whites tend to see that person as the bad apple in the cart. The system deals with him or her, and the rest of the apple cart remains safe (at least till the next bad apple turns up). However when a black person (or a group of black persons) commits a crime, conservative whites tend to see that as justification of their suspicion that all the apples in the black cart are bad. And their response is almost always to ask that society deal with the individual apple(s), as well as all apples in the cart (the former through the formal justice system, and the latter through informal, institutionalised racist practices). 

My friends that I watched the news story with are not conservatives, but sitting and watching the story with them, I could not help but wonder how our discussion could have gone had the perpetrator been black. Because he was white, we spoke about the individuals involved. But I suspect had he been black we would have spoken about the races or "communities" involved, and I might have had to once again explain to white friends that black people are not all the same (like I found myself doing several times during the London riots). My white friends also know that white people are all different; it's obvious from years of interacting with other whites at home, school, work and play. They also know this from history and the media. Yet even some of my educated white friends are totally ignorant about the differences between black people. And the same problem applies in larger discussions in the media - note for example the common references to Africa, even when speaking about issues that are specific to certain countries (see an earlier post about this here). 

I believe this ignorance leads to the lumping of black people together when issues are being discussed, which in turn makes it easier for conservative white Brits and their minions (Nirpal Dhaliwal, for example) to do something as daft as trying to criminalise all black people in England for the actions of Mark Duggan and the 1,000 people (representing less than 0.07% of the black population in England) who showed up at his funeral (see Dhaliwal's article here, and see my response here). 

This kind of negative rhetoric does not help matters. For better or worse, blacks and other minorities are now part of multicultural England. And blacks (including African Americans, black Canadians, black people from the Caribbean, and black people from 55 African countries) have so much to contribute to The Big Society (with different types of music, cuisine, art, dance, literature, etc). But it is hard to make these contributions if the larger society keeps putting all black people into one cart, and labelling that cart as being likely full of bad apples. We are all in the same cart, and there are bad white apples, as well as black, amongst us all.

My response to a reductionist article in the Evening Standard about the "black community" in England

Referring to Nirpal Dhaliwal's article in the Evening Standard of March 29, 2012, titled "Where is the black outrage over Thusha's shooting?" (which you can fine here), his argument seems to be as follows: (1) young black men should not dress or act in ways that make them look suspicious; (2) the "black community" should accept and welcome stop-and-search for its own good, as it reduces the level of black-on-black crime; (3) the "black community" should also accept the fact that there will be occasional casualties like Mr. Duggan, as the Met strives to save black communities from themselves.

I have four major issues with this line of argument. They are as follows:

1. Who determines what is deemed suspicious? Is a white boy with "a hoodie, gold teeth and jeans slung low" suspicious? Depends on where you are! Are Sheiks in turbans suspicious? If Mr. Dhaliwal got his mind out of his obviously Eurocentric worldview he would know that the larger society (western in this case) decides what is suspicious (ask Muslims about their experiences after 9/11, or ask Jews what they have experienced through the ages). So should all Muslims cut their beards to appease whites? Should all Jews change their names to avoid anti-Semitic behaviour?

2. What is this "black community" that he refers to so often? Are all its members of the same educational background and income level? Do they share the same political leanings? Do they all speak patois? There are over 1 million black people in England. Surely Mr. Dhaliwal cannot be suggesting they are all part of this black community. Is Jermaine Defoe a member of this community? Is Tidjane Thiam a member? I do not understand why people like Mr. Dhaliwal refuse to accept the diversity and multiplicity amongst black people. Not all of us like reggae music or rap. Not all of us vote Labour. Some of us have different sexual preferences. There is no black community, but there are communities made up of predominantly black people. Not the same thing.

3. I can't argue with the fact that carrying out stop-and-search on suspects may deter crime. I recall seeing a woman called over by the police at Euston station because the police dog caught a sniff of something in her bag and followed her. I didn't go on an outrage, and was glad the police was keeping an eye out on potentially troublesome people. And it's fair game if the police do this in areas that have a record of high crime, regardless of the skin colour of the people in the area. So yes, searches may reduce the prevalence of crime in all high crime areas, and not just those with lots of black people. But here comes the rub - how do the police determine who is a suspect when there is little to work with besides what they see (going back to point 1)?

Which brings us to (4) - black people of all persuasions and stripes rally around issues like that of Mr. Duggan because deep down we know it could have happened to any of us, no matter how posh we are, or what we do for a living. All we have to do is to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. That is not to suggest Mr. Duggan was an angel, but the way he was killed raises a lot of questions. Would it have happened that way if he was exactly the same, but white? I don't know.

However I do know of young black children who have been blamed by teachers in schools for fights they didn't start. I have seen white teachers come down harder on black children for infractions white students get away with. So black people rallying together to address the institutional racism that they experience at school, work, and even play should not be misconstrued as advocating for Mr. Duggan's lifestyle. And neither should the lack of such rallying for Thusha be construed as indicative of black people not wishing her well, or not willing to support the fund raising drive (how I wish we could get a breakdown of donations by ethnicity from HSBC!).

To recap, there is no central planning agency that decides how black people should respond to issues like that of Mr. Duggan's killing. Just like everybody else, we all have different views on things. As such, there is no black community that even we can point to as representative of all of us - we come from different countries, backgrounds, and have different aspirations. It may surprise Mr. Dhaliwal to hear that just like Indians and Pakistanis, we don't all get along. Searches to deter crime in high-crime areas are perfectly fine, as long as they are applied across the area's populace equally, and suspects to stop and search are picked on a mix of relevant criteria, and not just colour. Lastly, young white males dress just as "gangster" as young black males, but anecdotal evidence suggests they are often viewed as oddities, and not as suspicious characters. Why? Because the colour of the skin seems to say more about what is deemed suspicious than the clothes. Case in point, using one of Mr. Dhaliwal's examples - a black man in a doctor's white coat and stethoscope meeting a patient for the first time may be incorrectly perceived as being less competent than an accompanying white doctor simply because of his ethnicity, even if the former is the latter's superior.

Race matters, Sir, let's not pretend it doesn't. What we need to do is to see the complexities involved so we can deal with them, and reductionist articles like yours will not help matters.

When do-gooders do bad (1)

"Africa's worst drought in 60 years," screams the banner. ActionAid is seeking donations - as low as £2 a month - to "help a child like Sadia now." We have no clue what country Sadia is from, but there is no doubt as to her continent of origin - Africa. I have a problem with ads like this. A major problem.

For a while I couldn't put my finger on what my problem with these types of ad was. I just knew there was something not quite right about the "cases for support" made by the likes of UNICEF and ActionAid on behalf of "Africa." Donors love that name (Africa), and fall over themselves to use it every chance they get; every self-respecting donor agency has a presence in Africa. But what is Africa?

Some basics. Firstly, Africa's a continent, not a country. That sounds like stating the obvious, which makes me wonder about ActionAid's claim that they are raising money for "Africa's worst drought in 60 years." Is the drought affecting the entire continent? We are not told.

Secondly, Africa is a pretty big continent. To get an idea of how big it is, you could easily fit the US, Spain, France, UK, Germany, Italy, Eastern Europe, Japan, India AND China into its land mass (see here). Once again, is this drought affecting the entire land mass? We'll have to ask ActionAid to clarify.

Thirdly, Africa is pretty diverse, with over 1 billion people in 61 territories, who have different cultures, speak a multitude of languages (Nigeria alone has over 200), run different socio-political systems, and have different climates. Once again, is this drought affecting all these people? ActionAid does not specify, at least not in the ad.

I did some further digging, and "Africa's worst drought in 60 years" is actually in certain parts of four East African countries, and has affected 13 million people of the entire population of about 130 million in the affected countries. It is clearly an unfortunate state of affairs, one that has likely been exacerbated by failings of the respective governments to adequately prepare (especially when such droughts have happened before). It is heart-warming and encouraging to see people from all over the world chipping in, and I applaud the work being done by agencies like ActionAid to mobilise donations. But I have major issues when donors use sensational banners like those of "Sadia" (who likely comes from an East African country).

I am of the opinion that such ads do more harm than good. I'll explain. If you are reading this, you are likely in the West. So imagine you are on Amazon looking for a christmas gift for a friend, parent or lover. Then you see Sadia's ad. The ad has been designed to grab your attention and tug at your heart - "Africa's in pain, help out with only two quid a month." It works. You do the calculations in your head - that's less than you spend on one drink on Friday evenings, so having one less drink on Friday will make a difference in "Africa." You whip out your card and sign up. You have done your bit for "Africa".

To be continued...

Iron Bat

When I was younger I wanted to be Iron Man. No, don't laugh. I really did want to have megawatts of energy come out a cavity in my chest. Hmmm, that doesn't sound quite right the way I just said it. Anyhow, moving on...

Actually, now that I think about it, I wanted to be Tony Stark being Iron Man; I wanted to be the human in the suit, not the suit itself, you see. Okay, so what I said earlier makes sense now - the megawatts of energy would come out of a cavity in the breast plate of the suit. I hope I'm not losing you as I have a word with myself. Lol.

Back to Iron Man...After changing allegiance from Marvel Comics to DC (don't send hate mail, Marvel fans), I dumped Iron Man and wanted to be Batman (or Bruce Wayne being Batman). Tony had money, but Bruce was in a totally different league in other ways: he had way cooler gadgets, and he had that whole mystery thing going for him. The only minus was the exterior underwear. But hey, nothing in life's perfect.

Looking back now, I realise I limited myself to the characters and stories created by others. Why couldn't I be Bruce Stark, and fly around in an iron suit in the day, AND roam the streets of Gotham at night? Or better yet, be Tony Wayne, and have the suit AND the cape and cool gadgets (sans the external underwear and the silly side-kick)? I let others determine the fantasies that played in my head, and never questioned them because "that was just how it was."

I wonder if I'm doing the same today. Am I, are we, silently going along with scripts others have written for us? Are we thinking outside the boxes society "suggests" we play in? Would we know what to do with ourselves for a decade, if we had all the time in the world, and didn't have to work for money, and could do anything we wanted? Are we truly living, or are we just getting by? Are we being Bruces, or Alfreds?

PS. In support of Occupy Wall Street. A luta continua.

View from my window

Looking out my window, I see a road with several cars, the surrounding buildings, people moving on the side-walk, and a few trees shedding their rusty leaves. So much man-made stuff, so little nature, I say to myself. But is that correct? Is that the truth? Let's revisit that list of things I see, shall we:

The road I see was definitely put there by man, but in the process, he may have had to call on nature for at least two resources - gravel and asphalt; the former is readily available in quarries, and the latter is a by-product of petroleum. How about the cars on the road? The major parts of a car are made of steel (chassis and body), plastic (dashboard, other interior elements, and wire coverings), glass, cloth, and rubber. Each of these is a step, two or three removed from a natural resource. Ditto for the fuel that drives the cars (petroleum). The buildings? Let's see - they are made of bricks, glass, wood, roofing sheets, etc. Same goes for them.

In essence, all I see came from the earth, and will "return" to the earth (the people included). The view may not look "natural", and it's unlikely any college resident would rank it as high as the garden in the Square, but still, everything I see is earth derived; all these things (and the people I see as well) owe their existence - and maintenance - to the earth. I think this partly explains why beautiful architecture amazes me - to see someone do something absolutely stunning with what the earth has given is truly inspiring, especially when I could never do the same.

But back to the issue at hand - everything I see can be traced to a natural resource from somewhere in the world (gravel from England, petroleum from Nigeria, wood from Brazil, etc). We have taken from the earth and built cities and civilisations, and like a good mother, the earth has kept on giving. What irresponsible children we make when we do not care adequately for her, and by extension, for ourselves.

Connecting the dots...

One can't always tell what will matter in the future. Last year I signed up to do volunteer work teaching mathematics to children in a nearby primary school, and a year later, I met and spoke with the Queen because of that decision. Who would have guessed? All my work on the college council meant nothing, as a new team was elected under a month before The Queen's visit! Lucky buggers! Reminds me of how Joseph ended up being Pharaoh's number two, despite his downs and downs in his early years in Egypt; one just can't tell how things will turn out. I like the way Steve Jobs put it - you can only connect the dots looking backwards.

The beautiful thing about connecting the dots is you may not have to change your location or vocation when you connect them; you may be in the same exact situation, one you'd grown used to, but all of a sudden you get it, and everything makes sense. Things seem right, and you appreciate what you have a lot more. It's like C.S. Lewis said, and I'm paraphrasing big-time here, when he said something like "we arrive where we started from and recognise it for the first time." That's what happened to me yesterday.

We went back to the primary school for the first time this school year, and started working with a new set of students. Same school, same classroom, same subject, just younger students. But things had changed for me. Not in some radical, out of the world way. It was just a quiet, unassuming realisation that what we do with the kids really does matter. Even if we only help one child develop their skills in mathematics, it does matter. It matters enough that two of us from the group were introduced to The Queen. It matters enough that we had pictures of the other group members on a board for her to see. We would not have been introduced if what we do doesn't count.

And it mattered all the more yesterday because two of us worked with an incredibly bright boy from a minority background, who likes mathematics and history, and also plays the violin (he's been playing for three years). He loves to learn, and he totally engaged both of us for the entire 90 minutes we spent with him. It was such a joy seeing things through his eyes. I have had experiences like these in the past, but yesterday I connected the dots, and I understood, at a very visceral level, what many people have said about how doing things one enjoys can make a way for one in the world.

Whatever you enjoy doing, do more of it. Become prodigious - produce, invest time, just do it. There's no way to be certain where doing so will take you, but at least you'll enjoy the ride. And if you do end up in a fantastic position, you'll enjoy that, as well as the pleasure of being able to look back and connect the dots. And I guarantee that'll bring a smile to your face, like it did to mine yesterday.

Childlike vs. Childish (Part 1)

The earth. It's a mystery, isn't it? There's so much we don't understand. So much we don't know. And it's all the more amazing because there's a lot we do know. For example, we know how to generate electricity, we know how to transport people through the air, and we know how to send data from one end of the earth to another. These are no small feats. As recently as the 1950s, some countries did not have commercial television (see here), and commercial air travel really took of after World War II (see here). Yet despite these achievements, there are so many things we just do not know, and which we can only hazard guesses at.

I will go out on a limb here and suggest that some of our ancestors were likely just as arrogant in their "knowledge" as some of us are today; yet we look back at those days and remark how un enlightened they were. But the way science is going suggests others will do the same to us. And sooner. Children today are growing up with touch screens. Just think about that. As recently as the 1990s, typewriters were still the mainstream in several countries. Now people talk about tablets and touch screen phones in most parts of the world.

But despite the strides in science and technology, there is still a lot we do not know. And our systems are still far from perfect. There are medical conditions that doctors do not fully understand, and the current economic crises all over the world are a reminder that our leaders (elected or otherwise) don't always have the right answers (nor the right questions, it seems). I am reminded of the movie, "What the bleep do we know?" (see Amazon link here). I haven't seen it, but I do recall it generated quite a buzz when it came out; it seems many people thought its makers' were on to something - namely, that we do not know as much as we think we do, and we lie to ourselves when we suggest otherwise.

So let's play a thought experiment - let's assume we all agree that individually and collectively, we do not know much. We all agree to be less sure of our facts. We all question our unfounded assumptions. And we do this with rigour, and consistently. What would the world be like? Well, for one, we would all be a lot humbler, more teachable. We would be more open to new ideas and new information. We would test things in the real world more. We would learn from mistakes faster, as we would have less of a hold on "what the world should be like." In short, we would retain a child-like curiosity and sense of awe for life.

Child-like is not necessarily childish; one is a attitude of mind, and the other is a state of mind - one can have the former without the latter. How do you know which characterises you? Try answering two questions: 1. When was the last time you found yourself in a state of awe, surrender or sheer delight because of something external to you which you did not - and could not - own or control?; 2. How did you react the last time the world did not lay over and give you exactly what you wanted, the way you wanted it, when you wanted it? If your answers were "can't remember" and "very badly," respectively, then I would suggest both the attitude and state of your mind could do with some work.

I especially like the first question, as it gets to the heart of how we look at the world, and at life. Are we moved by things external to us or are we ever cynical? Do we only care about the things we own or control, or do we pay attention to life in all its fullness? Are we in touch with our capacity to feel awe and reverence, or are we so far removed from this capacity that nothing moves or impresses us? Lastly, are we humble enough to accept that there's a reality larger than us, which we do not fully understand, yet which is there for us to enjoy?

To be continued...

The re-beginning...

And so he went back into his body. He had been clinically dead for only a couple of minutes, during which the doctors had battled to save his life by sending pulses of electricity through him to revive his heart. Little did the doctors know it was up to Jake to determine if to come to or not. But come back he did, based on his conversation with the light bearer. The first thing Jake noticed on reentering his body was the shear weight of it. He had felt free and light just seconds before. All the pains he had forgotten about, especially the one in his chest, the pain that sent him out of his body, came rushing back as he opened his eyes to see the smiles and looks of relief on the faces of the doctors and nurses who had done their best to save his life.

‘Shhhh. Try not to talk,’ cautioned Dr. Earley. ‘Just listen to me. You had a cardiac arrest, and we almost lost you. Thankfully we were able to keep you with us. We’ll move you out of the ER in about an hour. Try to relax. A nurse will stay with you and I and the other doctors will check in every now and then. Oh, and the Prime Minister will be here to see you as well.’ The Prime Minister, thought Jake. He’d totally forgotten about her. How strange. She had been the focus on his thoughts over the last eleven months - how to keep her safe, protect her from obnoxious reporters, and even phone hackers. He had lost his own family while protecting another, and in the time he spent with the light bearer, he had not thought of her once. The only people he had thought about were his ex-wife and his two sons, who no longer called him ‘Dad’ with a joyous tone in their voices, but referred to him as ‘Jake’, just ‘Jake’. But the Prime Minister had not asked him to sacrifice his family. He had made that choice. He loved his job, and he was falling in love with her. Or so he thought.

So why hadn’t he thought about her while he was with the light bearer, Jake wondered to himself. At first it had been a shock discovering himself floating out of his body, and it had taken him a while to get used to it. He saw himself on the hospital bed, and watched the commotion as the doctors and nurses struggled to save him. Dr. Earley was shouting at the top of his voice ‘Stay with me, Jake, stay with me!’ Then he heard a strong, yet gentle voice say ‘Its interesting, isn’t it, watching yourself die and losing all you thought was important, and not being able to do anything about it?’ The voice startled him, and he turned round to look in the direction it came from. He turned and saw a small man with golden hair, smiling at him, wearing a pale-green robe that seemed to shimmer with light. The man held an unlit lamp in his right hand.

‘Hello, Jake,’ said the small man. ‘I am the light bearer,’ he continued. Jake looked at the unlit lamp in the small man’s hand, and sensing what he was thinking, the light bearer responded ‘I see you are wondering why someone called the light bearer is holding an unlit lamp. The lamp is not lit because it cannot be lit until you choose to light it, Jake. That is why I am here.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Jake.

‘You are about to die. However you have some unfinished business in the earth realm. In such instances I am obliged to give you a choice between letting go of the unfinished business and letting your essence light this lamp, or returning to the earth realm to attend to your unfinished business, and letting the lamp remain unlit. Should you choose to light the lamp, I will carry your essence to the other side. That is why I am called the light bearer. So, Jake, what will it be. Do you want to go back, or cross to the other side?’

An image flashed through Jake’s mind as soon as the light bearer stopped speaking - a picture of his wife and sons, watching him as he packed his clothes and other personal items into a bad, got into his car, and drove off. He had glanced in the rear view mirror and seen his older boy Jack, consoling his mom, as John, the younger boy who he loved more, ran after his car for a while, and then gave up. That had been two months ago, but Jake could still see the picture, and the pain on John’s face, as if it all happened yesterday. Though he hadn’t felt any pain since he left his body, he suddenly felt a massive weight in his heart, dragging him towards his body laid out on the bed in the emergency room. ‘I have to go back now,’ said Jake.

‘Okay, Jake, if that is what you wish. One word of advice, though. Try to remember how you are feeling now while you are in the earth realm, and let the realisation that just dawned on you guide your actions every day. Keep this firmly in your mind as you go through the rest of your life, because the next time we meet, you may not have a choice in whether you light the lamp or not. Goodbye, for now.’ And with that the light bearer was gone, and Jake was back in his pain-riddled body.

Jake was still trying to get his thoughts together. He felt the need to get up, to ask questions. He needed to know what had happened to the shooter. Had the other agents gotten him? Had the Prime Minister been hurt? The last thing he remembered was jumping in front of her as the cameras flashed and he saw a gun being raised behind the row of paparazzis. He knew he had been hit twice, the pains he felt in his torso testified to that, but luckily he had been wearing body armour and the bullets had not done more damage. The Prime Minister, Claire, Jack., John, such a mess he had found himself in. Jake kept thinking as he closed his eyes and drifted into deep sleep.

‘Tell me the truth, Jake. You are in love with her!’ screamed Claire, just before throwing the plate she’d just used forcefully on the floor. White ceramic bits of china flew across the kitchen like shrapnel. One caught Jake in the leg. ‘I know you Jake, you’ve held it against me ever since we had to get married because I got pregnant with Jack. You’ve always blamed me because I forgot to use the pill. I always knew you wanted a different sort of woman, one of those Oxbridge types. I was never good enough for you, was I? Why won’t you just tell me the truth? Why?’ Claire started sobbing uncontrollably. Jack and John came in to see what the commotion was all about. They had been playing video games in the den when they heard something hit the floor. They looked at it each other, both thinking it was an accident. ‘Mom’s dropping things with her butter fingers again,’ said John, but then they heard the shouting and knew there was a problem. Jack ran upstairs immediately, and John followed somewhat reluctantly.

Jack was shocked when he entered the kitchen and saw his mom on her knees, weeping inconsolably, as she tried to pick up the ceramic shards strewn all over the kitchen floor. His dad was just standing, looking at her, motionless. Shock turned to anger as Jack glared at his father and shouted loud enough for the neighbours to hear, ‘Why are you always picking on mom, dad?’ He rushed to Claire’s side to console her, and brought her back to her feet. Claire held him tight as she cried. Jack was only 19, but in the last couple of years had come to be the man Claire looked to in the house, ever since Jake Sr. stopped being emotionally available. Jack stayed at the kitchen door, watching events unfold. His eyes darted between the faces of his brother, his mom and his father. He didn’t quite know what to make of  the scene. He didn’t display any emotion, a trait he had picked up from his dad, but deep inside he wondered what the consequences of all this would be. He was three years younger than Jack, and looked up to his brother, but sometimes he differed with him in the role his mum played the issues facing his parents’ marriage. He just didn’t know what to make of everything, but he knew he didn’t know enough to help his parents save their marriage. Jack had tried to get his parents’ attention by joining a gang and getting into trouble, but that had not had the intended effect of bringing his parents together like he had hoped. If anything, it increased the wedge in his parents’ relationship. Jake was livid when he found out Jack had been involved in a gang shoot-out, and had raised hell in the house, asking how the son of a secret service agent could be involved in such activities. He had turned his anger on Claire, insisting she had spoilt him. Claire retorted that he was never home to enforce discipline. Jake and Jack had not sleep at home that night, one going to an hotel for the night, and the other going to stay with friends after the first left. It had been left to John to console his mom, but he didn’t find the words to stop her from crying till she fell asleep. John felt his mother cried a bit too much. He much preferred the silence of his dad.

The Smith’s marriage had been going through a rough patch in the last two years, and things took a turn for the worse when Jake got assigned to the security detail for the new Prime Minister - Sally Templeton. Mrs. Templeton was the UK’s first female Prime Minister since 1990. She became prime minister at 42, which was all the more amazing because she was a widower, and was totally devoted to her daughter, Penny. Beautiful, articulate, charming, well-educated, and very well connected, she had fought against all odds to rise to the position of Prime Minister in a span of five years after becoming a prominent figure in the Labour Party. She was loved by the media, adored by female groups, and respected by political leaders within the UK, and the rest of the world. An American newspaper had called her ‘Britain’s Obama.’ Jake had watched Sally’s rise to fame with interest, so when he was assigned to her security detail a year after she became Prime Minister, he looked forward to meeting her in person. He had been contemplating asking for a transfer to a less demanding department - he had just turned thirty-eight, and was starting to think his age would tell on him in demanding situations. But he put the idea on hold for a chance to protect Sally Templeton. Besides, the members of her security detail were the envy of all the agents, and he had worked hard to deserve a position on the Prime Ministers security detail.

Jake started his new role with little fanfare. Mrs. Templeton seemed nice, though very business like. She had aged very well, and up close, one could not tell she was 43. Penny was a beautiful fifteen year old who always had a smile on her face, and was friendly with all the staff at Number 10. Jake wondered why his own boys could not be more like Penny. Then one particularly cold day nine months into his new role, Jake held Sally’s hand as he helped her out of a car when she arrived back at Downing Street. The strictly professional relationship changed after that incident. Jake never did understand why, but he knew that was the day they started exchanging furtive glances. This continued for weeks. He felt there was something there, but was afraid to push it. The last thing he wanted was to end up in the tabloids like Diana’s lover. Jake hated undue attention of any sort. Sally not only exchanged glances with Jake, but she also started smiling more at him. Jake found this very difficult to resist, and found himself smiling back sheepishly. Jake was in great shape for his age, and always got compliments from women the few times he went on a night out with friends. But he never allowed things to go too far. He had his principles - work hard, have few friends, keep secrets, and stay loyal. But Sally Templeton was another matter all together. Soon Jake found himself always being the one to help Sally out of the car whenever he was on duty. Each time she would gladly thrust out her hand for him to hold, even when it seemed she did not need help getting out of a car. No one suspected anything, no one except Claire.

‘Why won’t you just tell me the truth?’ said Claire, in between sobs. Jake was speechless. Jack was not. ‘Why are you always making mom cry, dad?’ he asked angrily, as he held his mom. ‘If you want to be with the other lady, then just go! I hate you, I hate her. Just leave us!!’ Jake and John stood motionless in shock as the words hit home. Even Claire seemed startled. Then the phone rang, and Jake woke up. He had been dreaming, but his dream had been a recall of an actual event. He could still feel Jack’s eyes burning into his back as he walked out the kitchen towards the bedroom. John followed him. He had brought out his hold-all, packed some clothes and personal items. John, who had been following him and watching him silently all the while, had asked ‘Where are you going, dad?’ Jake had answered, ‘I need some time to be alone, son. It’s better this way.’ ‘But I don’t want you to go!’ snapped John. Jake had never heard his son so assertive before. Jake had not listened, and had made his way to the car, and driven off, with John running after him. That was the image Jake had when the light bearer told him about his unfinished business. Jake felt emotions well up in him and tears filled his eyes as he imagined the pain he had caused his family. He let the tears flow for a while and eventually forced himself back to sleep. He was drained physically and emotionally.

‘How are you feeling, agent Smith?’ asked Sally Templeton.

‘Much better, Prime Minister, much better. Thank you for asking.’ replied Jake as he sat up in bed and tried to wake himself up. He was still groggy from all the medication. Also there were others in the recovery room, so his appearance and tone had to be formal.

‘Thank you for saving my life, agent Smith. That was very brave of you,’ Sally responded.

‘Just doing my job, Prime Minister, just doing my job. It was nothing.’

The Prime Minister paused. Jake thought he could see a tear in her left eye. She looked sad, and uncomfortable.

‘Did you see the shooter?’ asked the Head of MI6.

‘No, Sir,’ responded Jake. ‘I only caught a glimpse of him lifting the gun up. The lights from all the paparazzis’ cameras made it difficult to make him out. Did you get him, Sir?’

‘Yes we did, Jake. I am sorry to be the one to break this to you, Jake, but it was your son. One of your fellow agents had to shoot him to stop him from taking more shots at you and the Prime Minister.’

Jake felt like a spear had just been driven through him when he heard those words. His mouth went dry, his pulse quickened, and time seemed to slow down. He glanced at the Prime Minister, Sally, and heard himself let out a loud wail, after which he broke into tears. Poor Jack, he had driven him to this. His love for his mom had so blinded him. Jake was beside himself in grief. What had he done? Was this the unfinished business the light bearer had told him about? Where was his chance to set things right with Jack? With Claire? With John? How could he get his family back together after this?

The Head of MI6 continued in a somewhat reluctant manner ‘I am really sorry, Jake. But we need to ask you about this. Just before he passed on he said “All I wanted was my family back”. We know he was your son because your wife and your first born, Jack, have identified the body. So what did he mean by that? Could you...’

Something in Jake snapped, and he was no longer listening. He stared intently at the door, his eyes focused on a small man dressed in a pale green robe, carrying a lamp that had just lit up.

Defining Ignorance (Part 1).

Ignorance (ˈɪɡnərəns). Noun. Definition: lack of knowledge, information, or education; the state of being ignorant.

This post will not follow my usual style, in which I introduce a topic, and then build up my thoughts about it to a conclusion. No. This post starts out with a feeling, a frustration, and aims to follow that in which ever direction it goes. So you and I will be coming to terms with my thoughts about the subject matter together, in real time. I hope I don't lose you.

I have a question - can an educated person be ignorant? According to the definition I started with, ignorance is the lack of knowledge, information or education. So that suggests that someone that is educated is generally not expected to be ignorant. However, is it always the case that an educated person is knowledgeable, or informed? No. I am sure most of us have met PhDs that were totally clueless outside their area of specialisation. So we can assume that being "schooled" does not automatically make one informed or knowledgeable. But shouldn't a person that has gone through the schooling process know what they don't know? Given the magnitude of information in the world today, shouldn't a "schooled" person know that they cannot know everything, and hence are bound to be uninformed about many issues? And if a schooled person comes to that conclusion, then shouldn't humility be the natural outcome? Hence, we can infer that we are all ignorant to some extent, and are anything but humble when we try to come across as otherwise. Repeat after me, "I'm ignorant, you're ignorant, and that's okay."

I know a lot of things from books I have read. I have second-hand information. When I was young we had two books I remember quite well - one was about origami (the Japanese art of making objects out of paper), and the other was about "soccer" (it was an American book). I devoured those books, but I am not an origami master or World Cup winning footballer today. Was I ignorant about origami or soccer? No. I had knowledge. I was informed. I had read the books. I could point you to the page that gave intricate details on how to make a paper crane, or kick a ball with the instep. Or to the page that explained how Pele went wild when he scored his 1,000th goal. But I could not, and still cannot, make a paper crane (I can kick a ball with my instep though, but am hundreds of goals from 1,000). Am I ignorant about these things? No. Am I skilled in these things? No. Hence this suggests one can be educated, yet unskilled. One can have knowledge, but be clueless about how to apply it. This suggests to me that there is second-hand knowledge, and first-hand know-how. One comes from reading, the other from living. Hence a schooled person can be ignorant on two levels.

So since I am ignorant on at least two levels about many things in the world, how am I to get by? How am I to survive? How am I to become a success? We'll come back to this; I feel like going on a tangent.

How is it that with all the social media sites and news channels, we are all still so ignorant about each other, yet think we have each other all figured out? When next you are at a party, listen to the conversation about other countries. Better if you can shadow someone from an "exotic country" as they mingle with other people in the party; the display of ignorance may amaze you. And it's not just the ignorance, but the confidence with which many may state their misinformed views. Why do people find it so hard to say, "I know nothing about this except what the mass media has told me, and I know it's all likely bullocks. Now, you tell me the real deal." Perhaps it's because they don't want to know the real deal. It's too much work, you see. It's better - and easier - to pretend to have information just because you saw it on CNN or Fox News. You can't be accused of being ignorant if you know what the mass media says about an issue.

We are losing all sense of humility. We think we know things, but we don't know anything, at least not really. Real knowledge doesn't come cheap. That's why people spend five years earning PhDs, and even more years become doctors. Would you allow someone that's spent a year in med school to operate on you? Intuitively you know they can't be very good because they haven't spent enough time acquiring the second kind of knowledge I talked about earlier. So why do we think the sound bites we hear in the news make us informed? We are engulfed by information, but lack real knowledge, whether of the first or second kind. People don't even read whole books any more; they want the cliff notes versions.

I think we need to slow down as a race, and stop trying to do so much, stop scattering ourselves, stop spreading ourselves so thin. We cannot know everything, and there's no point pretending we can. We are all ignorant in one way or another. But it's one thing to be ignorant and to know it, and it's quite another thing to insist on portraying one's self as educated, which in reality usually just means "formally schooled". Before the advent of formal schooling, learned men (they were usually men) invested time getting the second kind of knowledge I talked about in their areas of interest, and they usually continued well past their 30s and 40s. They didn't stop learning. Now we go to school for a couple of years, learn, graduate, and some of us hardly pick up a book post graduation. Not only do we not pursue knowledge in a disciplined, consistent fashion, we also seem to throw humility - the basic acceptance that we do not know - out of the window. Many of us become unteachable, stuck in our ways, never questioning our deeply held beliefs and assumptions.

Interesting. I didn't know I had these thoughts. I wonder in what ways I have been guilty of the same things I have just mentioned. Running out of juice here. Need to take a break. Let's just call this part 1 of whatever number of parts we eventually end up with...

The parable of the prodigal son (a guide to economic development)

You've probably heard the parable of the prodigal son a couple of times, so I won't make you read the whole thing (however for those who want to, you can find it here). However I will share a quick overview, before going into my interpretation, which as the title shows, focuses on economic development (one of my favourite topics). So a man had two sons. The younger one decided to take his fate into his own hands, and asked his father for his share of the inheritance, while he was still alive. People in the village would probably have gasped - what did the boy know about managing wealth? Did he really think he could make it on his own in the cold, hard world, without his father's support and guidance? Villagers' doubts aside, he collected his share and went out into the world to try his luck. Well, he failed, miserably too. But he learned from his failure, swallowed his pride, and went back to his father to ask for a job. His father would have none of that, and instead threw a lavish party for his son who had returned home.

Let's pause for a second before getting to the part about the older brother. The prodigal son showed initiative. Yes he was brash, but he was willing to be his own man. He was no coward, this prodigal son. Stupid, perhaps, but no coward. He saw no reason why he could not do what he had seen his father do, i.e. make money and manage it. And he had the guts to ask for what he wanted. And he got it! He failed, but he was humble enough to face reality, and made his way back to his father to learn what he thought he knew when he left. I can easily see him becoming a wealthy business man a couple of years after returning home, the humiliation he suffered in foreign lands prompting him to learn all he could from his father while he was still alive. The prodigal son displayed certain traits: believed in himself and his abilities; considered it posssible he could do as well as his father; asked his father for what he wanted; struck out on his own; faced reality when he failed; humbled himself and returned home; learned all he could to ensure he never suffered again.

Now let's discuss the older btother. Interestingly, he doesn't really appear till later in the parable. We know he exists from the very first verse, but he seems to remain in the shadows till his brother comes back home. It's almost as if he is defined by the actions of his younger brother, the brash one. So, he's retuning from the field where he's been working all day with the slave hands. He doesn't even know there is a party going on at home. No one has sent for him. No one has informed him. He has to ask a slave hand why there is a party going on. That says a lot about him, and his position in the hierarchy. I would go as far as saying he saw himself as more of a slave, than a son. Listen to what he says, "Look how many years I've stayed here serving you, never giving you one moment of grief, but have you ever thrown a party for me and my friends? Then this son of yours who has thrown away your money on whores shows up and you go all out with a feast!". His view of himself is right there, isn't it? He sees his position as serving his father, and not giving him a moment of grief (interpretation - not making demands, and respecting his own needs, which he surely had). Then there's the expectation that his father should have rewarded him for his good behaviour by throwing a party for him and his friends. Listen to how he even describes his brother, "this son of yours who has thrown away your money". Did you catch it? He said "your money", not "our money". He still saw himself as having nothing, with everything belonging to his dad. His dad's response shows the older son was totally mixed up - "son, everything that is mine is yours!" Of course it was. It had always been, but the older son could not see that, and the younger one did. 

Now let's bring it home. I saw some pictures of Victoria Island flooded after the most recent downpour. There was a particular picture in which a car that had been parked was almost covered by water. Then I remembered how I had often seen live power cables dangle from poles, and give off sparks. I just imagined that happening with water everywhere. I'm sure you get the picture. Then I started to wonder why things like this happen in Nigeria. What does it take to clear out drainage so water can flow? What does it take to fix power cables so they don't dangle? We do not see things like this in the developed world, so why are they so rampant in Nigeria? I argue that it is because we think more like the older son, than the prodigal one.

Remember the traits of the prodigal son I listed three paragraphs ago? Well, the West (and increasingly, Asia) displays most of them. They believe in themselves. They seriously consider the fact that they can do what God/nature does (China is said to have used new technology to stop rains from falling at the last Olympics). They insist on getting what they want, and they are willing to go it alone to achieve their goals. They face reality when things don't work out, and are humble enough to go back to the drawing board to get answers. They are always asking questions, always conducting research, always learning. Yes, at times they show the less than stellar traits of the prodigal son: arrogance, thinking it's all about them, depravity, etc. But hey, no one's perfect, least of us we lot in Nigeria. We hide behind a moral facade, but we all know that we can be as depraved as the next man (which I am sure was the same for the older son, who probably had desires like his brother, but just knew how to hide them). Unfortunately for us, we also share many other traits with the older son: we expect God/nature to do things for us, to reward us for our worship, our behaviour, our tithes. We are too timid to demand for what we really want as a group, which explains why our leaders can steal and do whatever they want, and nothing happens. We do not see that the wealth of the world is ours as much as it is the West's, and we seem comfortable being fringe players. Like the older brother, we are defined by the actions of our younger brother (if you believe that life started in Africa). They tell our stories for us (for example, the Broadway show "Fela"), define us, and determine what we can or cannot do (the West's influence in choosing African leaders has been well documented, and Wikileaks showed how we are still being manipulated behind the scenes).

So my take is that until we change our attitude to God/nature, we will remain like the older brother - on the outside while the economic party between the West and Asia is going on. How do we change this? We have to stop living in deception. We have to honour our desires and wishes. We have to ask for what we want (improved quality of life for our people) and be willing to take risks to secure it. When we fail (and we will fail every now and again) we have to face reality, learn from our mistakes and move on. We have to conduct research to discover the secrets of the world hidden in plain sight, and apply them to solve our problems. God will not come down from Heaven to clear blocked drainage and reattach dangling power cables. He's provided all we need to do those things. It's time we stepped up to our responsibility to exercise dominion. And if we're not ready to, we'll remain slave hands to our younger brothers.

The case of The Speaker's 10 billion (part 6)

Bankole arrested (see details here).

A step in the right direction, but I am not rejoicing yet. Remember Tafa Balogun? He stole billions (see here for full list of charges), yet spent under a year in prison (see here). He is now a free man, enjoying the remainder of his loot that the EFCC was unable to trace.

So kudos to GEJ for stopping Bankole from eloping (he was meant to have fled the country this morning). But I reserve my applause until this case reaches its logical conclusion, with all the funds returned, Bankole jailed and stripped off all honours, and checks and balances put in place to ensure this type of thing does not happen again.

Let's see how this latest episode of the ongoing soap opera in Nigerian government (which I have titled "The lifestyles of the corrupt and infamous") unfolds.