Friday 24 November 2017


I looked out through the window to the classes in the West, I saw people crying and weeping that they had it bad. They were angry at the chaperones for giving them half-filled cups of Gatorade. They wanted the old chaperones back. The same chaperones they all wanted to leave just a few months back. They were used to full bottles of wine whenever they were thirsty. It was strange to me but I was not in the position to say anything. I just shook my head and looked away.
In the East, the people were wailing. They killed the chaperones and got themselves new ones. The new ones were too weak and irresponsible that they were overpowered by the noisy back-seaters who were now running the class and trying to take over the whole school. They were not content with the fact that their cups were half-empty. Everything was depressing and they were used to it already by now. They wanted the old chaperones whom they had ousted in the first place. How had they been mistaken to think these new chaperones could stand up to the back-seaters. I turned away in disappointment.
Now I am looking at the place I am standing, as the ground slowly transforms into a lake so familiar – a lake in the Niger Area. We were in the worst situation possible. Our former chaperone was so incompetent that he almost emptied our stainless cups. We could almost see our reflections in the bottom of the cup. At least others had clean water but we had to manage vinegar. And it was so bad that even before the vinegar got to our intestines they had evaporated. So, it was safe to say we had no options. We needed a new chaperone. It couldn’t get any worse. . .right?
The new chaperone was really great at first. He brought discipline which lasted for what seems now like a split second. He only paid attention to his favorites in the class. The people who looked like him and spoke the same language as he did. We did not care much as far as he did his job. Then all of a sudden, he started missing school. Then he disappeared for a long time and left the class to his dwarf friend whom no one respected in the entire school. The back-seaters then took over and ran riot on the school unchecked. His favorites made excuses for him while the rest of the class raved and ranted. Bedlam was the normal we had to get used to. So much for the discipline we were promised
After some time, some rumored he would never return. Some even thought he had died in the land so far away. Some of the students wanted to take over but his favorites threatened to fight the whole class if they did. Then the other students wanted to leave but weren’t taken seriously because they didn’t have a united front.
The chaperone is back from the land so far away and he is unapologetic. Now here we are sat, heads in bandages, holes in pockets and hearts in cracks, wondering what we were thinking when we chose him as our chaperone. And to make matters worse, we now had no cups.


Tuesday 21 November 2017


Its been one month since our break up and I must commend my heart for adjusting quite rapidly to the realities of life without Rudolf. On countless occasions, I had patiently waited for the hovering bird called 'heart break' to finally perch on my roof but God helped its miserable soul. It must have known that I was armed to the teeth with my spear of dignity and a shield made of stiff ego.

Not only that, the 'gang' advised that I drew up a roster with each day stuffed with "ecstasy that excites and glee that tickles", just in case thoughts about him try to stray beyond their boundaries.

So on Mondays, I learnt to walk with a majestic sense of feminine gracefulness and straighten my crown once again. On Tuesdays, I spoilt myself with surprise treats in exotic sites around town. I slid a bar of chocolate into my own bag (in my absence) on Wednesdays and spelt his name backwards on Thursdays. Fridays were most remarkable as I would curse the days I ever shed a single tear for that brute!

Yes! Rudolf was worse than a brute. His style of break up made my stomach purge. I mean, who would ever end a relationship two days into Valentine? -Rudolf!

For days, the break up left me wide awake in the wee hours of the night, standing by my mirror, checking if my own head had suddenly begun to develope horns. It caused me to take my breath in my own hands and perceive just to be sure it was nothing odoriferous that stood between us. I began to query the dictionary for hiding the correct meaning of the word "OVER", for Rudolf had succeeded in making me less of a complete woman and so forgetting him shouldn't be this difficult but nostalgia is such a cruel thing. It would lure you to forbidden corridors and make poisoned apples become pleasing to the eye once and again.

Quite frankly, Rudolf was every real woman's fantasy- every woman's necessary evil. If the way my name sounds on his lips were music, I would definitely put that track on replay. I can't help but smile over the uncultured way he let's out his boyish laughter when he gets really excited. Suddenly, all the love songs I hear say something about him; especially J'odie's "Sugar Coconut" and these days I fear for my armour. Some days back, I had unconsciously given out his digits to a client in place of my own and I realized I was gradually getting trapped.

Last night was a Tuesday night. I tried out Sheraton's Chinese for the first time. I got home exhausted, turned on my data for Whatsapp messages and it was him!

"Sending a blanket of luv and pillows of affection to you darl. U looked gorgeous at d restaurant 2day. Can we hang out 2morrow?"



Saturday 18 November 2017


As I sat in that dimly lit room with hands cuffed in front of me, I couldn’t help but try to distract myself from the cruel reality that awaited me. I looked around the room at the faces of the other occupants. There were scary faces, innocent faces and blanks faces – those whose faces were dead and devoid of any form of emotion. I wondered what they saw in my face. Would I last long in this sea of faces? Would my face become dead by the time I got out? Thoughts flashed across my mind and most of them were horrifying.
My attention was shifted all of a sudden to the metal bucket that lay in the corner of the room. The bucket was kept there to keep the drop of water from the leaking roof from filling the room. I laughed in my mind when two of the occupants started arguing if the droplets of water could fill up the room if left to continue. The first lad claimed that if the water was left to drop like that forever, the bucket will fill and then the whole room and it will continue forever. His friend countered his point claiming that the water will continue evaporating and that even if the bucket got full, the room will never be filled up with water. This continued for a while until a guard came to shut them up. Every other person in the room didn’t even as much as look in their direction. As for me, my eyes were fixed on the bucket as I tried to make sense of the argument. What if the leak is not fixed? Will the room actually get filled up?
My mind drifted back to my childhood. My first drop was when I slapped my aunt back at the family reunion. A quick slap and spanking would have fixed the leak in my roof. The slap was replaced by excuses instead. It was no big deal. The other massive drop was when I stole my classmate’s pen. Again, it was no big deal. Young boys will always do what young boys do. It was no big deal. Then I moved on to bigger things unchecked. Then followed more unchecked drops and the bucket was filled to the brim. The next thing I know, I am in a chokehold in the arms of a cop in plain clothes who used his knowledge of taekwondo to disarm me during a failed attempt to rob a grocery store.
As soon as I felt my head enter the lock, I knew that was the last drop and my bucket was now overflowing. I didn’t even struggle much, and slowly, I faded into unconsciousness. I woke up in this sea of faces and here I am gazing at a metal bucket slowly filling up and having flashbacks of my slow but steady rise to infamy. 
If only my dad or my teacher had mended that roof when the leak was not profound. Maybe I would have become a doctor or something more useful. But now, while my mates are defending their projects, I am in here with strange people trying very hard to determine which one of them would come at me if I mistakenly dropped the soap. What I would do now to get a chance to roll back the years and fix the leaky roof. Maybe I should start by fixing this particular leak in this room.
As I climbed the table and tried to reach for the leak, a guard rushed into the room, baton in hand. He grabbed me from where I was standing and slammed me into the concrete floor. He then kicked me multiple times in the head, the groin and the solar plexus. I lay there writhing in pain after he left. The occupants completely ignored the incident. . .like it was no big deal. When I finally struggled back to my feet and sat back up, someone pierced the cloak of silence that had descended upon the room. It was one of the two arguing friends. 
“You see. I told you the leak couldn’t possibly continue forever. One idiot must surely try to fix it”.


Wednesday 15 November 2017


Life presents itself with a variety of options coupled up in different conditions, sometimes it could be your pay day, and others may just be your "may day". But at every interval in the course of life we are faced with only two options; either to move forward or stay down, both having the inherent ability to envelope us and become our atmosphere. Every day we are faced with challenges of different sorts, but how we attend to them will shape our decisions and help us move to another stage either in victory or defeat. In the mind of every man is an ever brewing battle of good and evil, so at every point we have a decision to make to stay on the right course of stability and serenity if not we get demoralized and it evidently becomes a sequence of distress that keeps us down in the pool of self-pity and resentment. Each decision is a map to success or demotion in our lives, so in everything the decision you make determines the next phase you venture into. In the heated moment of an argument, in the face of opposition and failures, in the moment of despair; decide to move forward despite your present status. There is a saying that “when you hit rock  bottom the only way left to go is UP”. Make the decision to do what is right, just and commendable. In no way should you cheat yourself out of the right decision by pressure, just know that every good turn deserves another; the right decision paves the way for the next one which produces a chain reaction of good decisions. So whats your decision? 
The rumbling sound of indecision surmounts us every now and then leaving us with options, but how we know the more excellent option is another pressing issue. Options have a variety, possess strength and most importantly there are very conflicting, similar case of being caught between a rock and a hard place; bewildered on what to do. Ours is a life full of options, and right from the day we were born it was a battle of decisions both for our parents and ourselves when we attained unto knowledge and consciousness of our reality. The school we attend, the food we eat, the road path we take, the friends we make, all are a result of options. So then options are the genetic makeup of our decision, because there is no decision without preceding options surrounding it. Before every decision are options, and our pick determines the course of our decisions; the options are not easy to select between, they usually conflict our personality and flood us with disparity for one singular reason; our desires.
Humans are a consolidation of desires, every little bit of our actions are a function of what we desire, there is always an expected end to a desire; self-satisfaction and fulfilment. We acquire our desires based on what we see and hear, information cemented into knowledge and embedded in the seat of our minds fuels what we desire. Looking at the set of options we choose, it becomes evidently cleat the channels of our desires because the conflicting part of decision making and option selection is fighting what we want and what we are meant to do. A man once said, The things I am meant to do I find myself not doing them and the things I dont want to do I find myself doing them. Desires have the propensity to override our will and bring us into subjection to its tyrannical demands. Therefore I am convinced and move for the theory of Influence, there are several influences in the world today and of different sorts, but one thing is certain, there is nothing that is without influence. In Physics we learnt about the law of gravity and many other laws that govern literally the course of life as we know it, but now I want us to address a more or less conspicuous influence desire. Desires are all so consuming once they get a grip of our heart, they exercise their rule in a bid to get a quota of satisfaction from our slavery and keep demanding from us to pay taxes of indulgence.

Ever seen a dictator who cuts you some slack and says hey, you guys have worked so hard, have two months of holiday as a reward.? I doubt that because its an unending cycle of homage and no dictator wants to lose his slave-ridden subjects. Desires are dictators that will keep you under their reign until the cry of freedom rises in your heart and an ardent search for liberation from the abject state of slavery. But how does someone know he or she needs freedom unless he sees it, the advantage of the dictator is his viewpoint of his gain from the slavery. So therefore what we need is a new vantage point in other to see the peaks and terrain of freedom if not we remain there and stay there. The issue of sight is what grants a man the advantage of choice, when he sees and can measure his pros and cons; then he will be able to choose to his betterment, at least every sane person will make a choice to benefit himself. I believe that the way we go is the way we know, so every decision we make is as a result of our present sight and our sight does not go beyond our desires 

The decision is a very vital and determining factor in the life of every human, it plots a graph of our very existence and makes us into who we are. Over and over again we have to make a decision to move ahead in life, so we have no other choice but to do all diligence to make the right decision by cross-checking our desires and adjusting our sight.

***Emeka Acquaye Precious***

Tuesday 14 November 2017


If there is one unique personality trait I totally admire about persons born in the month of March, it is how much of a silly observer we can be at times. Its silly because of this natural mastery we posses in being able to read peoples minds and possibly predict their next thought, move or reaction with only a 'Hello' or an 'Hi'. In most cases, we are never wrong with our predictions, except, of course, we fall (headlong) in love. However, many of my 'colleagues' don't find this gift rather helpful and seldom put it to good use but certainly not me. This is why lately, one would realize that many, with the hopeless intention of leaving some of us groping in the dark like confused rodents as to the content of their discussions, resort to communicating in codes. 

So you walk right into your hostel after a fabulously hectic day one fine evening to catch your seven 'roomies' so engrossed in 'dirty' ladies talk that they begin to refer to certain unmentionables in coded languages just because "Sister Christiana is around, we must not corrupt her" and you're like: "Somebody help me with a rifle". At that point you do not need a prophet to tell you that the intention was to make a jackass out of you but you stand there wearing a lazy smile just wandering who the bigger fool was.

You know, its funny how some persons think that wearing the badge of Christianity can also be equated with bearing a medal of foolishness and naivety around.

I got talking with some dear friends sometime ago and in between our random discussions, I could notice that they had begun to transcend practically from my realm. I mean, this time, it became a conversation not suitable for listeners under the age of eighteen. My presence made terms like Tramadol censored and replaced with the letter 'T' and I could only shake my head in disgust.

Truth is, many persons don't just have an idea of what we have been, who we have been and where we have been at some points in our lives. A good number of us lived under the ferocious Babylonian system where we didn't forget to learn their patterns, behaviours, mannerisms and language!

So, if we tell you we spent sleepless nights on pornographic sites and busied our lives with Mills and Boon; that we watched all that reality TV shows and Channel O had to offer and always kept up with the Kardashians; that we were survivors of some sorts: masturbation, lesbianism, pornography, drugs, atheism, whoredom and everything secular, maybe you would realize that we have not always been like this and so censoring your language does not protect us. 

We had enough of Babylon that we left the residues to fix our gaze on Zion and going back is not an option.

So, the next time you attempt to talk in codes and we happen to smile off, be sure to know that it has absolutely nothing to do with being naïve. It is only what dangerous people do.

Monday 13 November 2017


I am not a very expressive person. At least, not vocally or even through actions. For me, knowing that I love you is enough - I need never say it. That's very silly isn't it? But that's how I tick. A friend of mine was very concerned about what she considered to be my callous attitude towards a family member who had suffered a loss. What she said was along the lines of showing love through actions. In my case, that meant saying "Sorry for your loss" or "How did it happen?" and other inanities. 

It has often been said that there is love in giving. The saying is apt and easy to understand. Love essentially is expressed in giving. When we love people, we let them in and give them parts of ourselves. We give them our secrets, our feelings, our opinions because giving these things show our love for them. 

 Gary Chapman outlines five languages of love and they are gift giving, quality time, words of affirmation, acts of service (devotion), and physical touch. These languages show that there is love in giving or rather giving in love whether what we give is tangible or not. 

Now I am of the belief that giving is not only a way to show but rather that we show our love for people by receiving what they give us. I know this sounds strange but how can there be a successful giving without a receiving? Usually, when we have a friend who accepts money, food, clothing, honor, praise etc. we view them as being indiscriminate. Perhaps it's the fear that some harm will come to them. Who knows really? 

I think many times it is harder to receive than to give. Receiving shows love and trust. It shows an absence of fear; a belief that the giver can do no harm. 

Humans are generally selfish and ego driven, receiving from another therefore reflects a need. The fear of showing our need makes it hard to accept favours lest we be seen as needy or worse, weak. 

It all boils down to this; what is love? Is it complete upon expression or is it complete when it has been received? What use is music if it can't be heard or food if it can't be tasted? What use is love if it can't be received?


Sunday 12 November 2017


The sunset was unusually blinding this evening as the shanties and old market stalls that had provided shade before now had been pulled down a day before. There had been a feisty effort by the petty traders to stop the demolition, but what could sticks and broken bottles do against the might of caterpillars and wrecking balls powerfully flanked by trigger-happy policemen with an avid lust for extrajudicial killing? That day had ended with tears and ashes, but the morning after a phoenix had to rise: on the rubble of their former stalls the traders mounted canopies and umbrellas and continued with business. Rukewe could not afford such luxury so on this evening she sold under the shelter of the open air. The noise and plot of the market was no less typical, cars hooting and wheezing pass, women gossiping and dragging bargains,  and babies tucked at their mothers' backs painfully turning their heads this way and that.
"One-twenty last, you fit take two rubber two hundred." Rukewe would no longer shift grounds. 
"Okay, make you sell me well o" her customer, a young lady, finally acquiesced, albeit with grudge.
There was a shout as a tomato fruit rolled off the table. In one blink Akpos, Rukewe's little boy, had started a chase. Mission: stop the tomato from rolling into the gutter. His effort was successful but at the price of dirt. He handed the dingy vegetable over to his mother who thanked him with a tap on the head,  and threw the vegetable into a bowl which contained tomatoes of similar conditions 'Awalawa' which could still be sold at great discount. 
Four hundred meters away from Akalaka market, is a supermarket. There are no bargains here, just price tags, 99.99s and 199.99s. Madam Ntecha is at the counter ready to leave with two branded yellow bags. 
"Why the surge in prices?" Madam Ntecha asks the salesman. 
"Ma'am, we have a new manager."
"A greedy new manager you should say." 
"Well, I do not know about that, Ma."
"Monopoly," Madam Ntecha sighs, " Tell your manager that the government demolished that market because they want to build a shopping mall there. Soon competition will demolish this establishment."
As the door slides shut behind her, Madam Ntecha gets into her car and drives off into our world, the world of half-men and demi-gods. For thousands of years we have lived with our host, and the question of our relationship with her, mother Earth, has remained complicated. Previous generations have wondered if our relationship with Earth is parasitic, symbiotic or commensal, but now we need not wonder: we know. Take a look at the Tsunamis, Typhoons, and landslides, and all of the trappings of climate change and all you will see is the Earth fighting back,  and picking off as much of we parasites as she can per strike. However, this war is more complicated than we think because it is the battle of three kings, a triple threat match. Before Akalaka market existed, there was Akalaka forest populated neither by gods nor men but by wildlife. Then it was man fighting nature as trees were cut down to situate a market with their planks and on their land. Soon Akalaka market will be replaced by Akalaka shopping mall, and the battle continues, now with a third entrant: demigods. 
Wealth and the lack of it has divided men into two, demigods and half-men, and while demigods try to build a more comfortable world for themselves they seem to forget that half-men still exist and would not afford the convenience talk more of luxury of the demigods' new world. The demi gods eat on the table, crumbs fall off for half-men. Madam Ntecha is a commissioner's wife, she operates cashless, debit cards and mobile transfers have been her thing. She makes her purchases, and the pay is enough to settle the salesman's wage for the month. Tomorrow is Sunday, and the salesman gives his wife some cash with which to buy 'stew things'. The young lady goes to Akalaka market to buy one rubber of fresh tomato. Madam Ntecha (a demigod)'s money has trickled down to Rukewe, a half-man. But soon Akalaka market will cease to exist, and more half-men markets will be demolished to build more malls for demigods. Sophia the robot and her yet-to-be-made cousins are expected to take over the salesman's job. Trends will continue in this war such that one day half-men will wake up to bright sunshine as their homes are being demolished to accommodate more demigods' designs, they will watch their children cry of hunger that morning and while they contemplate the fact that there is nothing left to eat but the demigods, the demigods will contemplate the fact that the biggest and most convenient stake in arriving at a truce on the nature front of this war would be to reduce the population of the half-men. How convenient it would be, after all overpopulation is perhaps the single biggest cause of the war between man and nature, the Earth is fighting back because the parasites are getting too many, and why shouldn't the minority demigods help bring peace to the Earth by reducing the swarming numbers of the majority half-men? And so will formally start the biggest war known to man, the war of demigods and half-men. It would be in Pounds and Dollars, guns and bombs, inflation and recession, civil wars, terrorist attacks, and bio-terrorism. Surely the Earth wouldn't stand by and watch.

***Okwuchukwu Ndulue***

Friday 10 November 2017


I know a man who used to own a mansion on my street. His house was surrounded by a massive fence and a gate made of reinforced steel. He was a very benevolent and humble man despite being affluent beyond comprehension. This man was also very patient with people. You could see him talking to homeless folk and addicts in the evenings on his way back from work. They would all rush to meet him in front of his compound whenever they heard the sound of his car returning from work. He always stopped to hand them a dollar each before driving into his compound.
 One evening, as I was leaning on the railings on my verandah, I witnessed something very interesting. The man came in at a very high speed. Instead of winding down his glass, as usual, to talk with the homeless folk as was the tradition, he just drove into his compound and the gate locked behind him. You could see the dejection on the faces of the homeless folk. They all dispersed slowly in various directions into the darkness, muttering words to each other as they left. I tried to understand why the man decided to ignore them that evening. Maybe he had a bad day at work. Maybe he was just too tired to hang around. It might be possible he had lost his job and was in a foul mood. But these were speculations and we would never know for sure.
I went back to my living room and turned on the News. After what seemed like an hour or maybe even more, I was awoken by a cacophony of voices screaming and wailing in the street. I rushed to the verandah to see what was happening. A crowd had gathered in front of the man’s gate, and from the body language of those in the crowd, something terrible had happened.
When I got downstairs, one of my neighbors told me what had happened. One of the addicts had mugged a young girl on her way back from extra lessons. The lad was one of the victims of the massive layoff by the man’s companies. He had been so depressed that he decided to use drugs as his escape from reality. Eventually, he became homeless and had to feed off scraps in order to get his daily ‘fix’ and some food to eat. He finally became a proper addict and could no longer function without the drugs. His only hope was the dollar the man gave them every evening. So, when the man had come back today and ignored them, most of them went out into the streets and started mugging people in desperation. It was during one of these altercations that the homeless lad mistakenly stabbed a girl who wouldn’t let go of her bag. The girl was the man’s daughter.
As soon as I heard the sirens, I knew it was time to flee the scene because, in this town, first responders always ended up in jail as the main suspects. On my way back to my flat, I couldn’t help but ponder, “A dollar is not much, but how much is it really worth?”
The extra dollar you don’t want to give to someone might actually turn out to be the penny for which you are mindlessly killed. We go about every day doing good for people or treating them badly without realizing the impact we have on their lives and they on ours. A dollar not given is remembered more than a million given. Life is like a sea. It comes around and flows away in waves. 

Monday 6 November 2017


I dislike Nigerian movies with a passion. What's to like? The corny acting, the predictable plots or the atrocious grammar? Worse than this is the manner society is portrayed in these movies. I think Yoruba movies are even worse than their English counterparts and I can say this boldly because I am Yoruba. We really need a change.

If you're wondering when I'll hit the nail on the head about the matter at hand, I'll tell you now. I once saw this movie where a guy's parents refused to accept his choice of a bride. We'll call this guy "A". The lady in question was HIV positive so you can understand why the concerned but not very enlightened parents had an issue with the whole arrangement. So A had to take his lady friend to stay with a friend overnight. Why not a hotel, you may wonder? I really don't know. Maybe the guy was cheap. Anyway, the friend didn't know the lady in question was HIV positive and as night fell, he felt a strong overpowering desire to rape his friend's bride to be come upon him. Did I mention she was a virgin? Not very shocking as these plots go. Anyway, when A found out he was betrayed and blurted out to his friend that she was HIV positive. Long story short, his friend tested negative for HIV. The lady also got tested and was found negative. Now it's not what you think, she wasn't cured by the rape. It turns out that a doctor long ago falsified the test results yada yada yada. Now the point I'm trying to bring out is that when it was discovered that she was negative, this rapist was declared a hero. They said if it wasn't because he raped her, the truth wouldn't have come out. The guy went from zero to hero in a split second. The dastardly effect of the rape on this lady wasn't shown. She was shown as appreciative, ecstatic really.

Nollywood movies, no matter how moribund often reflect the true state of society. Sadly, this is no exception when it comes to rape. Rape, whether male or marital is a crime of invasion. A crime against the very person of an individual. We all value ourselves, the things that make us who we are. Things that shouldn't be taken away from us except with our consent. Our sexuality is bound to our personalities. Even a harlot refuses a client once in a while but a rape victim is treated as less than a whore. This is clear when armed robbers after robbing rape members of the family because it is seen as yet another commodity to be stolen.

It's a crime of opportunity really and no one is really safe from a rapists appetite. No one! Not a heavily shrouded Muslim girl, nor a elderly woman nor a 6-month old infant. We all fall prey to the depraved appetites of people who literally can't keep it in their pants. The fact that most rapes are committed by family and friends makes it all the more sordid.

It doesn't have to be this way though. Rape is rarely reported because the family of the victim want to keep their prestige at the expense of another. Even when they get to the police station, they're counseled by police men to forgive and forget (emphasis on forget).

It's really sad that we shame rape victims. We tell them, "You were indecently dressed", "You were walking alone at night", "You led him on", "I told you so" etc. Clearly, short skirts don't rape, rapists do.

It's reprehensible that we don't take a firmer stance on rape and rapists. We grant an enabling environment to not only strange men but strange women to molest our sons and daughters.

I believe we can turn the tide. I believe we can speak out more against rape. I believe we can reduce the amount of silent rape victims. I believe that innocence is more important than family pride. As Joy Isi Bewaji said, dignity is more important than pride. I believe we can preserve the dignity of our society. I believe we can eradicate the shadows that rape flourishes in. I believe we can make a change.

***Favour Borokini***

Friday 3 November 2017


2016 was a year of very surprising world events and achievements that left some hearts aching and mouths gaping. The Leicester and Feyenoord championship, Icelandic miracle, Trump and Brexit, Phelps and Biles. But for me, the moment that stood out most was Portugal’s victory against France in the finals of Euro 2016. 
Portugal had literally stumbled to the finals and were overwhelming underdogs on the night. The game had a very cagy start with France doing most of the attacking. Then something happened; Payet lounged in on Ronaldo who then fell and couldn’t continue. Then followed the image of Ronaldo sitting in the middle of the pitch in tears and then the moth landed on his face.
The moth is representative of all that is gloom. The symbolism of the animal and the undeniable impact of Ronaldo on the team and their overall gameplay immediately struck a chord on the minds of all concerned neutral football fans. Everybody expected France to walk all over Portugal considering the fact that Ronaldo was almost irreplaceable in the squad. On came Eder. You could hear the whole fan zone of the Portuguese sigh in despair. Heads were hanging low and Portuguese faces lost their glow. The moth had landed on the faces of the whole country.
Towards the end of the game, Eder, the black sheep, struck a weak shot in the direction of the goalie. . . and scored. The entire football world stood still. Another miracle of 2016 was unfolding before our very eyes. All the experts were flipping through their pages trying to make sense of this. There was bedlam in pubs where Portugal’s supporters gathered in hope of a miracle.
It was then that it dawned on me in a painful way. I came to the realization that sometimes in an attempt to make sense of the human predicament and in an attempt to answer the ultimate question of existence, we mistake different symbolism for what they are not. This is usually as a result of the high propensity of the human mind to cling on to the various superstitions as a means to an end, which in this case might be interpreting the present or possibly predicting the future.
As soon as I saw the moth, I opened a bracket of gloom, added the strength of the French players, subtracted the impact of Ronaldo, multiplied the home advantage for France and divided the chances of Portugal by the impact of Eder. The result was complete football annihilation waiting to happen. But I was proved wrong once again as these things often turn out.
The fact that you are stranded in the desert does not necessary mean you will die of thirst tomorrow. The fact that you saw a bottle of water or an oasis in the desert does not mean that you will survive the desert. A sign might be a coincidence or an excluded event without any relation to the prevalent chain of events. A moth to one is a butterfly to some. You have to continue moving even when the signs and the times are against you. The truth, as they say, is in the okro soup.