Who will bell the cat?

Change...
From bus conductors to market women, from wide eyed youths to tired Nigerians. Change is one word they have in common.
Over time, Change or the promise of it has become the next abused word after “I love you”, "trust me" and “I promise”.
While I believe it is bad practice for those in the service industry to insist potential clients come with change, a lesson to be learned is that we should stop waiting for change to be fed to us by not-so-well-meaning aspiring administrators and be the change we want to see. 
If change were something we want bad enough, we as individuals and people should find a way to make it happen. 
Then again maybe these are just words.

In a country like Nigeria, rich in natural and human resources, is it possible really to achieve change? 
Heck we have so much water that we have decided to play gods and build estates on the ocean without giving much thought to the potential impacts on the environment or ecosystem.
Then again, it is possible that building permits were gotten from pastors/priests/prophets who these days serve as all-knowing oracles and have outlawed man's use of common-sense. 

Who has heard of a developing country like ours being resilient? 
Harnessing solar, wind or hydropower to make electricity a basic entitlement for all and not a privilege for only those that can afford it? 
Or even considered transforming wood or agricultural waste to biogas while creating job opportunities for those at the grassroots? 
Here the sun is only good for drying clothes, weave-ons and melon while agriculture has become synonymous with Fulani herdsmen, bankruptcy and kidnapping.
Correct me... if I am wrong.

Compared to what we have witnessed, what does this change really entail?
Does it include promoting religious fanaticism, tribalism, nepotism and the trend of getting ahead by skin bleaching?
How about churches promising heaven on earth, the death of our enemies and wealth without hard work?   
What happens to citizens from families so blended, it is almost impossible to tell which part of the country they really come from? 
Would they prove to be assets or be seen as threats to the government of the idealistic newly divided nation?

The new Nigerian dream is to go a western country and become successful at some job; whatever job is available be it road sweeping, morgue attendant or nuclear physicist. 
The question now is, if everyone leaves to become a foreigner, who will be left to build the nation? 

Change for me will be good well maintained roads, affordable and reliable power supply and promoting the country's agriculture sector.
With these for a start, I can look forward to more job opportunities, less political unrest and improved livelihoods for all.

The final question...

Who will bell the cat?

With Brooms, Umbrellas, Crops and Livestock.

Twenty fifteen elections are around the corner with different candidates from different political parties vying for a mark beneath my thumb.
Although they are different, they are united by a common goal.

To effect positive change and growth.

They say this in earnest and with palms across their chest, they make this pledge. They seem believable, they seem true yet I find it a little difficult to trust their word.
How can you give me change when you permit irrational acts to be done in your name?
Since when does cutting away the roots of a tree strengthen the plant?
Aside from intimidation, name-calling and image bashing, all over town, promotional posters are splattered indiscriminately defacing buildings, fences and road dividers to name a few.

I am thinking to myself, “who will clean up this mess?”

Over the months, I've come across jingles, adverts in publications and really pretty billboards (plus or minus Photoshop).
Nice words, catchy phrases; I got the message.

Ten-eleven years ago, I went to watch a theater presentation with my mum in the evening. It ran longer than the usual 2hrs but was worth it. We made our way home and were surprised to see lots of cars parked in front of and about our residence.
At that time, it was a tradition for members of staff and office holders to personally visit family members of recently bereaved.
My dad had gone for an official errand and was due home that evening.
I scanned the lot of cars looking for my father’s vehicle.
It was not there.
I looked at my mother she looked at me; neither of us uttered a word. We knew what the other was thinking but were afraid that if we spoke it might come to pass.
Our silence was a prayer.
In trepidation we got out of the vehicle and walked into the house.
I saw someone.
He looked like my father, he sounded like my father but I hesitated to admit he was my father.
The man looked heartbroken. He was pale, shaken and in tears. Words I have never associated with my father in all my years.
His clothes were blood stained, glasses askew and his lips trembled whenever he tried to speak.
He was a wreck.
It turned out he was involved in an accident and his driver died.
Not from the accident but from lack of… I really can’t say.

They were flung off the road by a trailer avoiding a pothole without functioning breaks.
The car fell into a ditch and they passed out momentarily.
My dad was the first to come to.
He called his driver. When he realized the driver wasn’t responding to his name, he urged the gathering onlookers to assist him.
As luck would have it, there was a government hospital about 20 minutes away. He gave a man some money to use an okada to bring help. The man returned alone saying the staff on duty said there was no fuel in the ambulance. Without thinking, he gave him money to give to them to buy fuel.
When the ambulance came, they loaded the driver into the vehicle and drove straight into a bottleneck. The road was bad so only one side of it was pliable. In addition, they had to drive slowly because one of the back tires of the ambulance had a fault.
After about an hour or more, they got to the hospital.
First they would not let them sit till they confirmed my dad could afford the registration fee and ensuing bills. After that, the generator would not come on and there was no waiting for NEPA because the transformer was blown.
Almost frantic, he gave them money to do what ever it took to get light in the hospital.
After taking the driver to the waiting room. The nurse on duty said they would have to wait a while because the doctor on duty was in his private hospital. My dad sat on the bed with his driver cradled in his arms.
He kept talking to him and urging him to hold on a little while longer, ‘help was on the way’.
It was when the nurse was reprimanding the cleaning lady for not preparing the bed like she asked her to that the driver tapped my father and said “oga, you don try for me. I don taya. Make I go.”

About four hours after surviving a ghastly motor accident, the driver *Mr. X Y Z gave up and died in my father’s arms.

3 presidents and 10 years later, similar incidents are still occurring.
People are still dying from neglect, disintegration and misplaced priorities.

Twenty fifteen elections are around the corner with different candidates from different political parties vying for a mark beneath my thumb.

Before I accept your promise of positive change and growth, do you know who the people are?
Are you abreast with the needs of said people?
What makes what you are saying now different from what you said in the past?
How do you intend to add quality to my life?

Stop, wait a minute!

This is me pushing against the current, standing at the door to July and wondering how it got to this.
Yesterday it was May, I had put up a sticky note to "call Ugo" who was initially the only person I knew born in the Month of May (this is the 1st year I haven't called, texted or put up a smiley on his Facebook page).
Before I got a chance to do the 'belated birthday dance' it was June 1st along with the routine barrage of broadcast messages stating the obvious and asking you to 'forward this if you love Jesus'.
Few days after this unbecoming tradition I was first making a fuss, stressing over my dad not being able to have a proper birthday celebration

(I believe: 1. Birthdays are special 2. Are to be celebrated, no matter how quietly 3. Should be marked with something nice like a card/gift/treat or some legal sane act.) Then reminded that my oldest niece, her twin, my sister and my youngest nephew were born not so far apart within the same month and finally juggling party invitations from a clutter of friends inviting me to celebrate with them.
It was when I realised I was moving, putting up pictures on BBM, texting and calling every other day to give my croaky rendition of 'happy birthday to you' I stopped to count 9 months back on my fingers and tried to understand what it was about the harvest season that caused the June baby boom.
It's June 30th today, epiphany eludes me still. Which brings me back to my present position.

Holding on to June.

It is the middle of the year for crying out loud!
It should be at least a day longer like January or December not just start and stop abruptly like a confused car battery. Speaking of cars...
I'd like to send a shout out to the driver and mobile policemen and in both the white and black Hilux trucks with FG licence plates who took one-way not because they had to but because they have 'the power', came out of nowhere and drove straight for my father and I.
You see there was a ditch nearby and we easily could have driven head first into it, shattered the windscreen with our stubborn skulls, flown for few seconds and finally learned if all dogs go to heaven but it turns out the power I serve is greater than the power they have.

Daddy dear held on firmly to the car steering with trembling fingers and kept repeating "I didn't see them" in a shaken voice, he didn't notice my amazed look at his stunt driving abilities.

(* note: seat belts are quite useful)

After confirming we were all alive, he snapped out of the funk and was back to his regular self looking forward to reading the news while munching on groundnut and sipping from his cold glass of beer.

This month I met people, I made new friends.

I watched a couple of drama presentations on stage, went to the movies and I haven't thrown a tantrum over my missing mister (yet).
There have been weddings, deaths and births.

In all these I say thank God.

...

...

Ah well, I guess it's time to move on.

This is me stepping aside and looking forward to the rain and sunshine.
July can only get better.

Cheers! !