It was a Sunday. A praise filled worship. The gospel was on the mysterious ways God manifest his glory. The priest also talked about obligation to work. Basing his teaching on St Paul’s second letter to the Thessalonians he reiterated Paul’s words “Whoever refuses to work is not allowed to eat.” The motivation laden preaching reinforced and encouraged brethrens who might have lost hope to take their worries to God in prayer. God that did for Job, Abraham and Hannah will manifest his glory
The message then shifted to the butchered labour action by the NLC. The priest condemned the attitude and reason why NLC embarked on strike, stressing that the irrationality of the reason resulted in its ineffective and untimely end.
“My school did not embark on the strike”, he bragged. The priest is the principal of the mission school in the parish. Understandably he is not an employer of labour.
The climax of the service was the thanksgiving procession. The parishioner, who did a special thanksgiving, is thanking God for all his mercies and goodwill in the life of his family. People usually go for thanksgiving, when they survive an accident, or receive a tangible miracle in their lives. But this brother thanked God in a special way for his mercies in his life: period. The occasion was festive; the air filled with celebration. The family of the brother can easily be identified from their native white brocade dresses with black weave designs at the necklines and sleeve areas. The choir’s performance reminded me of the high life music typical of the Igbos. The sonorous voice of the lead vocalist was belting out praises after praises as the congregation turned into a party of praise. The dance steps ranged from Makossa to traditional Igbo dance moves of aku na eche enyi. In that moment I was magical transported to the Igbo land. As the family danced down the aisle to the altar, the family leader threw up a cow rope. The cow for the thanksgiving cannot be brought inside the church so the rope represents the cow. The litany of yams followed, as all the well wishers, friends and family held a yam raised high. No wonder God bless those who praise him no matter the situation. What a wonderful way for families to thank God for a glorious year. Yea! It was indeed a glorious year for me. Is it my achievements this year, they are much much. THIS KIND GOD I NEVER SEE YOUR TYPE; BLESSED BE YOUR HOLY NAME♪♪♪♪♪
At noon, the festivity shifted to the Atsor Recreation centre venue of the end of the year meeting of the Anambra Progressive Association (APA). This day was one day I felt at home. The language of the occasion was strictly Igbo. No Engli-Igbo was allowed.
After the opening prayer by the chairman of the Association, the whole chairmen of various Local Governments that made up the state embarked on the ritual of breaking kola. Like in tradition, all the people who picked Kola nut made a cash donation on behalf of their local government. Individuals perceived to be high achievers among the members made special donation which they use in breaking the kola. An opening speech by the chairman rallied the people of Anambra resident in Wukari to maintain the goodwill established between their host town and continue to grow in their endeavors.
The tempo of the high life musical group at the occasion rose as the next agenda; eating and drinking began. Two delicacies were served; Jell-of rice with two fist size fried meat and Ofe Onugbu (bitter leaf soup) with semolina. I downed my onugbu soup with relish. It has been long since I ate onugbu soup with assorted meats and pieces of fish. For the drink, I went for the Chairman (Heineken). The three bottle of Heineken quenched the alcoholic drought in my system. Other corpers I met chatted spiritedly as the tipsier took us home.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
NOVEMBER 13: CAST THEM OUT.
The noise was becoming unbearable. I closed the book I was reading and sauntered towards the adjourning room to open the rovers. The crowd I saw at the veranda as I peered through the window pane baffled me. What is going on? I looked around to know if I can see anything that is exciting such number of youths gathered just in front of the house, leaning on my door, window sides and all the available space. That is one benefit of leaving in a strategic area, a happening area of the town, a place of no dulling. I prayed at that moment that mystique walls and gate would appear and bar this nuisance. I carved for a wand to mute and pause the quarrelling youths so that I can meet up for the lost time for my study.
“Aunty, what is going on?” I asked my neighbor who owns a shop at the front yard. “We are waiting for our governor,” she said enthusiastically grinning from ear to ear. I have not seen the governor at such grass root occasion, I was happy that the governor will be making a visit at the grass root. The CPC-Congress for Progressive Change themed campaign song started playing.
“Is CPC welcoming the governor?” I asked in awe.
“No he is our candidate for 2011 election, that is the governor”, aunty explained. I sighed. Aunty stressed that the governorship candidate is coming back from Italy through Yola airport. The crowd is preparing to organize an entourage that will give him a befitting welcome. And in synonymous with politics of the town money is involved. I saw little children rushed in speed grabbing the cloth of a supposedly party official, judging from his busy steps, the way he gives others and how everyone tried to get his attention. The children are more forward with their own attention seeking. He opened his wallet gave them an amount I cannot identify. The children ran immediately to aunty shop shouting I na son sia biskit I want to buy biscuit. I entered my room as the training in endurance continued.
“Aunty, what is going on?” I asked my neighbor who owns a shop at the front yard. “We are waiting for our governor,” she said enthusiastically grinning from ear to ear. I have not seen the governor at such grass root occasion, I was happy that the governor will be making a visit at the grass root. The CPC-Congress for Progressive Change themed campaign song started playing.
“Is CPC welcoming the governor?” I asked in awe.
“No he is our candidate for 2011 election, that is the governor”, aunty explained. I sighed. Aunty stressed that the governorship candidate is coming back from Italy through Yola airport. The crowd is preparing to organize an entourage that will give him a befitting welcome. And in synonymous with politics of the town money is involved. I saw little children rushed in speed grabbing the cloth of a supposedly party official, judging from his busy steps, the way he gives others and how everyone tried to get his attention. The children are more forward with their own attention seeking. He opened his wallet gave them an amount I cannot identify. The children ran immediately to aunty shop shouting I na son sia biskit I want to buy biscuit. I entered my room as the training in endurance continued.
NOVEMBER 12: AN UNUSUAL CLEARANCE.
The monthly clearance traditionally comes on the first week of every month. For the month of November, we have to wait till the second week. Not just that, till the closure of 2010 Batch C Orientation camp. It also signaled that my batch (B) is now an elder. The venue for the clearance, the local government secretariat was also the documentation venue for the new corp members. The new corpers are easily identified. Their faces spoke of uncertainty, begging for guidance. The most stranded ones came with their luggage. Big boxes of different sizes and colours dotted the nook and crannies of the Local government area.
”Which side of Wukari is Tsokundi”; I turned to see the new corper beaming with zeal as he slowly pushed his posting letter towards me. I subdued my urge to laugh.
As I was peering into the letter, he asked,
“Is it close to the camp?” I smiled and called one of the old corpers serving in the village to guide him.
Tsokundi is one of the dreaded villages under Wukari local government. An agrarian community popular for its large production of yam, the town attracts traders from neighbouring states who comes with huge cash due to absence of bank in the area. Armed robbers frequently rub on the road leading to town. Many victims including corpers have tales of distressing experiences on the hands of the robbers. The only road to the community is in a bad state. Only sturdy jeep trucks ply the route during dry seasons (which is less dangerous), while motorcyclists use the road in the rainy season (peak of danger period) due to the swampy nature of the area during such season. The difference between Wukari city and the towns under Wukari local government became clearer to the new dwellers. This realization tends to dampen the zeal built on initial knowledge that they were posted to Wukari.
“The vicissitudes of life,” I sighed, as I left the Secretariat to the new venue of the clearance: Recreation Centre, to enable the new comers complete their documentation processes at the Local Government.
”Which side of Wukari is Tsokundi”; I turned to see the new corper beaming with zeal as he slowly pushed his posting letter towards me. I subdued my urge to laugh.
As I was peering into the letter, he asked,
“Is it close to the camp?” I smiled and called one of the old corpers serving in the village to guide him.
Tsokundi is one of the dreaded villages under Wukari local government. An agrarian community popular for its large production of yam, the town attracts traders from neighbouring states who comes with huge cash due to absence of bank in the area. Armed robbers frequently rub on the road leading to town. Many victims including corpers have tales of distressing experiences on the hands of the robbers. The only road to the community is in a bad state. Only sturdy jeep trucks ply the route during dry seasons (which is less dangerous), while motorcyclists use the road in the rainy season (peak of danger period) due to the swampy nature of the area during such season. The difference between Wukari city and the towns under Wukari local government became clearer to the new dwellers. This realization tends to dampen the zeal built on initial knowledge that they were posted to Wukari.
“The vicissitudes of life,” I sighed, as I left the Secretariat to the new venue of the clearance: Recreation Centre, to enable the new comers complete their documentation processes at the Local Government.
November 11: TRIP TO RAFINKADA.
With the plan to extend its sensitization programme to the interior towns under Wukari local government, the WOTCLEF CDS group embarked on its trip to Rafinkada. Known as outstations in NYSC language, Rafinkada is one of the villages under Wukari LG. The WOTCLEF foundation was set up by Alhaja Titi Atiku Abubakar, wife of Nigeria’s former vice president. WOTCLEF- Women Trafficking and Child Labour Eradication Foundation have its objectives as follows; to eradicate women and children trafficking, stop child labour and fight against the HIV scourge. The seventeen members of the group who paid for the trip went for the journey. This is one project where everyone is a facilitator. Equipped with the necessary information in our arsenal of knowledge, we set out on the 25 minutes drive from Wukari city to Rafinkada.
Thursday, the 11th day of November is Rafinkada’s market day. Many farmers brought their goods from neigbouring towns. Mostly populated by the Tivs, the commodities common with the market are Yam, dry fish of any type, sugarcane and oranges. Seasons determine the seasonal produce available in the market. A part from farm produce, wears, building materials, provisions and many other non-perishable goods can be found in the market. The Fulani women hawk their fura da nunu: domestically pasteurized milk. Some hawk live chicken placed in their calabash. Located along Takum road, the market surrounds the only public road transport park in the town also serving as the market square. Wagon Peugeot 504 is the only type of vehicles that conveys commuters and traders to and from the town. The park has an organized leadership structure common with Nigerian Union of Road Transport Workers (NUTRW). The chairman has a room office in the market, while the secretary who is a secondary school teacher coordinates his duty from the school (during school hours) and from the park when school is over.
We paid a courtesy visit to the executive chairman and his secretary in their office. The secretary who did most of the talking in good English devoid of any identifiable accent (may be, because he speaks four languages-Tiv, jukun, hausa and English.) informed us that we need a Tiv translator instead of an Huasa interpreter we made provision for. The few NUTRW members who can translate English to Tiv demanded a pay for the duty. Showing understanding to the financial situation of corpers, the secretary sent one of his SS1 students to interpret for us. NLC strike was to our advantage. With the permission of the two leadership heads of the park whom we have previously informed about our visit, we set out for our campaign.
As the facilitator mount the raised concrete pavement at the centre of the park with the public address system, others dispatch in group of twos into the market to talk to the traders who cannot leave their stands and stores. The first and second facilitators (both corpers) talked in hausa while the interpreter translated to Tiv. With my partner, we set out on our own sensitization. We talked on the deceitful tricks of human traffickers who lured unsuspecting victims into modern day slavery in foreign land and the agent who confiscates travel documents of his victims till they agree to engage in obnoxious jobs like selling drugs, various degrees of theft and prostitution. On the issue of child labour, we warned not to engage children of below 15 years into labour so that their concentration and mental development in school will not be hampered. Teaching victims of child labour in school is like farming on loose sandy soil lacking both organic and inorganic manure. The issues of HIV continued to win the interest of most people, who want to know how one can identify a HIV positive person as if positive people carry the label on their fore heads.
As weariness set in, we (me and my partner) noticed a boutique in the market with seats and moved there as our next target. The fan in the boutique fanned out the stress of standing longer than a soldier on a parade ground. The host, after listening to our message asked for our names. His face lit when he realized that we are from the same tribe. We were not much surprised. Igbo man is one hardworking fellow, taking civilization to the interior at a profit. As many facilitating groups became tired, they seek rest at the boutique. Beaming with smiles at our effort, the boutique owner bought cold drinks (Lucozade Boost) for the corp members in his shop to water their dried mouths.
The journey back to Wukari was very quiet. Many were sleeping in the vehicle. Tiredness was written all over our faces as we complete the CDS project for the month.
Thursday, the 11th day of November is Rafinkada’s market day. Many farmers brought their goods from neigbouring towns. Mostly populated by the Tivs, the commodities common with the market are Yam, dry fish of any type, sugarcane and oranges. Seasons determine the seasonal produce available in the market. A part from farm produce, wears, building materials, provisions and many other non-perishable goods can be found in the market. The Fulani women hawk their fura da nunu: domestically pasteurized milk. Some hawk live chicken placed in their calabash. Located along Takum road, the market surrounds the only public road transport park in the town also serving as the market square. Wagon Peugeot 504 is the only type of vehicles that conveys commuters and traders to and from the town. The park has an organized leadership structure common with Nigerian Union of Road Transport Workers (NUTRW). The chairman has a room office in the market, while the secretary who is a secondary school teacher coordinates his duty from the school (during school hours) and from the park when school is over.
We paid a courtesy visit to the executive chairman and his secretary in their office. The secretary who did most of the talking in good English devoid of any identifiable accent (may be, because he speaks four languages-Tiv, jukun, hausa and English.) informed us that we need a Tiv translator instead of an Huasa interpreter we made provision for. The few NUTRW members who can translate English to Tiv demanded a pay for the duty. Showing understanding to the financial situation of corpers, the secretary sent one of his SS1 students to interpret for us. NLC strike was to our advantage. With the permission of the two leadership heads of the park whom we have previously informed about our visit, we set out for our campaign.
As the facilitator mount the raised concrete pavement at the centre of the park with the public address system, others dispatch in group of twos into the market to talk to the traders who cannot leave their stands and stores. The first and second facilitators (both corpers) talked in hausa while the interpreter translated to Tiv. With my partner, we set out on our own sensitization. We talked on the deceitful tricks of human traffickers who lured unsuspecting victims into modern day slavery in foreign land and the agent who confiscates travel documents of his victims till they agree to engage in obnoxious jobs like selling drugs, various degrees of theft and prostitution. On the issue of child labour, we warned not to engage children of below 15 years into labour so that their concentration and mental development in school will not be hampered. Teaching victims of child labour in school is like farming on loose sandy soil lacking both organic and inorganic manure. The issues of HIV continued to win the interest of most people, who want to know how one can identify a HIV positive person as if positive people carry the label on their fore heads.
As weariness set in, we (me and my partner) noticed a boutique in the market with seats and moved there as our next target. The fan in the boutique fanned out the stress of standing longer than a soldier on a parade ground. The host, after listening to our message asked for our names. His face lit when he realized that we are from the same tribe. We were not much surprised. Igbo man is one hardworking fellow, taking civilization to the interior at a profit. As many facilitating groups became tired, they seek rest at the boutique. Beaming with smiles at our effort, the boutique owner bought cold drinks (Lucozade Boost) for the corp members in his shop to water their dried mouths.
The journey back to Wukari was very quiet. Many were sleeping in the vehicle. Tiredness was written all over our faces as we complete the CDS project for the month.
Incubation
After a long drag on when to restart my reluctant blogging desire, I finally broke the block. My addiction to newspaper reading, especially as a free reader fetched me a motivator. Synonymous with free readers, I have gotten popularity at the vendor’s stand as a social commentator and critic. My motivator promised to offer me a reporting job at an undisclosed sum to compliment my non-paying job. The condition for the job is to produce a feature story on Wukari, the city where I serve in Taraba state.
Life as a corp member in a remote town is never easy. Aside dealing with social and psychological challenges of adaptation and alienation (especially if you find yourself in a lonely town), the prudent miser will be frustrated maximizing the monthly allowance. The hope of extra pay inspired me into producing a hush-hush feature story on Wukari titled, “Praising the Dearth of Infrastructure in Wukari”. Reproduced here is the excerpt;
PRAISING THE DEARTH OF INFRASTRUCTURE IN WUKARI.
At the heat of political activities following the old INEC 2011 election calendar, the sweat was profuse in Wukari, Taraba state. Though the shift reduced the tempo of activities, the political map had been drawn. The break created space for re-strategizing and redrawing.
The political landscape of Wukari comprises ; the political candidates with campaign offices at choice locations in the town, community “house” members at their airy chambers under the canopy trees, and the political praise singers who colour the atmosphere with campaign tunes awakening the political consciousness of the uninformed to the season.
A notable feature of political season in the town is the emergence of organized musical campaign groups made up of mostly youths. The car washers gird their loins for the drive. The commercial motorcyclists (popularly known as Achaba) perfect their havoc wrecking stunts. The teeming idling youths whose backlog of debt at the hot drink parlour could no longer fetch a shot of gin, dust their credentials in negotiations, mobilization, organizing and allocation of meager resources.
For the preparations, manpower is exerted on the clearing of strategic lands close to the side walk. Four wooden poled pillars are erected in square, with roofs over them. Sound system with long distance reach is acquired. Small generating set powers the base. Campaign songs of political candidate of support are played continuously with interlude of Nigerian popular (pop) music. More sophisticated base boasts of television set complete with DVD player, serving also as a mini viewing center. Political party affiliations of the base are identified by posters and banners. More vivid is the base of ACN with brooms tied on strings around the base.
One wonders if the politicians set up these structures, but inquiry reveals that the youth embark on this venture solely to win financial benevolence of the candidates. A firmly established base tends to get the allure of politicians. The town turns into cacophony of noise at the knowledge that a supposedly rich politician is in town. Support is shifted as long as the cash flows, to get and “share the money”. For the duration of the politician stay, the dwellers are in for sleepless nights occasioned by perpetual blasting of campaign songs. You receive mercy only if you are in an area that is not the politician’s route: usually the outskirts of the town. The peace of a library will be serious ruined, and in case of class room teaching, the teacher must learn how to win a shouting match.
A typical campaign day will run into the wee hours with energetic and competitive dances from the youths (women inclusive). The tempo pitches at the news of a cash gift from a politician. At dawn when the dancers are leaving the stage, dramatic quarrels ensues among the supporters over partial sharing of the money, which hardly covers the bill for a day meal. On sighting the entourage of the politician, the motorcyclists embark on their brazen stunts. All traffic rules are neglected (as if they were observed before). Speed races, with horn blaring salutes pollute the whole town causing traffic confusions and preventable accidents. If the town can boast of a first aid government owned hospital, an observer can say, “Go for the kill.”
One commendable political structure in the town wrongly used is the “House”: an assembly of able bodied youths who discussed issue of political interests. Observations showed that motions in the house include, which politician to adopt based on native, religion and tribal sentiments than on who can deliver. Fronting for financial patronage through organized group seems to be the underlying motivation. Community organizing has played developmental role in the growth and advancement of many nations. Obama, the influential US president in building his political antecedents was a community organizer. His duties then entailed; mobilizing the community to tackle issues such as the growth of gang crimes in the suburb of Brooklyn, decent housing for the town inhabited mostly by blacks, uniting racial differences, improving the standard of learning in the high schools, health care and other basic amenities. His team invested energy, intellect and sacrifices in the face of seemingly insurmountable challenges. Closely related to organizing activity is the Town union group in the south east, whose activities have accelerated development in their towns.
Instead of deliberating on issues that divide or fronting for financial patronage, the “house” should be deliberating on the best strategy to mobilize for development and resuscitation of moribund infrastructures in the town. The face of health care delivery in the town is the General Hospital. Imagine a doctor in the hospital advising a close patient to seek medical care in neighboring Benue or exacerbate the illness if admitted. Many controllable diseases have ended the lives of agile youth, loved ones and cut so many dreams due to lack of drugs and other basic hospital facilities.
Knowledge or information is power. Wukari people need empowerment. One major tool for community organizing is publicity. Sitting and discussing endless problems without mounting pressure on the politician is like the mumble of a coward. A community radio would have bridge the gap. Voice of Wukari people need to be heard. Cries, complaints, protests are well received if a mass medium of information is employed. Politicians are afraid of publicity that affects their popularity ratings. Constructive criticisms put them on their toes.
Wukari deserves growth. The people are raring with energy, full of life and vigor. To avoid the onslaught of ignorance and its consequential greediness, conflicts and backwardness, the youth should channel their energy into songs of lamentation over the dearth of infrastructures. Reject politics of deceit of some of their politicians and hold them accountable. A proper channeling of efforts will eventually yield successes worthy of praise.
The encouragement from friends who proof read the story gave me the faith to start blogging again.
Looking at my forgotten, un-updated journal, I resolved never to start and relapse. To muster all the strength I need to withstand the challenges of blogging without a personal laptop and internet connection.
The Corper’s Diary in the camp has passed. At present the corper is swinging on issues like dealing with the roles assigned to me in my place of primary assignment. I am a Literature-in-English teacher. I teach all the SS1 classes, SS2 and SS3. I am still whirling in protest on the forced position of the project coordinator of my community development service group (WOTCLEF). Sometimes I am pushed into believing that I am running away from responsibility, but if I am coordinating projects in a CDS group, what the is the role of the CDS coordinator.
Studying for Nigeria Institute of Management (NIM) is one task that jolts me out of my resting peace. It rings read-read-read. I do not want to re-sit for any course; reasonable part of my time goes into that. I anxiously wait for 20th and 21st November, for the first set of the exam and December 4th and 5th for the last lap of the Proficiency in Management Certification examination.
Let Corper’s Diary begin.
Life as a corp member in a remote town is never easy. Aside dealing with social and psychological challenges of adaptation and alienation (especially if you find yourself in a lonely town), the prudent miser will be frustrated maximizing the monthly allowance. The hope of extra pay inspired me into producing a hush-hush feature story on Wukari titled, “Praising the Dearth of Infrastructure in Wukari”. Reproduced here is the excerpt;
PRAISING THE DEARTH OF INFRASTRUCTURE IN WUKARI.
At the heat of political activities following the old INEC 2011 election calendar, the sweat was profuse in Wukari, Taraba state. Though the shift reduced the tempo of activities, the political map had been drawn. The break created space for re-strategizing and redrawing.
The political landscape of Wukari comprises ; the political candidates with campaign offices at choice locations in the town, community “house” members at their airy chambers under the canopy trees, and the political praise singers who colour the atmosphere with campaign tunes awakening the political consciousness of the uninformed to the season.
A notable feature of political season in the town is the emergence of organized musical campaign groups made up of mostly youths. The car washers gird their loins for the drive. The commercial motorcyclists (popularly known as Achaba) perfect their havoc wrecking stunts. The teeming idling youths whose backlog of debt at the hot drink parlour could no longer fetch a shot of gin, dust their credentials in negotiations, mobilization, organizing and allocation of meager resources.
For the preparations, manpower is exerted on the clearing of strategic lands close to the side walk. Four wooden poled pillars are erected in square, with roofs over them. Sound system with long distance reach is acquired. Small generating set powers the base. Campaign songs of political candidate of support are played continuously with interlude of Nigerian popular (pop) music. More sophisticated base boasts of television set complete with DVD player, serving also as a mini viewing center. Political party affiliations of the base are identified by posters and banners. More vivid is the base of ACN with brooms tied on strings around the base.
One wonders if the politicians set up these structures, but inquiry reveals that the youth embark on this venture solely to win financial benevolence of the candidates. A firmly established base tends to get the allure of politicians. The town turns into cacophony of noise at the knowledge that a supposedly rich politician is in town. Support is shifted as long as the cash flows, to get and “share the money”. For the duration of the politician stay, the dwellers are in for sleepless nights occasioned by perpetual blasting of campaign songs. You receive mercy only if you are in an area that is not the politician’s route: usually the outskirts of the town. The peace of a library will be serious ruined, and in case of class room teaching, the teacher must learn how to win a shouting match.
A typical campaign day will run into the wee hours with energetic and competitive dances from the youths (women inclusive). The tempo pitches at the news of a cash gift from a politician. At dawn when the dancers are leaving the stage, dramatic quarrels ensues among the supporters over partial sharing of the money, which hardly covers the bill for a day meal. On sighting the entourage of the politician, the motorcyclists embark on their brazen stunts. All traffic rules are neglected (as if they were observed before). Speed races, with horn blaring salutes pollute the whole town causing traffic confusions and preventable accidents. If the town can boast of a first aid government owned hospital, an observer can say, “Go for the kill.”
One commendable political structure in the town wrongly used is the “House”: an assembly of able bodied youths who discussed issue of political interests. Observations showed that motions in the house include, which politician to adopt based on native, religion and tribal sentiments than on who can deliver. Fronting for financial patronage through organized group seems to be the underlying motivation. Community organizing has played developmental role in the growth and advancement of many nations. Obama, the influential US president in building his political antecedents was a community organizer. His duties then entailed; mobilizing the community to tackle issues such as the growth of gang crimes in the suburb of Brooklyn, decent housing for the town inhabited mostly by blacks, uniting racial differences, improving the standard of learning in the high schools, health care and other basic amenities. His team invested energy, intellect and sacrifices in the face of seemingly insurmountable challenges. Closely related to organizing activity is the Town union group in the south east, whose activities have accelerated development in their towns.
Instead of deliberating on issues that divide or fronting for financial patronage, the “house” should be deliberating on the best strategy to mobilize for development and resuscitation of moribund infrastructures in the town. The face of health care delivery in the town is the General Hospital. Imagine a doctor in the hospital advising a close patient to seek medical care in neighboring Benue or exacerbate the illness if admitted. Many controllable diseases have ended the lives of agile youth, loved ones and cut so many dreams due to lack of drugs and other basic hospital facilities.
Knowledge or information is power. Wukari people need empowerment. One major tool for community organizing is publicity. Sitting and discussing endless problems without mounting pressure on the politician is like the mumble of a coward. A community radio would have bridge the gap. Voice of Wukari people need to be heard. Cries, complaints, protests are well received if a mass medium of information is employed. Politicians are afraid of publicity that affects their popularity ratings. Constructive criticisms put them on their toes.
Wukari deserves growth. The people are raring with energy, full of life and vigor. To avoid the onslaught of ignorance and its consequential greediness, conflicts and backwardness, the youth should channel their energy into songs of lamentation over the dearth of infrastructures. Reject politics of deceit of some of their politicians and hold them accountable. A proper channeling of efforts will eventually yield successes worthy of praise.
The encouragement from friends who proof read the story gave me the faith to start blogging again.
Looking at my forgotten, un-updated journal, I resolved never to start and relapse. To muster all the strength I need to withstand the challenges of blogging without a personal laptop and internet connection.
The Corper’s Diary in the camp has passed. At present the corper is swinging on issues like dealing with the roles assigned to me in my place of primary assignment. I am a Literature-in-English teacher. I teach all the SS1 classes, SS2 and SS3. I am still whirling in protest on the forced position of the project coordinator of my community development service group (WOTCLEF). Sometimes I am pushed into believing that I am running away from responsibility, but if I am coordinating projects in a CDS group, what the is the role of the CDS coordinator.
Studying for Nigeria Institute of Management (NIM) is one task that jolts me out of my resting peace. It rings read-read-read. I do not want to re-sit for any course; reasonable part of my time goes into that. I anxiously wait for 20th and 21st November, for the first set of the exam and December 4th and 5th for the last lap of the Proficiency in Management Certification examination.
Let Corper’s Diary begin.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Never Say Never
Many a time, I have bigotedly maintained that nothing, I mean NOTHING will ever take me to the Northern part of Nigeria.
The National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) programme disputed my resolve and send me to serve in Taraba state in Northen Nigeria. The NYSC programme, according to its objectives was set up to integrate nigerian youths. The fear of most ... To be continued
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