Device Choice and Preference

I used to prefer a device on the cutting edge of tech that made me only one of the first few with the latest OS, freshly baked. That lasted a good while. Until the "Almighty" holders of power "changed it for me". Of what use was a latest software-running-device, when it was dead from 100% battery to shut-down in 3 hours of heavy use, or less?

I became a wall-hugger, always to be seen with a device plugged to charge while being used. Cos there was no telling how much juice will be left when the electricity supply was cut. And, it was always a case of scampering for chargers and plugs to slot the phone into as soon as power was restored.

Plans to charge the device to capacity were made ahead of any extended period away from a wall socket. Extra chargers had to be bought to accompany the phone outside the normal residences and points-of-regular-charging. When those still didn't make the phone live longer between charges, power packs gained notoriety. Vendors seized the initiative and today, it's only sometime now before you'd see a power-pack sold beside the regular "gala" sausage. It was so lucrative, our countrymen ventured into it and sowed weeds of fakes in the midst of the original fruits of power packs. As usual.

I didn't need further preachments to change preferences. Again, the issue was about how much good was a tech-blazing device when for half the time it was either keeping you tethered to a wall socket or it was dead, the other half? Options for a device on the bleeding edge of technology but with a bigger battery juice than my aging Nexus 4 came at a premium. A premium I was as unwilling to pay as could be imagined.

As I was in the market for a phone, I tied it to a fresh preference - a huge battery power. I'd have said humongous but tech products today aim more for a slimmer profile with the ongoing internecine war to churn out the record-setting slimmest-smartphone-ever still raging. As with the attractions to slim down body-parts, some goodness is lost in the process. Battery always suffered.

Then, just as I was salivating over the battery juice in the Huawei Ascend Mate 7 - saying nothing of the eye-watering gorgeousness of its hardware and the steep edge of its over a 100,000 asking price - a Chinese vendor caught my eye. And even if I'd not have believed a crystal-ball reader telling me some months back that I'd ever use one of such devices much less own one, I was sold.

In less than a week, I know it was as right a decision as I've ever made. For now. With a bigger battery than even the latest offerings from Samsung and Apple and a splendid screen tech to boot, I've begun living life away from the charger. And it's super duper. It takes the heft of the iPhone 6+ and Samsung Galaxy Note 4 to the cleaners coming with that phablet screen real estate but with a chunkier battery and at a ridiculous price of N25,000.

Yea, I may be your common, regular, cheapskate but when personal preferences are involved, none of that matters. A full battery on this beast with 4000mAh outlasts my heavy usage easily without breaking a sweat (the Ascend Mate 7 had a 4100mAh battery). I don't care much about DISCOs and their consanguineous links to the GENCOs no more as I'm enjoying my Infinix Hot Note. Say what you will. Na you geh yur mouth.

All Goose and Gander are Created Equal But...

As I responded to another individual pestering the opposition to reply to the documentary on "historical Buhari", allow me hold the same position here.

Which accusations of outright corrupt practices tied round his neck has Jonathan responded to? Where is the fulfillment of the promise of getting the Chibok girls back? Where is the apology and retribution for fooling us all with a bogus, harebrained ceasefire? Who has been punished for those hullabaloo? A president who was given a full country is now campaigning for reelection having ceded portions to a ragtag motley of miscreants (in comparison with the might of what used to be the Nigerian army). Where is his defence for that?

Hasn't he failed in his singular constitutionally-bequeathed task of the welfare and security of the lives of Nigerians? Has he answered to that? Why was it that the only minister ever relieved of his duties and had his travel documents seized was the only one who dared call to the question the sharp practices of a government parastatal? Does he care to respond and counter this fact? 

What do you defend of a President who says one thing today as it suits him and when it no longer matters he says another. He has every right to change his mind as any individual, but why lie about it? He promised to be a single term president, that was called statesmanly. It's ok he decided not to be a statesman anymore. But don't lie that you didn't make such promise when there's video evidence to the fact. Has the DSS called him to question on the prevarication about MEND and the attempt on the life of the president? Should that not be accorded the highest levels of seriousness that we should have a right to know for sure threats to the highest office in the land that today is treated with disdain (it was not MEND in 2011 became MEND in 2015 because they switched loyalties to the opposition)? Who's defending that?

What has been done to those responsible for the lives of Nigerian graduates who died in a badly organised, money gathering job search for positions in the Immigration Service? Innocent people who only wanted an opportunity to serve and to live by earning their keep and who were ready to pay for what shouldn't attract payments? No one is documenting that? Or you think that isn't MURDER for Christ's sake? If Abba Moro, Jonathan's lackey can today be gloating about Jonathan's approval for upping prison amenities instead of being an inmate himself, Jonathan has blood on his hands. 

Any excuse here is just bloody sentimental, and that isn't acceptable. At all. You're allowing sentiment becloud your judgement, maybe because none of your family members or friends died since y'all have good jobs under the best President since the presidential system began on earth. If that isn't childish, I don't want to know what childish is. 

Now, let's not digress too far. All these occurred under a democratically run government where there's a constitutionally backed legal standard. 

Yet, nothing, NOTHING, N. O. T. H. I. N. G. has happened to Jonathan oo. Nor his army of murderers. He's having his field day going around with a rallying cry to do more of what he's been doing. Do more of call corruption mere stealing while it causes hunger, starvation, death and more stealing across board. Do more of ceding areas of the country to a group while arguing about if only three people died or 300, like life is animal dung. Do more of spend trillions obtained from a period of the highest oil price ever with little or nothing to show for it, except old school locomotive contraptions they call AC trains that no one else uses again but the most backward countries, and sharing dumb phones and fertiliser to farmers who could do with government subsidies for mechanised agriculture. Do more of making claims of achieving victories that had nothing to do with him, claiming the Nations Cup victory after 19 years then refusing to claim the disgrace of a defending champion not even qualifying, claiming to have made Nollywood great and also the success of telecommunication, claiming the best economy in Nigeria for what was simply a statistical calculation with no real difference in anyone's life. Doing more of barefaced lies and outright thefts, from rebasing to transformation.

Where's the outrage? Because there's no tape or documentary to show the impact of these maladministration here, we turn the other way, bury our necks in the sand and pretend all is well. Because there's no time to begin to dig into how to sort all these out and make serious commitments to bringing things to a point where the average man on the streets can begin to enjoy the dividends of democratic society, abi?

But they have the time to gather old documents and produce a documentary of similar issues of a period in our history when the Constitution was suspended and the state was run by military fiat? Because they know some like you people here will ask Buhari to answer these allegations while no such demands are made of they themselves. You play too easily into their hands, as you do that. They wish to continue campaigning while you do their dirty job for them forcing the other party to leave the campaign and fill your biased thirst for answers.

It's foolish to imagine it will work. But as some of you here prove, common sense is not too common after all. There's goose. And then, there's gander.

Our Own Enemy

You know all these crises we're in? Terrorism, militancy, rotten governance? It isn't about failure. This is punishment. Our collective failure isn't recent. It predates this government. But this here, this catalogue of doom, is the consequence. We left our pot unwatched, we must now chew the burnt offerings that our supper has become.

It is hoped that the unsavoury chow will make us so determined to fight against a continuation of such stomach-retching meals so that at least, at dawn, breakfast will be mouthwatering. I wish. The reality on the ground points to a far disgusting series of meals that await us as a whole.

Because we have allowed ourselves play into the divisive tendencies of the political class, enervating what could've been single-minded purpose to push for change (since power is never wilfully surrendered), this punishment will persist. It is self inflicted. We are our own enemies. And no one can save us from us but us.

Prayers Alone?

You're asking for prayers cos you get conflicting counsel from your advisers on the way forward for the country? From where do I even start?

1. Aren't you a PhD holder? Can't you put two and two together again? Where did you cocoon your logical faculty?
2. Obviously you think prayers alone suffice, no?
3. Of what good will prayers do when these counsellors are aware of your uncanny naïveté and will simply continue feeding you with the putrid residue that you have come to covet?
4. Have you sat back to examine which of the counsels were more to the point than others over a period to be able to determine where the weak link is so as to either strengthen it or replace it outright?
5. What are the standard deterring factors that will reduce recurring conflicts of counsel that make your task of governance overwhelmingly impossible?
6. Did they also advice you to admit this?
7. Does this admission function as a denial of your own culpability? That none of the status quo the country is in is your fault? It's all down to how you've been advised all along?

How puerile!

Doesn't this red-flag your dire unpreparedness for the office you run (or are running aground?). Aren't you telling us how vacuous the campaign to reelect you truly is? That those pushing for it have neither your good nor that of Nigerians and the country at heart? That it's for their own selfish interests that they're propping you for the top spot? Because it perfectly serves their ambitions? Your naïveté is their forte, it seems clearer now, doesn't it? It's not your TRANSFORMATION AGENDA, but your gullibility to see their CORRUPTION SCHEMA.

But that is easily remedied. Reject their ultimate advise to run again in February. And before they can say, "Otuoke!" flee Abuja. Before the poetics of ruin take rein and you're unable to tell which luck is good and which is otherwise.

#ThankMeLater #YoureWelcome

(See: http://nigeriana.org/blog/108118.html)

In One Accord?

How we attempt to outmuscle ourselves daily on here because of politicians who'd care less of our opinions because of such trifling lack of a powerful single-voice with which to press for good governance and fiscal responsibility is utterly saddening. To say the least. These displays of affectation for parties and candidates rather than a united front for issues of governance only serve to inform these self-serving politicians that we - the governed - will remain divided along lines of mundane irrelevance giving them all the impetus they need to keep us divided.

What good will come from that but a glorious repetition of clueless governance, a vicious cycle leading us farther and further from realising the noble goals of our founding fathers. It is beyond shame that the youths, a category that I've been unfortunately stuffed into, are the most divided because of their self-righteous insistence on being more knowledgeable about this candidate or that party than anyone else. Hence, an insanely ridiculous amount of time is spent on researching more about their "heroes" and "heroines" to counter the accusations of their peers on the other lane.

If a fraction of that time is expended on issues of policy, of manifesto, of ideas, of strategies involved in a more robust electoral process, so as to be better prepared to ensure that those fielding themselves for electoral positions know that it's not gon be "Business As Usual" since the electorate will demand for true representation and good governance IN ONE ACCORD and WITH ONE VOICE, if only a fraction of our time (as youths) is devoted to this, what a difference it'd make.

But no. We'd rather argue amongst ourselves and divide our focus and opinions on the most mundane trivialities.

Fright

She grabbed her mouse. She was long overdue for a lunch break. She was going to sign out of the bank’s software and grab something to calm the demons that were beginning a carnival in her stomach. Just as she clicked the “Sign Out” button on the menu by the left of her computer screen, the shrill scream from the contract cleaner stopped her hands. Joan glanced up just in time to hear the words every banker dreaded.

“Everybody lie down,” coarse and sounding like gravels rubbing against each other, “Anybody moves and I smoke that person!”

All her thoughts of food were forgotten instantly. She moved quickly, backing away from the counter to create enough room to lie down. Her legs tangled with the cords of the computer and her money-counter but she paid no heed. The cold floor didn’t register in her mind either, or the fact that her heartbeat could be heard in her ears. From the corner of her eye, she saw her colleagues complying. She could see the training at their orientation taking effect. They were instructed on exact compliance in cases of armed robbery. No arguments. No complaints. No thinking. Perfect compliance was the word.

“You,” the voice was saying, “go over there and join the others!”

The sounds of someone’s footsteps approached the area where she was prostrate. It was Sunday, the security guard. Another contract staffer.

Thoughts were tumbling over her now thoroughly frightened mind. It was more fear than anything she’d ever experienced. She perfectly remembered laughing at Fola’s retelling of a similar incident at their branch. She immediately repented as the thought occurred to her that this was happening to her because of how hard she laughed when Fola confessed to peeing in fear. She believed that had she not visited the loo half an hour earlier, she would have embarrassed herself already.

Somewhere behind her, someone was crying. She didn’t need to look to know it was Gift. It took nothing to bring Gift to tears. Joy and pain equally. And fright? Definitely. Joan had enough of her wits about her to hear Isaac praying. He was often portrayed as a pastor around the office. He was casting and binding demons. For all their sakes, Joan prayed that these bandits didn’t hear him and get angry at being so referred.

If they heard, they showed no signs. The sounds of commands that that coarse voice was issuing had become slightly muffled. Joan guessed they’d moved into the Bulk Room. This was an easy guess. There’d been a lot of bulk payments and the cash was yet to be moved. Also, the voices were oozing from the left side of the banking hall right where the Bulk Room was situated.

The sound of someone being slapped interfered with her thoughts. Her heart skipped several beats at once. It drew a quite audible “Jesus Christ” from Isaac. She’d felt the slapped as if she’d been the recipient herself and half expected to hear someone wailing having received such a clanger. But the only sounds that came to her were Gift’s soft sobs and Isaac’s prayers. Then, also, the clear rustle of those nylon bags used for catering huge sums of cash.

Suddenly, a phone rang, its ringtone breaking through the partial silence of the situation like an unwanted protestation. It took Gift’s poking of her leg for Joan to realise it was her ringtone. Her eyes widened in multiplied fright. She ransacked through the maze of her purse, her hands fidgeting wildly. She prayed for time to get to her phone and silence it. The moment she held it, with her finger on the button that would cut the call, she looked up and came face to face with the business end of a double-barrel.

A more ominous voice than the one she’d been hearing since the episode began issued forth from the head behind the big nozzle, “Na who you just call?”

Honestly, if there was any moisture left inside her bladder, this would’ve been the perfect time for it to make a glorious and warm exit from her body.

There are no words to prepare one’s mind for the experience of dread. Pure, undiluted fear. No orientation, no previous experience does that. None. She was impaled by fear. It utterly immobilized her that the words for any sort of response failed to take shape in her mind. She didn’t even know how tightly she was holding the phone until the crook forced it from her involuntarily stiff fingers. Gift would later tell her how pale she’d looked facing the perp that day.

“Wetin bi your password?” was the next thing she heard as he thumbed through her two-week old Samsung Galaxy S5.

Joan was still finding words difficult to come by. She blinked and shook her head to remember. Nothing came.

The now irritated criminal mistook her head-shaking for obstinate refusal and maliciously approached her, evil intent written all over his contorted, angry mien. His free hand was raised to inflict some physical violence on her when his three co-travellers emerged from the Bulk Room.

“Padlock!” shouted the one voice she recognised now as the leader, “Hold it!”

Scruffy-Voice – now to be known as “Padlock” – hanged his hand mid-air for a few seconds and dropped it with a noisy hiss. He pocketed the phone and turned around to face the one who had issued the order. “She dey make phone call, naim I wan dial her ear small.”

Joan was still in a defensive posture based solely on reflex, half turned away from the impending doom of the intended attack with both arms raised to protect her face. Hearing footsteps closing on her position, she riverted her eyes downwards and dropped her arms. She mouthed a silent prayer that they’d leave having coveted four full bags she could see beside the legs of the other two standing next to the bank’s exit.

Booted feet stopped right in front of her. She was beginning to wonder if this was the end and God was just delaying so that she could sufficiently prepare herself for the afterlife.

“Did you really make a phone call?” There was an almost perceptible milk of human kindness in the voice she heard. In fact, if answering yes would jell with the kindness of the one who spoke to leave her alone, she’d have just said yes. But she was still unable to control her trembling.

“DID YOU?” It was a scream this time. It was so sudden, she jerked in fright. Even Gift sucked in her breath.

“Look at me!” said the voice. She felt a hand under her chin, pulling her face upwards.

Unexpectedly, she saw herself looking at Steve.She felt her stomach drop.

“Oh shit!” Steve exclaimed as recognition registered. “Oh shit!” he repeated, turning around and striking the butt of his gun on the counter next to her, causing a spark.

Now, Joan knew for sure, she was done for. It was one of the reasons they were trained never to look at faces during such encounters. Steve used to be their neighbour before she moved to the State capital for her internship. There was no way he was going to let her go. She knew way too much about him.

The look on his face confirmed it. “Padlock,” he called. As Padlock turned to him, Steve sealed her fate with the words, “Smoke her!”

Her restraint, her faith, her strength broke. Tears avalanched down her cheeks. She cried. Kneeling down impulsively, she begged for life. But Steve was already turning away and Padlock was raising his gun hand. It was all happening in a blur but for her, time had slowed down. Perhaps, that was how it happened when the end of one’s life came. She closed her eyes and in a fraction of a second, she wished she’d had time to be more loving to her loved ones who would be the most pained at losing her. Her eyes burned with hot tears.

So, this was it?

She waited for the gunshot, the burst of hot air, the pain, the emptying of blood, the last breath. Squeezing her eyes, holding her breath. She waited. And waited. But nothing.

After a while, she heard the shuffling of feet and opened her eyes. Different people, customer and staff alike, were beginning to gradually regain their composure. Some could be seen still in prayer, thanksgiving supposedly. They were checking themselves and hugging one another with tears and gratitude.

She looked at herself, felt her body and looked around herself. Was this the afterlife? It was not as she conceived it at all. Then, she saw Gift being carried away to an ambulance in front of the bank. It belonged to the hospital two blocks away from the bank on the same street. Isaac sat, staring blankly at the space in front of him.

No. This was definitely not the afterlife.

Then, just as they cleared the banking hall of all customers, she saw the Branch Manager enter the bank. There was something about him that did not add up. And it took nothing for her to notice that he was not alone. He’d come in with no one else but Steve. Not in handcuffs nor beaten black, blue and other colour-blocking hues but smiling. And clapping.

“Very good, very good,” the Branch Manager was saying, “that was really well performed.” He was smiling at all their confounded looks. “We’re taking care of Gift,” he announced somewhat more seriously, “but I’m impressed at all your professional responses in a difficult situation.”

He turned to Steve to finish the speech.

Wearing a big grin, Steve said, “It was just a drill.”

Joan could only shake her head. With clenched teeth.

Tis an Android Life for Me

Are you pro-Apple or a fan of Android? Or, to put it mildly, do you root for the other platforms not part of the hierarchical duopoly in the smartphone leaderboard? Lol...just kidding.

On a serious note, though, many already concede the fact of my bias for all things Android. But, it's a matter of perspective.

I've fought Apple fans for longer than I can fathom but have come to a point where I lay bare my preference for Android with the reasons why and allow whomever wants to embrace it do so, or find their fulfillment in the warmth of other platforms.

What this implies is my love for the Android platform isn't blind or harebrained. It's based on the privileges offered by said platform and factors such as the availability of a wide array of options, customisability, and breakneck innovation. When Apple offers these (not to belittle the revolution Apple Bergson in smartphone tech), it may get a lot more of my attention. But until then, and with Android blazing a trail with the "tear rubber" version 5 of their sweetness "Lollipop" (which several tech bloggers have reluctantly agreed brings Android into the hitherto stronghold of Apple - aesthetically awesome User Experience), it may never get that attention.

It's alright to see this view as "Selective Objectivity", no qualms. It's one perspective and it's appreciated. I'd go with "Informed Choice", but that also will be a perspective. Mine, this time around.