Dipo Tepede.POeT

 AUTHOR - FIDEL OGISO

By September this year I should turn 23, not that is of any particular importance to anyone except myself but when I reflect on my life, I guess the entire 23 years of my life have been spent being a «rebel». To most people the word «rebel» conjures up certain images, most especially the image of a gun-wielding, camouflage wearing firebrand whose temporary refuge is in forests and hills and whose war is with an oppressive government, but while I do identify with the plight of some non-conformist individuals of this nature, I'm not that kind of rebel.

 

The rebel I am is what you would call a rebel of thought, someone who likes to think differently, so differently indeed that I've been called various names by various people and some of these names have hardly been complementary. I never saw and still never see the reason behind «the mentality of the crowd» or in our plain Pidgin English «follow follow», while this sort of logic may seem harmless enough, it seemingly affects everything I do and how I choose to express myself. You won't catch me in leather garb, pierced earrings and dreadlocks like Charly Boy but I fail to see the reason in certain actions such as the reason Nigerian needs to import fuel when we have the money to repair our refineries and I also question the reason (if any exists) why Nigerian students have to wear school uniforms to school.

 

I haven't ever asked my parents what my first words were as a child but I doubt they had anything to do with familial recognition with words such as «Mummy» or «Daddy», I probably babbled out the words: «Free Mandela» or something of a similar anomalous nature. In school my attitude was always an endless source of worry for teachers. Nigerian teachers are by far some of the worst culprits of the « follow follow « mentality and they pass it  on to their students. While most Nigerians are religious zealots and claim to believe in the Bible and the Koran explicitly, their actions say otherwise. These books says Man came from clay and Woman from Man but my teachers always told us in classes that Man descended from Apes even though some of them often came to school with their Bibles and Korans in hand and interlaced most of their statements with religious talk. When I questioned them too explicitly it always ended up with me in the Principals office with some allusion to «rudeness» or some other unsavory juvenile crime.

 

What caused my rebellious instincts; I can never claim to know. But while most people allude to my upbringing, I'm hardly likely to agree. I had the strict religious and no questions upbringing Catholic children are raised with, with a bible in one hand, a rosary in the other and the questionable belief in the religious dogma that preaches «the Pope can do no wrong» (when Catholic priests are busy molesting young boys). I would rather blame my rebel spirit on my time spent reading arcane literature like Niccolo Machiavelli's «The Prince» and Greek mythology while my peers were bothering with understanding Achebe's lore in «Things Fall Apart».

 

In my much younger years, my rebellious spirit was seen as something of a passing phase, some inclination towards mischief and childish curiosity which would no doubt wear off with the passing of time. Unfortunately I still haven't changed, while I have succeeded in rebelling my way through the Nigerian university system with a degree in Computer Science from lecturers who teach what they don't know and who hand out Nigerian «first class» degrees to people who can't network two computers together, my spirit is still strong. Rather than follow my mates who are seeking jobs in «respectable» companies like Shell, Zenith Bank and Mobil, I content myself with my laptop, internet connection and my new found occupation as a freelance writer. This is much to the chagrin of those who invested in my education and others such as my friends who feel my talents would be best invested somewhere behind a corporate desk

I have tried to be something other than this rebel I am, but I guess it will never happen. I thought once that I would perhaps settle down and work in one of these  « respectable» firms but while I love the fact that the pay may be good I hate the fact that I have to probably undergo years of subservience and accepting hypocrisy like I did with priests, teachers ,lecturers and the government. My lifestyle, occupation and these wild ideologies I firmly espouse are a source of worry and concern to most, especially people like my girlfriend who is still wondering what to tell her mother my occupation is. Anyone with no «acceptable job» and a laptop and one who spends «oyibo dollars» so freely must definitely be one of those 419 and Yahoo! Yahoo! Boys. Whose mother is going to believe their future son-in-law makes money writing when journalists are still boarding molues and I have no books in print or awards like Adichie and others?

 

Should I change and leave the life I love and a life of rebellious freedom to a glass office in

 

While we all know about the irregularities in the elections that were just held and the blatant robbery of rights that took place, national media houses (we all know who) feign ignorance, lie to our faces and show case the warped opinions of  ballot robbers. People grumble in silence but fail to come out, speak and raise hell if they have to because they don't want to be used as scapegoats or to argue with the powers that be. In our churches that should be bastions of the law and moral right we believe in a commandment that says «Thou Shalt Not Steal» but when confirmed criminals in government walk into church, even the clergymen welcome them, sing «Baba Modupe O» and give them front row seats in the «House of God».

 

In the end I have given up on trying to change for the purpose of «respectability» when our people choose to ignore the main issues and tell themselves the sun is shining when there is a thunderstorm. I have accepted what I am and if others do not see the reason in my rebellious nature which questions the benefit, purpose and the true reason behind every human action, then I am sorry. In the same vein when my 23^rd birthday comes, I will ask no one to shout any «Hip, Hip, Hurrahs» or «Hoorays» until I can find a reference source that explains the source of those words or their meaning. No one knows whether the words are a curse of death or a prayer for leprosy but yet people keep shouting them with joyous abandon at very chance they get without thinking about it.

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