AFCON 2013: Preliminary Skirmishes over!

By Omoseye Bolaji

As the latest edition of the glitzy Afcon reached its crunch stages (quarter finals et al), the world marveled as SEVEN of the eight quarter finalists happened to be from west Africa. Facile comments that “west Africa is very much a powerhouse in African football” were spewed out; quite understandably, under the circumstances.

Hence South Africa, the host country (from Southern Africa) looked almost like the odd man out as the identities of the eight quarter finalists were unfurled: Ivory Coast, Mali, Burkina Faso, Togo, Nigeria, Cape Verde and Ghana.

Whilst this appears to be something of a “coup” for west Africa, on a personal note I would not like to read too much into this; for me it smirks of some co-incidence really. Why? We know the quirks and idiosyncracies of football, and anything can happen. For example, in their crucial third match of the tourney, Togo could well have been out if Tunisia had converted the penalty they were awarded in the second half.

Similarly, for the hosts Bafana Bafana, hearts were in the mouths of millions as Morocco took a 2-1 lead with much of the game gone. What if South Africa had not managed to equalize; which without being churlish could have well been the case in light of so many disappointing results in the wake of the Championship itself? In any event Morocco, exited the competition despite managing to draw all their games, and not losing any.

Ironically Angola (also from Southern Africa) found themselves bowing out of the tourney mainly after a damaging 2-0 loss to South Africa; a southern African team halting the progress of another southern African squad! We might also note that with TWO northern African teams, Algeria and Tunisia, placed in the same group – alongside mighty Ivory Coast, it was always on the cards that important casualties would fall by the wayside here. In this case two adroit northern African countries found themselves eliminated.

Another twist was added to the scenario with the unexpected progress of un-fancied Cape Verde and Togo (both part of west Africa, as it were). Few expected them to progress to the quarter finals, but that is what they went on to do. It appears there is always this subtle element of undermining teams supposed to be “minnows” – we recollect that even Ethiopia was rather underestimated in the beginning which could have had disastrous effects for the likes of Zambia and Nigeria.

Could have had? Indeed it can be argued that Zambia (also a southern African nation) – and defending champions to boot – exited the tournament early because of what seemed to be an insipid, shocking performance against Ethiopia (a draw in their opening game). Hence Zambia, and Angola found themselves out of Afcon after only the preliminary matches. The exhilarating thing is that hosts South Africa, buoyed by their progress into the quarter finals, found themselves dreaming of going all the way like they did so brilliantly in 1996 (when they also hosted the tournament)

Many South African fans found themselves reminiscing on the situation in 1996 when Bafana Bafana met Algeria at the quarter final stage; a match in which “Shoes” Moshoeu emerged the hero after scoring a superb second goal (SA won 2-1) But let it not be forgotten that Mark Fish, the fluid central defender had bagged the first goal for his country by venturing upfront against the wishes of his then coach Clive Barker!

At that time (1996), when South Africa met Ghana in the semi finals few expected the hosts to win as easily as they did (3-0). After all Ghana paraded greats like Abedi Pele and Tony Yeboah then. But with Moshoeu again playing out of his skin and scoring two excellent goals, and Shaun Bartlett almost like a battering ram netting an exquisite goal too. South Africa swept into the final where Tunisia was put to the sword 2-0.

Could Bafana replicate such thrilling progress in 2013? That is what the world wanted to see this time around. As hosts, and the only “non-west African” country left in the tourney the expectations were high – as South Africa got set to meet Mali in the quarter finals…

The Concupiscent Youth?

By Omoseye Bolaji

As a youngster, one of the books that fascinated me was H.G Wells’ An Outline of World History. A magnificent work that encapsulates so much of what is good about Eurocentric writing: an awareness of global history, trends, development; allied to fecund, imaginative yet economical writing.


Wells wrote the book around the time of the Second World War when the possibility of the extinction of mankind was not an outrageous prospect. Hence cynical undercurrents abound in the book, for example when he writes: “Strange as it may seem to students of history in the years to come – if there are any students in the world in the years to come…”

This blast from the past, as it were, came to my mind as I tried to ingest a particularly lurid news – or revelation – in South Africa that went on and on about how an extraordinarily large number of very young female students get pregnant in schools, especially secondary schools; this is compounded by the fact that a very high percentage of young girls in school are already hiv positive!

In simple terms, this essentially means that the life of many of these young ladies is over before it even starts! For how long have many pundits lamented the shocking levels of immorality, to wit sexual promiscuity that pervades all over the place. This is one of the terrible prices to be paid for our modern times of “democracy” “rights for all” “equality’ and so on. The ravages on poor young lives!

The powers that be, including the pertinent Ministers (of Education)) in the country are worried; so worried that they are seriously considering distributing things like condoms en masse in SA schools. As they have correctly and pragmatically pointed out: the reality is that so many youngsters are having sex, getting pregnant, contracting aids; and burying heads in the sand will not help the terrible scenario.

Condoms in schools for youngsters? My own particular generation will wince with trenchant shock if such is also the case in places like Nigeria. But what can be done to nip the situation in the bud? Is it too much to expect very young females just to go to school, face their studies en route to a tertiary education as was the wont in the past? On a personal level, I have always regarded teen-age pregnancy as an anathema. Poor old-fashioned me!

Some years ago a friend of mine started a small magazine in South Africa; that was some 6 years ago. He invited me to come on board and generate, edit stories which I did whilst the magazine was in existence for a couple of years. I remember he had a quiet 11 year old daughter at the time. A few months ago (after a long absence) I met this friend of mine again and over lunch I asked in cursory fashion about his daughter. “She’ll be around 17 years old now eh?” I quipped. “She’s getting to be a big girl now,”

The gentleman gulped. “Ja. So big that she, my little daughter, is a mother herself now!”

I flinched.

Need we start to examine the reasons why young girls are getting pregnant these days? Unwholesome peer pressure; having boyfriends, both young and old from a very early age; the insidious effects of modern technology and awareness; sugar daddies and the dubious gifts they dangle (eg trendy ‘smart’ cellphones); girls’ desire for the “good” things of life; the ironical cynical effects of early rapes, or early introduction to sex…

By a strange co-incidence, as I am typing this now I glance at my TV screen – South African television news; and emblazoned there is the headline: 17 pupils pregnant in one school! The details are as gory as ever; including midwives on standby for female kids about to deliver babies! One cannot but be filled with despair, especially when it is further revealed that a shocking amount of girls in the same school are already infected with the deadly hiv/aids disease.

What is the way forward then? At the moment, one has to come back to the reality that condoms have to be part of the situation, as it is clear that no facile words or messages will nip in the bud rampant, illicit, dangerous, sexual activities among the young. But in a way, it is a universal problem…isn’t it?

The Soggy Affair

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

The New Year had swung into orbit and I was now back in Bloemfontein city, the festive season holidays a thing of the past. I had quite a number of things to do – but I needed a meal first! But alas it was raining quite heavily; luckily enough I had an umbrella and I made my way sturdily to a certain eatery I loved.


I was not far from the restaurant but the rain suddenly intensified as I saw a woman to my right making her way under the rain, quite drenched. I moved close to her and said: “Let’s use this umbrella together; at least you can make it over to that building there where you can have some shelter,”

She smiled. “Thanks Ntate; but I am already drenched by the rain. You need not bother with me – “ But I insisted; and together, under the so-called umbrella we made it to the other side. Now for the restaurant! The lady thanked me and added: “Happy new year anyway,”

At the modest restaurant my eyes were focused on the lady dishing out the food and I made a beeline towards her. But I was temporarily thwarted. A young man threw his arms around me and gushed: “Happy new year Mr Bolaji!” In truth I did not know, or rather did not recognize him but he was in jocose spirits as he added: “It’s a new year and something great has happened to me! I have got my driving license!” he announced.

He was so thrilled by this piece of news that I beamed with him and congratulated him. Food, food…Well, at long last the savoury food was in front of me and I ate the same in ravenous fashion. And it was still raining cats and dogs outside. We could hear the reverberations clearly from where we (the diners) were seated. And then occurred a rather heart-breaking sight.

A white man, drenched in rain carrying a baby (somewhat wrapped up) entered where we were. He was quite bedraggled and most of the people here, especially the women, stared at him; no doubt because of the baby. It became evident that the man was not here to buy food – he cut a disconsolate, impoverished figure. He brought out a small radio and went around telling people he wanted to sell the radio.

"Can you believe that?" a woman near me said. "That white man wants to sell this fine radio for a paltry R20...he must really be suffering. And with a baby too! And nobody seems to want to help him by buying the radio...shame"

"It would be nice if YOU can buy the radio from him," I pointed out, my food more or less finished now. "As you say it is such a bargain!"

The woman bridled. "Where would I get the money from; just after the festive season? But it is rather sad seeing such a poor white with a baby to boot...I wonder about the mother…"

My mind went briefly to a passage from Nelson Mandela's memoir, Long Walk to Freedom where he states that somehow, seeing poor whites seems to upset many black people. Strangely enough that appears to be the case till date!

And so when the white man came, baby in tow, with the radio asking whether I (and those beside me) would buy the radio, I found myself "buying" the radio from him, though I did not need any radio!

People around stared at me, and as is my wont I felt a bit embarrassed. I had finished eating anyway and what I wanted to do next I’d rather do outside, rain or no rain; as I had no wish to play to the gallery. The white man and the child were huddled together just outside and I noticed that the rain had temporarily ceased, though the terrain was soggy.

Quickly I gave the radio back to the astonished white man “I really don’t need it” I said to him rather curtly before he could protest. “Do not worry about the R20 I gave you, and here’s a ten rand note extra for the baby,” I brandished another (R10) note and gave it to him,” I did not want to stare at him, nor receive any thanks. I felt quite depressed really; it seemed to me that the whole thing, just like the weather, was a rather soggy affair!

I moved on swiftly.

It's Festive Season Time Again!

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

Another year is petering to an end; it seems incredible that almost 12 months (of 2012) have been completed. But that is life. From “mewling…puking infants” as Shakespeare put it, we progress in disparate fashion towards the grave, as it were.


It is now about three years that that I began to write this on-line column; a column I am very proud of, by the way. Sometimes I have produced fine, sublime work, other times I believe I have descended so low as far as bathos is concerned, inflicting half-baked or wooly opinions on the readers. But life is like that.

I have been uplifted by countless positive comments from many readers out there, from inside Nigeria, from South Africa and in the wide Diaspora as they say. To be honest, a lot of the time such fine comments have prodded me to keep going. I am also pleased that so many of my columns have been reproduced in other websites, journals, books, world-wide.

One does not need to be a rocket scientist to state that my approach, my credo, essentially is light-hearted. I have never relished the “heavy stuff”, the pretentiously difficult, or obscurantism. What I write most of the time reflects my fiction – churned out to entertain more often than not, but also sometimes informative in its predilection.

I grew up more or less “worshipping” the great creative, imaginative Nigerian writers – Chinua Achebe, John Munonye, Elechi Amadi, Wole Soyinka, Chukwuemeka Ike, Victor Thorpe, TM Aluko etc. As a kid, I dreamt of publishing my own works of fiction too, and I have been thrilled to have published over ten works of fiction too. I do not compete with anybody (any other writer) and I believe I have my own style, even if some dub it a bit zany!

Like other writers, I have my own readers; people who enjoy what I write (now I am mainly thinking of my works of fiction). To my delight many intelligent readers, including academics have appreciated what I have published to the extent that at least ten different books (studies) have been published on my work. Some awards have come in plus a film documentary on me; and to be honest, these things can not be quantified in monetary terms.

In life one will always have some “detractors” or “critics” of course. That is the way it should be; the best “critics” are of course those who try to be open-minded and still give some praise where it is due. Alas, a very small minority - more or less like sick cranks probably motivated by other maleficent factors, will try to pull every writer down. But in the end as an “artist”, the view of the majority is what buoys one; keeps one focused and creative.

This year – purely from a literary perspective, so to speak – has been another memorable one for me. The recent glittering Mbali Awards that took place in Clocolan (South Africa) was easily one of the highlights. It was an occasion when I was honoured with another Lifetime Achievement Award, and it was thrilling to see the phalanx of intelligent people, Black, White and “coloured” gracing the event. There were traditional Zulu and Sesotho praise-songs, or rather poems rendered in my honour. And Zulu regalia in particular can be picturesque!

Ah, the festive season…the period all of us look forward to painstakingly with some relish. The time to unwind, rest, let our hair down; at least in theory! Psychologically it is a boost and fillip to us all time to re-connect properly with loved ones etc.

Seriously though, here in South Africa the festive season is already in the air…hordes of people, including myself, are preparing for long journeys during this period. In the major shops, uplifting melodious Christmas music can be heard, complemented by a phalanx of Xmas trees and Father Xmases. The young ones are particularly in celebratory mood, with School holidays commencing. On my own part, let me wish everybody out there a wonderful, fulfilling, jocose, festive season!

PIX ABOVE: Bolaji (left) with South African writer, K.A Motheane at the Mbali Awards

THE RADIANCE OF THE CUP

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

The magic, and allure of Cup football persists all over the world – with virtually every nation having its own major cup competitions usually won by the most prestigious clubs in the elite division. It might well be that “colonial mentality” will always be at work consciously or perhaps in subtle fashion, but even till date most of the world continues to look up to the English Cup competitions in particular!

Hence the FA Cup in England historically takes precedence over virtually every other Cup competition, including the Spanish one and the definitely overblown American version. Nigeria has treasured its own version of the Cup (indeed the Nigerian Challenge Cup was extraordinarily popular decades ago). Then there is the “second” Cup competition in England usually called the League Cup which continues to change its name regularly.

South Africa interestingly has so many Cup competitions that one might even suggest that it beggars belief; but that is what the fans want. There is a Cup for the “best 8” in the league annually; there are major cup competitions like the Nedbank Cup and the Telkom KO trophy. Then there are the “pre-season” cups which often feature international giants like Manchester United playing one of the big SA clubs. In most cases, the big clubs here – Orlando Pirates, Kaizer Chiefs, Mamelodi Sundowns or even Supersport, are the ones who get to the final of these cup competitions which are real money-spinners. And the sponsors chip in yearly with millions of rands to buoy these competitions.

Nowadays the world raves about the super-rich clubs being bought and sponsored by billionaires – clubs like Chelsea and Manchester City in England; but Nigerians have always had charismatic rich club proprietors who pump gargantuan amounts of money into their clubs. Who can ever forget the late flamboyant Chief MKO Abiola for example, who started the glamorous Abiola Babes – and bought many of the best footballers around at the time?

A few years before Abiola did this though there was Leventis United in Ibadan which also spent prodigious amounts on fine players during its relatively short-lived existence. The club made its mark in local Cup and international cup competitions, even getting to the final of the African Cup Winners Cup in the 80s. And ah – Iwuanyanwu Nationale! Note the cosmopolitan name as the owner (Chief Iwuanyanwu) invested extraordinarily in the club in those days.

Such expensively assembled clubs often realise that they are unlikely to win the (national) leagues immediately but they always fancy themselves in cup competitions; as witness the delight of Manchester City when after many decades of winning nothing, they won the English FA Cup last year; (soon to be followed by the premiership itself) But for quintessential thrills and spills nothing, it seems can beat cup football.

As I write, the final of the South African Telkom KO cup – a major cup – is just around the corner. So many excellent games have been served up thus far and two clubs will be contesting the final: Mamelodi Sundowns and Bloemfontein Celtic. Now I must admit some excitement over this, since I am normally based in Bloemfontein city; and Bloem Celtic is a charismatic club.

Often dubbed such intriguing names like Siwelele and Masokolara by the denizens here, Bloemfontein Celtic has in the main been ensconced in the national premiership for decades. What the club is most famous for is the supporters; a cascade of fervent, rollicking, happy-go-lucky, chirpy green and white-festooned males and females. So many of the fans almost literally live and breathe their club and are mines of every conceivable information on the club. I myself have published countless articles over the years on Bloemfontein Celtic, and though I am supposed to be professionally neutral as regards the club, that has never been the case!

It is not “every day”, as it were, that Bloem Celtic manage to get to the final of a major Cup competition as they have done this year; hence the celebrations, jabulane, can be imagined! The hordes are definitely looking forward to the final of the Cup with Mamelodi Sundowns this weekend. What a great occasion this would be!
PIX above: Effervescent Bloem Celtic fans

THE HONEY TRAP

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

When I was in my early teens, a rather starry-eyed pupil at Lagelu Grammar School in Oyo State, I had an Uncle who was always galvanized us into stitches whenever he chanced to be around! A warm, effervescent gentleman who never looked down on we kids. In fact he loved us and talked to us many a time as if we were adults too.

And herein lay the crux of a consequent “problem”. Other elders always had this tinge of uneasiness whenever Uncle was around, realizing that he could say just about anything, even the prurient, to us the young ones. But for me, Uncle was a veritable mine of information especially when it came to what then seemed like gripping comments on the fairer sex!

I remember that he was fond of using the expression “the honey trap” to describe the allure and enchantment of certain ladies. But he actually went further to explain the term, even localizing it in the world of espionage. As Uncle said: “You see, worldwide the easiest way of getting to a man, especially a man who is a crook or criminal is to use a woman to bring him down. In espionage for many years, lovely women have been used to seduce men and even arrest them. And oh, such scandals in ‘advanced’ countries! Like Profumo!” Uncle gave me a particular document on the erstwhile Profumo Scandal, with Christine Keeler pivotal.

I must confess that the phrase “the honey trap” is one that I do not think I have ever used in my writings over the years, despite being introduced to the concept by Uncle many years ago as a kid. But I found myself thinking of this phrase in recent times after a spate of arrests and clampdowns on foreigners, especially Nigerians, in South Africa.

When foreigners in Diaspora, including Nigerians here talk about the sudden, precipitate arrest of a particular “brother”, in most cases one can be sure that a woman would be pin-pointed as being responsible for the guy being nabbed on some sort of charges which might be trumped-up. “You don hear that your brother dey for jail now?” No. “Dey don arrest am; na ‘im woman betray him… suddenly she brought the police etc to the guy’s place.” Apparently she sung like a canary and the guy found himself behind bars!

Yet there is something very unsavoury about it: in virtually all the cases the man has really fallen for the woman, gone to great lengths to cater, take care of her, shared “secrets” with her – not knowing the lady was an informer in cahoots with the law enforcement agents! This much some of my police friends have confirmed to me - that they often use the “honey trap” trick to round up ‘undesirable foreigners’.

As one of my police chums told me: “Ag, it is not as if the end of the world has come; these guys are criminals who have done bad things, and the easiest way to get at them is through ladies…we can use ‘ordinary’, women or actual attractive trained female officers to track these guys down,” Let me state categorically at this juncture that I have no problem with criminals being rounded up

But it does get my goat when it appears that in so many cases the man is actually a law-abiding, decent person and despite this he finds himself in gaol because of a woman pretending to love him; smacking of a frame-up or trumped up charges. I have a particular recent episode in mind. I know the pertinent gentleman, an Igbo man, and no one can convince me that the guy was engaged in any illicit business. And I could also have sworn that his woman dearly loved him. Then one day I noticed his office had been securely locked up, and news spread that the gentleman was in jail.

And all his closest friends were united that it was the woman in his life who was responsible for his plight. I contested this in the beginning, thinking about how the man used to tell me again and again how much he loved the woman in question, how wonderful she was and how both of them could do anything for each other. “I don’t believe it,” I said. “That woman really loved him,”

“My brother, pls don’t argue with us,” his closest friends said. “We were there when the woman came with the police, showed them his office, helped them pack his things and made terrible accusations against him in public. She never loved him. She was just pretending, using him… (The man) even cried like a baby in his prison cell when he realized this,”

I was speechless.

(Above pix: Christine Keeler of the infamous Profumo Scandal)

THE INADVERTENT MISERY

By OMOSEYE BOLAJI

I savored the ambience of this area – in the heart of the South African location (townships) again. It was an area I had not been to for many months’. Now I was here inadvertently having just met an acquaintance here who had to return a document to me.

I also decided to drop in on the family of Moshe (not his real name); to wit his mother and siblings. I had been somewhat of a family friend for years. Moshe no longer lived here at the family home, but it would be churlish indeed for me to be very near their place without paying a courtesy visit to the mother at least.

The house was just a few buildings away from where I was, near the derelict public telephone. I moved forward a few paces and suddenly Mike, the younger brother of Moshe materialized very near me! We exchanged greetings. I thought that he was no longer a “small boy” – in fact he was not only a policeman now, but a father to boot.

It was clear that Mike was not on duty now. He was as friendly as ever, even inviting me for a drink “at a nearby pub”. But I told him that I wanted to enter their house and say hello to their mother, “I have not seen her for a long time. I can’t come to your area without greeting her. She’s at home?”

There was an uneasy pause. Mike stared at the ground. What was this? Then he said: “Mama is at home, but I’m afraid you can’t see her. She won’t want to see you, Ntate. She’s quite angry with you – “

I winced. What could I have done wrong? Mike went on” You see, my brother, Moshe is in the hospital. His wife attacked him brutally, even stabbed him. My mother blames you for this…” I stared at him blankly. He continued: “Moshe was not supposed to go back to that violent woman of his. He told our mother that you convinced him to go back to her. And she attacked him again! Mama holds you responsible,”

Suke! Trouble can really lurk from any angle, even from inadvertent sources. So, this was my “crime” I had heard from Moshe himself that he and his wife seemingly always had vicious fights, but it was not my business. As I recalled, he had said to me last time:”She’s so violent and always makes my life so miserable. My friends say I should leave her, and the (two) children. What do you think?”

In cases like this, if pressed to “advise”, I always invariably preach reconciliation. So I had said: “You married her because you loved her. Go back to your wife and kids and try to work things out,” Now I was in trouble for this.

But one should always endeavour to maintain one’s dignity. I asked Mike in which hospital Moshe was being treated. He told me. So I rather made a beeline to the hospital. To my consternation Moshe was in a very bad condition indeed (though not life-threatening). But he was in bandages, and we were told he would be on crutches for some time

Under the circumstances the gentleman was quite chirpy and philosophical. (I might as well state that he is by nature a suave, highly educated man anyway) He was delighted to see me. “My family told you what happened to me?” he struggled to say.

I tried not to be brutal, or display acerbity; as I said: “I’m sorry about this. Your brother told me, really. Apparently I am responsible for what happened to you, and your Mum is angry with me. I’m sorry anyway…”

Moshe said, a hint of nigh-aphonia in his voice: “Of course you are not to blame my brother. You are not involved. It is an unfortunate situation and mama is or was being emotional. I will sort things out when I am out of this soul-depressing place. i am the one who fell in love with that woman. I am the one who married her. when things were good or better between us I did not cry. So how can you be blamed for advising reconciliation?...”

I sighed. If only he had told his Mother this!