To successfully execute this piece, I’ll be donning the garb of a pastor, or should I say, prophet. I’ll be exercising certain liberties that might appear strange to those familiar with my softer style.
Nigerian music maestro of the reggae genre, African China fits my definition of a true activist. His preferred medium – music – is enduring, and his message is scathing like a prophet’s. In his wordy and worthy number titled, MR PRESIDENT, in the last two lines of the two stanzas, he sends a passionate plea to Nigeria’s rulers:

Make una lead us well
No let this nation to fall inside well

We are blessed having the likes of African China who can boldly speak truth to power. Thankfully, Nigeria isn’t yet in the well but what he didn’t say is that the blueprint for the nation’s renaissance is stuck at the bottom of the well; dumped there by the same lack-lustre leaders that have underperformed for the better part of half a century. Until the document is retrieved and religiously implemented, all our efforts at attaining our destined greatness will remain a mesmerizing mirage.
To recover the blueprint from the well whose depth remains unknown, there is a standing instruction to lower a rope made out of items of the same type tied one to another. The items, preferably of the personal sort, must have an undeniable connection to every Nigerian. Since men have been the major culprits in Nigeria’s underdevelopment, the item cannot come from them though the responsibility naturally falls on them to do the retrieving. Clearly, what we seek is a personal, feminine item that relates to every one of us.
Growing up as the older of two boys in the midst of six beautiful sisters and a mother with a keen fashion sense was always going to predispose me to the kind of task I’m currently undertaking. From quite an early age, I embraced the idiosyncrasy of the ever transmogrifying trends in female fashion. Gaining robust understanding of why women are sticklers for their appearance has helped me cope better in a world where every other person is female. I don’t claim to be an expert but I know just enough to get by.
A little over a year ago, I was still groggy with sleep one morning when I imagined seeing my missus straining to put on something that looked like the stretchy pantaloons we used to wear as kids while playing masquerade at Christmas. Before I became fully awake, she was gone. 12 hours later, she was back; and before my prying eyes, she peeled off stretchy with much less effort. A discussion then ensued. “What is that?” I enquired with my caring-husband voice. “Oh, this?” She holds it up and stretches it to demonstrate its capabilities. “It’s a tight.” “Obviously,” I responded. “It looks really tight on you. Doesn’t it make you uncomfortable? And why do you have to put on two items of underwear?” “I’m quite comfortable in it and I wear it to keep my butts from shaking wildly and it also ensures my thighs don’t graze against each other.” “But I don’t mind the wild shaking!” An impish smile had taken over my face. “Of course I know, but how about the many lecherous men out there who are dying to ogle? Are you willing to share?” Her logic was undisputable and I immediately became a tight believer. My personal belonging shouldn’t be seen attracting illegal attention in public. So if you can just be patient enough to pose the right questions, you’ll soon discover that most of what women go to great lengths to do ultimately benefit men.
While I was meditating on the most appropriate item for the blueprint retrieval, it suddenly hit me. Eureka! Tights will do the job. So bring in all the tights. Let’s tie them together and recover the all-important blueprint. There’s no limit to how many will be required. The more, the merrier. I can guarantee at least 10 from my household. At the end of the day, we should be able to gather millions of them. It’s all for the better.
And for those who think I’m nuts or can’t seem to catch the drift of what appear to be riddles, let me state my thesis in planer terms. To get out of the rut we’ve driven ourselves into as a nation, we need to recruit the support every Nigerian woman. The logic of this position is simple. In 100 years of amalgamation and over 54 years of flag independence, men have been at the helm. No woman has ever been head of state, president or elected governor. Whatever positions women have held have derived more from sympathy and tokenism. If Nigeria was run aground, we know where the burden of culpability lies. It has always been a contest between men: one fumbling man against a fanatical other or a fornicator against a farting fool. Isn’t it the height of lunacy to keep hoping for greatness when our better and more humane half is barely engaged? How far can we go hopping on one tired leg?
Since the price of oil began the recent nosedive, everything economic – growth, budgets and prospects – has been shaking. When the on-going socio-political and religious tremors are factored in, the urgency of why women must be brought in to calm things down becomes clearer. They seem always to have what it takes to deal with the shaking – whether tantalizing or terrifying. I should know. And judging from the tight corner we’re wedged in at the moment, we will lose nothing getting many more of them running the show at the highest levels.
So let’s get about mobilizing and gathering the tights. There’ll be lots of loose ends to tie. And while we’re at it, let’s not also forget the tithes – 10% of our earnings. Last time I checked, there were far too many famished faces in the House of God in contradistinction to a few fat cats. If we can get everybody properly fed, we would not only be pleasing God, we’d equally be mobilizing a strong and well-motivated army for the onerous task ahead.
So let’s all meet at the well to do the needful. I’m certain African China will feel honoured to lead the way. There’s enough room for all 170 million of us.
It is well!
OLUGU OLUGU ORJI mnia
nnanta2012@gmail.com
oluguorji.