₦airaland Forum

BELLO ADOKE san. . .

'One legal scholar described Adoke as “a weak lawyer who was elevated to the status of SAN on the recommendation of former Attorney General of Nigeria, Bayo Ojo.” The next year, Justice Katsina-Alu enthroned Adoke as a member of a privileges committee that decides which lawyers are to be made Senior Advocates. Katsina-Alu’s choice of Adoke caused widespread condemnation in legal circles in Nigeria.'

JESUS WEPT. . .

NDANUSA ALAO. . . .MANAGING DIRECTOR NEW NIGERIAN NEWSPAPERS.

His staff have gone on indefinite strike because of unpaid salaries for seven months.

They have called on EFCC to probe his management .


I SAY GOODLUCK HAS KILLED ME OOOO  

Where does it say that the President must consult state governors to appoint anybody?

Which part of the constitution dictates that one?

And besides, the morrafucker had nothing to lose. . .They have already excluded
him from the elections in 2011.

The man should join his boss in the comatose word jo.

Nonsense of sensibilities.  

same picshurr same picshurr.

change pishoo jo

Yaradua should please wake up. . . .

How can he put Anenih's wife in the Cabinet ?/

Kai. . . .

Anenih. . .Anenih. . . .Anenih.

JONATHAN HAS KILLED ME OO

our apparent goodluck has turned to a badluck nightmare

aisha2:
Am having a heart Attack, just saw part of the list on AIT, what the hell is Josephine Anineh doing there, and who the hell is Muktar yarAdua?

the thing tire me my sister oo.

I hope she doesn't have anything to do with Chief Anenih

some names on the list just mentioned on AIT

sanusi daggash
odeion ajumogbia
joy anenih
godswill orubebe
abdul masari
murtala yaradua
nuhu way
adetokunbo kayode

lol. . .I am not holding brief for her over her tenure as info minister.

I will be the first to admit she was a poor information minister with
her ill conceived rebranding project and her utterances at the beginning
of the crisis.

I have also already admitted that she is likely to be let down by her low
moral threshold because of her desire to be involved, to be relevant.


Does this disqualify her from being retained as information minister? certainly
and possibly other similar roles.

But she has shown enough first as NAFDAC and even during her stint as info
minister that she would be invaluable to the nation in positions that have proven
problematic for a very long time.

suxes2005:
kobojunkie, you are bery right and moreover
if she really needs to keep her integrity, then
she ought not to av accepted d post then!

But who knows who is who self?
OAMJ4 can tell us more about these pple. LOL

SHALOM

my friend. . .integrity is in short supply in Naija
and with the nature of our problems I rate it
below energy and a can-do-attitude.

Dora has energy in abundance and she doesn't
need to convince anyone I don't think that she can get
things done.

Kobojunkie:
In essence, Yar adua is to blame for all the mistakes made by Dora all 2009 and the January of 2010? So, it is IMPOSSIBLE for a person like Dora to be expected not to lie or plot to deceive the Nigerian people in anyway because she was put in position YOU assume she was not well-suited for?

Dude, you LOST me when you said Yaradua is to blame in the first part of your post. I don't know what Yar adua has to do with her choosing to lie to the Nigerian people for well over 2 months before turning only a few weeks ago( mind you way after the protests to have Jonathan appointed began). Let me guess, Yar adua also had mind-control JUJU POWER over her when EKITI happened, and Yaradua also caused NTA ? Note: Most all of this happened in the span of a year.

You can only actually speculate if she was lying or not.

For all we know, she probably believed those in the know(the dreaded cabal)
when the latter informed the cabinet the President was well.

I dread to think she knew the President was indisposed and lied to the nation
he was alive and well.

From the interviews she gave much later on, she confirmed the protests made her
start to question the veracity of information she and other members of the cabinet
were being given.

And I know folks are saying she was being opportunistic. But it still took political courage
to pass that memo. For all she knew, Yaradua might have appeared from nowhere and
that was that for her political career.

Like I said before, the post didn't suit her and she was on a farthing to nothing. The buck
stops with the President as chief executive, and it is his responsibility to place his ministers
in positions they are best suited. Something about round hole and pegs. . . .

kshow1:
Why must  dora be included ??, Is there no other credible person in Nigeria ?

Unfortunately, our history suggests we don't have too many  

Kobojunkie:
How? Is anyone of the Dora 'Explorer' supporters on here ever going to answer the question on how they expect her to do GOOD in any new major role when she failed WOEFULLY as Communication Minister and only supposedly switched sides/turned on her league some weeks ago?

I am one of her fans and I was disappointed not with her but with Yaradua for putting
her in a role that was totally unsuited for her.

Of course you might say, why would she accept a role that she should know she was not
qualified for?

Well, she is power hungry, perhaps overambitious and probably a tad deficient on the moral
side of things.

But you cannot deny her energy, energy that a few of our key ministries could
do with.

A portfolio like Works for example with a litany of unfulfilled contracts would be ideal for her.
Power perhaps too technical, but transport most definitely.

Juxtaposed with the thieving deadbeats who have formed cabinets in Nigeria for so long, I
will gladly take Dora anyday.

With the death on March 13 of Aliyu Musdafa, the 11th Lamido of Adamawa, Nigeria strikes me as a slightly dimmer space. The death of this extraordinary Nigerian touched me – and my mother as well as four siblings – in a deeply personal way. We – on behalf of my late father – owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to this unusual traditional and religious leader. For us, his memory will remain a richly treasured and profoundly admirable one. It was in Yola that my parents, Christopher Chidebe and Elizabeth Ofuchinyelu Ndibe, began their lives as a young couple. Father worked as a postal clerk in Jimeta, Yola, whilst Mother taught at Saint Theresa’s, a Catholic elementary school in the same town. Three of my four siblings as well as I were born in Yola.

My earliest memories are rooted in that quiescent town. We lived in a small brown-brick building called “Clerical Quarters,” a whispering distance from the post office where Father toiled. Looking back, I remember an oddly charmed life. There’s the tree in front of our flat under whose shade we played childhood games. I recall a bearded Hausa friend of my father’s. He was a lanky man who, in my recollection, always sported long flowing robes. Fascinated by his grey beard, I would perch on his lap whenever he came to visit and occupy myself by tugging at those lush, spongy tufts.

I remember, too, days when our father fetched his double-barrel gun and went out to the banks of River Benue to hunt. He would return, his hunting bag sagged with the weight of several guinea fowls. I recall days when our parents walked us to the courts where Father played tennis, his spare athlete’s body accentuated by his white sports outfit. Then there were sightseeing excursions to the banks of the river, or to clearings in the savanna where, with the sun irradiating the sky in the distance, bare-bodied young beat each other’s chests with sturdy sticks in a test of fitness for initiation into manhood.

was for me – speaking from the perspective of a child – a beautiful, even magical time. Doubtless, my parents must have encountered some hard and harsh facts of daily life, but I was, like many children, oblivious to them. Life, for me, was idyllic.

Then things changed quickly. Snarls replaced the portraits of smiling faces. Anger usurped the bonhomie we were accustomed to. There were violent rumblings in streets where we once played with innocent abandon. Suddenly, our parents became wary when we wanted to play out in front of our flat. Gaiety disappeared from our lives. I was too young to put a name to my parents’ awkward silences and strange whispers, or the inexplicable absences of the adults and children who used to frequent our home – and who once welcomed us warmly to theirs. Unbeknown to me, the fetus of war was being nurtured in the womb of Nigeria’s history.

As the rumbles grew, my father decided that Mother and we, the children, should return to the safety of Amawbia – my paternal hometown which was then, in many ways, a strange address to me. I was then more a Yola boy; I had a richer grasp of Hausa than Igbo.

Despite our mother’s pleas, Father couldn’t flee Yola with the rest of his family. He was a conscientious employee, and the Federal Government had warned that civil servants who absconded would forfeit their posts. He stayed back in a Yola that convulsed with hate, a town where violence simmered, waiting for a trigger to explode and spew its murderous lava.

One day, Father and other postal workers – most of them Christians – were hard at work when a mob besieged them. Fear-stricken, he and his embattled colleagues barricaded themselves in. but their hiding place was far from an impregnable fortress. The mob, armed with cudgels, machetes, hammers and other tools, began to hack at the locked doors of the post office. It was a matter of time before the mob had the better of their quarry.

At the nick, when things looked gloomiest for my father and his cornered fellow workers, providence intervened on their side. Or, to be more accurate, the Lamido happened to be passing by. Spying the mob, he ordered his convoy to stop. After ascertaining the mob’s mission, the Lamido chastised and ordered them to disperse. He then conveyed my father and other postal clerks – men, mind you, who were mere moments away from certain death – to his palace. There, he gave them shelter and food for several weeks until the wave of orgiastic violence abated. He then arranged for Father and others to be boarded on the last ships to leave Yola for the south east.

When my father finally arrived in Amawbia, a scrawny shadow of his former vibrant self, it was as if he’d risen from the dead. Our mother had for months been in an inconsolable state, a woman paralyzed with the fear (verging on certainty) that some mindless merchants of death had killed her husband. Gunshots boomed and reverberated all over Amawbia as the town celebrated Father’s improbable return.

As I matured and learned this history, it struck me that – but for the Lamido’s vote for sanity and his insistence on the sanctity of life – my father would have been dead that distant afternoon in 1967. Instead, the Lamido – himself a relatively young man at the time – stepped into a grim situation and made a choice that was courageous and deeply heroic.

What moved the Lamido to be an agent of life and decency in a season ruled by death and unreason?

In July of 2008, I traveled to Yola to meet Mr. Musdafa in order to, one, express my family’s abiding gratitude for his uncommon act of kindness and, two, to satisfy my curiosity. It was my first visit to Yola since our flight in 1966 when I was hardly six. The town had changed significantly, but not so fundamentally as to nullify all my childhood memories. I found the flat where we lived – and that tree in front of it, now twisted with age and much smaller than I remembered. Visiting the banks of the Benue where Father used to hunt, I saw kids diving in and out of the river and fishermen lounging in makeshift sheds, their boats abandoned in the languorous blaze of the noon heat. I visited Saint Theresa’s Church where our parents used to take us to mass. Inside, the old church was dim and derelict, a small forgotten structure now dominated by an imposing cathedral built nearby. I then went to see the now dilapidated school where Mother once taught.

The highlight was, of course, that meeting with the late Lamido. He ushered me into his sparse, clean reception room moments after my arrival was announced. He was a very tall, lean man with cropped white beards and lively eyes. There was not about him that fussy insistence on grandeur cultivated by many who occupy traditional offices. He seemed to project a moral gravitas much more than he exuded royal pomp. He was a man of quiet dignity whose carriage proclaimed the effortlessness of his deep humanity.

He insisted that he did nothing special in saving my father and other Christians. “As a true Muslim, I could not let allow the spilling of innocent blood.” He remembered that my parents had written a letter to thank him – but he was adamant that his action was a simple one.

A Nigeria beset by rising sectarian violence stands in need of citizens, Christians and Muslims, possessed of the late Lamido’s moral clarity, commitment to humanistic values, and deep nobility and conscience. My mother, siblings and I will ever treasure the colossus that was Alhaji Aliyu Musdafa who died a month shy of his 88th birthday. His legacy is rare, and will endure.

Its not like I am actually a drunkard now. . . .

Its just that I am so fugly, I look like a drunk

Pweety4me:
*Walks In Waving @ PpLe And Then Goes In Straight 2 D V.I.P lounge*

My fwend. . .exit jo. Didn't you see the ''ADULTS ONLY'' sign

obinna5000:
"Shutter Island" was quite good as well. I was totally confused at the end of the whole movie. "Shutter Island" should be the best movie I've seen this year.

you will change your mind once you see ''an education''

chamotex 10:29:43 PM Sending a message.


googles. . .don't take the bait.

He is a heart breaker oo

my friend. . .no come spoil lalaboi show oo

baseje oshi

hehehehe. . lalaboi, you have scored

Pweety4me:
Hehe y is every1 old on diS site?LMBBO. . .

see small pikin oo

no way. . .she says i am fugly

a wowo drunk sef

did i tell u u look ggoogles when u frown

i am tired of commmenting on her profile

where the parry at . , make me and my 266 midget
crew come disturb proceedings

Even if na moon una go do the bbq. . . .

I go come jolly.

Una never see anything

she is pweety alrite. . .

shame about the rear

Pweety4me:
Shut your face brotha now did i not just tell u 2 leave!. . .

goodness me. . .

temper temper

Pweety4me:
Ok follow my buttocks. . .hehe

the boy is going to have a hard time finding it ooo

lol . . . . I think the Igbos need to be separated on the basis of this communal clash