₦airaland Forum

Finally, the Wacom products are here in Nigeria!!!!!!!

Are you into Graphic designs, Architectural designs, photography, web designing, film’s special effects making, image making, fashion designing, publishing, typist, cartooning, illustrating, as well as 3D animating, an art student, advertising agency or you're into general Digital art?

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Call Lanre on 07063394142, 08095261980,

or 'like' facebook page. www.facebook.com/wacomnigeria

Finally, the Wacom products are here in Nigeria!!!!!!!

Are you into Graphic designs, Architectural designs, photography, web designing, film’s special effects making, image making, fashion designing, publishing, typist, cartooning, illustrating, as well as 3D animating, an art student, advertising agency or you're into general Digital art?

Are you having problems getting our jobs done on time?

Here's are the solutions to your slow work-flow

Wacom, the world leading manufacturer of interactive pen displays, pen tablets and digital interface solutions products has just arrived.

Waocm's Intuos 4 Tablet, CintiQ, Bamboo, Interactive display, Signature Tablet, Bamboo Stylus are all in stock

Call Lanre on 07063394142, 08095261980,

or 'like' facebook page. www.facebook.com/wacomnigeria

i have a compilation of great rock tunes. any rocker out there interested.

The meek of them great Greek philosophers; Socrates, was believed to have shifted the eye of the early philosophers from wondering into the cosmic and putting men instead in front of the telescope. His landmark dictum “Man know thy self” could undoubtedly be regarded as one of man’s greatest discovery in its decisive assertions. But the truth of the matter is that that’s where we humans had continued to fall short in the scheme of things happening around us. Getting to know who we really are and finding out our strengths and weaknesses, and discovering the medium of balancing these integral duos is by no means a daunting task. Challenging also is about finding where we belong since we Homo-sapiens were nomadically engineered to adapting to whichever environment best suits our persons.

In today Globalize world where the information technology is continuously breaking down barriers and boarders, and as we progress deeper into the 21 century, the issue of identity and our place of belonging is becoming almost central to everything we do and everywhere we go. Nationality, citizenship, immigration, emigration, expatriation, integration, assimilation, segregation, exclusion, discrimination, alienation, renunciation and home-coming are the orders of the day.


Well to be precise and clear- am not here to talk about these aforementioned assessments nor I am here to talk about the schizophrenia nature of the colonial cloning of African people in the three different mix of personalities-her indigenous reconfiguring, her westernalized modeling, and the christened or Islamiazation of her psyches, thus distorting the values, morals and notion of what is right and wrong. That damage had been done and is look ever more irreparable as we sink deeper into the belly of neo-colonialism. Instead am here to bring to the fold a revelation of a different species living in the midst of our huge ethnic diversity. These folks are not outcast, excluded mutants or castaway herd some cultures might want to call the untouchables; far from it. Odd as it might begin to sound, I happen to belong to this group of people. We might be regarded as minorities, but we are not endangered, we might also be regarded as radically different but we are apparently endearing if you get the time to really study us. If you don’t belong to this group, then you would have one way or the other come across these special ones. Seldom are they obvious for avoidance of been labeled bizarre.

I hope you’re aware that some people way of life or lifestyle gives the impression that there seems to be a daily mixed up in the heaven or perhaps whoever is assigned the teleporting of babies to their intended earthly destinations is always caught napping at his desk. And whether this daily occurrence is deliberate or not, I wouldn’t know. But I do believe that the partitioning of the earthlier on nationality lines is not visible to the heavenly, nor visible on racial lines or so I want to believe. Anyways…children teleported to these supposedly mistaken wombs, while growing up seems to take up traits and experiences quite alien to the norms of their origin but right at place with another culture as close quarter.

This seemingly cross- pollination will leave you wondering if such individuals had previously lived a life in such culture or environment and in their second or many other coming reincarnations, they keep experiencing a sense of dejavu of belonging to that other tribe where it seems they’d once lived and probably procreated. And more also, they easily roam freely in the heart of this adopted land effortlessly like there very own kind. A tour, I mean just a tour to such to a place for such a person might end up as home-coming, a long sojourning and most possibly a final resting place. After all, the road to happiness starts with finding a place of belonging. Not only that, in some cases their physical appearance can attest to this lingering mystery. And for this latter am going to put myself on the spotlight.

Is comforting for me to be looked at as an enigmatic creature, devoid of classification as my appearance and lifestyle suggests. But it can be scary when that oddity throws me, its owner into outright confusion and baffling self-assessments. Is no surprising to me of my surprises to other peoples’ surprises. Have I confused you enough?

What I’m saying is that some people are simply born outside the box of what their culture adjudged as beliefs, thought systems, and norms of acceptable fixed behavioural patterns as I am. So is no surprising for those who know me well enough, when ask to defined me in one word, always come up with ‘different’ or ‘odd.’ If considering my many trivialities like my unyielding support for the less fancied Liverpool Fc, my Iconic love for the American novelist and the king of macabre- Stephen King, and that am yet to tune low the loud rock music I love banging my head to as odd for what is common place, well that just happen to be an abridged version of my whole oddities. Now let me tell you about a signboard ubiquitous to my daily journey down the adult road. Baffling yet, these signboard has a uniformed emblazoned of a peculiar sun that shines on me always-- and what do you know, is a half of a yellow sun.



There’s a mysterious connectivity I seem to share with a distance tribe where I have no discernable ancestral or linage inheritance to…so it seems. But I’m fascinated on just how and why I orbit delightfully into anything and everything Igbo. A linger fascination that always bring me to the perennial arguments wrestles over the factuality of the phenomenon of reincarnation or the transmigrations of the souls--transcending beyond time and space and ultimately over the periphery of our superficial erected barriers and realm of our preconceived confinements. Whichever side of the fence you might choose to sit on the argument, my personal experiences with these Igbos people- (strangers in the melting pot called Lagos) who keep welcoming me with opened arms, love and good wishes-hold enough water for me to believed that maybe I had once lived a life among these wonderful people. And guess what, I am not alone as I’ve and continue to compare notes with others who share in my Igbo sentiments.



While the same breeds like myself flirts with other tribes of our huge ethnic diversity and vice-versa and might as well as mutate their identity through spoken languages and lifestyle adoptions. My own affinity or spiritual romance with more Igbo friends, foods, culture and their beautiful women is amazingly waxing stronger to the point where people are just compel to ask me “you are Igbo…right?” you are not Yoruba abi?” You only need to scroll through the contacts on my phone to wonder if the phone belongs to an Igbo fellow. A cursory poke at my music play-list or a listen in on my ringstone will make you marvel. I’m always grappling with the sense of out of place I felt whenever I find my self in the midst of Yoruba people. Why am automatically at ease around the Igbo people and less gregarious around my Yoruba people, this…I don’t know. Maybe I must have been DNA configured in Aba for a woman to get me chuckling “na who between your papa and mama played away match?” and to which I replied “of course my dad”



Though I grew up mixing with different tribes during the 80s, but the awareness of my love for the Igbos became conscious during the 90’s when I happen to read a journal during my secondary days about an historical account portraying the never-say-die-spirit of the Igbo people struggling in the then old capital of Nigeria. It hurt till today that I never had the grace to recall the article’s title, the author, or which of our national dailies it was published in. It was a full length article running on almost three pages chronicling the lives of the Igbos before and after surviving the civil war. The article also highlighted in great detail the industrial hiatus the then capital of the old Nigeria experienced at the Igbos absence. It’s quite amazing for a people that had experienced such horror of war and starvation in Biafra and came back to start life afresh and few years down the line they’ve resurface to do even better in the same Lagos than previously perceived. Is superhuman to say the least.

But what pivoted my sense of belonging more among the Igbos was when I got slapped with the truth in the fiction of ‘Half of a yellow sun’ by Chimanda Ngozi Adieche. I can’t start telling you the guilt I felt reading that book as a new generation Nigerian. A guilt that must have similar resonates like the likes of a new generation tusk reading the genocide of the Armenias or as a young American reading the systematic eradication of the red Indians.

The Igbos holds a special place in my heart and no matter their imperfections or how hard other tribes try to bust her bubbles I will continue to remain charmed by her zone. A zone bolstering with a never-say-die dynamism, a can do spirit, an accommodating adjustments and most bewildering yet, her resonating influence of the making out extraordinary possibilities out of the ordinary. A thick skin borne out of her rebirth after the war.
I won’t pretend that I haven’t heard my Yoruba people (most especially the elders) who’d hold the Igbos in discreet contempt and long standing phobias that boarder on preconceived misconceptions and bias that Igbo people untiringly lusts and acquire money through scary diabolic means.

They also considered them cunningly overambitious, rounded arrogant set of people, lacking respect, remotely cannibalistic in nature and are troublesome tenants who’d rather pay a lawyer against the landlord instead of paying up their rents. Some Yoruba, for been a business victim to some unscrupulous transactions, (an ordeal not peculiar to just a region and which doesn’t undermine also the presence of angels therein) will discourage in strong term a union of marriage between these two ethnic giants. As a Yoruba dude, whose best friend, Godfather, and women are all Igbos, it saddens me when I see public boards declare inconspicuously “no Igbos’ to house vacancies. I’m not quite sure people who held prejudices of any form towards tribes other than theirs can be helped, nor will I try to sway them over. I’m just highlighting the red-tapes beneath our supposed integrating federalism.


It’s a common believe that beauty is in the eye of the beholder and that one man’s poison is another man’s meat. These popular adages bring me now to the crux of this piece- Falling madly, truly and deeply in love with the Igbo beauty. That kind of beauty that stutters the heart, that moist the palms with sweating, and leaves ‘yours truly’ stomach fill butterflies wouldn’t be complete if such beauty is not carved out of the Igbo ribs.

On personal choice and taste, I like them my women busty, round, light skinned, charming and cultured. But most importantly, I loved them Igbo sealed. With my trusted and reliable natural detecting radar, it wouldn’t be a hectic of a thing fishing out Igbo queens among the motley of Naija beautiful women arranged, that’s in spite of the Igbo language that am yet to fully grasp. I readily connect beginning chemistries and physical intimacies whenever I chat up with Igbo ladies no matter the class or status. And whether their sensual physique is infrared enabled or personality blue-toothed enabled, my connectivity is at most time viable and only suffers few technical hitches during link ups. When I told my mama (though nursing a diminishing Igbo reservations, which boarder on In laws considerations) that my chemistry with Igbo ladies was effortlessly and mutual, she never believe me until at least five different Omalichas pay me visitation in the spate of two weeks, then she starts to take me serious. Whether flamboyantly sophisticated, elegantly simplified or stylishly ordinary they never fail to turn up my dial or get my antenna buzzing. Believed it or not, two of my lovely Igbo honeys buzzed my line while I was composing this piece.


That reminds me of an incident I got caught up in and which nearly ended up in a brawl during my undergraduate days in school. You guess over whom? Over an Igbo gal of course. I happened to have toasted up a beautiful girl already falling to my spells until it turns out that gal belong to a guy who was of the same gene with mine. After coming out of the near brawl as friends we get to know that we (both of Yoruba origin, though he’s part Edo) have a special preference for Igbo girls. And we both remained addicted on continuing our soul searching under the colourful spectrums of her half yellow sun. Men! Talk about meeting your own ‘tasteful’ kind.

I bet the cynic, right about now, will tell me that I can romance all I want and in no way am I going to be an Igbo person like the real Igbos, even If I get to live a thousand years. Well, I can only be truth to myself as the English poet, John Keats put it Ode on a Grecian Urn:

“Beauty is truth, truth beauty, that is all ye know on earth and all ye needs to know”.

The truth that my heart belongs to the Igbos and that the truth of that love is reciprocates; then the cynic can go ahead and say all they want. And for those who wouldn’t endorse my sentiments and might probably labeled me not bravery enough to let out of my shell, Well I can only take a cue from the dinosaur of Manchester united-Ryan Giggs and the most decorated player in the English Premiership league. Smart as Giggs is, he would rather continue to enjoy success where he’d find easy purchase than become a limbo in another big football club. That my Igbo ladies had through their loving molded me into a romantic Lionel Messi, I’ll be crazy to not to stick with that where my swagger dazzles and make the mistake of proceeding to become a bench warmer in a place where my toasting skills is of less efficacy. Tufiakwa!


Besides the altar is getting nearer, so also is my trophy. To my Ohaneaze council of elders “Igbo Kwenu sirs. To my bothers “Igbo Kwenu.

And to my loving Omalichas “Kwenu kisses”

Lanre Malik

understandingpolicy@yahoo.com
My Blog- www.nigerianidiots..com

The meek of them great Greek philosophers; Socrates, was believed to have shifted the eye of the early philosophers from wondering into the cosmic and putting men instead in front of the telescope. His landmark dictum “Man know thy self” could undoubtedly be regarded as one of man’s greatest discovery in its decisive assertions. But the truth of the matter is that that’s where we humans had continued to fall short in the scheme of things happening around us. Getting to know who we really are and finding out our strengths and weaknesses, and discovering the medium of balancing these integral duos is by no means a daunting task. Challenging also is about finding where we belong since we Homo-sapiens were nomadically engineered to adapting to whichever environment best suits our persons. In today Globalize world where the information technology is continuously breaking down barriers and boarders, and as we progress deeper into the 21 century, the issue of identity and our place of belonging is becoming almost central to everything we do and everywhere we go.

Nationality, citizenship, immigration, emigration, expatriation, integration, assimilation, segregation, exclusion, discrimination, alienation, renunciation and home-coming are the orders of the day.

Well to be precise and clear- am not here to talk about these aforementioned assessments nor I am here to talk about the schizophrenia nature of the colonial cloning of African people in the three different mix of personalities-her indigenous reconfiguring, her westernalized modeling, and the christened or Islamiazation of her psyches, thus distorting the values, morals and notion of what is right and wrong. That damage had been done and is look ever more irreparable as we sink deeper into the belly of neo-colonialism. Instead am here to bring to the fold a revelation of a different species living in the midst of our huge ethnic diversity. These folks are not outcast, excluded mutants or castaway herd some cultures might want to call the untouchables; far from it. Odd as it might begin to sound, I happen to belong to this group of people. We might be regarded as minorities, but we are not endangered, we might also be regarded as radically different but we are apparently endearing if you get the time to really study us. If you don’t belong to this group, then you would have one way or the other come across these special ones. Seldom are they obvious for avoidance of been labeled bizarre. 

I hope you’re aware that some people way of life or lifestyle gives the impression that there seems to be a daily mixed up in the heaven or perhaps whoever is assigned the teleporting of babies to their intended earthly destinations is always caught napping at his desk. And whether this daily occurrence is deliberate or not, I wouldn’t know. But I do believe that the partitioning of the earthlier on nationality lines is not visible to the heavenly, nor visible on racial lines or so I want to believe. Anyways…children teleported to these supposedly mistaken wombs, while growing up seems to take up traits and experiences quite alien to the norms of their origin but right at place with another culture as close quarter.

This seemingly cross- pollination will leave you wondering if such individuals had previously lived a life in such culture or environment and in their second or many other coming reincarnations, they keep experiencing a sense of dejavu of belonging to that other tribe where it seems they’d once lived and probably procreated. And more also, they easily roam freely in the heart of this adopted land effortlessly like there very own kind. A tour, I mean just a tour to such to a place for such a person might end up as home-coming, a long sojourning and most possibly a final resting place. After all, the road to happiness starts with finding a place of belonging. Not only that, in some cases their physical appearance can attest to this lingering mystery. And for this latter am going to put myself on the spotlight.

Is comforting for me to be looked at as an enigmatic creature, devoid of classification as my appearance and lifestyle suggests. But it can be scary when that oddity throws me, its owner into outright confusion and baffling self-assessments. Is no surprising to me of my surprises to other peoples’ surprises. Have I confused you enough?

What I’m saying is that some people are simply born outside the box of what their culture adjudged as beliefs, thought systems, and norms of acceptable fixed behavioural patterns as I am. So is no surprising for those who know me well enough, when ask to defined me in one word, always come up with ‘different’ or ‘odd.’ If considering my many trivialities like my unyielding support for the less fancied Liverpool Fc, my Iconic love for the American novelist and the king of macabre- Stephen King, and that am yet to tune low the loud rock music I love banging my head to as odd for what is common place, well that just happen to be an abridged version of my whole oddities. Now let me tell you about a signboard ubiquitous to my daily journey down the adult road. Baffling yet, these signboard has a uniformed emblazoned of a peculiar sun that shines on me always-- and what do you know, is a half of a yellow sun.

There’s a mysterious connectivity I seem to share with a distance tribe where I have no discernable ancestral or linage inheritance to…so it seems. But I’m fascinated on just how and why I orbit delightfully into anything and everything Igbo. A linger fascination that always bring me to the perennial arguments wrestles over the factuality of the phenomenon of reincarnation or the transmigrations of the souls--transcending beyond time and space and ultimately over the periphery of our superficial erected barriers and realm of our preconceived confinements. Whichever side of the fence you might choose to sit on the argument, my personal experiences with these Igbos people- (strangers in the melting pot called Lagos) who keep welcoming me with opened arms, love and good wishes-hold enough water for me to believed that maybe I had once lived a life among these wonderful people. And guess what, I am not alone as I’ve and continue to compare notes with others who share in my Igbo sentiments.

While the same breeds like myself flirts with other tribes of our huge ethnic diversity and vice-versa and might as well as mutate their identity through spoken languages and lifestyle adoptions. My own affinity or spiritual romance with more Igbo friends, foods, culture and their beautiful women is amazingly waxing stronger to the point where people are just compel to ask me “you are Igbo…right?” you are not Yoruba abi?” You only need to scroll through the contacts on my phone to wonder if the phone belongs to an Igbo fellow. A cursory poke at my music play-list or a listen in on my ringstone will make you marvel. I’m always grappling with the sense of out of place I felt whenever I find my self in the midst of Yoruba people. Why am automatically at ease around the Igbo people and less gregarious around my Yoruba people, this…I don’t know. Maybe I must have been DNA configured in Aba for a woman to get me chuckling “na who between your papa and mama played away match?” and to which I replied “of course my dad”
                                                   

Though I grew up mixing with different tribes during the 80s, but the awareness of my love for the Igbos became conscious during the 90’s when I happen to read a journal during my secondary days about an historical account portraying the never-say-die-spirit of the Igbo people struggling in the then old capital of Nigeria. It hurt till today that I never had the grace to recall the article’s title, the author, or which of our national dailies it was published in. It was a full length article running on almost three pages chronicling the lives of the Igbos before and after surviving the civil war. The article also highlighted in great detail the industrial hiatus the then capital of the old Nigeria experienced at the Igbos absence. It’s quite amazing for a people that had experienced such horror of war and starvation in Biafra and came back to start life afresh and few years down the line they’ve resurface to do even better in the same Lagos than previously perceived. Is superhuman to say the least.  But what pivoted my sense of belonging more among the Igbos was when I got slapped with the truth in the fiction of ‘Half of a yellow sun’ by Chimanda Ngozi Adieche. I can’t start telling you the guilt I felt reading that book as a new generation Nigerian. A guilt that must have similar resonates like the likes of a new generation tusk reading the genocide of the Armenias or as a young American reading the systematic eradication of the red Indians.   

The Igbos holds a special place in my heart and no matter their imperfections or how hard other tribes try to bust her bubbles I will continue to remain charmed by her zone. A zone bolstering with a never-say-die dynamism, a can do spirit, an accommodating adjustments and most bewildering yet, her resonating influence of the making out extraordinary possibilities out of the ordinary. A thick skin borne out of her rebirth after the war.

I won’t pretend that I haven’t heard my Yoruba people (most especially the elders) who’d hold the Igbos in discreet contempt and long standing phobias that boarder on preconceived misconceptions and bias that Igbo people untiringly lusts and acquire money through scary diabolic means. They also considered them cunningly overambitious, rounded arrogant set of people, lacking respect, remotely cannibalistic in nature and are troublesome tenants who’d rather pay a lawyer against the landlord instead of paying up their rents. Some Yoruba, for been a business victim to some unscrupulous transactions, (an ordeal not peculiar to just a region and which doesn’t undermine also the presence of angels therein) will discourage in strong term a union of marriage between these two ethnic giants. As a Yoruba dude, whose best friend, Godfather, and women are all Igbos, it saddens me when I see public boards declare inconspicuously “no Igbos’ to house vacancies. I’m not quite sure people who held prejudices of any form towards tribes other than theirs can be helped, nor will I try to sway them over. I’m just highlighting the red-tapes beneath our supposed integrating federalism.

It’s a common believe that beauty is in the eye of the beholder and that one man’s poison is another man’s meat. These popular adages bring me now to the crux of this piece- Falling madly, truly and deeply in love with the Igbo beauty. That kind of beauty that stutters the heart, that moist the palms with sweating, and leaves ‘yours truly’ stomach fill butterflies wouldn’t be complete if such beauty is not carved out of the Igbo ribs.

On personal choice and taste, I like them my women busty, round, light skinned, charming and cultured. But most importantly, I loved them Igbo sealed. With my trusted and reliable natural detecting radar, it wouldn’t be a hectic of a thing fishing out Igbo queens among the motley of Naija beautiful women arranged, that’s in spite of the Igbo language that am yet to fully grasp. I readily connect beginning chemistries and physical intimacies whenever I chat up with Igbo ladies no matter the class or status. And whether their sensual physique is infrared enabled or personality blue-toothed enabled, my connectivity is at most time viable and only suffers few technical hitches during link ups. When I told my mama (though nursing a diminishing Igbo reservations, which boarder on In laws considerations) that my chemistry with Igbo ladies was effortlessly and mutual, she never believe me until at least five different Omalichas pay me visitation in the spate of two weeks, then she starts to take me serious. Whether flamboyantly sophisticated, elegantly simplified or stylishly ordinary they never fail to turn up my dial or get my antenna buzzing. Believed it or not, two of my lovely Igbo honeys buzzed my line while I was composing this piece.

That reminds me of an incident I got caught up in and which nearly ended up in a brawl during my undergraduate days in school. You guess over whom? Over an Igbo gal of course. I happened to have toasted up a beautiful girl already falling to my spells until it turns out that gal belong to a guy who was of the same gene with mine. After coming out of the near brawl as friends we get to know that we (both of Yoruba origin, though he’s part Edo) have a special preference for Igbo girls. And we both remained addicted on continuing our soul searching under the colourful spectrums of her half yellow sun. Men! Talk about meeting your own ‘tasteful’ kind.

I bet the cynic, right about now, will tell me that I can romance all I want and in no way am I going to be an Igbo person like the real Igbos, even If I get to live a thousand years. Well, I can only be truth to myself as the English poet, John Keats put it Ode on a Grecian Urn:
                     

           “Beauty is truth, truth beauty, that is all ye know on earth and all ye needs to know”.

The truth that my heart belongs to the Igbos and that the truth of that love is reciprocates; then the cynic can go ahead and say all they want. And for those who wouldn’t endorse my sentiments and might probably labeled me not bravery enough to let out of my shell, Well I can only take a cue from the dinosaur of Manchester united-Ryan Giggs and the most decorated player in the English Premiership league. Smart as Giggs is, he would rather continue to enjoy success where he’d find easy purchase than become a limbo in another big football club. That my Igbo ladies had through their loving molded me into a romantic Lionel Messi, I’ll be crazy to not to stick with that where my swagger dazzles and make the mistake of proceeding to become a bench warmer in a place where my toasting skills is of less efficacy. Tufiakwa!

Besides the altar is getting nearer, so also is my trophy. To my Ohaneaze council of elders “Igbo Kwenu sirs. To my bothers “Igbo Kwenu

And to my loving Omalichas “Kwenu kisses”

Lanre Malik

nigerianidiots..com

;DWelcome to the Classroom!

So let me ask you…
What does the classroom mean to you. Please don’t go giving me all that teenage Textbooks definition crap about a class room consisting of desks and chair, a blackboard and is where the teacher teaches us, bla, bla, bla…please, please. If that’s all you have as a graduate, then you are a monumental disgrace to your years of schooling.

We are not kindergarten students nor are we primary or secondary students. Since we all agreed that we are adults who knows their left from their right, defining the classroom and its purposes shouldn’t be rocket science, abi? On a more serious note… it’s commonly agreed that the classroom is a daily ritual opulent with the exchanging of knowledge through teaching and learning and it’s the only gathering among our national arrangements that is by a certain degree, bereft of any ethnic preferential treatment. Is a distinct gathering of cross-cultural pollination of ideas that had continued to be graced both by the dead and living scholars, inventors, reformers and leaders of any time or generations. It is also believe what the classrooms is to the whole institution is what the studio Mike is to the radio station. And no matter how magnificent the structures the schools erects, the classroom still remains the soul of its existence and essence.

It’s reckoned as the only direct link between the students and the school’s representatives in form of the lecturers and professors. Both the students and the lecturers make up the classroom, but with given rules and regulation guiding how and what is been taught. So the relationships existing among the students and also between the teachers and the school authority at large shapes and moulds the perception of how we all identify with what we call the classroom.

I ask yet again, what does the classroom really mean to you? What kind of feelings envelopes you each time you step in and when you exit it? I can assure you the classroom, in spite of its undisputed essence and its non-negotiable academic stands, means different things to different people. While some students sees it as a venue of channeling knowledge, others sees it as a rendezvous of sorts and don’t tell me others don’t see it as torture chambers as well. Folks who belong to the latter category would rather avoid classes as much as possible for reasons best known to them. And another thing, you’ll need to put a gun to their head to make them enter a class already in session or jam-packed. For these shy hobbits walking in through the entry door is like stepping on a detected land mine or facing a firing squad.

Let clarify something here. The juicy crux of this piece on the classroom is not about the curriculum, the grades or the teaching contents, no sir. Rather emphasis is place on how to uncloak the attitudes towards aforementioned above. Like I said I’m less concerned about the activities of learning but more concern about the mood of those people who have the reason to be there.

Before I get into the nitty-gritty of what goes on in the classroom, let me be upfront with you in my admission that it is not going to be easy capturing the accurate dealing that resonates in the class…but I will give it a try. So what other activities apart from teaching and learning go on in this unique confinement? Boy-oh-boy. Whalai, a lot. A lot dey happen for inside classroom no be small…

As a graduate of the mother of all discipline, Philosophy, my class is all I have to make a reference of when discussing the classroom. And philosophy been a special course and best among its teeming equals, my classroom, has more push ups to offer because we disagree to agree.

But do we really agree? Do students get along with each other talk less of the teachers. Please examine these comments made by my teachers and see if they by any chance sum up the mood in class.

“You people are not serious! You can go to the saloon and make hair of 3.000 naira, you can buy N1.000 naira phone recharge card and you can go clubbing and buy ticket shows all over Lagos and yet you cannot buy books that will better your academic life…” Dr. Ndubuisi.

How about this one “I’m sure some of you, as old as you are, your parent nags, force and sometimes flog you to come to school and call me to keep an eye on you if at all you enter classes…” Dr. Ogbinaka.

Try this one too “…no wonder, you guys don’t think at all. Think, think, use your head”… Dr. Okoro.
I think you will like this one better, is my favorite “if I hear a phone ring in this class again, that will be the end of this lecture, scalawags!” Dr. Anele.
Can you now see the direction I am driving at? If you do, then welcome to the classroom…where its philosophy reads ‘No gut, no glory!’

Reality
The classroom is in which ever form or arrangement is laid out, it has a lot going for it as a unique confinement where all sorts of things both official and unofficial happens. At first glance, the classroom looks like a gallery or an exhibition centre where statements are meant to be made and high class accessories are meant to be display like glamorous gathering of Nollywood stars looking all rosy on the red carpet. It’s a colourful arrangement principally decorated by both the ‘bend down select’ and the sliding glass boutiques, for its entrenched we come in looking at our utmost best--our style, our ways, any question? Question on why you see lecturers grinning like kids in a candy store while staring riveted from the pulpit surveying for their favourites. Please don’t ask me what I meant by ‘favourites’ your number 6 is not there for nothing, so use it to decode it……

If you wish to read more of this articles and more click--www.nigerianidiots..com

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Where exactly is Unilag FM?
My chronicle of Hostel Life
Nigeria according to Tom Cruise

Where exactly is Unilag FM?

As an ardent listener of Radio programs on our besieged airwave, I’m always fascinated with what really makes one station ordinary, the other extraordinary and another super extraordinary. A typical morning in Lagos, (the haven of noisy activities) starts with our FM wave thrown into a contending frenzy as Radio stations embark on a wooing or ‘soul-winning campaigns. And as expected, the listening populace must be having hard times deciding on a permanent choice of a station in our ever expanding airwave. Though there are evidences of more concentration of preference with some stations than others.

So I ask again, what indeed makes one Radio station the people’s favourite, the other not? What brought about the arrangement of hierarchy? What makes listeners tune their dial to a particular station all throughout the day(s) and give less thought on what’s going on the other side of the dial? What makes a début station wins over the hearts of a larger section of the listening audiences and swayed them over. What makes a Radio station rank to the ‘rave-of-the- moment’ status and becomes the targets of commercial pursuits by sponsors and advertising agents lobbying for her to surrender more slots to have share of business dealings with. What right amount of ingredients thrown in can leave the listeners calling for more? Is it more about music and less talk, or the right kind of talk to the right kind of ears? Or is it the witty and savvy skill of her presenters or is it the content of programming that can elevates the status of a radio station to be formidable one in our airwave that is becoming more competitive?

A case could be made of the arguably, the king of the Nigerian Radio airwaves. Mr. Dan Foster, who, if left to be argue was then the reason behind Cool FM’s mammoth of attention as early as dawn break through the Lagos sky. I doff my heart for his distinct Radio personality. And good to his professionalism, he has been able to not only carry along his numerous fans through the transition of his professional loyalty but had continued to inspire more to the fray in the Inspiration FM. Mind you, not only as a presenter alone but also as a member of directorate of programming.

As a big fan of his morning breakfast show, I could be held accountable for what I thought I heard him said on his show some years back about his dissatisfaction with directorate of programming at a Federal university radio station, in his opinion was lacking the essential ingredients of competing variably well with the respectful ones in our ever expanding airwave. He made a disparity assertion with that of a particular college Radio station in the United State….around the Washington areas if my memory had not been malignantly corrupted. I could remember him then in the Cool FM studio arguing that the students at the institution should be at the helm of affairs like programming, appropriate program slotting, solicitations, sponsor sorting and attitude formation that will invariably influence out its themes, outlook, values and uniqueness.

…, so what is wrong if the management at the station turns Unilag FM into a melting pot of converging and clashing of ideas? What is wrong in recruiting her staff from the vast array of its Faculty and Departments? What is wrong in having a fixed rotational quota among representatives from different Departments taking over the studio Mike between lecture free periods? What about having i.e. a Philosophy day, Law, engineering, economics day? Days when their chosen representatives are bombarded with questions about their chosen field of study and their relevance and contributions to National development are critically assessed.

what is wrong in having a bit a fanfare, like debates among the geniuses from different fronts slugging out the issues affecting the youths both in the campus and outside the four walls of our institutions. What about having interactive session on issues that bothers on the youth restlessness like peer group palaver, crimes, relationships, Gender issues, material cravings, politics, career choice and the unpredictable nature of the labour market or having a gang of intelligent correspondents spicing things up with juicy reporting, gossips and sneaks into the going on in classrooms, Departments, and hostels. Abeg someone should call Unilag FM from the sky and make originality out of her. Let her speak in a language that is strictly youth. Shee …,

If you wish to read more of this articles and more click on--www.nigerianidiots..com

Check out these other interesting articles:
What has G.P got to do with?
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Where exactly is Unilag FM?
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;DMy chronicle of Hostel Life

Please allow me a of bit indulgence. Actually I feel like laughing, would you permit me please, ok, thanks. I know you’ll understand. Here I go…laugh…laugh… laughs……I hope I don’t get choke on this as I normally do.
Sorry about that. Please accept my apology while I dab at the tears running down my face. Chuckle…laughs… And I hope you too wouldn’t have to apologize to the people around you by time you’re getting to finish reading this piece.

Laugh…laughs. This is the silly stunt I do sometime on my own without any funny thing physically around or said. And as expected from the loving people around me especially my mom at home will rush at me with a troubled face only to change to a scowl after she discovered that I’ve plunged once again into the garbage I returned with me after finish schooling.

Sometimes it get so serious where I will be writhing with laughter on the floor, kicking up steps, saliva stringing slowly down from my mouth like an slowpoke and before I knew what’s going on, a congregation of  probing eyes would have assemble in front of me to see if I had jumped over the fence of sanity. If you’re fresh graduate like I am, maybe you’ll understand the reasons behind these drifting episodes of mine. Because I’m sure you will also have yours to fool around with.

Now that I’ve gain a gloss of composure, let me let you in on what is so funny because I know you will be wondering?  But first let me ask you this- do you remember a popular comedy sitcom on NTA 2 channel 5 during the early 90’s about the college lives of some students called “A different world” yeah, do you remember that one, oh, you do? Very good. It’s not the show that I’m particular about; it is the title that puts this write-up you’re reading into a proper context.

One good thing about been a graduate is that you have your self the gift of (TBT) Travelling-Back-in-Time look at your past fours years or more with laughter extraordinary.  If you have a retentive memory or the power of vivid recalls, or better still, sudden happenings that somehow relive your past life in school, it is possible you might have yourself moments where you’ll explode with uncontrollable laughing feasts that will leave tears running down your cheeks, leaves you doubling up and if not careful, find yourself sprawling on the floor eating dust as your ribs quakes along.

The phrase “A different world” in this chronicle of mine means ‘a melting pot of converging madness’ and I can’t think of a better title or phrase to explaining the life in the school campus. Is very much close to what one of my lecturer said “the four walls of tertiary institutions is a rehab centre for the restless youths, that is why whenever there is strike action that force the students back home, parents will be the first set of protesters to get their sick kids back to where they belong”.
Apologies to the Late African music Legend himself, Fela Anikulapo Kuti “students dey come from east, students dey come from west, students dey come from north, students dey come from south and University dey for centre, na confusion be that ooo”.

That the higher institutions is a rehabilitating centers as my lecturer will like to point out, then incoming students will of course be coming with luggage of bad influences than good--like a tornado of an inevitable backlashes of cultures then you know the school has in it’s hands one heck of a job rehabilitating a whole range of scrubs, losers, aliens, nitwits and scalawags to be of good educated citizens at the end of it all.

The school atmosphere has a different kind of sky arch above it. Even the weather man cannot predict its distinct climate conditions because is an atmosphere charged with ‘anything goes’ For new comers or jambitoes making a debut to starting the life in the school campus let them be rest assured that no matter how small or insignificant or far off an influence it might be, once it sneaks into their province, whether go or bad, as the popular Gospel jingoes go “come, come, your life will never be the same again”.

If you wish to read more of this articles and more click on--www.nigerianidiots..com

Check out these other interesting articles:
What has G.P got to do with?
Welcome to the classroom
Where exactly is Unilag FM?
My chronicle of Hostel Life
Nigeria according to Tom Cruise

welcome to the Classroom

So let me ask you…
What does the classroom mean to you. Please don’t go giving me all that teenage Textbooks definition crap about a class room consisting of desks and chair, a blackboard and is where the teacher teaches us, bla, bla, bla…please, please. If that’s all you have as a graduate, then you are a monumental disgrace to your years of schooling.

We are not kindergarten students nor are we primary or secondary students. Since we all agreed that we are adults who knows their left from their right, defining the classroom and its purposes shouldn’t be rocket science, abi? On a more serious note… it’s commonly agreed that the classroom is a daily ritual opulent with the exchanging of knowledge through teaching and learning and it’s the only gathering among our national arrangements that is by a certain degree, bereft of any ethnic preferential treatment. Is a distinct gathering of cross-cultural pollination of ideas that had continued to be graced both by the dead and living scholars, inventors, reformers and leaders of any time or generations.

It is also believe what the classrooms is to the whole institution is what the studio Mike is to the radio station. And no matter how magnificent the structures the schools erects, the classroom still remains the soul of its existence and essence. It’s reckoned as the only direct link between the students and the school’s representatives in form of the lecturers and professors. Both the students and the lecturers make up the classroom, but with given rules and regulation guiding how and what is been taught. So the relationships existing among the students and also between the teachers and the school authority at large shapes and moulds the perception of how we all identify with what we call the classroom.

I ask yet again, what does the classroom really mean to you? What kind of feelings envelopes you each time you step in and when you exit it? I can assure you the classroom, in spite of its undisputed essence and its non-negotiable academic stands, means different things to different people. While some students sees it as a venue of channeling knowledge, others sees it as a rendezvous of sorts and don’t tell me others don’t see it as torture chambers as well. Folks who belong to the latter category would rather avoid classes as much as possible for reasons best known to them. And another thing, you’ll need to put a gun to their head to make them enter a class already in session or jam-packed. For these shy hobbits walking in through the entry door is like stepping on a detected land mine or facing a firing squad.

Let clarify something here. The juicy crux of this piece on the classroom is not about the curriculum, the grades or the teaching contents, no sir. Rather emphasis is place on how to uncloak the attitudes towards aforementioned above. Like I said I’m less concerned about the activities of learning but more concern about the mood of those people who have the reason to be there.

Before I get into the nitty-gritty of what goes on in the classroom, let me be upfront with you in my admission that it is not going to be easy capturing the accurate dealing that resonates in the class…but I will give it a try. So what other activities apart from teaching and learning go on in this unique confinement? Boy-oh-boy. Whalai, a lot. A lot dey happen for inside classroom no be small…

As a graduate of the mother of all discipline, Philosophy, my class is all I have to make a reference of when discussing the classroom. And philosophy been a special course and best among its teeming equals, my classroom, has more push ups to offer because we disagree to agree.

But do we really agree? Do students get along with each other talk less of the teachers. Please examine these comments made by my teachers and see if they by any chance sum up the mood in class.

“You people are not serious! You can go to the saloon and make hair of 3.000 naira, you can buy N1.000 naira phone recharge card and you can go clubbing and buy ticket shows all over Lagos and yet you cannot buy books that will better your academic life…” Dr. Ndubuisi.

How about this one “I’m sure some of you, as old as you are, your parent nags, force and sometimes flog you to come to school and call me to keep an eye on you if at all you enter classes…” Dr. Ogbinaka.
Try this one too “…no wonder, you guys don’t think at all. Think, think, use your head”… Dr. Okoro.
I think you will like this one better, is my favorite “if I hear a phone ring in this class again, that will be the end of this lecture, scalawags!” Dr. Anele.

Can you now see the direction I am driving at? If you do, then welcome to the classroom…where its philosophy reads ‘No gut, no glory!’

Reality
The classroom is in which ever form or arrangement is laid out, it has a lot going for it as a unique confinement where all sorts of things both official and unofficial happens. At first glance, the classroom looks like a gallery or an exhibition centre where statements are meant to be made and high class accessories are meant to be display like glamorous gathering of Nollywood stars looking all rosy on the red carpet. It’s a colourful arrangement principally decorated by both the ‘bend down select’ and the sliding glass boutiques, for its entrenched we come in looking at our utmost best--our style, our ways, any question? Question on why you see lecturers grinning like kids in a candy store while staring riveted from the pulpit surveying for their favourites. Please don’t ask me what I meant by ‘favourites’ your number 6 is not there for nothing, so use it to decode it……

If you wish to read more of this articles and more click--www.nigerianidiots..com

Check out these other interesting articles:
What has G.P got to do with?
Welcome to the classroom
Where exactly is Unilag FM?
My chronicle of Hostel Life
Nigeria according to Tom Cruise

Welcome to the Classroom

So let me ask you…
What does the classroom mean to you. Please don’t go giving me all that teenage Textbooks definition crap about a class room consisting of desks and chair, a blackboard and is where the teacher teaches us, bla, bla, bla…please, please. If that’s all you have as a graduate, then you are a monumental disgrace to your years of schooling.

We are not kindergarten students nor are we primary or secondary students. Since we all agreed that we are adults who knows their left from their right, defining the classroom and its purposes shouldn’t be rocket science, abi? On a more serious note… it’s commonly agreed that the classroom is a daily ritual opulent with the exchanging of knowledge through teaching and learning and it’s the only gathering among our national arrangements that is by a certain degree, bereft of any ethnic preferential treatment. Is a distinct gathering of cross-cultural pollination of ideas that had continued to be graced both by the dead and living scholars, inventors, reformers and leaders of any time or generations.

It is also believe what the classrooms is to the whole institution is what the studio Mike is to the radio station. And no matter how magnificent the structures the schools erects, the classroom still remains the soul of its existence and essence. It’s reckoned as the only direct link between the students and the school’s representatives in form of the lecturers and professors. Both the students and the lecturers make up the classroom, but with given rules and regulation guiding how and what is been taught. So the relationships existing among the students and also between the teachers and the school authority at large shapes and moulds the perception of how we all identify with what we call the classroom.

I ask yet again, what does the classroom really mean to you? What kind of feelings envelopes you each time you step in and when you exit it? I can assure you the classroom, in spite of its undisputed essence and its non-negotiable academic stands, means different things to different people. While some students sees it as a venue of channeling knowledge, others sees it as a rendezvous of sorts and don’t tell me others don’t see it as torture chambers as well. Folks who belong to the latter category would rather avoid classes as much as possible for reasons best known to them. And another thing, you’ll need to put a gun to their head to make them enter a class already in session or jam-packed. For these shy hobbits walking in through the entry door is like stepping on a detected land mine or facing a firing squad.

Let clarify something here. The juicy crux of this piece on the classroom is not about the curriculum, the grades or the teaching contents, no sir. Rather emphasis is place on how to uncloak the attitudes towards aforementioned above. Like I said I’m less concerned about the activities of learning but more concern about the mood of those people who have the reason to be there.

Before I get into the nitty-gritty of what goes on in the classroom, let me be upfront with you in my admission that it is not going to be easy capturing the accurate dealing that resonates in the class…but I will give it a try. So what other activities apart from teaching and learning go on in this unique confinement? Boy-oh-boy. Whalai, a lot. A lot dey happen for inside classroom no be small…

As a graduate of the mother of all discipline, Philosophy, my class is all I have to make a reference of when discussing the classroom. And philosophy been a special course and best among its teeming equals, my classroom, has more push ups to offer because we disagree to agree.

But do we really agree? Do students get along with each other talk less of the teachers. Please examine these comments made by my teachers and see if they by any chance sum up the mood in class.

“You people are not serious! You can go to the saloon and make hair of 3.000 naira, you can buy N1.000 naira phone recharge card and you can go clubbing and buy ticket shows all over Lagos and yet you cannot buy books that will better your academic life…”  Dr. Ndubuisi.

How about this one “I’m sure some of you, as old as you are, your parent nags, force and sometimes flog you to come to school and call me to keep an eye on you if at all you enter classes…”  Dr. Ogbinaka.
Try this one too “…no wonder, you guys don’t think at all. Think, think, use your head”… Dr. Okoro.
I think you will like this one better, is my favorite “if I hear a phone ring in this class again, that will be the end of this lecture, scalawags!” Dr. Anele.

Can you now see the direction I am driving at? If you do, then welcome to the classroom…where its philosophy reads ‘No gut, no glory!’ 

                                          Reality
The classroom is in which ever form or arrangement is laid out, it has a lot going for it as a unique confinement where all sorts of things both official and unofficial happens. At first glance, the classroom looks like a gallery or an exhibition centre where statements are meant to be made and high class accessories are meant to be display like glamorous gathering of Nollywood stars looking all rosy on the red carpet. It’s a colourful arrangement principally decorated by both the ‘bend down select’ and the sliding glass boutiques, for its entrenched we come in looking at our utmost best--our style, our ways, any question? Question on why you see lecturers grinning like kids in a candy store while staring riveted from the pulpit surveying for their favourites. Please don’t ask me what I meant by ‘favourites’ your number 6 is not there for nothing, so use it to decode it……

If you wish to read more of this articles and more click--www.nigerianidiots..com

Check out these other interesting articles:
What has G.P got to do with?
Welcome to the classroom
Where exactly is Unilag FM?
My chronicle of Hostel Life
Nigeria according to Tom Cruise

RGB Africa Photography is an international event targeted towards-Training, Exhibition, Trade Fair and Tourism.

RGB Africa is intended to educate, inform and develop the general participator in the photography industry. Also to develop the industry in the entire continent as the event ‘RGB AFRICA’ is schedule to go round Africa.

You are invited to the Stakeholders’ Meeting/Press Conference,
Schedule for April 28th 2009, By 10a.m prompt to keep you abreast of the developments.

We will hold a preliminary exhibition and training from April 28th - May 1st, 2009
Venue: Seasons of Life Hall, Plot 71, Block 3, Omole Layout, Isheri Road, Ojodu, Ikeja, Lagos.

For more Info contact: The co-ordinator Mr.Raphael- 08023018467, 018537630

RGB Africa Photography is an international event targeted towards Training, Exhibition, Trade Fair and Tourism.

RGB Africa is intended to educate, inform and develop the general participator in the photography industry. Also to develop the industry in the entire continent as the event ‘RGB AFRICA’ is schedule to go round Africa.

You are invited to the Stakeholders’ Meeting/Press Conference,
Schedule for April 28th 2009, By 10a.m prompt to keep you abreast of the developments.

We will hold a preliminary exhibition and training from April 28th - May 1st, 2009
Venue: Seasons of Life Hall, Plot 71, Block 3, Omole Layout, Isheri Road, Ojodu, Ikeja, Lagos.

For more info contact: The co-ordinator Raphael on 08023018467, 018537630