₦airaland Forum

JAMB question or WAEC narrative essay, which one?

@sinie
I want to beleive that this story is fictious because its too outrageous to be true. I mean, op you sound like a rational person so i dont know what you were expecting. You said yourslef that the girl is known for her dealings with Abuja big boys. Of course she wanted money. Girl like her wont settle for anything less, naturally she ll feel betrayed if she discovers you deceived her. You know i always tell my male freinds, you cannot eat your cake and have it, you dont expect to make a runs babe fall for you when you have nothing. If you want to go for a classy girl then dont expect to lay back fold hands and do nothing, she ll dump you so fast your head will spin, its what you put in you get, if you had gone to pick her up epecting to see a hot chick but instead saw one mgbeke, maybe the pixs you saw were properly cropped and edited and the clothes she used for them were borrowed, then its ok if you take her to amala joint and expect her to clean your house and the rest. But you said it yourself she s a hot chick, that was probably the first time of her been in such a place, of course she ll be thoroughly dissappointed, i mean we all want to move forward not backwards. How can she go from Abuja big boys to lagos tout. She ll probably be wondering the kind of dirty girls you ve brought home on that same bed u expect her to sleep in(i know i would). The onyl reason she s attracted to you is your status you should be grateful for that, not scorn her for it. You said there are girls that will love you even if you actually as poor as you pretended to be,ask yourself what class of girls? Cos beleive me if you see a [b]classy beautiful girl [/b]with a pauper then there s more to than meets d eye. Its not just about been provided for its about been with someone who is presentable. Even if you dont trip her and splash with money at least have the decency to clean your house properly and take care of yourself in prepartion for her visit. If this story is true i can only conclude that you dont respect her and you dont even like her much if not you wont give her the impression that she s not important enough for you to prepare properly for her visit. She evn helped you clean, beleive me if she s a saint. If it were me, i spend the night in a hotel and i wont come into your home until you clean it properly. Call me a snub and i ll call you a pig,


Classy chics = Aristo chics/gold diggers ?? I beg to differ!
Wrong choice of words, perhaps?

@Omar22I was just stating my opinion and feelings. Don't disrespect me by using the word "shush" on me. Like you said:

- "The last time I checked Dev Patel is a London boy acting in English sitcoms" - He has Indian parents and has some exposure to the Indian culture after all wasn't he rapping the language all the way in the movie? *duh* The fact he lives elsewhere doesn't change the fact that he is of the Indian heritage.

- "Freida is from a Portuguese decendant living in India" - She lives in India, and therefore, has been immersed in the culture. The babe is of Portuguese descent but was bred in India so could pass as one.

- "Now lets talk about the Indians used, we are talking about Bollywood stars" - Nollywood stars not good enough??

I change my mind about the disrespect statement I made earlier. Now I think you should 'shush' since logical reasoning is not your forte!!

Some people claim it's all about the money and making the Oscars. What about Slumdog Millionaire? It was directed by a foreigner but with the local actors/ actresses. He even used their local dialects for the movie with English subtitles. The movie grossed in a lotta dough and won prestigious awards, no?

What is wrong with using our own people to portray the characters in the book, whether the director be British or American? I believe with good production and direction, the movie would be beyond amazing. Using the Igbo dialect with English subtitles is also not a bad idea.

I'm really not hating on the rumored actor and actresses, but I believe this is a rare opportunity to showcase our people. Yes, Nollywood should have thought of it first instead of being cheap, but hey, they didn't. Still it's a Nigerian setting with Nigerian characters speaking a Nigerian language. I know we have great Nigerian talents out there (some have not been scouted), but most are seen in a bad light due to poor direction and production.

All the OP is saying (and myself included) is if you're going to produce a Nigerian movie, what better actors to use than the indigenes themselves who are already immersed in the culture whether Igbo, Edo, or Delta. I'm not losing sleep over it but Chimamanda should speak up!!

Just read this article online. Really got my attn 'cos it's a question that's always delved deep in my mind on why we young intellectuals don't return home after our education abroad and impart our knowledge into the Nigerian soil. I believe if a thousand of us (or more) from different fields and background return home and take control of the different reins like educational, financial, agricultural, technological, and medical arenas there will be progress. Just a thought!

MIND OF MALAKA
They call the Third World the lazy man’s purview; the sluggishly slothful and languorous prefecture. In this realm people are sleepy, dreamy, torpid, lethargic, and therefore indigent—totally penniless, needy, destitute, poverty-stricken, disfavored, and impoverished. In this demesne, as they call it, there are hardly any discoveries, inventions, and innovations. Africa is the trailblazer. Some still call it “the dark continent” for the light that flickers under the tunnel is not that of hope, but an approaching train. And because countless keep waiting in the way of the train, millions die and many more remain decapitated by the day.

“It’s amazing how you all sit there and watch yourselves die,” the man next to me said. “Get up and do something about it.”

Brawny, fully bald-headed, with intense, steely eyes, he was as cold as they come. When I first discovered I was going to spend my New Year’s Eve next to him on a non-stop JetBlue flight from Los Angeles to Boston I was angst-ridden. I associate marble-shaven Caucasians with iconoclastic skin-heads, most of who are racist.

“My name is Walter,” he extended his hand as soon as I settled in my seat.

I told him mine with a precautious smile.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“Zambia.”

“Zambia!” he exclaimed, “Kaunda’s country.”

“Yes,” I said, “Now Sata’s.”

“But of course,” he responded. “You just elected King Cobra as your president.”

My face lit up at the mention of Sata’s moniker. Walter smiled, and in those cold eyes I saw an amenable fellow, one of those American highbrows who shuttle between Africa and the U.S.

“I spent three years in Zambia in the 1980s,” he continued. “I wined and dined with Luke Mwananshiku, Willa Mungomba, Dr. Siteke Mwale, and many other highly intelligent Zambians.” He lowered his voice. “I was part of the IMF group that came to rip you guys off.” He smirked. “Your government put me in a million dollar mansion overlooking a shanty called Kalingalinga. From my patio I saw it all—the rich and the poor, the ailing, the dead, and the healthy.”

“Are you still with the IMF?” I asked.

“I have since moved to yet another group with similar intentions. In the next few months my colleagues and I will be in Lusaka to hypnotize the cobra. I work for the broker that has acquired a chunk of your debt. Your government owes not the World Bank, but us millions of dollars. We’ll be in Lusaka to offer your president a couple of millions and fly back with a check twenty times greater.”

“No, you won’t,” I said. “King Cobra is incorruptible. He is …”

He was laughing. “Says who? Give me an African president, just one, who has not fallen for the carrot and stick.”

Quett Masire’s name popped up.

“Oh, him, well, we never got to him because he turned down the IMF and the World Bank. It was perhaps the smartest thing for him to do.”

At midnight we were airborne. The captain wished us a happy 2012 and urged us to watch the fireworks across Los Angeles.

“Isn’t that beautiful,” Walter said looking down.

From my middle seat, I took a glance and nodded admirably.

“That’s white man’s country,” he said. “We came here on Mayflower and turned Indian land into a paradise and now the most powerful nation on earth. We discovered the bulb, and built this aircraft to fly us to pleasure resorts like Lake Zambia.”

I grinned. “There is no Lake Zambia.”

He curled his lips into a smug smile. “That’s what we call your country. You guys are as stagnant as the water in the lake. We come in with our large boats and fish your minerals and your wildlife and leave morsels—crumbs. That’s your staple food, crumbs. That corn-meal you eat, that’s crumbs, the small Tilapia fish you call Kapenta is crumbs. We the Bwanas (whites) take the cat fish. I am the Bwana and you are the Muntu. I get what I want and you get what you deserve, crumbs. That’s what lazy people get—Zambians, Africans, the entire Third World.”

The smile vanished from my face.

“I see you are getting pissed off,” Walter said and lowered his voice. “You are thinking this Bwana is a racist. That’s how most Zambians respond when I tell them the truth. They go ballistic. Okay. Let’s for a moment put our skin pigmentations, this black and white crap, aside. Tell me, my friend, what is the difference between you and me?”

“There’s no difference.”

“Absolutely none,” he exclaimed. “Scientists in the Human Genome Project have proved that. It took them thirteen years to determine the complete sequence of the three billion DNA subunits. After they

were all done it was clear that 99.9% nucleotide bases were exactly the same in you and me. We are the same people. All white, Asian, Latino, and black people on this aircraft are the same.”

I gladly nodded.

“And yet I feel superior,” he smiled fatalistically. “Every white person on this plane feels superior to a black person. The white guy who picks up garbage, the homeless white trash on drugs, feels superior to you no matter his status or education. I can pick up a nincompoop from the New York streets, clean him up, and take him to Lusaka and you all be crowding around him chanting muzungu, muzungu and yet he’s a riffraff. Tell me why my angry friend.”

For a moment I was wordless.

“Please don’t blame it on slavery like the African Americans do, or colonialism, or some psychological impact or some kind of stigmatization. And don’t give me the brainwash poppycock. Give me a better answer.”

I was thinking.

He continued. “Excuse what I am about to say. Please do not take offense.”

I felt a slap of blood rush to my head and prepared for the worst.

“You my friend flying with me and all your kind are lazy,” he said. “When you rest your head on the pillow you don’t dream big. You and other so-called African intellectuals are damn lazy, each one of you. It is you, and not those poor starving people, who is the reason Africa is in such a deplorable state.”

“That’s not a nice thing to say,” I protested.

He was implacable. “Oh yes it is and I will say it again, you are lazy. Poor and uneducated Africans are the most hardworking people on earth. I saw them in the Lusaka markets and on the street selling merchandise. I saw them in villages toiling away. I saw women on Kafue Road crushing stones for sell and I wept. I said to myself where are the Zambian intellectuals? Are the Zambian engineers so imperceptive they cannot invent a simple stone crusher, or a simple water filter to purify well water for those poor villagers? Are you telling me that after thirty-seven years of independence your university school of engineering has not produced a scientist or an engineer who can make simple small machines for mass use? What is the school there for?”

I held my breath.

“Do you know where I found your intellectuals? They were in bars quaffing. They were at the Lusaka Golf Club, Lusaka Central Club, Lusaka Playhouse, and Lusaka Flying Club. I saw with my own eyes a bunch of alcoholic graduates. Zambian intellectuals work from eight to five and spend the evening drinking. We don’t. We reserve the evening for brainstorming.”

He looked me in the eye.

“And you flying to Boston and all of you Zambians in the Diaspora are just as lazy and apathetic to your country. You don’t care about your country and yet your very own parents, brothers and sisters are in Mtendere, Chawama, and in villages, all of them living in squalor. Many have died or are dying of neglect by you. They are dying of AIDS because you cannot come up with your own cure. You are here calling yourselves graduates, researchers and scientists and are fast at articulating your credentials once asked—oh, I have a PhD in this and that—PhD my foot!”

I was deflated.

“Wake up you all!” he exclaimed, attracting the attention of nearby passengers. “You should be busy lifting ideas, formulae, recipes, and diagrams from American manufacturing factories and sending them to your own factories. All those research findings and dissertation papers you compile should be your country’s treasure. Why do you think the Asians are a force to reckon with? They stole our ideas and turned them into their own. Look at Japan, China, India, just look at them.”

He paused. “The Bwana has spoken,” he said and grinned. “As long as you are dependent on my plane, I shall feel superior and you my friend shall remain inferior, how about that? The Chinese, Japanese, Indians, even Latinos are a notch better. You Africans are at the bottom of the totem pole.”

He tempered his voice. “Get over this white skin syndrome and begin to feel confident. Become innovative and make your own stuff for god’s sake.”

At 8 a.m. the plane touched down at Boston’s Logan International Airport. Walter reached for my hand.

“I know I was too strong, but I don’t give it a damn. I have been to Zambia and have seen too much poverty.” He pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled something. “Here, read this. It was written by a friend.”

He had written only the title: “Lords of Poverty.”

Thunderstruck, I had a sinking feeling. I watched Walter walk through the airport doors to a waiting car. He had left a huge dust devil twirling in my mind, stirring up sad memories of home. I could see Zambia’s literati—the cognoscente, intelligentsia, academics, highbrows, and scholars in the places he had mentioned guzzling and talking irrelevancies. I remembered some who have since passed—how they got the highest grades in mathematics and the sciences and attained the highest education on the planet. They had been to Harvard, Oxford, Yale, Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), only to leave us with not a single invention or discovery. I knew some by name and drunk with them at the Lusaka Playhouse and Central Sports.

Walter is right. It is true that since independence we have failed to nurture creativity and collective orientations. We as a nation lack a workhorse mentality and behave like 13 million civil servants dependent on a government pay cheque. We believe that development is generated 8-to-5 behind a desk wearing a tie with our degrees hanging on the wall. Such a working environment does not offer the opportunity for fellowship, the excitement of competition, and the spectacle of innovative rituals.

But the intelligentsia is not solely, or even mainly, to blame. The larger failure is due to political circumstances over which they have had little control. The past governments failed to create an environment of possibility that fosters camaraderie, rewards innovative ideas and encourages resilience. KK, Chiluba, Mwanawasa, and Banda embraced orthodox ideas and therefore failed to offer many opportunities for drawing outside the line.

I believe King Cobra’s reset has been cast in the same faculties as those of his predecessors. If today I told him that we can build our own car, he would throw me out.

“Naupena? Fuma apa.” (Are you mad? Get out of here)

Knowing well that King Cobra will not embody innovation at Walter’s level let’s begin to look for a technologically active-positive leader who can succeed him after a term or two. That way we can make our own stone crushers, water filters, water pumps, razor blades, and harvesters. Let’s dream big and make tractors, cars, and planes, or, like Walter said, forever remain inferior.

A fundamental transformation of our country from what is essentially non-innovative to a strategic superior African country requires a bold risk-taking educated leader with a triumphalist attitude and we have one in YOU. Don’t be highly strung and feel insulted by Walter. Take a moment and think about our country. Our journey from 1964 has been marked by tears. It has been an emotionally overwhelming experience. Each one of us has lost a loved one to poverty, hunger, and disease. The number of graves is catching up with the population. It’s time to change our political culture. It’s time for Zambian intellectuals to cultivate an active-positive progressive movement that will change our lives forever. Don’t be afraid or dispirited, rise to the challenge and salvage the remaining few of your beloved ones.

Field Ruwe is a US-based Zambian media practitioner and author. He is a PhD candidate with a B.A. in Mass Communication and Journalism, and an M.A. in History.

blink182:
[size=70pt]EDO[/size] [size=2pt]and they are the best in bed, forget the calabar myth[/size]

obiadifred:
EDO

Ah Ah now! What did edo girls do to you guys now?

kpolli:
try abj chicks for money hungry girls

Kpolli remember the original Abuja girls are the Hausas, or Fulanis or general Northerners. The others just live there. I know for a fact the original Abuja girls are very decent. It's probably those that moved there in search of greener pastures that are easy

He probably got used to you being around and didn't realise it, until he broke it off.

I feel your pain. goodluck!

I laugh

WOW!! If this is true, then I bow for naija politicians. they are all actors on stage, not  one of them can be vouched for.

According to Eldee n Banky W.

1. Stunner shades on
2. Prada on his back
3. Louis on his feet
4. Gucci on his Wrist

Chikena!

Back to topic
Mr Cork: Nothing do you, seems to me like u r here to entertain yourself.

MOBO SH.ITHEAD:  Is a Seriously disturbed and attention seeking bas.tard that had a few screws missing during his childhood. There are more serious issues in the world than ur problems with "the black sister". Seeing as you are insignificant and the pitiful and disgusting psychotic son of a whoring bitc.h cun.t, my advice to you is : Go fu.cck your pitiful self until you bleed! Cos no one would do you even for a million bucks. Also, Nig.ga puhleease, cut out your imaginary stories bout ladies begging u or whateverr, seriously we don't give 2 fu.cks neither do we give a damn!
What gives u d effrontery to diss DYT's looks anywayz, when ur self-hatred is stemmed from you ugly disturbing looks. Irritating imbe.cile!

Buhahahahahahahaha!!!!
This is hi-fuc.king-larious!
I never knew such thingz happened in real life.
Poster are you pulling our legs?
This thread just made my day! Thank youu!!

Dont Do It! These things have a way of backfiring and coming back to bite you in the ass. Even if not now, sometime in the future. What about your families though, are they into the joke as well?
Think of the long run dude, it's not worth it.

Not every body's sexual chemistry is compatible. Maybe this is one of those pairs that are better of being friends, rather than lovers.

Think of the long run. You settle with this your guy. Then you meet some other guy that sets off sparks in you, compared to the lack of sparks with you partner. You will be tempted (or even end up) cheating with him.

This na temptation, with a little confusion,

You guys are just beating around the bush.  Dude, grab the bull by the horns and ask her this straight question: What exactly does she want?

Trey effing Songzz - Even my neighbours know his name
Iguaine - Hez my babybee daddy, he just doesn't know it yet
Ikechukwu - Hez not fine, but hez still mine
Tyson Beckford --- Oh Lordyy!!

She probably plans to fade in the nearest futre, and so shez gradually cutting off ties.
So notice how she hasn't called you in this period that you haven't called - or has she?

Thank You Dayo

mens dept:
^^^^^ How can you only know a few of them?

Pardon me "mens department", but I only know those that where leaders from when I came into existence. How am I supposed to know what someone that ruled in 1967 looks like (Yakubu Gowon)?
And If I recall when we were taught current affairs/social studies in elementary school, we learned their names and their accomplishments but never saw their faces. Besides they have all aged immensely, so stop acting like errbody on here knows errbody's face on that picture.

Oh come on! So just cos it was in Henry's diary, they make an arrest? Did they try to do their own investigations and see if it was a valid claim?

If that's how they are going to roll, then they might as well arrest errbody Henry implicated in his journal, including President Goodluck.

Besides, since when do criminals (especially Nigerian ones) start keeping diaries?

~Bluetooth:
ND militants are just criminals who benefitted from the ND crisis.do you know much money Ateke,Tompolo,Okah,boyloaf,Asari and others have in their accounts ? The region is still like the shiothole and nothing has changed at all while the militants are smiling to bank.

Bluetooth can you stop ignorantly defending this hoodlums, seriously. Lets just forget that it's a northern or southern issue and look at the situation objectively.
You point out that militants are criminals benefitting from the ND crisis (at least you acknowledge that there is indeed a crisis), yet you choose to ignore that Boko Haram's basis for fighting is just plain bullocks.
No one went to their land and created a crisis that led to the emergence of their group. No southerner/christian went and started killing others for not being christian.
I am really really trying to understand what exactly their grudge is. In what way has the country wronged them to warrant their killings?