ShortStory I Costly Blunder (II)

COSTLY BLUNDER (II)

       Funke who seemed not unlike soured yellow pap packed in an old dish, was speechless as she stood right before the dude, Kunle who just heard the unspeakable.

      “Did I hear you right?” Kunle inquired, still sitting in the three-in-one upholstery chair.

        Funke became mute as she stared unfriendly at him.

        Little did the television, which was being viewed by the lad, knew that it was now all alone; suffice it to assert that no one recognized its presence at the moment as it kept displaying the football match.

      “Funke,” he called calmly. “Did you just say you are pregnant for me?”

       “Of course nah.” she answered frankly, hastily folded her arms. “Didn’t you know when you did it?” she added in a jiffy, fixed her gaze on him.

       “Something I did just once..?”

       “Oh,” exclaimed Funke. “Just once?” she echoed.

       “Of course,” quoth Kunle, furiously stood up. “Wasn’t it once?”

       “I don’t care about how many times you did it.” she ranted. “All I know is that I am pregnant.” She supplemented, paused. “And the baby belongs to you.”

       “You are not serious.” he said. “Are you?”

       “Oh,” responded Funke. “You think I am joking?” she said, stood still. “Do I look like one who is cracking a joke?”

        The last clause came as a shocker, thus he became more bemused as he kept foreseeing the dire consequences having seemingly absorbed the reality. “Oh my God…!” he shouted, frantically resumed his seat.

        There was a brief silence.

       “So,” he broke the muteness. “What do we do now?” he uttered, looking up to her.

       “Now you have come back to your senses, right?” She rhetorically murmured.

        How on earth would she talk to him in that manner if not that he had already sold the unreserved respect she had for his person by allowing his libido to yearn for her seeming-succulent endowments? Notwithstanding, he had no other option than to ignore her rudeness.

       “You have not still answered my question.” He reminded her.

       “What kind of silly question is that?”

       “Silly question?”

       “Of course,” she said. “Doesn’t it sound silly?” she added, paused. “When you were doing it, did you ask how we were going to do it?”

       “You must abort that baby.” He pronounced with alacrity.

       “What..!” she roared. “Me, abortion?’ she uttered, placing her right hand on her chest.

       “That’s the only option.” He thought aloud.

       “I can see, you are joking.” quoth Funke. “How dare you suggest abortion for me?”

       “So, what’s your plan?”

       “I don’t know,” she replied, stood still. “But all I know is that I am not committing any abortion.”

       “So you want to keep the baby, right?’

       “I wouldn’t blame you.” she continued, ignoring the question. “Because you don’t have a baby yet, so you wouldn’t know what it means to kill one.” She said, faced the other side.

       “Funke…!” Kunle exclaimed at the top of his voice. “How dare you say such a thing?” he supplemented, stood up again.

       She was quiet, still standing.

      “Do you realize I am your sister’s husband…?”

      “Sister’s husband my foot.” She interrupted, hurriedly turned her back on him and walked away.

       “Funke, Funke!” he called as she walked out on him.

     * * * * *    

       “Your sister is pregnant.” Kunle notified Kemi, facing the ceiling as they lay in their matrimonial bed in the early hours of Saturday.

       This was coming after several failed persuasions targeted at making Funke terminate the baby she was carrying in her womb.

       Kemi who was equally facing the Polyvinyl Chloride (PVC) ceiling, hastily looked at Kunle on hearing the news that could best be described as a shocker. “What did you say?’ she verified hesitantly.

       “I said, your sister is pregnant.” He reiterated, still facing up.

       “Which of my sisters?” she enquired. “Bisi?” she supplemented, referring to her elder sister who got married recently, though marveled why her hubby should gather the news before her.

        “No,” he responded. “I mean, Funke.”

        “Funke what..?” she shouted, shocked, and slightly raised her head from the bed.

       “Yes.” he said, nodding. “She is pregnant.”

        Kemi couldn’t believe her ears. More confusedly, she could not fathom why her husband should be the one informing her on such development. “For who?” she managed to utter.

         He was silent.

        “I said,” quoth Kemi. “For who?”

        “I think I am responsible.” He eventually confessed, still lay in the bed.

        “You think you are what…? She roared, rose up.

        “I am sorry.” quoth Kunle. “I am really sorry.” he added, paused. “It was all devil’s handiwork.”

        “Enough,” Kemi urged fiercely, gesticulating. “Enough of this.” She warned, paused.

         There was maximum silence.

        “So, after all I did for you,” she broke the muteness. “You had the gut to cheat on me?” she said, paused. “And among all people, you chose Funke?”

          “It’s not what you think.”

          “Spare me that, please..”

          After all the hullabaloos, Kemi asked for a divorce, which was eventually granted by a court, thereby leaving Kunle and her younger sister to continue from where exactly they stopped. Prior to their divorce, when the news of the abominable act got to her parents, they felt like strangulating the parties involved, particularly Funke; Kunle’s aged parents equally felt same.

         Months later, Kemi got married to another lad and she took in immediately after their wedding. Years on, the couple was blessed with children and was happily married.

       On their part, Kunle and Funke who were forced to marry each other never had it so good. Funke had stillbirth in the pregnancy that prompted her elder sister’s departure; and after that, she never took in again. Kunle lost his job with the telecom firm and thereafter couldn’t secure any other meaningful job; needless to assert that his financial status was drastically reduced to zero.

 

Fred Doc Nwaozor

Executive Director, Docfred Resource Clinic - Owerri
___________________________________
Twitter: @mediambassador            
http://facebook.com/TheMediaAmbassador

   

          

 

Opinion I Imolite, Where Is Your Voter's Card?

IMOLITE, WHERE IS YOUR VOTER’S CARD?

        

The last time I checked, the year being 2019 that is expected to usher in yet an interregnum in the Imo State’s Douglas House and the Nigeria’s Aso Rock, was arguably fast approaching on a speed light. Such candid observation needs to be noted by every patriot in the state.

      

Sure, Nigeria – Imo in particular – is currently practising democracy, which is reckoned to be ‘government of the people, by the people and for the people’. However, it’s noteworthy that election is peculiar to democracy. This assertion implies that any democratic society is characterized by elections and what have you. In fact, election begets democracy.

        

If the above analysis holds water, then it is not needful to reiterate the importance of voter’s card. Voter’s card, which is the only document that signifies one’s eligibility during elections, remains a tool that ought to be seen as inevitable by anyone who truly appreciates a democratic setting. This is so, because without a voter’s card, a so-called eligible elector is ostensibly useless at any polling unit while an election is being conducted.

        

It’s really disheartening and disgusting too, to acknowledge that the majority of electors in the contemporary Imo State are yet to regard voter’s card as the only instrument that guarantees one’s eligibility to partake in electioneering decision-making. Owing to this, this set of persons is often marred by apathy whenever voter’s card registration is ongoing, therefore would never bother to know when the registration begins as well as its deadline let alone heading for their respective polling booths to grab their copies.

        

This level of apathy or nonchalant attitude found amongst the electorate, particularly the young ones, has colossally endangered the success of various elections conducted thus far across the state and Nigeria at large. It is baffling to note that often times, most people only go to polling units to engage themselves in all sorts of gossips and frivolities rather than with the aim of casting their votes.

      

When confronted, some of them would proudly tell you that elections are of no use in any part of the country since at the end of the day, rigging would successfully mar the results. They say so, forgetting that rigging can never be possible if it is not aided by them. Of course, it’s not anymore news that election rigging is traceable to the uncalled and ridiculous acts graciously carried out by our able-bodied young ones. The unpatriotic politicians or aspirants would invariably hire these young people in order to snatch ballot boxes containing the ballot papers at various polling units, thereby succeed in rigging the affected election.

        

This, no doubt, signifies that election rigging is being aided by both the electorate and the electoral officials. Yes, the electoral umpire is usually a party to this aberration because in most quarters when reported that the ballot boxes were snatched by a group of thugs, the officials in-charge would still go ahead to declare the results of the election in question. It is saddening indeed to watch such unfortunate situation linger under our noses.

         

Acknowledging this ugly trend, there is a compelling need to aptly educate an average Imolite on the prime essence of possessing a voter’s card. He or she needs to be told, in a language he would comprehend, that it is only a voter’s card that empowers one to elect a candidate of his/her choice at the polls. They must be made to understand that if they failed to grab their voter’s card, there won’t be need to fix or conduct any election within their jurisdictions. They must equally be informed that a voter’s card is the constitutional right of everyone who has attains the age of eighteen (18).

         

Hence, as the revalidation of voter’s card is presently taking place across the country, let’s endeavour to conscientize our wards to go to their respective Local Government Councils and obtain a copy of their voter’s card. The ongoing exercise is solely for those who were yet to attain 18 years of age as at the time the last voter’s card registration was conducted, or those who had attained 18 during the said period but couldn’t register, or those who have already obtained but theirs are damaged in any way. In other words, individuals who fall within the stipulated bracket are expected to as a matter of urgency be in possession of their voter’s card at the moment. It is their right, not a privilege.

         

So, at this juncture, I asked an Imolite and anyone resident in the state, who falls between the age of 18 and above, have you acquired your voter’s card? If yes, is it intact? If you are yet to grab yours, you still have a golden opportunity to do so. Stop supporting a certain political aspirant, jettisoning the fact that it is only voter’s card that can guarantee his or her victory at the polls come 2019. We must understand that possessing a voter’s card is more important than publicly tendering eulogies to any aspirant.

        

The various aspirants on their part must equally do the needful. As a matter of fact, they must acknowledge that they are one of the major stakeholders required to assist in sensitizing the electors, particularly their followers, on the unavoidable need to ensure that they boast of their voter’s card as they eagerly await the year in question. In view of this, the aspirants and the political parties in general ought to play their cards aptly so that at the end, only a successful and credible election would be recorded in the state.

        

The electoral umpire (INEC) must as well be very helpful as long as the said exercise lasts. There is need to decentralize the ongoing revalidation of voter’s card being held across the country. Instead of making it an exercise to be conducted only at the local government headquarters, the various political wards – polling units precisely – should be empowered to carry-out the assignment towards ensuring that no qualified elector is disfranchised, or deprived the chances of acquiring his/her voter’s card, in the process.

        

All in all, this piece is occasioned by the need to let us note that a voter’s card remains the most powerful decision-making tool in any electioneering era. Thus, go out there today and grab your copy before ‘had I known’ becomes your slogan. Think about it!

 

Comrade FDN Nwaozor

Executive Director, Docfred Resource Hub (DRH) - Owerri
________________________________

Twitter: @mediambassador
http://facebook.com/TheMediaAmbassador

   

 

ShortStory I Costly Blunder

COSTLY BLUNDER

        Funke majestically walked into the kitchen leaving her bluish mini-gown unzipped, thereby showcasing the clasp of her pink bra. The rare dress pattern was not unconnected with the fact that the atmosphere was beclouded with intense heat, thus her prime motive was to fully welcome the cool breeze that was supposed to filter in since there wasn’t electricity to power the fans.

         Besides, the maiden was all alone in the duplex, if not Musa – the gateman – who was no doubt invariably very mindful of his duty post; hence, she could express every kind of freedom to the letter. It was about 3:15pm, so her brother-in-law, Kunle was yet to return from office. And her beloved elder sister, Kemi who was happily married to the said dude, was still very busy in her supermarket – located about a few kilometers away from the house – where she traded on all sorts of cosmetics and provisions.

        The successful 35-year-old Kunle tied the connubial knot with Kemi – who was barely a few months younger – four years back but the blissful marriage was yet to be blessed with an offspring, although she had once experienced a stillbirth. Despite the provocations, the two parties had ab initio been living joyfully as an indivisible couple.

        It would interest you to note that the latter had already become successful in her trading venture prior to the ‘eternal’ union. In fact, she was actually the one who assisted the lad to secure a job in a multi-national telecom firm immediately after their marriage with the help of her contacts. Nonetheless, she had remained thoroughly submissive and loving ever since the odyssey kicked off about forty-eight months back. It appeared her love for the union superseded that of her hubby, though they both loved and cherished each other to the peak.

        Their togetherness was occasioned by one certain day when Kunle who was still a bachelor, walked into her supermarket to purchase some goods. On sighting the young man, she became so attracted to him unannounced. Thereof, she offered him her complimentary card and enjoined him to call her number later in the day. Consequently, they became friends; two months on, the friendship abruptly metamorphosed to an intimate date; eight months down the line, they were graciously joined together as a couple towards loving each other till death do them part as was rightly proclaimed by the Anglican priest who presided over the wedding ceremony.

         The 23-year-old Funke who was the last child of her parents, had come to visit the couple over her semester break. She was a third-year student of one of the universities situated in the city of Lagos where the couple equally resided, thus had upon request thought it wise to spend the three-week holiday with the lovely union. That fateful day being Friday when she had every needed freedom to express herself dress-wise was exactly the fifth day of her stay.

         She had as usual entered the kitchen to make dinner for the family prior to the couple’s arrival. She left the sister’s shop a few minutes ago for the assignment. And she was to prepare coconut rice as was instructed by Kemi. She diligently went for all the stuffs needed to get the proposed dish done, lit up the gas-cooker and began to parboil the raw rice. She walked back to the sink and started making other preparations.

         In the process, Kunle stepped into the house, precisely the sitting room which was about three metres apart from the kitchen; the entrance to the lounge wasn’t locked, so he needn’t any assistance towards finding his way. Funke never heard any noise as he entered, neither did she hear the sound of his car when he drove into the house’s premises the moment the gates were let open by Musa; this implied that she never saw a bit of him coming.

         On perceiving a sweet aroma as soon as he stepped in, he needn’t be told that someone was busy in the kitchen preparing some delicacies. And, it must be Funke since there was no how his Kemi could be home at that time of the day; it was almost 4:00pm but Kemi usually returned at least at five O’clock on a daily basis.

         He quickly dropped his white briefcase coupled with the black suit jacket which was hung on his arm, on one of the upholstery chairs in the lounge and walked towards the kitchen to see things for himself. Till this point, Funke was yet to realize that the human population in the house had outrightly increased to two, thus she remained undistracted in her duties as she faced the sink squarely.

         The moment he graced the kitchen’s entrance, rather than being further enticed by the titillating scent emanating from her fries, he was trapped by her seeming romantic posture. The pink bra that was kept uncovered from behind as well as her well packaged bum-bum was obviously a sight to behold, even by the blind. He ostensibly had all the time in the world to sheepishly, and perhaps foolishly admire what he was seeing, thus he stood aloof at the door unnoticed as she focused on the cookery.

         He had never for once lust over her but being human, what was being showcased at the time was apparently irresistible. Even the ‘pope’ could even fall victim.

         “Eh-eh-eh!” Kunle cleared his throat to eventually disclose his presence as he stood at the door.

          Funke was startled by the sudden noise as she turned like one who just woke from an untold nightmare. “Oh sir,” she managed to utter. “You are back?”

           The moment she faced him, he was further carried away by what she possessed on her chest as he stared in silent awe; the dress was partly displaying her moderately big boobs, thereby arousing his appetite. “Yes dear.” he hesitantly responded. “Did I frighten you?”

          “Yes nah.”

          “Oh, I am sorry.”

          “It’s alright.” she said, holding the kitchen spoon in her right hand. “How long have you been standing there?” she added.

           “Not quite long.” quoth Kunle. “I was really admiring you.”

           “You mean my cooking style?” She verified albeit ignorantly.

           “Not really.”

           “So..?”

           “I mean,” he uttered. “Your endowments.”

           “My endowments..?” she said, confused.

           “Funke,” he called. “You are indeed a very pretty girl.”

           “Sure?” she innocently replied.

           “Yea.” He cleared the air, walked closer to her. “You are more than beautiful.” He supplemented as he stood right before her.

         “Thank you, sir.” She managed to appreciate, quickly dropped the spoon in the sink and attempted to walk away having understood where he was headed.

         As she tried to locate her way, he tenderly drew her back, quietly took his hands behind her, unclasped the bra, and therein she couldn’t resist his lustful actions. He began to kiss her and she reciprocated as if she had longed for it. Within a twinkle of an eye, they proceeded to another level right there in the kitchen. Without much preliminary measures, they commenced the real game having chosen to employ standing-order. She moaned and groaned as his cock was wholly in her. In merely four minutes time, every player had climaxed, hence the game leader pulled off.

         Therein, Kunle was engulfed by guilt as Funke began to shed seeming crocodile tears having realized the gravity of her actions. She had unarguably betrayed her blood sister who was equally her benefactor, whilst the former had indeed taken what he could not chew.

         Four weeks after, Funke walked up to Kunle while he was seated alone in the parlour watching television and informed him that she was a-month pregnant for him.

         “Pregnant..?” he exclaimed at the top of his voice as he sat roughly in the upholstery seat.

         To be continued, please!

 

FDN Nwaozor

Executive Director, Docfred Resource Hub - Owerri

___________________________________

Twitter: @mediambassador            
http://facebook.com/TheMediaAmbassador

 

                       

ShortStory I Corporate Deception

CORPORATE DECEPTION

        Mr. Olusola was the oldest and eldest Head of Department (HOD) in the revered ancient establishment, which I graciously joined four years back being 2010.

        I recently assumed office as the HOD of the Engineering and Technical Services Department, two weeks ago precisely. On assumption to duty, I was briefed that the said HOD who was heading the firm’s Finance Unit, knew the nitty-gritty of the company, thus was a staff to reckon with; without being told, I was not unaware.

         Few seconds ago, I received his Secretary in my humble office. The lady had come to notify me that I was urgently needed by the boss in his office. Since she left, my mind had been troubled, though never felt guilty. The jittery mood was not unconnected with the fact that Mr. Shina Olusola was reckoned to be a no-nonsense administrator who apparently could not tolerate professionalism adulterated with prangs; he was ostensibly a hard nut to crack, to assert the least.

         Karlos Enterprises Ltd., a manufacturing consortium that majored in production of plastics, was a well-known firm that did not joke with well-experienced staff; hence, the 46-year-old Mr. Olusola was conspicuously one of the first in the list of the company. In view of this, we the junior ones accorded him the deserved respect as the custom of the company required. In spite of the indisputable fact that we were both HODs, or of the same cadre, I knew fully well that he was quite and reasonably far ahead of me; there was no how one who joined an organization barely four years back would be competing with a fellow that had spent over fifteen years in it.

         After all, it was just hard work and sheer luck that catapulted my promotion to that level. It was no doubt a geometric promotion, so I wasn’t meant to forget in haste that the aforementioned man was simply like a father to me as far as the firm’s modus operandi was concerned.

        It would interest you to note that Mr. Olusola was already a HOD prior to my employment by Karlos, although of a different department. He was formerly manning the Marketing unit before he was redeployed about three years back to super head the ‘almighty’ Finance and Accounts department. I learnt that his wealth of knowledge cum experience necessitated the transition, which seemingly received everyone’s nod. Records had it that he had Master’s degree in Business Management to his credit having bagged a bachelor degree in Banking and Finance, all from the reputable University of Ibadan (U.I) in Oyo State, Nigeria.

        There, in my office, I was deeply preoccupied with series of thoughts. I then asked myself what could warrant the urgent and unforeseen invitation. The riot act of the organization had been read to my hearing for the umpteenth time, so I saw no reason I was needed in his office at that time of the day; it was a few minutes past nine O’clock in the morning, the time when most senior officers were yet to report to their respective duty posts. Besides, even if there was need for reminder as regards the said Act, he was not the apt personnel to do so; rather, the Human Resources Manager (HRM) as the tradition demanded.

        “Good morning, sir.” I greeted as I walked into his office which was about ten metres away from mine, and closed the door behind me.

        “Hey Comrade,” exclaimed Mr. Olusola. “Good morning, dear.” He added cheerily.

        Aside being a tech expert, I was widely recognized as a core unionist and activist even in Karlos, thus everyone often addressed me as a ‘Comrade’.

         I stepped closer to where he was seated. “You sent for me, sir?” I said in a jiffy, standing about fifty centimetres apart.

        “Yes I did.” He responded, disclosing his seeming white teeth. “Please, sit down.” he offered, gesticulating with his left arm.

         “Thank you.” I said as I sat on one of the three backseats sited at the opposite side of the executive chair in which he was seated.

         “First,” he began. “I want to join others to congratulate you.” He dished out.

         I was quiet, couldn’t wait to grab the real message.

        “I know, management has already done that.” He recalled. “But, there’s need for me to present a personal felicitation…”

        I smiled, but remained speechless.

       “So,” he added. “Congratulations once more for emerging as the HOD of one of the most challenging departments in this establishment.”

       “Thank you, sir.” I eventually said cheerfully. “Thank you; I appreciate.” I supplemented immediately.

        “You are welcome.” He said, placing his fisted right hand under his lower jaw and kept the left one on the table.

         I seemed very attentive at this point as I placed my both arms respectively on my thighs.

        “I actually called you on a friendly ground.” he continued. “I, Mr. Shina Olusola would like you to excel in this organization.” He claimed, placing his left hand on his chest and then returned it to its initial position.                

        I became more attentive as I sat firmly on the seat, appeared like an ancient professor in the grey suit I wore.

       “So, I have called you to tell you that,” he rode on. “You are required to take this position very seriously.” He supplemented hesitantly, paused. “So that, you wouldn’t be found wanting in any way.”

         I nodded continuously in a frank mood as I was engulfed by his enticing counsel.

        “I am the oldest HOD in this firm.” He affirmed. “So, I am in a good position to remind you that this company does not tolerate any form of nonchalant or dubious attitude.”

          I adjusted myself in the seat, though remained calm.

        “So be very careful, dear Comrade.” He landed.

        “I have heard you, sir.” I replied. “I promise, I won’t disappoint you or the management as a whole.”

        “It’s alright.” quoth Mr. Olusola. “You can take your leave.” he enjoined, paused. “Because, I am aware many may be wanting to see you in the office right now.” He imagined, loosened his fisted right hand and finally placed it on the executive table.

        “Thank you once more, sir.” I said as I stood up.

        “You are welcome.”

          I graciously walked to the door and took my leave. When I got to my office, I felt so relieved because little did I imagine that the invitation was on a lighter mood.

        Therein, I vowed that I would invariably remain loyal to Mr. Olusola, and would not cease to confide in him. In other words, I decided to see him as a mentor and role model.

        The honour I bestowed on his person proceeded unabated not until one fateful day when news broke out that the man in question was found guilty of financial misappropriation and gross misconduct. Everyone could not believe that a man recognized as a saint by all and sundry could make attempt of indulging in such corrupt act let alone being found guilty by a reputable panel set up by the firm’s management.

         Thereafter, Mr. Shina Olusola was fired by the company having undergone a certain period of suspension.

         I outrightly tendered my resignation afterwards towards avoiding honouring another monster as a mentor, not to mention a role model. Hence, I waved goodbye to Karlos Enterprises and thought it wise to establish my own consortium, so that, I wouldn’t fall victim of being answerable to a fake officer.

FDN Nwaozor

Executive Director, Docfred Resource Hub - Owerri

___________________________________

Twitter: @mediambassador            

http://facebook.com/TheMediaAmbassador             

           

Opinion II Today August 12 is, Int'l Youth Day

ENGAGING THE YOUTH IN POLITICS AS WE MARK INTERNATIONAL YOUTH DAY      
         

The last time I painstakingly checked, 12^th of August every year remained the International Youth Day. This implies that today, Saturday August 12, the 2017 anniversary of the said event is globally being commemorated. This year’s theme is ‘Youth building peace’.

         

The International Youth Day is annually held on August 12 to celebrate the achievements of the world’s youth and to encourage their participation in enhancing global society. It also aims to promote ways to engage them in becoming more actively involved in making positive contributions in their respective communities.

         

The idea for International Youth Day was proposed in 1991 by young people who were gathered in Vienna, Austria for the first session of the United Nations (UN) World Youth Forum. The forum recommended that an International Youth Day should be declared, especially for fund-raising and promotional purposes to support the United Nations Youth Fund in partnership with various youth organizations.     

         

In 1998, a resolution proclaiming August 12 as International Youth Day was adopted during the World Conference of Ministers Responsible for Youth Affairs. That recommendation was later endorsed in 1999 by the UN General Assembly. The International Youth Day was first observed in the year 2000; one of the highlights of the event was the presentation of the United Nations’ World Youth Awards to the eight Latin American and Caribbean youth and youth-related organizations in Panama City. It’s therefore needless to state that this year’s commemoration represents the eighteenth edition of the worthwhile event.

       

It is generally noted that the youth is the main productive class of any nation, and Nigeria is not an exception. In the same vein, anyone in a youthful stage sees himself as one of the major parts of the engine room of any society he belongs; this perception is not unconnected with the teachings of nature, which is obviously ubiquitous.

         

It suffices to say that any existing society that cannot boast of meaningful youths is not unlike a tree that is being deprived of its major root. This is the reason any country that has lost its youths to social vices lives like a blind man as well as invariably sleeps with both eyes open.

         

Though the definition of the youth regarding the age bracket varies from one school of thought to another; but in a nutshell, it could be defined as a group of young people who are in their adulthood stage. Thus, a youth is simply an adult or a fully grown person that is young.

        

Considering the above definition, you would agree to the fact that the youth is indeed the engine room of any existing society. To this end, it is pathetic and devastating, to assert the least, to see a society comprising irrational youths, or a group of young people that do not know their left from their right.  

        

It is not anymore news that presently, about eighty percent (80%) of the overall youths in most countries in the world, particularly developing nations, have intensely derailed thereby constituting series of inconsequential cacophonies as well as societal menace in all nooks and crannies.  An average member of such a misled group keeps believing – albeit ignorantly – that he/she is being manipulated by a certain set of individuals, without knowing that his future lies in his bare hand. 

         

In Nigeria, for instance, during the post-colonial era and thereabouts, virtually all the political positions in the country were fully occupied by the youth who were mostly in their twenties ranging from Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe, Chief Obafemi Awolowo, Alhaji Ahmadu Bello, Chief Tafawa Balewa, Generals Murtala Mohammed, Theophilus Danjuma, Ibrahim Babagida, Sani Abacha, Shehu Musa Yar’adua, Aguiyi Ironsi, Chukwuemeka Odumegu-Ojukwu, Olusegun Obasanjo, and Mohammadu Buhari, among many others too numerous to mention.

         

But today, the reverse is totally the case. You would hardly see a youth in his thirties becoming a commissioner in his/her home state, let alone occupying a ministerial position. Unequivocally, the ongoing profound apathy coupled with complete loss of vision among most of the new generational youths who occupy about one-third of the country’s population, calls for an outcry.

          

As Nigeria joins the global community to mark the 2017 International Youth Day, I’m soliciting for awareness-raising campaigns to ensure that all the youths are fully sensitized in order to revive the ongoing alarming rate of moral decadence, docility, laxity, and mediocrity found among them.

         

Against this backdrop, I call on the governments, non-governmental bodies, religious institutions, the civil society, the mass media, and what have you, to join hands in this enticing crusade so that in no distant time Nigeria can boast of a society filled with only resourceful and conscience-driven youths. Our youths must be meant to realize that it is indeed high time power is taken from this set of ‘old’ people currently occupying the seat of power in various jurisdictions.

         

We can contribute our respective quotas by initiating or sponsoring both social and academic activities such as youth seminars cum conferences on education and empowerment, concerts promoting the youth both home and in the Diaspora as well as various sporting events, parades and mobile exhibitions that will showcase young people’s accomplishments with a view to thoroughly sensitizing the mindset of the said group on their civic responsibilities, rights and privileges.

          

As the next electioneering era is fast approaching, it is not needful to reiterate that the overall Nigerian youths are bound to arise at such a critical time like this. We can’t continue to procrastinate because a stitch in time, they say, saves nine. Think about it!

Comrade FDN Nwaozor

Executive Director, Docfred Resource Hub - Owerri

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