Straight Talk with Chukwudi Obi

As a young boy growing up, I had witnessed memorable occasions. From traditional wedding ceremonies to initiation into manhood, ( Iwa Akwa ), I could recall nearly all of them and count of with my fingers, who wore what and who ate what at those events. But the ceremonies that really ticked me off were the wearing cloth festivals. A largely men affair and an age grade affair, to -be initiates are tested in courage and resilience in so many ways publicly and privately. In fact in one of them I had witnessed, the young men were mandated to light no fewer than four cannons with small sticks or match sticks!; a very dangerous venture, if you ask me. But the young men enjoyed it, and nobody was hurt. A two-day event, the neophytes are led by members of the senior age grade ( those who were initiated three years before them) to a large communal market square shared by over 15 autonomous communities, a distance of more than 25 kilometres. At night, they are meant to stay awake in an open f

  Africa has had a chequered history. It has produced heroes, heroines and villains; men and women who worked (or rather struggled) their way to the top of the ladder of life. Heroes and heroines who from nothing became legends and had their names embossed in the annals of African history. A uniting factor of these men is that they persevered; they drank from the ocean of determination. Even in the face of obstacles and stumbling blocks, they triumphed. These legends drew from an inner strength that glowed even when all other lights had been extinguished. Determination made them who they are.   David Star Jordan once said: “The world turns aside to any man to pass who knows where he is going, the ability to make up your mind inspires self-confidence. It gives you inner power and it commands the respect of your fellow men”. Similarly, Mahatma Ghandi said:           “Strength does not from physical capacity, it comes from indomitable will.” There is no doubting the fact that it is thi

Writing on culture could be a little tricky. For one, the monotony could bore a lot of people, especially the elitist club whose daily activities revolve round signing cheques and counting crispy notes. It could even bore young adults and adolescents ‘ pinging’ away with their blackberry phones and sleek mobile phones. A s I sat behind my laptop, I pondered, what would my first topic be. The more I thought, the more confused I got. Topics to write on drifted into my head but I stubbornly wished them away. First impressions matter a lot. I was looking for a topic that would catch the attention of virtually everybody and hold them till the end. I even pondered more.I wondered; do I write on the presidential monologue and his exclusion of preservation of our cultural heritage in his manifesto or do I write on the political class’ blatant ignorance on both tourism and culture yet they travel to other countries to relax and throw tax payers’ money around. But I waved them aside; it was to

When I had the opportunity of relocating from Lagos to Owerri, I saw it as an opportunity to be nearer home. It has been a long time since I stepped my foot in my village, sorry, homestead. While, some people did so once every year due to the pressures of work, others traveled home twice a year, especially during festive periods (Easter and Christmas). But for me, not visiting home was a thing of pride. I wanted to acquire education, fame and fortune before visiting home to announce my ‘arrival’. On arrival at the Sam Mbakwe airport, I took a cab to a waiting apartment somewhere in the heart of the Eastern Heartland. It was there I found out that the city I left seven to 10 years ago, had recorded very conspicuous transformation. There had been significant effort in tree planting and beautification of the city. Street trading had been outlawed and thus transportation to some extent in the heart of the city was easy. But what marvelled me was the indiscriminate erection of hotels in