THE NIGERIAN QUEUE OLYMPICS

 

I was thinking this morning.... I was to make a long-haul trip recently and arrived at the airport early enough. After about an hour of waiting, an announcement was made that pre-boarding was commencing. To my surprise, I noticed quite a number of people requesting assistance. It was a long line of wheelchairs. “What's going on here?” I wondered.

After those requiring assistance had been pre-boarded, the rest of us were called for general boarding. Chai! It was as if somebody had fired the starting pistol for the Nigerian Queue Olympics.

Immediately, there was a rush towards the boarding gate. One queue became two. Two became three, with each branch claiming to be the authentic queue. Eventually, when the genuine queue was established, Phase Two began, Creative Queue Jumping.

A young man walked straight ahead of me, entered the line and announced, “She's my mother,” pointing to the woman in front of me. Ah! What could I say? Will I separate mother and child?

I was still shaking my head when another person entered behind me. “We're together,” she said. Together ke? From what I had observed, their “togetherness” started only about twenty minutes earlier when they struck up a casual conversation. Apparently, friendship in Nigeria now comes with queue-jumping privileges. At that point, I realised that queue jumping in Nigeria is not an act. It is a skill.

There is also the famous “I was here before” technique. The person disappears for thirty minutes, returns and expects the queue to remember him.

And my favourite is the "wayo" technique where  the person stands beside the queue pretending not to be joining. Small small, he moves forward until, by divine arrangement, he has entered the queue.

Chai! Na only VAR remain.

Later, while waiting to board the aircraft, I noticed one of those who had earlier used a wheelchair get up and walk briskly towards the restroom. For a moment, my Nigerian mind went straight to suspicion: Ah-ah! So na strategy? But I cautioned myself. Not every disability is visible, and some people who require airport assistance can still walk short distances.

Still, the whole experience got me thinking. Why are we always in such a hurry to get ahead? At traffic lights, someone must squeeze past everybody. At supermarket checkouts, somebody suddenly has “only one item.” Even in church, when they say, “Please come out row by row,” one brother from the back is already receiving revelation to move forward.

But a queue is actually one of society's simplest tests of character. Waiting your turn simply says, “Your time is as valuable as mine.” It says, You came before me, so you should be served before me.

Perhaps the gold medal in the Nigerian Queue Olympics should therefore go, not to the person who finds the smartest way to reach the front, but to the one who patiently waits his turn. Because as we say for Warri: “If everybody wan enter door at once, na doorway go suffer.”

Sometimes, the fastest way for everybody to move forward is simply for everyone to wait their turn. 1 Corinthians 14:40 says “Let all things be done decently and in order.”

So next time you see me patiently standing in a Nigerian queue, abeg don't mistake it for weakness. I'm training for the Olympics. And this time, I intend to win gold without jumping the queue.

Stay hopeful. God's got our back.

Happy Sunday!

......Just the thoughts of a certain Wey Mey

VIP, VVIP, VVVIP… Who Come Remain?

 

I was thinking this morning..... on Friday I attended an event that could pass for a State event, with state governors, ministers, first-class traditional rulers and captains of industry in attendance.

When I was given a VIP access card, I felt very honoured. After putting on my "Christmas cloth," I arrived at the venue feeling like a big man. It wasn't until I got into the hall that I discovered that my VIP card was actually at the lowest rung of the ladder. There were VVIPs and even VVVIPs ahead of me. Chai! So VIP no VIP again?

Why is one Very in Very Important Personality not enough? Why do we need multiple "verys"? At what point do we stop? VVVVIP? VVVVVIP? Before you know it, somebody's access card will be longer than his CV.

As I pondered on it, I realised that we are a people built on respect. Respect for authority. Respect for elders. Respect for position. Respect for achievement. In our traditional African society, age itself comes with honour. You don't wake up one morning and suddenly decide that because civilisation has arrived, your father's elder brother is now your "guy."

You can now understand why Tony Elumelu responded the way he did to that Gen Z who addressed him simply as "Tony." A man old enough to be her father and, on top of that, happens to be her employer. As the Gen Zs will say, please make it make sense.

That's also why I find it uncomfortable and disrespectful when I hear some comedians refer to the VVVIP of life as "Bros J," all in the name of comedy. Chai! When did your Lord and Saviour, Jesus, become your bros?

That Friday, I entered feeling like a VIP and quickly discovered that in the hierarchy of important people, I still dey learn work. But perhaps the bigger lesson is that we should honour people without worshipping titles, respect elders without diminishing the young, and enjoy access without looking down on those outside the door.

And above all, while human beings may be VIP, VVIP or VVVIP, there is One before whom governors, kings, billionaires, presidents, employers, employees and even we ordinary VIP cardholders must bow. For that level, no need for plenty "V." Na who get invitation card fit form VIP, when Owner of the hall enter, everybody go stand up. As the Bible says: "That at the name of Jesus every knee should bow... and that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord." (Philippians 2:10–11)

So the next time dem give me VIP card, I will still wear my Christmas cloth and enjoy myself. But this time, I will first check whether VVIP and VVVIP dey the building before I begin form big man. 😂

Stay hopeful. God's got our back.

Happy Sunday!

......Just the thoughts of a certain Wey Mey

AFRICAN MAN TIME ASSOCIATION

 

I was thinking this morning.... I was tasked to organise a send-forth event for a friend and colleague, and we fixed the event for this past Friday. Hall booked. Caterers engaged. Invitations went out more than two weeks ahead, giving everyone ample time to prepare. The advertised starting time was 4:00 p.m. prompt.

Then came D-Day.

As the chief host, I arrived at the venue an hour early, just to make sure everything was going according to plan. By exactly 4 p.m., the smart-looking waitresses were already standing beside beautifully arranged tables, ready to receive our guests. The only problem was that there were hardly any guests to receive.

As we waited…and waited…I suddenly realised I had been given enough free time to reflect on that famous Nigerian institution called African Man Time.

African Man Time is that mysterious interpretation of an invitation that boldly says “4:00 p.m. prompt,” but somehow experienced Nigerians understand it to mean, “Start dressing around 4.” In fact, that was exactly what happened with my colleague we were sending forth. I had called him around 3 p.m. to ask if he was ready. His response? He planned to go and have his bath by 4 p.m.! I weak.

As I waited, I began to realise that within this African Man Time Association, there are different categories of members.

First are the Early Birds. One gentleman walked in around 4:15 p.m., looked around the almost-empty hall and asked, “Where is everybody?” When I told him we were still expecting them, he shook his head and said, “Hmm! African Man Time.”

The Early Birds are the people who arrive close to the advertised time and, one hour later, begin regretting the good upbringing their parents gave them.

Then there are the Experienced Guests. They see 4 p.m. on the invitation and calmly do their own calculation, thinking, “Okay…that means 6 p.m.” Within this group are the VIPs, whose arrival somehow determines when everybody else's clock officially starts ticking. Until they arrive, the event has apparently not started, even when it has started.

But perhaps the most interesting group is the Organisers. People like me two days ago. These are the people who deliberately write 4 p.m. when, somewhere at the back of their minds, they are actually expecting the event to start around 5.

I never realised I belonged to this group until a colleague called me around 4:30 p.m. and asked, “Wey, why did you fix the event for 4 p.m. when work closes by 4:30?” Even me, I tire for myself.

The truth is that African Man Time survives partly because everybody expects everybody else to be late. Organisers announce an earlier time because they expect guests to arrive late. Guests arrive late because they believe organisers deliberately announced an earlier time. Everybody is deceiving everybody, and somehow, over the years, we have upgraded the deception into culture. Chai!

Las las! Punctuality is ultimately about respect. Respect for other people's time. Respect for their commitments. Respect for the fact that the one or two hours we casually waste may be time they could have spent doing something else. And perhaps the biggest evidence that African Man Time is not really an African problem is the airport.

Give the same Nigerian a 10 p.m. international flight and by 6 p.m., he is already at the airport checking the departure board every five minutes. Nobody will say, “The flight is 10 p.m., so let me leave home around 10:30.” Why? Because we know that aircraft no dey understand African Man Time.

So maybe our problem is not that Africans cannot keep time. Maybe we simply keep time when we believe there are consequences for being late. African time no dey work for oyibo man airport.

Perhaps it is time we extended the same respect we give the airline's time to the time of our friends, colleagues, families and communities. Because time, unlike money, cannot be refunded. Once spent, it is gone. As the Bible reminds us in Eccl. 3:1 “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.” If there is a time for everything, then perhaps 4 p.m. should simply mean 4 p.m.

I was just thinking....

Stay hopeful. God's got our back.

Happy Sunday!

......Just the thoughts of a certain Wey Mey

THE MILLION-DOLLAR BABY

 

I was thinking this morning... Years ago, my brother told me a story about how he and some colleagues went to visit their wealthy boss whose wife had just delivered after many years of waiting. They had spent millions of naira on IVF in Nigeria and abroad. After countless disappointments, she finally conceived and gave birth to a bouncing baby boy in America.

When mother and child returned home, friends and well-wishers trooped in to celebrate with them. The baby was brought out for everyone to admire. As the greetings continued, one of the visitors stretched out his hands to carry the baby. Instantly, the proud father quipped, "Don't touch my million-dollar baby!" Everybody laughed, but everyone also understood what he meant. That child was priceless because of the journey that brought him into the world.

Unless you have waited endlessly for the fruit of the womb, it is difficult to understand the silent tears many couples shed. Some spend fortunes on IVF. Others travel across continents. Some become victims of fake prophets, herbalists and scammers who prey on their desperation. The desire to hear one voice call you "Daddy" or "Mummy" can make people attempt almost anything.

Yet life has an interesting irony. For some people, pregnancy comes almost effortlessly. For others, it costs millions. But the destiny of a child has never been determined by the price paid to have that child. The so-called "million-dollar baby" is probably over twenty years old today, but his worth is no less and no more than the child born naturally in a village clinic or the baby delivered in a government hospital for almost nothing.

Every child carries the same divine fingerprint. Perhaps that is God's way of reminding us that while money may influence how a child comes into our lives, it can never determine who that child will become.

Never measure human value by the cost of acquisition. Every child is a gift from God, not a product with a price tag. Pikin no be designer cloth; whether na for boutique or market you buy am, na the person wey wear am dey give am value. Psalm 127:3 says "Children are a heritage from the Lord, offspring a reward from Him."

Stay hopeful. God's got our back.

Happy Sunday!

......Just the thoughts of a certain Wey Mey

IF YOU WERE THE JUDGE

 

 

I was thinking this morning... Last week, a friend of mine who is a magistrate reached out to me sounding unusually low. "What's the matter?" I asked. "I had a case today that got me emotional."

He went on to tell me about a barman whose young daughter suddenly fell ill and needed urgent medical attention. At the same time, his rent had become due and he was on the verge of being evicted. Desperate, he begged his employer for a loan of ₦650,000 to save his daughter and keep a roof over their heads. His boss refused.

With nowhere else to turn and time running out, the young man took the money from the day's sales without his employer's permission. He was later arrested and brought before the court.

In court, he admitted taking the money. He did not deny his actions. He simply pleaded for mercy, saying he could not watch his child die while waiting for help that never came.

My friend then asked me a question that has refused to leave my mind: "What do you do to such a man? Send him to prison because he broke the law, or allow him to return the money and care for his family?"

As he spoke, I remembered Matthew 12:3-4, where Jesus reminded the Pharisees that David and his companions ate the consecrated bread because they were hungry. Human need did not suddenly make the law irrelevant, but it reminded us that justice without compassion can sometimes miss the heart of God.

In the end, my magistrate friend had little room for personal emotions. The law was clear. He sentenced the young man to one year imprisonment with an option of a ₦20,000 fine, while still requiring him to repay his employer. That conversation left me thinking.

Poverty is not a licence to steal, and stealing does not suddenly become right because life is hard. Yet, before we rush to condemn people, perhaps we should thank God for the temptations we have never had to face. Sometimes the difference between the "good man" and the "criminal" is simply the battles life has allowed each of them to encounter.

As Nigerians often say, "Na hungry fit make person forget say pepper hot." Desperation can push people to places they never imagined. So, let us pray not only for justice, but also for mercy. And above all, let us pray that God never allows us to face the kind of temptation that exposes the worst version of ourselves. 1 Corinthians10:12 says "Therefore let anyone who thinks that he stands take heed lest he fall."

Stay hopeful. God's got our back.

Happy New Month!

......Just the thoughts of a certain Wey Mey