Power is a heady wine, dark and beguiling, its bouquet laced with the whispers of dominion. Those who dare to sip soon find themselves ensnared, lulled into a rapturous haze, blind to the creeping tendrils that tighten with each indulgence, until the cup is no longer theirs to set down.

The more the indulgence, the more they begin to assume that they embody the mythical essence of the gods, invincible and infallible. Power’s sweet wine courses through their livid veins, granting them the irresistible strengths of the genies of the spheres. Yet, beware, for its honeyed taste can forever trap one in a maelstrom of boastful and arrogant grandeur.

Untamed ambition is a heady brew, the elixir of self-anointed demi-gods who stride across the spheres like towering colossi, bending reality to the force of their whims. Nowhere is this more evident than in the realm of political power—a tempest that reshapes the landscape with an unrelenting hand. When the ego runs unbridled and the terrain is both vast and treacherous, power ceases to be a mere instrument; it becomes an insatiable force, a marauding spectre that leaves an indelible mark on history itself.

And power, when plundered from the collective wealth, becomes a double-edged sword – a tool of coercion and manipulation wielded by those who have usurped it. Individuals who never envisioned themselves in positions of authority, yet stumbled upon power through cunning and pilfered resources, become consumed by its intoxicating influence.

The unbridled might that power affords, coupled with the allure of dominance, transforms these unlikely rulers into unapologetic autocrats. Reckless abandon becomes their modus operandi, as they disregard the consequences of their actions, leaving a trail of devastation in their wake. The axiom 'might makes right' becomes their guiding principle.

In this distorted sense of the world, money – regardless of its origin, legitimate or ill-gotten – serves as the catalyst for political power. It becomes the primary currency in the calculus of influence, allowing those who wield it to dictate the terms of the political game. As the old adage goes, 'money talks,' and in this realm, it screams loudly, drowning out the voices of reason and accountability.

The purveyors of power often overlook a fundamental paradox: the currency of power is inextricably linked to its transience. Like sandcastles on the shores of time, power is ephemeral, susceptible to the erosive forces of fate, fortune, and the whims of human nature.

Whether wielded with impulsive fervour or calculated precision, power's intrinsic impermanence remains an immutable constant. Yet, those intoxicated by its allure frequently fail to acknowledge this fundamental truth.

Blinded by the dazzling aura of influence, they become oblivious to the precarious nature of their position. Theirs is a world of hubris and complacency, where the seductive trappings of authority lull them into a false sense of security.

But when the inevitable reckoning arrives, their mighty edifices of power come crashing down, leaving only ruins and regret in their wake. The once-mighty brokers of influence are left to ponder the transience of their ascendancy, their names becoming cautionary tales etched in the annals of history.

Against this backdrop, we turn to the latest outburst and political brinkmanship of the former Governor of Rivers State, Nyesom Wike, now Minister of the Federal Capital Territory—a spectacle that lays bare the intoxicating grip of power, wealth, and influence. His tirade against the Ijaw (Izons), the very custodians of Nigeria’s oil wealth, is more than a reckless verbal assault; it reeks of a calculated bid to assert dominance.

Buoyed, perhaps, by his close alliance with President Bola Tinubu, he appears emboldened to lash out at the Ijaw people with little regard for the fallout. Yet, beneath the surface of this vendetta lies a deeper, more personal war—an unresolved rift with his protégé-turned-rival, Governor Siminalayi Fubara, now playing out on the grand stage of power and ego.

This petty squabble has exposed the minister’s true character, revealing a man consumed by the very trappings of power he once wielded as Governor. His actions are symptomatic of a deeper malaise – one that stems from the corrupting influence of ill-gotten power, money, and influence. Chinua Achebe in his timeless creative work, Things Fall Apart, alluded to the fact that “those the God’s want to destroy, they first make mad.”

As this political spectacle unfolds, one must ask: has the minister’s relentless pursuit of power and relevance consumed him to the point of forsaking decorum and responsibility? Time will reveal the answer, but one thing remains indisputable—the people of Rivers State, particularly the Ijaw community, deserve better from their leaders.

The Ijaw people, a formidable force in Nigeria, number approximately 14.39 million, making up 6.1% of the country’s population and standing as its fourth-largest ethnic group. It is both troubling and telling when figures as influential as Minister Wike dismiss their significance with cavalier remarks like “Who are the Ijaws?... They're a minority…” Such rhetoric not only distorts reality but also disregards the undeniable role the Ijaw people play in shaping Nigeria’s economic destiny.

As custodians of the Niger Delta’s vast oil wealth, the Ijaw people provide the very lifeblood of Nigeria’s economy. Without their resources, the corridors of power—where individuals like Wike now revel in luxury—would be far less gilded. Yet, despite their indispensable contributions, they continue to battle the twin burdens of environmental devastation and systemic neglect.

To downplay the Ijaw’s importance is to ignore the truth: they are not mere footnotes in Nigeria’s story but central figures in its economic and political landscape. Recognising their struggles and contributions is not just a matter of fairness—it is a necessity for building a nation that values all its people, not just those who momentarily wield power.

Henry Ehler’s view of progress is refreshingly unromantic: a linear shift from bad to good is a mirage, for every advance in one sphere of life invariably extracts a toll in another. Nowhere is this paradox more apparent than in the volatile theater of politics, where gains are often shadowed by unseen forfeitures. For Nyesom Wike, the trajectory of progress post-governorship meant ascending to the role of Minister of the Federal Republic—an elevation that, by necessity, required relinquishing control of Rivers State. That is the natural order. Not a steamrolling of perceived lesser forces simply because he wields Federal influence.

If his legal education and political tutelage were meant to cultivate knowledge—defined as the capacity for clear thinking and professional competence in a chosen vocation—it must also embrace a higher purpose: the formation of a truly civilised individual. As John E. Smith posits, such a person possesses self-awareness, self-restraint, a sense of duty, and an unwavering commitment to justice and freedom—qualities essential for life in a truly civilised society. Without this moral and intellectual grounding, Smith warns, "all of our knowledge is vain, and our vocations and professions fall to the level of mere competitive struggles for money and power."

Minister Wike must grasp a fundamental lesson in strategic thinking: a man's center of gravity is also his weakest point. At present, Federal Might is Wike’s strength, his anchor. But as with all things mortal, power is ephemeral. The Nigerian proverb captures it best: the stick used to whip the first wife still hangs, waiting for the second.

Today, Wike may be the favoured bride of the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC), basking in the President’s trust. But he would do well to remember that the political whip that lashed the likes of former Kaduna Governor Nasir El-Rufai and his own predecessor in Rivers State, Rotimi Amaechi, hovers perilously close. If he continues to revel in the intoxication of power and speak from the side of his mouth, he may soon find himself on the receiving end.

Lastly, the Izon people remain an unpredictable force—a wild card Wike underestimates at his peril. If he sees them as a people to slight, he courts his own downfall. For, as Chinua Achebe aptly reminds us, those whom the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad.

I’ve yet to envision, even in my wildest thoughts, a world untouched by the grip of religion—a world where faith hasn’t burrowed into the deepest recesses of human consciousness. I often wonder what life looked like before religion’s first incursions into the heart. And sometimes, I ask myself: is religion the most dangerous creation man has ever conceived?

Undeniably, religion is an opiate—a drug nations endlessly refine. It numbs, blurs rationality, and holds the mind captive in a blissful delusion. Under its spell, we smile, cling to hope, and endure unimaginable pain, all while praising the very thing that keeps us bound.

Religion, in its most seductive form, can become a potent elixir—an intoxicant that dulls the senses and clouds the judgment. For some, it is not just a source of solace, but a drug that induces a dangerous delusion: they are no longer mere mortals, but divine beings worthy of worship. Elevated by the unwavering devotion of their followers, these self-appointed deities perch high above the masses, basking in the glow of adulation. From these dizzying heights, they see themselves as a different breed—untouchable, immune to error, and cloaked in an illusion of invincibility.

Their influence is pervasive, spreading like wildfire through communities, through nations, and their words carry the weight of unquestionable truth. The faithful are enthralled, their souls bound to the edicts of these self-styled gods who wield belief as both a weapon and a shield.

Karl Marx, with surgical precision, captured this manipulation in his timeless phrase: "Religion is the opium of the masses." It pacifies, numbs the pain, and offers escape—but at what cost? Mao Zedong understood the devastating potential of this opiate when he declared, "To kill a people, don't give them guns, give them religion." With faith as their weapon, rulers can conquer without ever drawing a blade, as the minds and hearts of the masses are subdued, not by force, but by fervour.

This is the insidious power of belief—when faith becomes a tool of control, and the faithful are lulled into submission, their eyes no longer on the heavens but on the earthly tyrants who wear the mask of divinity.

Countless distorted calibrations of the religious opiate permeate global affairs, each more insidious than the last. Religion pulses through the political veins, its arteries thick with the lifeblood of deception, fuelling systems of control. In our world, it has taken flight as the favoured mantra of the oppressor—a tool to dominate the impressionable souls of the oppressed.

With every sonorous chant, this mantra reshapes the painted devil of fear and submission. The oppressors wield it to stampede the vulnerable, who, in their confusion, retreat into the shadows of their closets. Faith, once a beacon, now serves as the weapon of their subjugation.

The deadliest weapons in man's arsenal are not the atomic, hydrogen, or helium bombs. Nor do stealth bombers, intercontinental ballistic missiles, armoured tanks, or chemical weapons hold the crown as humanity’s most destructive creations. While these have indeed wrought devastation in our time, they pale in comparison to the unchecked carnage unleashed by religious extremism and fanaticism.

As the opiate of the masses, religion serves as a perpetual brew of deception from which mankind drinks. It intoxicates beyond the point of redemption, inflating egos to dangerous extremes and dulling the mind’s capacity for reason. In this stupor, humanity is shackled by a predictable mass conformity—a modern slavery, where blind faith reigns and critical thought perishes.

Slavery is the inability to question the foundations of one's faith or the natural order of things. It is when mere mortals, through persuasive oratory or cunning, elevate themselves to the status of gods and craft the very doctrines that entrench the mental lethargy of the less discerning.

This mental laziness—hostile to the inquisitive spirit that challenges outdated beliefs and embraces deeper, more enlightened truths—becomes the fuel that sustains the egos of faith’s slave masters. It is the energy that keeps the wheels of this oppressive system turning, stifling growth while feeding on the unquestioning submission of its followers.

In a poetry class during my undergraduate days, we studied a satirical poem by one Zimmerman titled “The Day I Lost Religion.” It was a sharp and witty piece that explored the poet persona’s growing disillusionment with the manipulative tendencies inherent in religion.

I find myself increasingly disenchanted with the cacophony of voices rising from this religious quagmire—voices that continuously assault the collective consciousness with mercantilist imagery, instead of making genuine efforts to rekindle human spirituality. Whether through the incendiary diatribes pouring from pulpits, the self-serving grandiosity of certain preachers who defend their enlightened self-interests, or their behaviour as self-proclaimed deities immune to critique, the arrogance is unmistakable. The outright disdain they show for their congregants, treating them as mindless, unperceptive beings, reveals the depth of manipulation these followers are subjected to. It's a hackneyed playbook, one that exploits the very faith it pretends to nurture.

The unabashed display of such arrogance is infuriating. In carefully crafted sermons, these preachers manipulate their congregations, sowing fear at the mere thought of questioning their teachings—even when those teachings are flawed. With selective amnesia, they cherry-pick scripture that conveniently aligns with their agenda, silencing any voice of dissent or meaningful enquiry from those who recognise doctrinal errors.

Such are the times we live in. Such is the religious air we breathe in pursuit of spiritual edification. Each denomination offers its own brand of intolerant, subversive doctrines. Each fosters a herd mentality that blinds its followers, preventing them from seeing beyond the narrow, distorted lenses of subservience. Each new day brings more of the same—greed and self-interest masquerading as sermons of salvation, painting over truth with a veneer of sanctity.

No nation can rise above the collective psyche of its people. Similarly, no religion can transcend the unquestioning minds of its adherents. We are the architects of our own religious and cultural reality. Nigeria is a reflection of our collective consciousness, a society shackled by the chains of religion. We’ve become by it slaves—slaves to our beliefs, our emotions, and our unchallenged convictions. But as Socrates said, “The unexamined life is not worth living.”

Old mannequins, stubbornly clinging to their outmoded mindsets, are back in the fray, their influence once again permeating the spiritual and political arena. Their egos thrive facilely in the swirling discordant echoes of greed and the opiate of religion. We’ve journeyed the full cycle, only to find ourselves back at the starting point of this rollercoaster ride.

If we once again entrust our spiritual and political fortunes to this senile and morally bankrupt breed, we risk allowing the nightmares of the past to seep back into our collective psyche. They disregard the fresh perspectives of the younger generations or the right bearings from revivalist spiritual teachers and the holy books, remaining oblivious to the digital divide and the unbundling realities that defines our era. Instead, they wield the weight of transient power, flaunting their ill-gotten gains in the name of religion and politics.

The masses suffer from these spiritual and political misadventures, reduced to pawns in a game of greed. They are expendable on the political chessboard, sacrificed for the ambitions of their leaders. Without a narrative shift, we’ll soon hear of grand larcenies again, as the predators of corruption sharpen their fangs.

It's tragic how round pegs end up in square holes. This misalignment leads to despair that drowns out cries for change. Religion numbs the masses, blinding them to their plight while those in power pursue their self-interest relentlessly.

A cursory examination of Nigeria’s ethnic configurations and the complex web of relationships—fraught with suspicion at every turn—reveals a stark testament to the nation’s deep-seated divisions and contradictions. These fractures, etched into the very fabric of the country, raise profound questions about the paradox of a land so richly endowed yet so persistently polarised.

Long before the forced amalgamation of the Northern and Southern Protectorates by Lord Frederick Lugard in 1914, the strains of ethnic and religious discord had begun their insidious infiltration into the political consciousness of both the Muslim North and the Christian South. However, the struggle for ethnic and religious dominance, which simmered beneath the surface for decades, only erupted into its most virulent and grotesque form in the post-independence era.

The Hausa-Fulani North, bound by centuries of trans-border trade, the unifying force of Islam, and the common thread of the Hausa language, had always exhibited a semblance of cohesion. The Christian South, by contrast, was a mosaic of diverse ethnic groups, each with distinct linguistic, cultural, and political identities. The Yoruba, predominantly in the Southwest, maintained a rich tradition of political organisation, commerce, and scholarship, blending indigenous beliefs with Christianity and Islam.

The Igbo of the Southeast, fiercely republican in their socio-political structure, thrived on entrepreneurial ingenuity and a deep-seated belief in meritocracy. The Niger Delta and the South-South Region, home to minority ethnic groups, navigated a different reality—one shaped by a long history of resource wealth, environmental exploitation, and struggles for self-determination.

Despite this diversity, colonial rule imposed an artificial unity, stringing together these disparate entities under a single administrative framework. Yet, rather than fostering integration, colonial policies entrenched divisions, fuelling mutual distrust and competition for political and economic power. The post-independence period only exacerbated these fault-lines, as regional interests clashed in a relentless contest for dominance, culminating in political instability, coups, and a brutal civil war.

Today, the echoes of these historical tensions continue to reverberate across Nigeria’s socio-political landscape, shaping national discourse and governance. The unresolved questions of identity, resource control, and power distribution remain potent triggers of conflict, reinforcing the fragile nature of a nation still grappling with the ghosts of its colonial past.

Since the First Republic, the pendulum of political power in Nigeria has largely swung between the North and the South—particularly the Yoruba-dominated Southwest—leaving minority groups systematically marginalised by the sheer weight of numerical strength. This entrenched power dynamic, shaped by historical precedent and demographic politics, has effectively sidelined other regions from the highest office of the land.

An exception to this pattern came in 2010—an anomaly in Nigeria’s political history—when the untimely death of President Umaru Musa Yar’Adua propelled his vice president, Goodluck Ebele Jonathan, from the Niger Delta, to the presidency. His six-year tenure, though significant, was widely regarded as an accident of history rather than a deliberate shift in Nigeria’s power calculus.

For the Igbo of the South-East, the road to the presidency has remained elusive since the First Republic. Though Nnamdi Azikiwe served as Nigeria’s first indigenous President at independence in 1960, his role was largely ceremonial under a parliamentary system. The brief leadership of Aguiyi-Ironsi following the 1966 coup—marked by turbulence and swiftly truncated by counter-coup—remains the closest the Southeast has come to executive power.

Decades later, despite their formidable contributions to Nigeria’s political and economic landscape, the Igbos continue to be conspicuously absent from the presidency, reinforcing long- standing grievances over political exclusion and marginalisation. The enduring myth of the North-South dichotomy in Nigeria’s political landscape is not merely a relic of historical narratives; it persists because of two undeniable realities.

The Yoruba of the South-West, despite internal political disagreements, often present a formidable united front when issues of cultural identity or geopolitical interests arise. This cohesion grants them significant leverage in power negotiations, particularly in their engagements with the Muslim North. While external observers may perceive them as fragmented in state affairs, their unity resembles the symbiotic relationship between the tongue and the teeth—despite occasional friction, the tongue never abandons the teeth, and no matter how often the teeth bite the tongue in the act of chewing, the food is never spilled. This intrinsic solidarity, though sometimes
understated, remains a defining factor in their political calculations.

On the other hand, the Muslim North’s strength has always stemmed from two dominant forces: ethnicity and religion. Politically, they move as a monolithic bloc, often speaking with one voice when rallied by their religious and political leadership. Their steadfastness in political allegiance is rarely swayed by external influences, as they consistently align with their regional and religious affiliations. Beyond ideological commitments, they wield a numerical advantage in electoral contests, a factor that has historically bolstered their influence in national politics.

Moreover, their political dynamics are characterised by a deeply ingrained followership
structure—leaders command near-unquestioning loyalty, and followers rarely deviate from the
collective stance. This herd mentality, whether perceived as a strength or a weakness, remains a
defining characteristic of their political machinery.

The political landscape of Nigeria is akin to a delicate chessboard where each major ethnic bloc
manoeuvers with calculated precision, striving for dominance while contending with historical
grievances and entrenched suspicions. Yet, a third force exists—one that, if properly harnessed,
could either disrupt or completely upend this precarious balance of power: the predominantly
Igbo Southeast. Ironically, despite their immense intellectual and economic capital, the Igbos lack the political
cohesion that has long fortified the Hausa-Fulani hegemony in the Muslim North. Nor do they
exhibit the organic sense of fraternity that underpins the Yoruba Southwest’s political manoeuverings.

Instead, they remain their own greatest adversaries, ensnared in a web of self- conceit, internal rivalries, and insatiable political ambition. This fragmentation—manifested in a cacophony of conflicting voices and a relentless scramble for individual political patronage—has repeatedly been their Achilles’ heel, ensuring their prolonged exclusion from the presidency since the Aguiyi-Ironsi debacle.

A historic and mutual distrust between the Yorubas and the Igbos has further exacerbated this predicament. Rather than forging a unified front capable of dismantling the political stronghold of the North, both ethnic groups persist in their ideological dissonance and party fractionalisation. Their insistence on parallel paths has, time and again, played into the hands of the dominant northern oligarchy. Were the Yorubas and Igbos ever to set aside their deep-seated suspicions and coalesce under a singular vision, the North’s grip on power would loosen considerably—perhaps even irreversibly—regardless of its numerical advantage. If the Igbos, rather than prioritising individual gain, embraced collective strategy and aligned with the Yorubas in pursuit of a shared political objective, it would mark a turning point in Nigeria’s political history.

Yet, this remains a mirage—an elusive ideal that rarely translates into political reality. The North,
ever cognisant of this fundamental weakness, has mastered the art of divide and rule, ensuring that the Southeast remains in a perpetual state of internal discord. By deepening the fractures within Igbo leadership and exacerbating the mistrust between the Southeast and Southwest, the Northern elite continues to consolidate its hold on the levers of power. Until the day the Igbos recognise the imperative of strategic unity and forge alliances beyond the bounds of ethnic sentiment, the North’s dominance will remain unchallenged, and their political marginalisation will endure.

The Northcentral region—long regarded as a subservient extension of the North—is beginning to
rouse from its political slumber, recalibrating its allegiances in pursuit of liberty and a new consciousness of its marginalised status. In this awakening, it could serve as the critical buffer that the Yorubas and Igbos need to dismantle the entrenched myth of Northern dominance.

Naturally, the oil-rich Southsouth would find strategic advantage in aligning with such a consensus between the Southwest, Southeast, and Northcentral, leaving the core Muslim North isolated without its historical stronghold.
Yet, this remains an elusive ideal. The real impediment? The deep-seated greed and provincialism of the Igbos and Yorubas, who, despite the strategic necessity, will not permit such an alliance in the ruthless arena of power politics.

Meanwhile, the far-sighted Muslim North, ever adept at political manoeuvering, will continue to stay ahead of the game.

A silent coup is sweeping across Africa—not with guns, tanks, or bloodshed, but with screens, signals, and silent algorithms. The Internet and GSM, once hailed as the golden keys to progress, have become the harbingers of cultural extinction. With each passing day, our languages fade into echoes, our traditions buckle under the weight of borrowed realities, and a new breed of African emerges: neither fully Black nor White, but stranded in the void between.

Franz Fanon called them “Black Skins, White Masks.” Today, they are the casualties of an identity crisis barrelling toward the precipice of no return. We have become the world’s most accomplished imitators, mimicking the West with the zeal of converts, believing that salvation lies in assimilation. We lay blame at the feet of colonialism for
our fractured state while eagerly downplaying our incompetency, corruption and nepotistic tendencies, discarding our mother tongues, our indigenous attire, and our sacred worldviews.

Our aspirations are painted in foreign hues. Our very thoughts are processed through borrowed lenses. And in the digital age, cultural annexation has never been easier. No need for physical conquest when we willingly surrender our essence. We are now the conquered, freed and reconquered species. The real battleground? The mind. It is where empires rise and fall long before a single stone is laid or a sword is drawn. Conquer the mind, and the body follows. Subjugate the spirit, and a people will police their own chains, mistaking servitude for order, oppression for stability.

Nowhere is this truer than in Africa, where centuries of subjugation have not only plundered lands but rewritten identities, conditioning generations to bow before foreign altars while neglecting their own thrones. The defeat of the mind is not a momentary lapse; it is an erosion, a slow, silent unraveling that turns sovereignty into supplication. And the worst part? It is almost irreversible—almost. Unless the intervention is prompt, strategic, and unyielding. Unless we reclaim our narrative, dismantle the mental fortresses built by colonial ghosts, and re-forge the chains of dependency into weapons of liberation. Because a mind once truly freed is a nation reborn.

Subliminal programming has done what centuries of imperialism struggled to achieve. It lurks in the music videos that glorify excess and decadence. It parades through the Hollywood scripts that reframe our aspirations, casting our histories as footnotes in grander Western narratives. It stares back at us from the glossy pages of magazines that repackage inferiority as sophistication. We are not merely consuming media; we are being reprogrammed by it, transformed into marionettes whose strings are pulled by unseen hands.

Albert Einstein warned us, “No problem can be solved with the same consciousness that created it.” Yet, Africa continues to seek solutions through the myopic gaze of foreign ideals. Our vision is blurred, our trajectory uncertain. Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.” But how can a continent dream when its very soul is being rewritten?

Chairman Mao once theorised, “To kill a people, don’t give them guns—take away their culture and give them religion.” Today, Africa finds itself overdosing on the opium of organised faith, peddled by self-styled prophets who exploit fear for personal gain. In packed auditoriums and lavishly adorned megachurches, a gospel of prosperity drowns out the agonised cries of a people hemorrhaging their identity. The real heist is not our wealth—it is our collective consciousness.

Consider Project MK-Ultra, the CIA’s infamous mind-control experiment. It was a crude attempt at something that is now unfolding on a global scale. Reprogramme the narrative, and you reprogramme the people. Africa’s story is being rewritten—not by us, but about us. Our melanin- rich skin, once celebrated, is now bleached into pale imitations of perceived perfection. Our indigenous languages are sidelined, spoken only in hushed tones, reserved for the elderly and the uneducated. Our cultural heritage is auctioned off in the name of globalisation, while our sacred artifacts sit in foreign museums, stripped of context and soul.

What is the cost of cultural amnesia? A continent that speaks, dresses, and thinks like the West yet remains at the periphery of global influence. A people who adopt foreign values but still find themselves seeking validation. We parade in borrowed robes and wonder why we are treated as second-class citizens on the world stage. We have traded our authenticity for acceptance, only to discover that assimilation does not equate to elevation—it is merely a different form of subjugation.

The path to reclaiming our essence begins with self-examination. Where do we stand? How do we define ourselves beyond borrowed narratives? Does our relentless pursuit of Westernisation truly elevate us, or does it merely chain us in a subtler, more insidious form of bondage? Existence alone is merely survival, a passive state that holds no weight in the grand scheme of human advancement. Respect is not a birthright, nor can it be gifted—it must be forged through action, resilience, and undeniable impact. To truly matter in the global equation, we cannot afford to be mere consumers, feeding off the ingenuity of others. We must be architects of progress, creators of change, and custodians of our own destiny.

Innovation is not a luxury; it is the currency of relevance. To redefine our place in history, we must challenge the status quo, push the boundaries of possibility, and carve our names into the pillars of civilisation. As O.E. Kay warns in Generation Why’s Perdition, “If you don’t dominate your environment, the one who does will enslave you.” This is not a cautionary exaggeration—it is a truth etched into the annals of history. The world does not wait for the passive; it is shaped by those bold enough to claim their space.

Africa has everything it needs to reclaim its destiny, but first, we must break the trance. We must seize control of our socio-political and economic landscapes. We must safeguard our spiritual integrity against the wolves who wear the robes of shepherds. We must cease defining ourselves through foreign reflections and instead craft our own mirrors. A man who abandons his culture becomes a ghost in history—visible yet unseen, present yet unaccounted for, like a shadow that lingers but leaves no footprint. Culture is more than inheritance; it is the lifeblood of identity, the thread that binds generations, the essence that shapes our voice in the chorus of humanity.

Our language is more than mere words—it is the soul’s imprint, the rhythm of our ancestors echoing through time. Our traditions are more than customs—they are the pillars that uphold our dignity, the wisdom of those who came before us, whispering their lessons through ritual and practice. To forsake them is to unravel oneself, to dissolve into the nameless void of history where the forgotten dwell. Own your heritage. Live it with pride. Defend it with conviction. Because to lose it is not just to be erased—it is to never have truly existed at all.

The majestic vessel of society, once launched with noble ideals and far-reaching values, now finds itself adrift, having lost its guiding rudder in the turbulent depths of a chaotic world. A maelstrom of unprecedented ferocity rages on, relentlessly pounding against the ship’s weathered hull, threatening to capsize its very unique fabric. This tempestuous sea, once brimming with hope and moral guidance, now churns with the detritus of a society in decay.

Both the starboard and aft decks of this beleaguered ship are perilously exposed to the crushing weights of decadence and moral decay, as the compass of its collective conscience spins wildly, bereft of direction or purpose. The tempests of turmoil, fuelled by the darkest aspects of human nature, imperil the voyage of civilisation itself, leaving the future of humanity shrouded in uncertainty.

The sacred institutions that once anchored our collective conscience – family, faith, and community – now lie battered and bruised, their foundations eroded by the relentless tides of moral relativism. The notion of objective truth has been reduced to a distant memory, replaced by a cacophony of competing narratives, each one more absurd than the last.

In this topsy-turvy world, where the absurd has become the norm, we’re wont to celebrate the profane and the mundane, while the sublime and the transcendent are relegated to the dustbin of history. With warped values, and our skewed priorities, we lavish attention on the frivolous and the obscene, while the truly important compassion, empathy, and kindness – are relegated to the periphery.

The ship of society, once steered by the lodestar of moral principle, now drifts aimlessly, its rudder broken, its compass shattered in a fierce gale. We are lost at sea, adrift in a world without moorings, where the only constant is the pursuit of pleasure and the avoidance of pain. And yet, despite the chaos that surrounds us, we remain oblivious to the danger.

We are like the ship’s passengers, distracted by the ship’s band playing lively tunes on the deck, even as the vessel hurtles towards the rocks of destruction. And so the maelstrom of decadence rages on, its fury unabated. Will we awaken to the danger before it’s too late, or will we continue to slumber, lulled by the siren song of
indulgence and excess? Only time will tell.

Suffice it to x-ray the depths of our society’s sunken ship. The once-sacred institutions now lie in ruins, desecrated by the very hands that were meant to uphold them. The altar of morality, where values were once forged, now serves as a pedestal for the profane.

The mirror of social conscience, once reflecting the highest ideals, now gazes upon the absurd, distorted by the warped lens of moral relativism. The absurd has been enthroned in our psyche, as values are attached to the most obscene and frivolous aspects of life. The sacred bond of marriage, once a symbol of love and commitment, has been reduced to a mere mockery, as the institution is repeatedly desecrated by the selfish desires of individuals.  The family, once the cornerstone of society, now lies fractured, as the pursuit of personal gratification takes precedence over the well-being of others.

The educational system, once a bastion of knowledge and wisdom, now churns out minds that are more adept at navigating the superficial landscape of social media than engaging with the complexities of the real world. The voices of reason and intellect are drowned out by the cacophony of celebrity worship and reality TV.

In this morally bankrupt society, the value of human life is measured by its utility, rather than its inherent worth. The vulnerable are exploited, the weak are discarded, and the innocent are sacrificed at the altar of progress.
As the darkness deepens, the light of conscience flickers, casting a faint glow on the horizon. But it is a distant memory, a relic of a bygone era, when values were rooted in something deeper than the whims of human desire.

In this desolate landscape, the only constants are the winds of change, which howl through the ruins, carrying the whispers of a forgotten past, and the cries of a desperate present. The future, once a beacon of hope, now hangs in the balance, as the last remnants of a morally decadent society cling to the wreckage of a world that has lost its way.

The ship of society, once a stalwart vessel charting a steady course, now founders on the rocky shoals of moral ambiguity. The cargo it carries – a toxic mix of relativism, hedonism, and narcissism – threatens to capsize the very principles that once kept it afloat. The captains at the helm, bereft of navigational skills, flail about in desperation, grasping at empty straws in the vast ocean of uncertainty.

The future, once a ray of hope and promise, now looms as a dark and foreboding spectre. The past, with all its flaws and imperfections, at least boasted a modicum of moral clarity, a compass that guided the ship through treacherous waters. But the future, shrouded in a thick fog of moral turpitude, offers no such guidance. We are,
indeed, at the end of a long tether, with no clear direction or purpose to speak of.

As a people, we have lost our moorings, our sense of identity and purpose. We are no longer a cohesive whole, bound together by shared values and principles. Instead, we are like drift logs, lost in the ocean of time, carried by the currents of whimsy and fashion. We’ll rather be the ‘other’ than our true selves.

Our priorities are skewed, our values so dastardly warped. We celebrate the frivolous, the banal, and the mundane, while ignoring the profound, the meaningful, and the transcendent. The things that appeal to our senses – the flashy, the loud, and the ostentatious – are the very things that distract us from our true nature and purpose.

We are adrift in a sea of uncertainty, with no clear direction or anchor to hold onto. And yet, we press on, driven by the winds of desire and the currents of conformity, further and further into the unknown. The abyss is fast calling – and we’re willingly answering the call of no return. In this desolate landscape, we are forced to confront the darkest aspects of our own nature.

We are compelled to ask ourselves: What does it mean to be human? What values and principles should guide us? What is the purpose of our existence? The answers, much like the ship’s compass, seem lost in the mists of time. And yet, it is in this very darkness that we may discover the seeds of our redemption, the glimmer of a
new dawn, and the promise of a brighter future.

Amidst the turmoil, a glimmer of hope may yet emerge. For in the depths of our collective soul, the seeds of redemption lie dormant, waiting to be nurtured. These seeds are the timeless values we hold sacred: compassion, empathy, kindness, and integrity. They are the bedrock upon which we can rebuild our fractured world.

As we embark on this journey of rediscovery, we find that the essence of our true identity serves as a guiding light. To be authentically us, to embrace our unique experiences, perspectives, and talents, is to tap into the transformative power of self-awareness. This awakening sparks a chain reaction, illuminating the path forward and beckoning us toward a brighter horizon.

The promise of a brighter future is inextricably linked to what we offer to the rest of humanity. It is in the act of giving, of sharing our gifts, our wisdom, and our love, that we find true fulfillment. By contributing to the greater good, we not only uplift others but also elevate ourselves, becoming the architects of a more compassionate, just, and harmonious world.

In this way, we rise from the ashes, phoenix-like, reborn and renewed. Our redemption is not merely a personal salvation but a collective transformation, one that radiates outward, touching hearts, minds, and lives across the globe. As we embark on this odyssey of self-discovery and collective growth, we come to realise that, indeed, all is not lost – for within us lies the power to create a brighter, more radiant future.

Evil lurks everywhere. It rears its head in the dark. Even in the light, it bounces with vigour. Evil comes garbed in too many harried colours. Its victims are spread across the swathe of the earth. Never a day passes without a form of evil unleashed.

You hear the cries of anguish and despair here, and the splash of crimson blood over there. Wars take centre stage. The gory aftermath is human destruction. The yarns of war are weaved in religious intolerance. Political considerations breed wanton killings of innocent people, all in the bid to maintain the status quo.

Flights of inordinate ambitions are some of the priced kilns forging human destruction. Eyes see the machinations of evil etched everywhere. Ears hear of the drone of strumming drums from evil’s gnarled hands. Voices are silenced by the refusal of hearts to heed the pitched cries of anguish. So we twirl daily in the chasm of evil – always lurching towards the zone of escape but caught instead in its ever widening warp.

It becomes a dreary sentence to walk the length of life’s leash, not knowing what lurks ahead. The gnawing feeling of daily plodding in a whirlpool where evil holds sway, takes the thrill out of the walk. Since nature abhors a vacuum, we must continue with the walk even if it’s haunted, and find a way out of the morass humanity finds herself in. But how?

How did we get to this point where dirges are the only rhythms in the sky, and bloodbaths in the theatres of war are the only images glimpsed? How did we lose touch with our humanity? As Bob Marley once crooned, “Where did it all begin and where will it end? Well, it seems like total destruction is the only solution.”

The religious bigot who takes pride in snuffing out lives believing in his ascent to a sphere of influence (heaven or whatever you call it), may draw momentary strengthen from his delusions of grandeur, but he’s by far inferior in spirit and deeds to the one whose life he terminated abruptly, because in the divine scheme of things, no religion exists, and God places no premium on any soul above the other. They are all created out of His mercy and grace for His edification.

The politician who in moments of heady zeal aims his darts at the hearts of those he vowed to serve via draconian policies, or resorts to divisive tendencies, or deliberate mischief to acquire power and influence, or willingly accepts to be a tool of social in-cohesion in the hands of puppeteers, does so with the conviction that the end and not the means matter in the walk towards greatness. Such a man or woman reinforces the
misnomer, the banality of evil.

World leaders championing manipulative intelligence as a means for global dominance in a largely materialistic space, continue to contrive their ploys with the belief that it is their right to usurp the wealth of nations. The business man or woman who in the face of cutthroat competition indulges in voodoo to outsell the other. The sportsman who thinks his only chances at excelling and carting home laurels is by undoing his competitors through diabolical means other than talent.

The civil servant who relishes in using others to climb because he or she lacks talent or the skills set to shine. The bosses who harass their subordinates because they want to have access to their pants. Those who whip subordinates to submission through unwholesome tirades. A child rebelling against his or her parents. A parent testing the forbidden fruit of his or her own child. Jealous colleagues in the work environment.

Squabbles in polygamous settings. Siblings rivalries. Nations rising against nations in the spirit of dominance. Ritualists seeking souls to sacrifice to sate their quest for wealth and fame. Witchcraft jinxes. Cultism and the attendant mayhem. Pastors fleecing their flock dry in the name of God. All these and more, are the colours of evil.
Evil thrives because we almost always clear the fields for its seeds to grow.

Society is pregnant with evil because humans are its nurturing beds. In human hearts are evil’s gateways. The doors to the dark abyss are forever ajar in them. Greed, malice, unforgiveness, lust, hatred, inordinate pursuit of riches, power, influence, the good life, etc, are the pivots on which the world of evil revolves.

Evil breeds evil. Good thoughts inspire good deeds. Societies are built through positive action while the destruction of the same societies are a culmination of negative energies. Though the negative volition has always been expressed since the days of yore, the polarisation of human choices often brings it to the forefront of human actions. To incline towards the positive side of things is to be truly alive to our responsibilities as
rational beings, whereas a firmer hold onto the negative pole makes us all monsters in paradise.

The monster in us is given free rein in our thoughts and actions because of our debased value systems. As individuals, we seem no longer in tune with the values that we hitherto held sacred. As a society, we’ve made a precipitous descent into the mire of materialism, to the extent, our spiritual wellspring suffers. Societies are not sustained mainly on material dialectics but also on the fulcrum of robust spirituality, which is the
basis of progressive actions.

The greatest challenge humanity grapples with today and years to come is the banality of evil. While a world without evil is practically impossible to envision because of the diversity of human thoughts and emotions, its elimination to the barest minimum is feasible if we make the conscious effort to check how much space we are willing to give to the mind's leash towards the negative. Therein lies our power to choose the victory of good over evil. For the victory of the bad over the good is temporal, but that of the good over the bad is eternal.

By this clarion call, all religious leaders, the political class, leaders of thought, the business elite, and the entire citizenry of this country and the whole world at large, should eschew bitterness towards one another in their dealings, to live by the tenets of their faith which upholds love above every other thing, to be their brothers and sisters’ keepers, to uphold the sanctity of human life uppermost in their hearts, to be tolerant of other people’s beliefs and prejudices, and to cherish our common humanity.

Enough of the communion from the chalice of evil to which we’ve drunk to the fill. Enough of the shedding of blood in the name of God who daily frowns at our excesses. Enough of the entire gamut of madness in our grope through earth terrains. The time to say no to the banality of evil is now!