Opinion
Pounding yams on stubborn bald heads
Pounding yams on stubborn bald heads
Tunde Odesola
(Published in The PUNCH, on Friday, June 6, 2025)
Jonathan Love and Taylor Steele are Americans. They are also my buddies at work. Jonathan is black; Taylor is white. The three of us could have perished in a ghastly auto accident on the morning of Tuesday, June 3, 2025, with me behind the wheel. “I need a dip, soda and sausage biscuit,” Taylor said with the expectation of a farmer on a rainy day. “I need soda and a sausage biscuit,” Jonathan stated assuredly like a pilot on a fine-weather day. So, I pulled off the highway into a gas station, and the two hopped out like students returning to school after a long holiday.
Drenching sugar, dripping salt and embalming preservatives; oh, how I dislike fast foods! The US, statistics say, devours more sugar than any other nation on God’s spinning earth. Rather than eat fast food, I’ll snack on rat neutraliser – I don’t want to say poison. I mean, I prefer home-made meals, anytime.
While Jonathan and Taylor were gone, I reached for my phone and entered the fray of modern distraction – Facebook, the ‘bolekaja’ of social media. ‘Bolekaja’ is a Yoruba slang for ‘alight, let’s fight’ – a fitting name for a platform whose oxygen is argument.
None of the drama in the ‘Bolekaja’ was interesting, so I migrated to WhatsApp. WhatsApp is the ‘Face Me–I–Slap You’ apartment of social media, where you’re safe in your room, but the moment you step out to mingle, you could be hit by anything.
A banker friend in the UK, Adeola Ojo, had sent me some skits on WhatsApp. I was watching one of the skits when Taylor opened the passenger door and sat beside me in the front while we waited for Jonathan. Taylor is in the habit of peeking at people’s phones, but I don’t mind. Mouth-watering Nigerian foods were on parade in the skit I was watching when Taylor got in the car. Some of the sumptuous meals being scooped into colourful plates came with orisirisi combinations: amala, gbegiri and ewedu swirling like a brown-and-green river; edika ikong cuddling fufu; eba serenading afang; moin moin hugging eko; cocoyam blessing bitterleaf soup; semo in tête-à-tête with oha; and ikokore – the secret of wateryam discovered by the Ijebu, rich and irresistible…while Taylor peeped away at my phone.
Then the wooden spoon scooped three large portions of snow-white pounded yam into a bowl, and Taylor, mouth ajar and mind afar, shouted, “Oh! Ice cream!” Yes, he screamed. If I were on the highway when he said that, only mercy could have sent us back to the land of the living from the gates of heaven.
Thank God we three got back to work in one piece. Thank God none of us took temporary accommodation in the morgue, pending autopsy, en route to burial. Thank God, no one was injured. Thank God! Thank God!
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Taylor asked me why I was reeling with laughter, I couldn’t explain to him because he would not understand; yam is not an American staple. So, how would he understand pounded yam? I just laughed and laughed for it was the only thing I could do; oro buruku tohun, terin – gloom accommodates laughter. Since I was a kid, I had learnt that when yam transmutes, it becomes pounded yam – isu parada, o d’iyan; but here I am, America is teaching me something different.
When one arrives at work, one must work: ti a ba de ibi ise, a ma n se ni, says a wise saying from my roots. In African culture, labour is sacred, it’s not just a meal ticket. Be you a farmer, hunter, fisherman, weaver, herbalist – no matter the work you do, there’s dignity in your labour.
But there are some jobs I can never, ever do. The topmost of such jobs is the work of Abobaku – the one who is buried with the king. I cannot come and die with any king o. Ah! Lai, lai! The Abobaku concept espoused in yesteryear Yoruba culture leans more on class manipulation and superiority complex than preservation of cosmic balance.
In “Death and the King’s Horseman,” Nobel laureate Wole Soyinka, explores the themes of death, betrayal, cultural identity, duty, colonialism, disruption, metaphysics, etc when Elesin – the Abobaku in the play – refuses to be buried with the king.
Sadly, the royal manipulation of ancient times has transmogrified into political and religious manipulation today, with many political zombies dying for their godfathers and spiritual fathers. This is evident in the way millions of PSP – Poverty-Stricken People – stupidly support some politicians whose actions have worsened poverty in the land. It also accounts for why some religious leaders would sell bulletproof vests to their adherents while the Papas and Mamas go about in bulletproof vehicles.
I’m yet to find a description worse than national shame the manner the Bola Tinubu administration celebrated the mouthed completion of 30 kilometers of the 750km Lagos-Calabar coastal highway. Adults who dance on the streets, celebrating four percent as a pass mark, should be chained to the iroko tree, lest they stray into the market.
Religious manipulation has produced a multitude of fake pastors like David Ibiyeo-Money and Jeremiah Funfeyin, Idabosky, etc as well as their Muslim counterparts, who preach exploitative doctrines to yoke their gullible followers with fear and guilt, making them part with their money easily.
Another job I can never do, even if it pays $10m per month is the job of an ìwèfà . In ancient Yoruba times, an ìwèfà was the young male who catered to the needs of the king’s harem. To forestall cross-pollination and pollution of the blue bloodline, the ìwèfà is castrated. Slaves were mostly picked for this job. The ìwèfà is preserved to preserve the king’s pleasure. He’s the cockless cock that craves the corn in a bottle.
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Moses saw the Promised Land, but he didn’t enter it with the Israelites. May that not be our portion. I can never take up the job of security official during football matches, backing the field of play while action is ongoing, and watching whether some delirious fan is going to run onto the field. In the UEFA Champions League final played at the Munich Football Arena, Munich, Germany, between PSG and Inter Milan, many stadium security officials backed the pitch and watched the fans to ensure crowd control. To back the field and watch jubilating fans celebrating or mourning the 5-0 worsting of Inter by a merciless PSG side was to suffer a fate similar to that of an ìwèfà.
There are three jobs I covet. I’ve been praying to God to give me the three jobs at the same time. The first is the job of Alhaji Abdullahi Ganduje, the hardworking national chairman of the All Progressives Congress. When I get the job, I’ll be doing absolutely nothing but just busy myself with sewing many starched agbada with pockets large enough to stuff dollars and an elephant.
The second job is that of the Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, Nyesom Wike. In the office, I will be croaking and causing wahala in my state, Osun, trampling on the skulls and limbs of the living and the dead, like a crazed cow in a china shop. So simple.
The third job is by no means easier than the first two. It’s the job of the Governor of Osun State, currently held by Asiwaju Jackson Nurudeen Ademola Adeleke. On the job, I’ll work hard, eat, sleep and dance to every sound like ikoto, the spinning toy, which staggers left and right, struggling hard to stay upright by itself without support. I’ll change my first name to Ajobiewe.
But there’s one job I’m unqualified to take because of my ancestry. It’s the job of the King of Iwo. However, I dare to say I’m not a US ex-convict like the present occupier of the stool, Oba Abdulrasheed Adekanbi. If I were the Oluwo, I wouldn’t have opened my mouth to tell the world that I wish to be called the Alaafin of Iwo because I know the title of the Alaafin was only a nickname that eventually became the main name. The actual title of the ruler of Oyo was Oloyo of Oyo, according to world-renowned Ifa scholar and priest, Chief Ifayemi Elebuibon.
In a telephone interview with me, Elebuibon said, “The name of the ruler of Oyo in ancient times was Olóyo Òrò-mòko (the powerful owner of Oyo Òrò who drinks pap) or Oba Eleyo Ajori Aje Olu Eni Gbara (the king who eats choice dishes cooked with shea butter).”
If I were the Oluwo, I would be content with my title, Oluwo, which means the god or lord of Iwo (Oluwa Iwo), instead of seeking the title, Alaafin, whose literal meaning – owner of a palace – is not as powerful as Oluwo.
Also, I will not rant in a viral video that Iwo was never under Ibadan when Ibadan had a standing army that defended Yoruba land, which included Iwo, against Fulani incursion. If I were the Oluwo, I’d keep my mouth shut and not belch when needless.
Email: [email protected]
Facebook: @Tunde Odesola
X: @Tunde_Odesola
Pounding yams on stubborn bald heads
Opinion
Problem of paying peanuts to professors, By Farooq Kperogi
Problem of paying peanuts to professors, By Farooq Kperogi
The last few days have witnessed intense social media debates among the Nigerian chattering classes about the unacceptably miserable remuneration of university teachers. The debates were stirred by two incidents.
The first was the widely shared story of one Professor Nasir Hassan-Wagini in Katsina, who sells tomatoes and soup ingredients in a rural open market to supplement his income from university teaching.
The second was the directive from the Academic Staff Union of Universities (ASUU) to its branches to commence a no-work-no-pay strike action in protest against the delayed payment of their June salaries, which have been rendered worthless by the hyperinflationary inferno currently engulfing Nigeria.
Some people argue that scholars worth their salt should never listlessly give in to the humiliation of receiving take-home pays that don’t take them home (with apologies to the Professor Attahiru Jega-led ASUU, which popularized this inventive phrase in the 1990s) and should instead find alternative means to supplement the starvation wages the government gives them.
Others, however, contend that asking university teachers to leave the system or use their expertise to explore different income streams misses the point about the wretched state of university education in Nigeria, which directly affects the future (and even the present) of the country. The view holds that the problem is more structural and systematic than individual.
If all dissatisfied public university lecturers were to resign their jobs or devote more attention to “side hustles” to complement the miserly wages they receive, there would be no university education to speak of. In fact, it would amount to cowardly avoidance and tacit exculpation of the government from its responsibility to fund education to secure the country’s future since no one debates the direct relationship between well-funded higher education systems and national growth.
It was French-British businessman James Goldsmith who popularized the expression, “If you pay peanuts, you get monkeys.” Poor remuneration repels the best and attracts the worst. Every responsible and progressive government invested in the future of its people knows this.
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Yes, there are many metaphoric monkeys teaching in Nigerian universities because poor pay has lowered the bar and allowed mediocrity to thrive. However, some of Nigeria’s best and brightest minds still teach and research in public universities in spite of the poor pay. When smart people are paid peanuts, they either stop performing effectively or leave the system altogether.
The truth is that the current compensation of university teachers in Nigeria is simply untenable. No Nigerian professor earns more than 750,000 naira per month, equivalent to about $500. A December 12, 2021, Daily Trust fact-check found that “Nigerian academics are indeed earning below their peers in the continent.” That is an abject embarrassment.
University teaching should provide a comfortable middle-class lifestyle, but no Nigerian university teacher, including senior professors, can afford such a life with current salaries, especially considering the unprecedented inflation triggered by fuel subsidy removal and naira devaluation.
On Tuesday, Minister of Education Tunji Alausa bragged about fending off the planned ASUU strike protesting delayed salaries. “Our children are the heartbeat of the nation, and their uninterrupted education is non-negotiable,” he said.
However, the minister didn’t address the elephant in the room. The relative stability in public universities is a stability of the graveyard. University teachers haven’t downed tools because they are exhausted from previous strikes that produced no results, yet they remain as disillusioned as ever. Many lecturers cannot afford transportation to campus after paying their children’s school fees, and those entirely dependent on their salaries face daily financial humiliations.
Now, most young people with sharp scholarly and pedagogical talents avoid academia. It used to be that although people knew university teachers weren’t rich, they were respected for their learning and because they could afford basic middle-class conveniences. Instead of celebrating forced, unnatural, and unsustainable “stability,” the education minister should focus on improving university teachers’ quality of life and research and teaching infrastructure.
Interestingly, I am writing this column from Japan, where I have been vacationing for the last nine days. Japan’s public universities have significantly contributed to the nation’s spectacular economic growth historically and in modern times.
Public universities here are major engines of research and development (R&D). They drive innovation in science and technology, conduct nearly 50 percent of Japan’s basic research, and increasingly collaborate with industry to translate knowledge into practical innovations.
I visited two public universities here and found that Japanese public universities have become innovation hubs. They house technology licensing offices, incubate startups, and produce patents and spin-off companies that contribute to new industries.
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Japan’s “economic miracle” in the 1960s and beyond was fueled by capital and technology importation and by a steady supply of engineers, scientists, managers, and professionals trained at universities. Empirical studies of growth accounting found that improvements in labor quality (that is, education level) substantially contributed to Japan’s GDP growth over the past century.
Japanese universities did not become innovation hubs by accident. They achieved this by adequately funding universities, ensuring teachers were happy, and encouraging mass enrollment in higher education.
University teachers in Japan are well compensated. According to WorldSalaries.com, remuneration for Japanese university teachers is about twice the overall national average income and on par with senior corporate managers. In fact, engineers in prestigious industries, such as the auto and tech sectors, which are the engines of Japan’s prosperity, on average, earn significantly less than professors.
In Japan’s labor market, the university lecturer is a high-status, well-paid profession, surpassed only by top executives in the private sector. Because of this, Japanese universities attract the very best.
Every society that is desirous of progress should pamper its best and brightest so they can gestate, germinate, and grow rarefied ideas that can advance the country.
In a private exchange on Wednesday, Professor Toyin Falola, the Jacob & Frances Sanger Mossiker Chair in the Humanities and University Distinguished Teaching Professor at the University of Texas, emphasized the critical importance of having a societal surplus to sustain what he called an “idle class.”
This “idle class” comprises individuals whose primary function is the creation, contemplation, and cultivation of ideas. This concept is essential in understanding the role and value of university lecturers and researchers in Nigeria.
The characterization of scholars as “idle” arises from a superficial perception of productivity. Unlike immediate commercial or industrial outputs, scholarly work often lacks immediate tangible results. Ideas and innovations require extended periods of gestation, contemplation, iterative refinement, and rigorous critique before manifesting into practical solutions or breakthroughs that visibly drive societal progress.
Historically, societies that invested in intellectual surplus, such as ancient Greece, medieval Islamic caliphates, and Renaissance Europe, experienced significant cultural, scientific, and economic advancement. These civilizations explicitly recognized the necessity of supporting thinkers, philosophers, and scientists who appeared outwardly “idle,” yet whose intellectual labor provided foundational insights that drove sustained growth and development.
In contemporary Nigeria, adequately funding university teachers and researchers is pivotal. Providing financial stability, institutional support, and intellectual freedom necessary for scholarly pursuits cultivates an environment for transformative innovations.
Paying scholars well (and, of course, insisting on accountability) acknowledges the long-term societal value of intellectual labor. Nigeria’s path forward (economically, socially, technologically, and culturally) hinges significantly on its capacity to sustain this “idle class,” whose quiet contemplation today shapes tomorrow’s innovations.
If President Bola Ahmed Tinubu genuinely wants to leave a lasting legacy, he must prioritize rebuilding Nigeria’s public university system by creating the conditions necessary to attract and retain the nation’s brightest minds. That means paying university teachers a livable wage, investing in their professional dignity, and resourcing institutions to become engines of innovation and progress. Anything less is a betrayal of the country’s future.
Problem of paying peanuts to professors, By Farooq Kperogi
Farooq Kperogi is renowned Nigerian columnist and United States-based Professor of Journalism.
Opinion
BAT rejects Trump’s amazing offer
BAT rejects Trump’s amazing offer
Tunde Odesola
(Published in The PUNCH, on Friday, July 11, 2025)
The presidential convoy spread out on the Third Mainland Bridge like a cloud of bats on seasonal migration. Sirens screamed. Lights flashed. The convoy of vehicles unfolds like the hail of light produced when the welder’s electrode kisses a metal, shraaaah! shraaaah! E plenty like iná wédà to fóká síbè.
As an insect enthusiast with particular love for beekeeping (cockroaches and bedbugs not included, please), I know that bees, ants and wasps have no kings, but queens, who guard-bees protect with their lives. However, termites have kings and queens, both of whom soldier termites protect with their last blood.
Be they bees, ants, wasps or termites, I love watching the life of cooperation, protection, order and hard work among insects. I love their guards’ provision of security for all and sundry, unlike the guards in this presidential convoy, whose only duty is the protection of the President, his family and bootlickers.
Measuring 11.8 kilometres, the Third Mainland Bridge, a massive masterpiece of concrete and steel work stretching over the Lagos Lagoon, was started in 1975 by the General Yakubu Gowon military administration, and continued by General Murtala Mohammed’s six-month government, before President Shehu Shagari stepped into the picture and did his bit. However, it was General Ibrahim Babangida who took credit for the bridge construction because he ensured its completion in 1990.
If the charismatic Babangida didn’t annul the June 12, 1993 presidential election won by Chief MKO Abiola, he almost certainly would have been preferred by Nigerians to shed his military khaki for the agbada of politics, instead of the less gifted and dour General Muhammadu Buhari, who later got the presidency on fake promises.
Regrettably, Babangida apparently lost political goodwill, honour, peace of mind and two terms of civilian presidency to the June 12 annulment. Little did Nigerians know that the official name of the Third Mainland Bridge is Ibrahim Babangida Bridge, but nobody remembers that; people only remember the abortion of June 12. The things men do, live with them.
It was on this Ibrahim Babangida Bridge that the presidential convoy set out en route to the airport. Jesu! Not even the president of the richest and most powerful nation on earth, Donald Trump, has such a long motorcade. From my vantage point, I counted the number of vehicles in the convoy. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 15, 20, 30, 40…Ha! Kilode? Is the president japaing? Probably to make counting difficult, the outriders zigzagged and crisscrossed. So, I stopped at 40-something.
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But in the middle of the armoured pack, I saw three Rolls-Royce Phantoms, three Cadillac Escalades, three Mercedes-Benzes, three Cybertrucks and three state-of-the-art buses. None of the cars in the convoy was assembled in Nigeria, despite the government’s avowed propaganda about patronising Made-in-Nigeria goods; not even the wash towels used for cleaning the vehicles were made in Nigeria, nor the foot mats.
Everywhere was on lockdown: air, land and sea – forcing the sun to hide behind the clouds, and birds vacated the air while the poor man’s movement was put on hold by those he voted for. Only the convoy moved. I yawned inside a Lagos BRT vehicle, wondering why the big men’s movement should stop the movement of citizens on the opposite side of the bridge.
This was when the window of one of the three buses opened, and I glimpsed Nigeria’s most recognisable cap, with its trademark chain symbol, the chain of oppression.
“Haa! Bàba Bàbá ni o! Olowo Eko ni ooo!” a youngster hawking alcoholic drinks and bottled water in traffic shrieked. “It’s the BAT, King BAT, the Lord of Lagos!” a hawker of plantain chips screamed, jumping, “I saw him! I saw him! Baba smiled and waved at me! Baba waved at me! The Asiwaju of the Universe waved at me!” A cripple, who begs in traffic, hissed and shook his head, “Una dey praise those who chain una? Ok o, make una kontiniu, una never see anything.”
The heat in the BRT was stifling, and sweat poured from skin pores. Thoughts of Nigeria flooded my mind. Since I was born and now that I am getting old, I have never seen Nigeria changeth (for good).
Inside the armoured bus, seated at the feet of the Lord of Lagos were members of his innermost circle – Noisome Winke, IdanFemi Gbabiamila, Baba Chief AdeBC, Jide-Olu, and Natasha coveter, Chief Dogswill Akpabi.
In the fleeting moment when the Lord of Lagos let down his window, I saw his gaze travel beyond the hailing roadside traders, resting on the 13-storey Senate Building of the University of Lagos, across the lagoon. I saw desire lit up in his eyes. “My name will suit the university more than its current name. What is UNILAG? Why not UNIBAT?
Winke, the ultimate bootlicker and mind reader, will not miss the opportunity to massage the ego of the Lord of Lagos. Though he cleared his throat, the frog in it would not keep silent. “Jide-Olu, don’t you think you should name UNILAG and this world’s best bridge after our personal Lord and Saviour?” Jide-Olu smiled, “No, Winke. UNILAG and the Third Mainland Bridge do not belong to the state. They belong to the centre, which is headed by our Lord and Saviour.”
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Sounding more like a masquerader battling stomach upset during a market show, Winke said, “Uhmm, it doesn’t matter, you can start the call from your end – that our leader deserves the university to be renamed after him. Or does he not?” Jide-Olu, “Why not, if not? In fact, I suggest we should call on the National Assembly to name all federal universities and polytechnics after our leader. That way, the nation will save money.”
Lord of Lagos: What do you think about these suggestions, Natasha, oh sorry, I mean, Akpabi?
Akpabi: (Smiles like a child eating ice cream, his special Ibibio accent booming loud and clear) Ha, you are our òká o. And, as our òká, iris not too much if we name Nigeria after you, I swear. Nigerians cannot reyect it. On Monday, the yoint session will rook at how we are going to do it, so that the opposition and Nigeria Rabour Congress will not begin their wahala.”
Lord of Lagos: Baba AdeBC, what do you think?
Baba AdeBC: Well, it’s not a bad idea for Nigeria to show gratefulness to her messiah and defender. I think it’s a good idea. (Baba AdeBC beams his trademark smile, which is as lifeless as the beach foam left behind on the shore by the roaring ocean)
Idanfemi: Your Excellency, you have a phone call from the US President, sir.
Lord of Lagos: Oh, connect me, Idanfemi.
Trump: How’re you doing, BAT?
Lord of Lagos: I’m doing great, Donald. Thank you. How’re you and your wonderful family?
Trump: We’re fine, and thanks for asking. Hey BAT, can I pick your brain real quick?
Lord of Lagos: Ha! No oooo; leave my brain alone o. Please, don’t pick it. My brain is old already. Ma se erekere iwo arakunrin yi. When you know you need Nigerian brains, why did you restrict your visa to three-month single entry? If you want millions of Nigerian brains, you open your borders for 24 hours and see.
Trump: No, you’re getting me wrong. I don’t mean to pick your brain literally, I mean to ask for your knowledge and advice on some issues.
Lord of Lagos: Oh, I see. Fear don catch me. I don’t want anything to touch this my political brain o.
Trump: Exactly what I’m saying! That your political brain is what I want to pick. I just saw your convoy on CNN! How do you afford such a large convoy and retinue of sycophants?
Lord of Lagos: That’s not for me to worry. The state takes care of that.
Trump: OMG! You mean the state bears the brunt of all that drain on taxpayers’ money? Are you kidding me!? I think it’s better to be president of your shithole than be president of America, seriously.
Lord of Lagos: You have come with this shithole thing again, Donald? You’re not serious.
Trump: Can you believe that as president, I pay for the food my family and I eat, I pay for drinks and clothes. I pay for private parties when I host them, I pay for gifts when I buy them for foreign dignitaries, I cover my vacation accommodations, and I pay for private events hosted outside the White House. Additionally, I pay for general household items like toilet paper, toothpaste, and garbage bags. Do you know that Bill Clinton incurred $16 million in debt for legal and personal investigation fees, which he paid over time?
Lord of Lagos: (Bursts into laughter) And you say you’re prezdent? Hahahahah! You’re prezdent indeed. Hahahaha! Yes, you’re the most powerful prezdent on earth, but are you the most indulged? Certainly, no! You’re just an administrative paper prezdent, I’m the ultimate ruler.
Trump: I wish we could trade places.
Lord of Lagos: Ha, trade places ke? No ooo! Let me be prezdent of this shithole, you continue to be prezdent of your superpower country. Stay with your democracy. I’ll stay with my empire. I don’t want to be Prezdent of America. I don’t wan die in prison, please.
Email: [email protected]
Facebook: @Tunde Odesola
X: @Tunde_Odesola
BAT rejects Trump’s amazing offer
Opinion
ADC coalition vs. APC: Fresh faces or familiar failures? By Farooq Kperogi
ADC coalition vs. APC: Fresh faces or familiar failures? By Farooq Kperogi
ADC coalition vs. APC: Fresh faces or familiar failures? By Farooq Kperogi
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