Ndewo nu. Ekaro. Sanu. The land of my birth is 45 today. No be small ting, oh! Thrown together as we were by the Beasts of no Nation, it would have been prodigy enough for the nation to have lasted a decade. It very nearly didn't. As it is, it looks as if we're intent on fusing our identity into the global fabric as a set of intriguing personalities with exotic names rather than as a nation. Just yesterday I watched Chiwetel Ejiofor put in his usual smouldering performance in the geek event of the week. I'm wondering when Wole Soyinka or Chinua Achebe will next be in my neck of the woods so I can see the great men speak. I scour the local bookshops for glimpses of anything by Abiola Irele. I grin at the rave reviews for U.S./U.K. published novels by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Helen Oyeyemi and Chimezie's great friend Nnedimma Okorafor-Mbachu. I wild out when Oguchi Onyewu and Amaechi Igwe play strongly for the US national soccer team, Ogonna Nnamani for the US Women's Volleyball team, Emeka Okafor for the US Basketball team. Heck, I wonder whether Emmanuel Olisadebe will have a good run now that he's been reactivated to help Poland through the 2006 World Cup qualifiers (yeah, that's right—Poland). My son Osita and I try to catch the New York Giants (a team I've traditionally ignored) so that we can check out his namesake Ositadinma Umenyiora's skills at work in the American brand of football. Hmm. There's a broken lens somewhere behind this picture. Ah well. In a less somber observance, I've added Nigerian Blogs Aggregator to my sidebar. And I hate to wish anyone ill, but I just have to spend a moment today invoking the banana peel for Angola in the final African group four World Cup qualifier round so Nigeria can join the U.S. in booking tickets to Germany.
Nna man, men. 45 years, abi? We see wahala no mean say we no fit celebrate. E je ka jo O!