GERONTOCRACY IN AFRICA: THE WISDOM OF THE OLD AND THE INTELLIGENCE OF THE YOUTH
What an elder can see while sitting, a young lad wouldn’t be able to catch a glimpse even if he climbs a tree.
What an elder can see while sitting, a young lad wouldn’t be able to catch a glimpse even if he climbs a tree.
In a continent of Gerontocracy,
Where we dwell on what worked for the ancient,
We fail to ponder on what will work in the future…
A generation of misunderstood youths
who dared not even dream,
it is therefore little wonder
how far beneath
had we been relegated…
I am Temitope Komolafe, a student of Medicine and Surgery in University of Ibadan. I am a very spiritual person and I believe God is and should be the integral factor in life. I write and specialize in screenwriting. I love reading and am very open to learning from everything because I have come to discover that the more we know, the more we discover how much we don’t know
The pursuit of happiness involves wealth. Wealth is the backbone of society, it is the curse of men, and the nerve of war. Wealth is..
The birth mark at the back of my neck was from cigarettes stubs that Baami pressed on my neck when I first came to this world. They said I died a lot of time, more like a premium Abiku, I’m sure you must have heard about us too.
You smell of cocoa butter and vanilla.
I know because I’ve held you in my arms
Although never as a lover
It’s funny how I know almost every detail about you
“Fake It
Till you make it”
The noise of it f(ee)ls the air.
Marching along the highways
Some zap by at the speed of light
And others r(high)de on wings of flying dinosaurs;
Or so they thought.
“Go tie your wrapper well, can’t you see, you have started growing breasts?”, Said ubunkhei, my 14-year old male best-friend. Mami and Papi always told me to tie my wrappers well too, especially when going to the stream because “evil spirits were always looking for people as wives and husbands” I never took any of them serious, I always felt safe in my village.
That day the preacher-man went mad, everything he did was against the church itself. When he preached, he stamped his feet on the white tiles and clasped the microphone between his palms. When he sang, the church muffled and swayed from here to there like an Iroko tree blown by the desert wind. He called out verses – he carefully picked the verses – the ones that were long, long enough to throw the congregation in disarray of whispers.