A lot of people have used the popular saying "the love of money is the root of evil" in accepting a position of poverty, they feel that striving to be rich is some form of evil. Robert Kiyosaki in his best seller "Rich Dad Poor Dad" debunks that popular saying. Instead he modifies it in a truer more realistic form to say "the lack of money is truly the root of evil." And when you look at it that is really the case; a person who kills for money does it out of a perceived lack of money. I say perceived because wealth is really defined by an individual, Robert C.Savage says "the richest person is the one who is contented with what he has." From the book "If life is a game these are the rules," "no amount of external objects…can ever fill an inner void." MONEY: its not complicated but its difficult (part 1)', 'A lot of people have used the popular saying "the love of money is the root of evil" in accepting a position of poverty, they feel that striving to be rich is some form of evil. Robert Kiyosaki in his best seller "Rich Dad Poor Dad" debunks that popular saying. Instead he modifies it in a truer more realistic form to say "the lack of money is truly the root of evil." And when you look at it that is really the case; a person who kills for money does it out of a perceived lack of money. I say perceived because wealth is really defined by an individual, Robert C.Savage says "the richest person is the one who is contented with what he has." From the book "If life is a game these are the rules," "no amount of external objects…can ever fill an inner void." The void can only be filled by looking within. Similar to the point on beauty, one has to be financially content with what they have, but not to the point that they become too complacent or obsessed with making money.

I remember growing up, we always felt like we were rich even though we weren't, but our parents had a way of making us feel important. We didn't agonize or cry over our current situation instead we enjoyed every moment, but the time came when we hit the rocks, and hit it we did, we literarily shattered the rocks. In 2002, I remember crying on the phone at the University of Houston over fear of deportation for lack of funds to pay next semester's school fees, but still my Mum stayed optimistic and hopeful. She never made it sound like we were poor, even though it was apparent. She always seemed to have a nice way of saying it and I admire her for that and wish more people were like that. And one thing she did was pray pray and pray, you see my Mum believed in prayers, she probably got up every morning praying that the sun would rise and God probably hadn't disappointed her yet. But a lot of poor people fall into a spiritual stagnation pit, where they believe that if they pray God will miraculously blow a BMW through their window and if they don't receive blessings they say its God's wish. But God does not want us to be poor, he wants us to be rich, but he wants us to work for it with the right mentality "God helps those who help themselves." Growing up in Nigeria was a life altering experience, there were numerous times that I saw people struggling financially and they blamed it on witch craft or "God's will," to me all these are excuses. One has to get up and do something about their current situation, praying without action is like making a strong foundation and wishing a house on the foundation, it won't happen. So one has to work to get money, by developing several habits, Dave Ramsey in his best seller says "People spend money they don't have, on things they don't need, to impress people they don't like." And boy is this statement true! The average person out there wants to buys a Jaguar with a 5 year financing on money he DOES NOT have, on a luxury car he DOES NOT NEED, to impress the people at work he does not LIKE. That phrase summarizes in a nut shell the three core prisms on which MONEY lies.

Prism 1: Spending money we don't have

6 months ago, I partook in the greatest step ever towards financial freedom. I took out my American Express card, on which I had charged over $2000 monthly and cut it in 2 separate unusable pieces. At that point in life, I made a strong decision to get out of my credit card bondage. I remember growing up in Nigeria; you bought everything with cash, food, cars and even houses. There was nothing like financing, the only store that offered financing had a sign on their front door that said "no credit today, come tomorrow." But so easily I got sucked up into the habits to spending on credit, I believed I was building my credit, I mean what system makes you borrow money to prove that you could borrow more money in other to "build your credit," If you can make your credit card bills every month then why don't you just save the money and "build your debit?" American Express, Master Card and VISA have pumped millions and millions of dollars into the American society to lead us into believing that if you do not have a credit history you cannot exist. Bullshit! Every single person ought to shear up their credit cards and return to the good ol days of carrying cash. I recall a great number of my friends that got caught up with credit card debts of over $5000 while in college "80% of graduating college seniors have credit card debt-before they even have a job," the best advice I ever received on Credit Cards came from my Uncle. Simply put he said "don't ever touch credit cards…." And am glad I did.

The only reason one might need credit of any sort is to feed the million dollar sponsored phrase "building credit," The only important purchase in your life that needs some sort of loan is a home mortgage (as it is the only appreciating asset worth lending money for), and this can be gotten without a credit-card-spending-histo?ry, if you have a mortgage company that tells you otherwise leave them quick and hire someone else. With 10% down on a house and 2 years rental history, you will have more that enough information to qualify for a conventional fifteen-year fixed loan on a home. So cut up your cards up and spend the money the good ol way, with cash. Remember the simple but difficult rule, "Don't spend what you don't have"

Prism 2: Spending money on things you don't need

The line between a need and want is very blurry, until you are dead broke then it become clearer. But if you feel you have all the money in the world, there is a simple test to ascertain if an item is a need or a want. If you go to a store and find yourself pondering in the aisles of indecision over a product, go back home and think it over for a day if your desire still exists then drive out to the store and purchase the item. The irony is that few people can do this, because stores like Wal-Mart and Best Buy have perfected the act of "buy it now or the deal will be gone tomorrow" to a pure science. Have you ever wondered why Wal-Mart will sell a single pack of Tic Tac for $1.00 at the register and sell a 6 pack of Tic Tac for $1.00 at the center of the store?

Or why your best buy sales representative spends 2 hours convincing you on why your super-doper DLP 1080 HD TV is the most dependable in the Market while simultaneously attempting to sell you a 1 year warranty just in case your super doper TV which is ultra dependable breaks down in its first year. Or why stores place their most expensive items on the right hand side of the store. The truth is that we are destined to fail, from the moment we step into the store we are being programmed to buy buy buy, from the positioning of the items to mental/emotional nagging of the sales reps. Church Underhill author of the "Science of Shopping" says that 66% of our purchases are unplanned, in a nut shell 66% of the things we buy are not needed. So what's the solution, BUDGET, Dave Ramsey says this over and over again, you have to create a budget every month. This is something I have struggled with in all honesty but I have started improving, my budget has allowed me to filter out my wants from my needs. I go to the store with a physical list versus a mental list, and I don't stray away from that list. I also train myself to resist the urge of sales people, I would literarily go to best buy (my addiction) and hold a full fledged conversation with a sales person like am going to buy his product and tell him without skipping a beat that I am not interested and I developed my WA skill. Which is my "walking-away" skill. I must have gotten it from my Mum or something, she would price the life out of an item only to walk away without purchasing it, leaving the hawker nearly crying. I used to feel pity for them, but when you are stuck with credit card debts and pondering on the doors steps of bankruptcy, guess what? Mike the super sales man isn't going to remember your name. So budget. Filter out your needs from your wants, understand that Wal-Mart and other big stores have invested millions and millions to figure out how best to make you purchase something you don't need, invest in a budget and you won't become a victim.

Prism 3: Trying to impress people we don't like

We've all been affected by this disease, right from High school. We wanted so badly to wear the latest and greatest that we went all out to buy the best clothes popularized by the mainstream pop artists at that time. Unfortunately as we grow older we get worse, way way worse. You see we are all human and like humans we want to impress people, and one of the best ways to do this is to buy the most expensive gadgets and items. I've seen a lot of people shopping for their first car and through the way they shop, you know they are doing it primarily to impress people, after all its borrowed money (see prism 1) so they believe falsely they can afford to buy a Lexus, Acura or BMW. So when they go shopping they are roped into long term unbelievable monthly payments for their dream cars, dream cars they hope will impress the people around them. I talk about this because automobiles are the most portable and potent measures of ones status symbol, one that is totally misused repeatedly by broke people. In the book the Millionaire Next Door, The authors, Stanley and Danko, did extensive profiling of people whose net worth defined them as millionaires, using this data, created a detailed profile of who exactly a typical millionaire is. One interesting thing that was noted from this research was that "Millionaires tend to buy late-model used and under-dramatic automobiles..." they also strongly believe "that financial independence is more important than displaying high social status." Now am not encouraging people to buy beat down ugly cars that are older than themselves, what am saying is that ones mentality when shopping for automobiles should not be to impress people we barely know, but one that would provide money for us to support and thus impress people we would grow to know such as our future family when we have money to cater for them. If you go shopping for a car and you do not have a fixed value of what you could afford per month then turnaround or else you would end up with a luxury car payment equal to 75% of what I pay monthly on my home mortgage, and you would soon come to find out that a Luxury car is not such a Luxury after all.

Regarding new cars, hear me loud and clear BUYING A ONE IS DUMB…D.U.M.B…DUMB! There is no explanation anyone can give you that would justify the purchase of a new vehicle. Believe me I am currently driving a vehicle I bought brand new, I purchased my Nissan Altima in 2005, yeah I got a great deal 1% financing and a monthly payment of about $365, but after I bought the car I got what you could term as buyers remorse. I immediately proceeded to sell the car back, I went online the very next day to see what I could get for my car, I kid you not the best deal I could get was at least $3000 less than what I purchased it for 24 hours ago, $3000!. Whoever said your new car lost 15% of its value driven of the car lot was frigtingly correct. So my question is why oh why do we buy new cars or luxurious cars knowing the baggage it carries. The answer is "we crave attention" like children in high school we want to be the most popular kids on the block, not the richest but the most popular. To us we believe that a man driving a Lexus with $50,000 debt is richer than a person driving a Toyota Corolla with no debts, we externally look down at the Corolla driver and internally embed those views subconsciously in our head. I remember a real estate class I attended in 2005, I sat next to a quiet young man, wearing the plainest t-shirt and flip-flops I had ever seen, it seemed like he had been shopping at the salvation army, We sat next to each other for more than 2 hours and I never offered to introduce myself or start up a conversation, cause I felt I could get nothing from Mr. Salvation Army. After the class we got into an elevator, where Mr. Salvation Army started talking about how he was planning on selling his multi-million dollar properties in other to build enough capital for his next multimillion dollar project! I had been sitting next to a millionaire for 2 hours and because I was obstructed by my perceived image of what a millionaire should look like, I made no attempt to connect with him. I tell you this story not to expose my inherent misjudged arrogance in myself but to allow people understand how we subconsciously stereotype people based on our perception of their social status.

Conclusion

Dave Ramsey likes to say this when talking about financial independence "It's not complicated, but it's difficult." Learning the first prism is not complicated, but it's very difficult to let go of the addiction to credit cards. The second prism is not complicated, buts its super hard to develop the habit of budgeting your needs and filtering away the wants. The last prism is not complicated, but it takes a lot of soul searching and self worth to be immune to the expensive disease of impressing people. However, if we can understand the 3 prisms and apply the lessons that they teach as habits in our daily lives we would be in Financial Heaven. A habit according to Steve Covey is an imaginary intersection between Knowledge, Skill and Desire. You have the knowledge on what to do, if you can read this note to this point you definitely have the skill, all that is left is the desire and only you can get that so that you end up "Spending money you HAVE on things you NEED to impress people you truly LIKE."

A farmer owned an old donkey, one day the donkey accidentally fell into a dry well. The animal cried piteously for hours as the farmer tried to figure out what to do. The farmer threw a rope down to the donkey in an attempt to lift the donkey out of the well but this attempt failed as the well was too deep and narrow for the donkey to be pulled by the rope. The farmer made several different attempts to rescue the donkey, but all to no avail. He finally gave up on his attempts, thinking to himself, “an old donkey and dry well are not worthy to be saved”…instinctively he grabbed a shovel and began to shovel dirt into the well, in order to cover up the well and simultaneously bury the wounded donkey.

This story reflects the reality of life, we fall into a bad situation be it getting fired from work, failing intermittently at a degree, financial crisis and people give up on us. At first they attempt to lift us up out of our situation, but sometimes their attempts are futile and instead of trying and trying we are left abandoned. Sometimes we are told to just give up. I know many stories of people that made a pact to go to college and do something with their lives, but because they have bad grades in their first few semesters, people that they look up to such as Professors, Friends even Parents start doubting their ability, saying things such as “why don’t you change your major?” or “why don’t you consider something different?” inherently burying their dreams and aspirations.

Sometimes we are not told to quit, but rather are allowed by friends and ourselves either directly or indirectly to remain in our current states mediocrity. This is what I call a slow carcinogenic death, because we don’t know that it is killing us until it is too late. Zig Ziglar motivational speaker tells a story about how this phenomenon can occur. If you drop a frog into boiling water, he will sense the pain and immediately jump out. However, if you put a frog in room-temperature water, he will swim around happily, and as you gradually turn the water up to boiling, the frog will not sense the change. The frog is lured to death by gradual change.

The same happens to us, we aren’t even aware that we are slowly dying; we just trot along like everything in life is OK. I remember vividly in Nigeria, my elementary school teacher told our class they were 3 types of brains. The brain A’s were the ones that heard the information and understood it immediately, they were smart ones. The brain B’s were the ones that heard and needed to study the information to understand, the average ones, while the brain C’s were the ones that heard the information, studied it back and forward, forward and back but still did not get it, the stupid ones. For some reason, I accepted that I was a brain B, not smart enough to be a brain A, but at least not stupid enough to be a brain C. This crippling mindset followed me all through high school, until “I fought my first battle from within.” My first 3 semesters in high school, I had what you would call an acceptable results for a brain B type. However, in my fourth semester things changed! Either I got dumber or my classmates got smarter, but whatever the case my result that semester was simply woeful. Coming from a family of very high academic standards (Dad was an engineer and Mum was currently a teacher and my senior brother was the President of the organization Brain A’s smart!) I was expecting the worst, an outburst of some sort from my parents over my results. But when I delivered it to them they said nothing, you see they had (to no faults of theirs) accepted the fact that I was not academically inclined to excel like the Brain A’s, just like the Farmer had given up on the donkey. But something in me got angered on the inside, I could have accepted what they had said and slowly and surely died like the frog in a sea of mediocrity. But I heard something louder than any beating or shouting I had ever received, it was a silence so loud that it shook the very foundations of mediocrity rooted in me. I decided from that they forward that I was going to shoot for excellence and so I did, my mindset totally changed I approached college with this feverish and addictive thirst for excellence. I left high school and college with academic records that would have made any parent proud. I remember driving with my dad once, right after I had graduated high school, he told me “that he was proud of me and did not believe I would make it to this level years ago.” I was so happy with those words, but remembered how close I was to accepting what was expected of me.

So when people give up on you completely or put you down gradually, fight the battle from within and strive for excellence. Remember “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” Eleanor Roosevelt.

The farmer invited all his neighbors to come over and help him. They each grabbed a shovel and began to shovel dirt into the well. Realizing what was happening, the donkey at first cried and wailed horribly. Then, a few shovel-fulls later, he quieted down completely. The farmer peered down into the well, and was astounded by what he saw. With every shovel-full of dirt that hit his back, the donkey would shake it off and take a step up on the new layer of dirt. As the farmer's neighbors continued to shovel dirt on top of the animal, he would shake it off and take a step up. Pretty soon, the donkey stepped up over the edge of the well and trotted off, to the shock and astonishment of everyone.

The donkey in this story, refused to accept the faith he was given. Instead he used the negativity thrown at him to rise up. The truth is that life is not a fairy tale, it would be nice if we could all waltz through life with people telling us how amazingly talented and beautiful we are. But the truth is that life puts us down, telling us that we can’t, telling us to give up, telling us to quit, telling us to aim for lower goals. And the irony? We accept, what life throws at us. Humans are funny creatures, we tend to focus on the negatives as opposed the positives. We let the negatives bring us down and don’t allow the positives to uplift us. People would go even as far as taking a positive situation and turning it into a negative, those are the donkeys that would choke themselves with the rope the farmer handed down to them. Rhonda just had her portrait made. Her friend tells her how beautiful she looks. Rhonda instead brushes aside the compliment by saying that the photographer must have touched up the picture. She says she never looks that good in real life. Behaviors like this is all but ubiquitous, there is something that attracts us to the negative, this sickening cycle of self pity versus self upliftment. The greatest people however are the ones that are able to focus on the positives, whilst simultaneously using the negatives to motivate them.

There is a story about an African American who grew up in the fifth ward of Houston; his life was stuck in a quagmire of violence, crime and anger. One day he was caught by one of his cousins sneaking out of the house in order to dodge school, his cousin shouted out to him “go on I won’t tell anybody, nobody in this neighborhood has ever amounted to success.” Something in those words pricked him deep in his soul, he could have accepted the words and continued on a path to self destruction, but instead he took those negative words as a catalyst to propel himself away from that path. He joined the US job corps where he picked up the art of boxing, several years later he went on to win the 1968 Gold medal in boxing. Since then George Foreman has held the heavy weight championship title on several occasions and now spends his time ministering to youths. A classic story of someone, who took a single negative statement and used it to elevate himself to extraordinary heights, just like the donkey in the story, who used the dirt that was meant to bury him as a prop to get out of its precarious situation.

We are like a child chained up by negativity, but the keys of positivity are scattered around us. If we for one second concentrate on the keys of positivity we would free ourselves from the negativity that holds us down. Find the positive in every situation, replace negative phrases with I can, I will, I am beautiful, I will succeed.

Dave Ramsey best selling author says “the key to winning any battle is to identify the enemy” for many of us that enemy is us, the greatest battle we will ever face starts from within, only when we are able to win that battle, can we take our first step towards excellence.

C’est la vie is a famous French expression which means that’s life. Well when it comes to rejection no matter how much it’s a part of life it isn’t always easy to overcome or let go of in current and future relationships. In 2005, I decided I would pursue my dream of becoming a published author. The beginning of this endeavor was a very discouraging one. The first few rejection letters said that I wasn’t of the caliber of writers that the agency was seeking. I had no publishing credits to my name. I was a virtual unknown so why should I have been given the opportunity to share my voice. I admit I questioned my God given talent and wanted to hide it from the world. I contemplated whether or not this passion of mine was something I should continue to pursue. I would be okay if I let my dream die because I had a college degree to fall back on.

When I think of the last three years of my life there have been many highs and lows. I consider myself a strong willed person but the truth is I am actually vulnerable hiding behind a facade of superior strength. I remember crying my eyes out and thinking I had lost complete control of all the things I thought were so called aligned in the path to my success and true happiness. Now I realize I just need to be thankful for where I am now and the opportunity to constantly grow, change and make a difference in the face of many of life's adversities. I feel an overwhelming sense of relief in knowing that the little light of mine that shines is a gift from God and no one can ever take that away from me. I should never covet anything my neighbor has because it’s not always meant for me to have at the exact moment I am seeking it. This extraordinary lesson applies to most things in life whether it’s a job, career change, personal relationships or in seeking material wealth or gain.

The one thing that has taken me awhile to understand is that timing is everything and when it’s my time things will fall together exactly in the places it should be. I am now moving forward but when I look back I see things in the clearest vision that my rewarding journey has offered me.

My dream refused to die and suddenly an opportunity to publish a poem in an anthology presented itself. My poem “Black Butterfly” was published in The Gumbo for The Soul Anthology in 2007. I am currently blogging and writing on-line and actively pursuing many of my ambitions as a writer. I still have the goal of publishing my first novel in 2009.

Embrace your dream and let your individual light help it manifest as your destiny. Overall, always remember the words of Booker T Washington “Never let your grievances overshadow your opportunities."

To learn more about Alicia Morgan Visit this address

It was a plane crash that started it all. One single plane crash, pushed an entire nation past its realm's of logic into the treacherous depths of hatred. Hatred that resulted in the mass slaughter of millions of Rwandans. Victims of a senseless war, victims of their own culture, victims of their own skins. Victimized victims. Rwanda cried endlessly for help. But nobody heard their cries, nobody saw the injustice, nobody felt their pain and nobody smelt the blood that flowed freely through the land. Nobody wanted to. After all Rwanda was but a small inconsequential country.

Amidst the blatant acts of injustice and cries of hopelessness one man rose. Armed with nothing, but his tongue, protected by nothing but his faith, motivated by nothing but his conscience. He stood up, when he could have sat down. He spoke out, when he could have been silent. One man at the risk of his own life gave hope to twelve hundred Rwandans, holed up in a hotel that could barely fit 200. Twelve hundred Rwandan's trembling with fear from the sounds of their own people senselessly murdered and slain outside the hotel walls. And always wondering when it would be their turn.

With their souls hungry for justice and their bodies dehydrated from thirst, they searched within the hotel walls for relief. Their bodies were hydrated with water that accumulated in the hotels swimming pool, and their hungry souls fed by words from the one man that dared to stand up. Everyday for 100 days he uplifted the lost with his words. No weapons, no money, just words. Words of hope.

In 1994 the African country of Rwanda saw nearly one million people slaughtered in exactly 100 days. Our world with its 24 hour news stations chose to turn its head. But in their time of sorrow, a handful of heroes rose to defy the hatred that stained the land. Paul Rusesabagina was one of them. 

When the plane carrying Hutu president Juvenal Habyarinma was shot down, civilians began slaughtering every Tutsi they could find. Paul a Hutu was never in danger and could have easily fled to oblivion, but his conscience could not bear such an injustice. He sheltered more than 1200 Rwandan's for 78 days in a run down hotel. A hotel with no electricity and no water, the only sign of light came from Paul's voice. Which he used everyday to fight for the lives of the Rwandan's in his care.

The first time I read this story I was moved. Like many I was oblivious to the 1994 genocide that took place in Rwanda. But who could blame me, Rwanda was miles away and there was little I could do to help. But then I realized something, Rwanda was but a magnified version of what our society is today. Everyday we are surrounded by acts of injustice, the co-worker in the abusive relationship neglected by family or the hungry orphan roaming the streets but ignored by government. These people cry everyday for justice, but nobody ever seems to hear them.

I struggled to come to terms with a society that so easily turns its back on its own people, I wanted to know why injustice like this went unnoticed. I searched deep down but never could quite figure it out, until I came across the words of Von Ebner-Eschenbach. She gave me an answer to the question that had plagued my mind. "Privilege." The greatest enemy to justice has and will always be privilege. People including myself are blinded victims of the dazzle of privilege. Privilege that prevents us from seeing the injustice that occurs everyday around us. Now I'm not asking you to go out on the street and search for that neglected orphan roaming the street. What I'm asking is that we make it a point to change our current mentality. A mentality that paralyzes us from taking action because we sit in positions of privilege.

One of my favorite quotes is by Sir Isaac Newton; he says "No problem can be solved with the same mentality that created it." The problem in Rwanda was created by inaction, the same inaction that is responsible for our current society's problems. Today am asking that we not only change the mentality of inaction but that we also replace it urgently with action. Only then can we truly make a stand against injustice.

"Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere"  

Martin Luther King

Sincerely,
Okechukwu Ofili
Copyright © 2007 Ofili Speaks, Inc. All rights reserved

A tin mill worker was falsely accused of stealing a bucket of nails, he denied it vehemently but nobody believed him. Frustrated he jumped into a turbulent river and stayed there proclaiming his innocence. A crowd formed urging him to come out but he stayed, never coming out, eventually succumbing to the power of the river.

The edited copy that was to be released by Publish America was a complete overhaul of her original work. All the characters had been changed and the storyline completely redefined. She faced a tough decision, put the name Sadiat Abdulmalik on the cover of a manchurian book to fulfill her dream or fight for the purity of her work at a risk of losing it. She chose the latter, deciding to stand her ground for what she believed in. A belief that her name would be boldly written on a story that was truly hers and not an industrialized distorted version of her work.

Unfortunately, there are only a few people in today's society willing to follow in the foot steps of Sadiat Abdulmalik. Instead people have traded their high ethics and moral standards in return for instant fame and fortune. Marion Jones was one of those who got involved in the instant fame trade. At the 2000 Olympic Games she set records for the most number of medals for a female athlete, a total of 5 medals. She was heralded as one of the greatest athletes ever. Today nobody mentions her name without feeling a deep sense of remorse and betrayal. Her resplendent smile has been replaced with an all too familiar crown of shame. Shame stemming from her confessed use of steroids..All her records erased from history books and her name plunged into a murk of oblivion. And why? Because she allowed her dreams overshadow her morals.

If faced with a Sadiat or Marion dilemma, will you be driven by ethics, or by the blinding desires of your dreams?" I hope you choose the former, because a dream built on misguided ethics, will always succumb to the deafening winds of conscience. 

This January I went on a journey, a journey that led me through institutions of learning in a land cursed with its blessings, one that quite never attained its full potential. I had the dreamy goal of resurrecting leaders that would one day transform that land to lofty heights. Armed with words embellished with pure passion I started my journey, but was stopped almost abruptly!

She could barely speak a phrase of error free English and bashfully struggled to maintain eye contact. She must have been 14 or so, regardless she was young but dreamy. She had that look in her eye. That look that made you know she was different. Driven and ambitious. But her shyness cemented the harsh reality that she was stuck in a land infested with frustration and bleeding with corruption. "I want to be a Mechanical Engineer" she said, my ears immediately perked up. "Why?" I responded. "Am ashamed of the infrastructural state of my land and I want to change it." My logical mind nearly screamed, "you have to be a politician to change that." But somewhere in my thoughts came words, words spoken by John Maxwell "Leadership is Influence." I realized that she did not have to be a politician to effect the change she desired, she simply needed to have the desire to influence the change. And my role that day was to influence her to maintain her desire. A famous Chinese proverb says "You Never Truly Die, until all the people you have influenced have died."

I never quite realized the relevance of this statement to Maxwell's words, until I read a 1963 paper written by Edward Lorenz for the New York Academy of Sciences. Using a numerical computer model, Edward re-ran a weather prediction program. As a shortcut on a number sequence, he entered the decimal 0.506 instead of the full 0.506127. The result was a completely different weather scenario. This finding created the basis for the term butterfly effect, which refers to the idea that a butterfly's wings could influence tiny changes in the atmosphere that ultimately could cause a tornado to form. And then it started making sense, when Maxwell defined leadership as an influence versus as a title, he did it because he understood that the end product of leaders is to influence an autonomous action in its followers. He stressed on this point because a lot of us go through life seeking a title to lead, but failing to realize that for every second of the day we are leading. And similar to butterfly wings our little day to day actions, subconscious or not, could influence people around us to lead revolutionary tornado's of change in our world. The danger though is that influence, if not used correctly could create tornado's of change that leave a land devastated instead of resurrected.

In 2000 I arrived in the states as an Immigrant to study Mechanical Engineer at the University of Houston. In my first few days on-campus I noticed a distinct trend. Most of the Indian students tended to stick together, on the other hand the Nigerian student community was sparsely separated into incoherent sects and groups. The fundamental basis of this trend amongst the Indian students was the presence of an active on-campus Indian Students Association. Observing the effect of this organization amongst it members I was influenced to conceive the ambitious idea of creating a similar organization for Nigerian students. An Association that would serve to unite Nigerian students across the University of Houston campus. In August of 2001 we officially created the Nigerian Students Association which rose up to become one of the largest student organizations on the University of Houston campus. With numerous community service activities and international recognition, the association has created a lasting and positive influence on its members and the community at large. The reason? A perfunctory almost subconscious influence by a group of tight knit Indian Students.

 As I sign off today I ask readers to influence a positive change today no matter how small, we never know what effect it would have years from now. As I think back on my journey to resurrect leaders, I can't help but think that some day people would gather around and say, there she is, Maxwell's butterfly, she created a tornado that transformed our land. A land that was once cursed with blessings, but is today truly blessed.

"Some People Make Things Happen, Some Watch Things Happen, while Others Sit around and Wonder What Happened." Larry Walters had always wanted to be a pilot but for one reason or the other, he just quite could never qualify to be a pilot. However, he had one dream and that was to fly over his neighborhood. Larry figured that if he could tie enough helium filled balloons to a chair he could fulfill his goal. To cut a long story short, Larry Walters went ahead with his wacky idea and purchased 45 weather balloons, filled them up with helium and tied them to a lawn chair. Bracing himself Larry Walters released the lawn chair from the ground. Unfortunately Larry Walters did not rise above his neighborhood, he did more than that he shot up 16000 feet in the air, temporarily shutting down air traffic in the Los-Angeles area and causing all sorts of chaos. Larry eventually made it to the ground and America being America was met with an entourage of ravaging excited reporters. "Were you afraid?" they asked, empathetically he replied "YES!" "will you do it again" logically he replied "NO!" Finally they asked him, "Why did you do it?" Larry Walter's response not only amazes me, it inspires me. He replied, "Because a man just can't sit around."

Unfortunately there are just too many people sitting around, talking about what they want to do. "I want to lose weight," "I want to start a business," or "I want to spend more time with the family." But the problem? They are just sitting around talking about it. Several months ago I read this book by Thomas Standley, "the millionaire next door" a study of the successful winning habits of Millionaires across America. One of the stats that jumped at me from reading the book was the fact that "80% of millionaires owned real estate investment properties." Then and then I made a decision to purchase real estate investment property. I bought the real estate books, watched the real estate videos, joined the real estate clubs and organized real estate investment workshops. But was I doing it? No. I was just sitting around talking about it, doing everything but making it happen. It was a simple conversation that re-focused my thinking back on "the making" versus "the thinking". I was having a simple discussion with a friend on the benefits of real estate investment. During my conversation I was asked casually why I had not acquired any real estate investment property. Taken aback by the candid nature of the question, I gave an incoherent answer on how it was not quite the right time for me to invest. From my perspective I did not have enough money and time to pursue a dream I so strongly believed in. My response sounded smart at first, but after playing it over and over in my head, it sounded amazingly silly. And worse-still I had a headache just thinking about it!

I came to the sudden realization that I had done everything necessary to realize my dream, except "making it happen." Something cracked inside of me. That same day I made an appointment with my realtor to view houses over the weekend. For the first time I did not think about excuses, just about making it happen. Long story short within 2 weeks I had found a potential property and finalized a contract with little money in my bank account. All my weeks of inactive activity and finally I had done it; all I did was get up and make a conscious decision to make it happen. Just like Larry Walters who wanted to fly above his neighborhood, albeit unconventional, he not only fulfilled his dream he exceeded it. At the end of it all I had enough money to close on the deal, but only because I put myself in a position where I had to have the funds. Its funny what we do when we absolutely have to make things happen.

In 2008 you will be faced with tons of resolutions, take my candid advice, forget about making the resolution. Just take that leap of faith and build your wings as you fall. Remember you might spend an eternity building wings, but if you never take that leap you'll never fly.

Growing up in Nigeria, thanksgiving was every single week. Every Sunday to be precise. People got up at the end of the day's sermon and gave thanks to God for life's blessings. As a young child then, thanksgiving simply came across as an avenue for people to show off their dance moves and the latest fashion styles. In my opinion, it was diluted and disingenuous. On the otherhand, thanksgiving in American was once a year and boy was I thankful. As a young immigrant student, it was the one time in the year that I could eat hot un-microwaved food for free. And I looked forward to it. However it was the antithesis of the Nigerian thanksgiving, concentrated and commercialized. Despite their dissimilarities both thanksgiving-traditions had a single unifying theme, "people giving thanks to God for his blessing on their lives." Which tends to come across as self-centered-cliché. Reminds me of a story from Dale Carnegie's "How to win friends and influence people."

A farm woman at the end of a heavy day's work, sets before her menfolks a heaping pile of hay for dinner. And when they indignantly demanded whether she had gone crazy, she replied: "Why, how did I know you'd notice? I've been cooking for you men for the last twenty years and in all that time I ain't heard no word to let me know you wasn't just eating hay."

Reminds me of one of my not-so fond bachelor cooking memories, way before I had discovered the joys of Ramen Noodles. I had just come back from work, stressed out, hungry, I decided to cook a meal. The smoke and heat from my cooking was excessive, I was not sure if it was as a result of my poor cooking or my exceptional culinary skills (I like to think the latter). But, whatever the case the smoke greatly aggravated my stress. Fortunately, I completed the meal and just needed to let it simmer for about 5 minutes when I was suddenly awakened by the smell of thick smoke pierced with the intermittent beeping of a much too familiar alarm sound. I had literarily burnt the meal to a crisp and had set off the fire alarm

In the midst of my apparent disappointment, I remembered the numerous times my Mother had to endure similar situations (not the fire but the stress). She was able to get up in the morning prepare breakfast, scream at us, take us to school, go to work, drive us home, scream at us again and prepare dinner, five days a week and then on Sunday she gave thanks in her best clothes! I felt a great sense of appreciation for her at that moment. Unfortunately, I never really thought about her sacrifices I just took it for granted, like it was expected. And when I said thank you, it was more out of respect and not heart felt.

Luckily we have THANKSGIVING, a special day to give a heartfelt thank you to those that we take for granted, to those that held us through the hard times, those that brought us into this world, those that laughed at our jokes even when they sucked. But, most importantly a time to thank God for placing those special people in our lives.

Happy thanksgiving.

  Life is complicated when you think about it and oh so simple when you don't. For the first time in a long time I came home early from work with absolutely nothing to do. I had checked my schedule three or four time to ensure this was no mistake, and it wasn't. I was free to relax. I lay down on the floor listening to soothing jazz tones as I reflected on life. For the past 2 weeks I had been feeling different, more energetic, happier and more fulfilled. What was this feeling? What was wrong with me? I was confused.

Reading Richard Carlson's sensational book "Don't Sweat the Small Stuff About Money" a unique and interesting concept "Stacking Order," was introduced. He defined it as the unique work combination that enables an individual perform at an optimal stress free level. At ones optimal stacking order, an individual would experience a sensational feeling of happiness, stemming from higher productivity with lesser effort.

It finally made sense to me now, in the past 2 weeks I had either dropped out or greatly reduced my responsibilities in a number of organizations. The inexplicable sensation I had been feeling was a result of operating at my preferred stacking order. This concept was further strengthened with a casual conversation I had with Mary a fellow co-worker. Mary recently visited her doctor for a routine check up and was informed that she had stress related health conditions. She was advised by her doctor to reduce her workload or potentially face a catastrophic break down. Similar to me, she opted to reduce her list of responsibilities, thus creating more time for herself. Mary now has an extra vibe about her, she executes projects at a greater efficiency and seems to be suffering from happiness, a key result of working at her optimal level.

The noise from the rain pelting the empty runway, could barely drown out the noise that vibrated through the public announcement system, “flight 4062 to Seattle is going to be delayed another hour.” This was the third delay notice we had received in a span of less than an hour. The passengers at the gate had become restless and the frustration written on their faces was impossible to hide. Each person had their reason for being on the flight. There was an old lady who whispered words of encouragement to her grandchildren, as she explained why she was not going to make their bedtime. Right next to her was a romantic couple that didn’t seem to be affected by the announcement, in their minds it was extra precious alone time. However, each of them including myself had one goal. “Seattle.”

Seattle was beautiful, a city blessed with scenic hills, clear lakes and the smell of Starbucks coffee which drenched the air. Unfortunately my trip to Seattle was not to adore its beauty, but rather to uncover the inhumane state of unbeauty that orphans faced thousands of miles away in Africa.

As I watched the intensity of the rain increase, my mind raced back to my mission. I was going to speak at an event for an orphanage organization “Little Drops.” Their motto “little drops of water make a mighty ocean” (sheer irony when contrasted with the little drops of rain pelting the runway). I thought about my speech, what was I going to say? And how was I going to say it? Cranking out my trusty Dell Inspiron I set out to write a message. I stared at the blinking cursor and as the little drops of rain fell, I typed..

My mum was not the conventional mother, she was different. She was very loving but she expressed her love physically, a little too physical at times. While other mothers hugged, my mum flogged. And she was good at it! Her unique style of love for her children influenced greatly our academic performance. Being an average high-school student I strived to maintain an acceptable ranking of about 50% in class. However, there was one semester where things didn’t quite work out that way. That semester in a class of less than 40 people I came 35^th! The tears streaming down my face did nothing to mask my disappointment and fear. Dissappointment with my result, but fear from my Mums reaction.

How would she react? The question plagued my mind through my entire drive home. I finally got home and braced myself for a rough encounter with my Mum. As I handed her my report I expected the worst, a can of ass whooping intertwined or at least a generaous barrage of insults and condemntations, but what I received instead was absolute silence, I must admit that that silence hurt more than any beating I had received in my life, it hurt more than any screaming I had received in my life, it hurt! As I stood I felt a deep sense of abandonment and the reverberating sound of Silence..

That same feeling of emptiness and loneliness I felt at that moment of my life, is the same feeling of emptiness and loneliness that is felt every minute of the day by an African orphan. Orphans who have no idea what its like to be hugged by a Mum, have no idea what its like to be loved by parents, orphans whose only definition of hope is a shorter day of suffering. They are the victims of society’s corruption, unjust wars and inaction. Victimized victims.

In Rwanda alone there are more than 500,000 orphans on the street. Of that number only a paltry 40,000 are sheltered, which leaves a staggering 90% unaccounted for. And what does society do with these orphans, far from noble they exploit them, exploit them for cheap labor, exploit them for cheap sex. And if they are not exploited they are abandoned left to starve for days and days. Deprived of external food their body loses all logic and devours itself. Starting with the fat, and then the muscles and then the organs, the liver, the kidney, the intestine and finally the heart. The heart shrinks, unable to circulate blood and the child dies. Dies from starvation, dies from inaction.

Martin Luther King in his “I have a dream” speech spoke about the “fierce urgency of now” in changing America’s attitude towards slavery. For the orphans in Africa there is no more urgent time than now to make a difference. For every 15 seconds we wait another child becomes an orphan, by the time this article is finished there will be 10 more orphans on the streets of Africa. What will happen to these new orphans, will they be exploited or will they be abandoned by a society of inaction?

Sir Issac Newton said it best “you cannot solve a problem with the same mentality that created it.” The problem faced by orphans around the world today was created by a mentality of inaction. A mentality of sitting around. Unfortunately, we just can’t sit around when 15% of abandoned orphans end up committing suicide. We just can’t sit around when 60% of female orphans end up in prostitution. We just can’t sit around when 70% of male orphans end up in one violent crime or the other. We just can’t sit around, when right now somewhere there is a child that is dying of starvation. We just can’t sit around because this is an epidemic, and you don’t solve an epidemic by sitting around, you don’t solve an epidemic by blaming the world as unfair, you don’t solve an epidemic by looking at yourself as a loser, you solve an epidemic by being an activist, by getting up and doing something. So that the child stuck on the streets of Africa with no hope or vision can say that someone somewhere got up and did something so that they might have a little vision to hope for. We can do this, not only can we do this we have to do this. We are the change that we have been waiting for. Now is the time. Now is the time for us to get up and do something.

Okechukwu Ofili
www.ofilispeaks.com
Copyright © 2008 Ofili Speaks, Inc. All rights reserved

He stood there. On the corner of Adams and Crenshaw - one of the busiest intersections in South Los Angeles - and still nobody saw him. I don't know why I did. He stood there calm, still, steady like a Los Angeles prop. He had no sign, no cart, no special tricks, or any other bells or whistles, just a small white cup. A small white cup, which he held still as if he knew no amount of shaking or juggling would penetrate the passerby, he was probably right.

Maybe it was his eyes. Maybe it was his big burly arms and round tummy. Maybe it was the way the sunlight bounced off his white cup. All I know is that I couldn't take my eyes off of him. About another half-a-mile down the street, I convinced my friend to turn around. I wanted to talk to him. My friend and I took Jerome into a nearby McDonald's and bought him everything he wanted..a "Quarter Pounder and Fries”

It's funny how one person's story could change you. How since then, I've prayed for Jerome almost every time I eat. How since then I've frequented the famous cross-section to see who else is there. How since then, I've found it incredibly difficult to just walk on by. We're so good at that aren't we? It can be easier not to care. Or better yet, to blame. "He's homeless because he's on drugs" "She's homeless because she's on crack." "He's lazy," "He's a drop-out," "He'll spend the money on booze" But have you ever sat down and listened to a homeless person's story? While some of these things may be the case, the truth is something got them there. Job loss, home loss, abandonment, living in the streets, rejection, loneliness, and the resulting substance abuse? Jerome had seen it all. And trying to get his life back was no easy task. Who wants to hire a homeless, recovering drug-addict? All the desire in the world, yet no opportunity. His story, devastating as it was, was typical. It is a story shared by millions of people nation-wide. It was a story of homelessness in America.

Jerome is one of 3.5 million homeless persons in the U.S. And on any given night, he joins 750,000 other people who are forced to live in the streets or share very close quarters with each other in temporary, emergency shelters. An alarming 50% of these people are families with children. A large majority of these families have children under the age of six. 71% of homeless people live in central cities with Los Angeles, New York City, Detroit, and Houston leading the ranks. And while 46% of homeless people report chronic health conditions such as high blood pressure, diabetes, and cancer, another 22% have serious mental illnesses and/or disabilities. Most have little to no access to medical health care or mental health services.

Jerome is not alone. But this time it is not a good thing. Thankfully, there are people doing something about it.

The PATH Homeless Shelter has set a national standard for responding to the needs of homeless people . It's a transitional housing facility that is also home to the PATHMall, where homeless people can literally "shop" for services including health care, substance abuse counseling, a job center, mental health services, legal advocacy, and even a beauty salon! PATH does not only provide homeless people with a variety of services to help them get back on their feet, they are also equipping them with the tools to regain a sense of self-sufficiency and finally break the cycle of homelessness in their lives.

MNIA, Inc. is a strong supporter of PATH. And have raised money and volunteered their time to serve the PATH residents visit http://www.epath.org/ to see how you light a flame of hope.

Peace Amadi
Miss Nigeria in America 2007
www.missnigeriainamerica.org

Her hand tightened strongly around the rock. She squeezed it harder and harder, gritting her teeth in pain with each thrust. She winced with each forward motion of his hips, shutting her eyes tighter with each grunt. She winced, and turned away from the sweating, heaving mass sprawled on top of her. If she even caught a glimpse of the look on his face as he pleasured himself, she wouldn't be able to stop herself. She'd raise the rock in her hand and bring it down on his face, over, and over, and over again.

She wasn't even fighting anymore. It had never helped her before, but she'd stopped fighting as soon as her scrambling fingers had found it. She'd squeezed it in her palm, felt its rough edges and freed it from its hiding spot beneath the old tree root. She rolled it around in her palm, tightening and re-tightening her hold on it, her fingers re-adjusting themselves as if searching for the perfect grip. She hefted it a time or two, assessing its weight. It was quite heavy. She wouldn't need to hit him more than twice or thrice to kill him.

Why did she find it? Surely it was here for a reason? Surely she was supposed to use it? Viciously slam it down against the bridge of his nose, ruining whatever good looks the old man had left? Bash it against the side of his head repeatedly, caving his head in? Raise it up. Slam it down. Raise it up. Slam it down. Raise it up. Slam it down. It would be so easy. She could do it. She should do it.

She opened her eyes, turned her head and looked right into his face. She looked into the first male face she had ever seen and her fingers tightened even harder. The face that had sung her to sleep and now kept her up at night. The face that had given her life, and was now ruining that life so completely.

She remembered how he snuck in her room each night and she squeezed that much harder. How he always berated her in public, and then cornered her when no one was looking. How the only times he was ever nice to her was when the guilt washed over him right afterwards. How he'd pin her down, apologize and call her his 'good little second wife'. She squeezed so hard her palms started to bleed.

He slowed in his thrusting as he noticed a change in her attitude. 'What is wrong with this girl? Why is she so still? This isn't normal'. A chill went down his spine as he saw the look on her face. He barely recognized the person staring back at him. She'd never looked at him like that before. It shook him to his core.

He broke his eyes away from hers and his gaze fell on her hand. His gaze fell on the rock in her hand. He saw the way her whitened fingers wrapped around it. He saw her muscles strain, and her veins pop as she gripped it. He saw her blood trickling down it. He saw the dirt under her fingernails and the cuts on her palm. He saw the pain in her hand. He saw the hate in her hand.

He stood up slowly with his head held low, his business unfinished. He pulled up his pants and adjusted his tie, avoiding her gaze the whole time. He walked slowly back into the house, leaving her in the backyard.

She got up slowly with her head held high, her business unfinished. She straightened her skirt and adjusted her hair. She walked slowly back into the house. She walked slowly back in, with the rock in her hand.

By Kenechukwu Eke

Don’t forget once you get that Dream, take it back to your country and give them a piece of that inspiration”

Writing inspired by Wyclef Jean’s
Memoirs of an Immigrant: “Heavens in New York”

THE EXODUS

The all too familiar voice of my mum pierced my dream, as expected 4 hours past midnight. I had anticipated this moment for the past 6 months and finally it had arrived. I jumped into the shower and ran my fingers over my head half anticipating the feel of lush hair. Unfortunately I felt cold skin, a stark reminder of the importance of this moment. I had to look my best and my hair had to go. Dressing up I made my way to the room, I was welcomed with hugs and kisses worthy of only a king. We sat down and opened up the thick yellow envelope and slowly went through all its contents, ensuring nothing was amiss. It was all there. We gathered around and prayed to the heavens for favor. Everything rested on this moment and everything had to be right. We loaded up the car and navigated the dark unpaved streets, the only thing that gave light to the road was the one working headlight of our beat down Sedan. We knew we were close to our destination, the excitement was palpable and we had reached the famous line.

THE DREAM

The line consisted of people like me, clean shaven, confused and tightly clutching documents. The scene closely resembled a voting station, long winding lines of people intersected at every opportunity with burly security guards filtering and checking documents. The sun had finally come out and for the first time I could see the faces of people, desperate. We slowly approached a waiting section and intermittently numbers were called out, my number was finally called out. Nervously I slid my document bundle to a stern looking worker behind a thick perforated window. My documents were thoroughly examined, after what seemed like an eternity I was handed a second serial number. This number was my key to what was described as the room of hysteria, the chairs were fewer and the people looked even more desperate. I was ushered into a line, facing a metal barricade. The barricade purpose was immediately clarified to me as the couple in front of me went into a hysteria, “why?” they screamed. “Why?” They had to be restrained. What made them go crazy? What was it? I was soon to find out. I pushed my now sweat drenched batch of documents through the metal bars. Immediately I let go of the documents I was hit with a series of questions, “why are you here” “why are you trying to leave” “will you come back” “what is your father’s occupation” I answered all the questions as rehearsed. I was told I was a liar, any hair trying to grow on my newly shaven head most have immediately died. We went back and forth, proposing and deposing, I must admit I nearly crossed the dreaded line of hysteria. But as suddenly as it started it stopped. Absolute silence and suddenly a stamp. APPROVED.

THE GENESIS

I woke up! Sweat drenched over me, it was the same dream and it terminated at the same place all the time. Over time the dreams had become more and more intense, I was scared but didn’t know why. And then the phone rang, “hello” I whispered. It was my brother. “Have you spoken to Dad?” “No”, “what about Uncle,” “No” I responded again. I could sense something was wrong, “is there a problem,” “Not really” my brother replied. Now I knew something was wrong, my brother always replied with “yes” or “no” answers “not really” was one syllable too much…I found our Family Business had run into some financial difficulties. I knew what was coming next, I braced myself but still could not absorb blow. I realized that there was a strong possibility that no more checks would be coming from Nigeria. In the space of less than 5 minutes I had to become a man and the tears streaming down my face did not help matters, my mind was in a state of disarray and was only pierced by the words of my brother “It’s a privilege to be in America, people are dying for your situation make the most of it.” A privilege? Suddenly my dreams made sense, my mind rushed back to the line, the line of people with desperation on their face. I was privileged, I could cry about my situation or I could get up and do something, I choose to get up and face my cursed situation, I decided to fight, I decided to struggle and most importantly I decided to take that first key step in my American journey.

Memoirs of an immigrant the genesis...

Okechukwu Ofili
www.ofilispeaks.com

He crouched on the starting blocks, his hands nervously placed behind the bright yellow line on the dusty Rome track. His head faced down. He was focused, simply anticipating the sound that would eventually set him free. And finally it came, the sound of a gun shot and off he went dashing around the 400 meter track. At first he stumbled, but slowly he recovered propelling his way to the front of the pack. Something about him was different, his movement was awkward and he appeared to be running on air! He crossed the finish line and finally it made sense, Oscar Pistorius just ran a 400 meter race with no legs!

The first time I heard the Oscar Pistorius story, I was moved. Here was an individual that was born with a child hood defect that caused both legs to be amputated between the knee and ankle. He started out his life at a disadvantage, but rather than making excuses with his disability, he instead focused on the things he could do. Armed with two metallic carbon fiber blades attached to his amputated legs, Oscar Pistorius taught himself to run. And run he did, starting an amazing journey that saw him break several Paralympics records, before doing the unthinkable by competing in the South African 400 meters championship against able bodied men.

 Majority of us will never fully understand what it means to go through life being physically disabled. But disability has never been about the action rather it has always been about the reaction. What do you do when you are crippled financially with a job loss? Do you fall down and stop running the race of life? Or do we equip ourselves with reinforcing blades of steel to carry us through our difficult situations? All too often we choose the former, adapting ourselves to a paralyzing mindset that traps us in the quagmire of now versus the possibility of tomorrow. 

During my summer 2000 semester at the University of Houston, I found myself in an Oscar Pistorius position. One that would threaten to cripple my chances of following my life long goal of graduating from college…I received a phone call from my brother informing me that the funds from home had all but evaporated, due to ongoing economic hardships that had come to plague Nigeria. I felt a certain rush of weakness trickle through my body. A million and one questions flowed through my mind, how was I going to pay for the next semester, how was I going to survive, the tears that flowed freely down my face, did little to ameliorate my current circumstance. In the past I had applied for numerous scholarships and jobs, but my status as an International Student meant that 90% of my applications were rejected. The daunting statistics plus the breaking news of the moment effectively crippled me.

But that night as I sat in bed, I began to realize that no amount of crying would change my situation. No amount of self pity would alleviate my condition. I decided at that moment to double my efforts to overcome the daunting statistics brought on me by my International status. I got up everyday and applied for every and any scholarship I could get my hands on. I applied for every job and internship I could apply for. My focus slowly moved away from the disability to the ability. In December of 2004 I graduated from the University of Houston, without owing a dollar amount to the University. Only because I was able to turn my focus away from the disability to the ability.

We are all running a continuous race through life. Along the way we will face circumstances, some of them physical, some of them emotional and some tragic. But the issue has never been about the circumstance. But rather about us, about how we react to the circumstance. How we react when it seems like our feet have been knocked from underneath us, do we sit down and quit the race? Or do we strap on blades of steel and keep racing? Only time will tell.

"You're not disabled by the disabilities you have, you are able by the abilities you have."
Writing inspired by Oscar Pistorius 400m run in the Rome Golden League Contest

Okechukwu Ofili
www.ofilispeaks.com

It was one word. One word used by immigrants to describe their fellow brothers in not so kind terms. A word that rode the harsh waves of the Atlantic, the same route traversed by millions of slaves. For some it meant one thing, for others it meant another. But despite the differing meanings, the word had an underlying theme “negativity.” Negativity defined by a lack of desire to succeed, lack of desire to work. Simply put, it was a wedge. A wedge that would threaten to destroy any connection the children of the slaves had with the Motherland.

The first time I heard that word used, I must admit I was indifferent. To me it was nothing but a slang term used to describe “sons” birth from the slave immigration. The word was catchy and it erupted sporadically from my mouth at different moments…But one day my perception of the word changed. Changed greatly, when I decided to pull down the curtains to unveil the true meaning of the word. I peered through the exposed glass windows and overheard a debate about the word’s core meaning. A debate between immigrants from the homeland. Some said it was a fox; others said it was a cotton picker; others seemed to believe it was the verb “scatter.” Whatever it was, I was hurt, not because of the meaning, but because very few argued against the demeaning context in which the word was used. They debated, seemingly blinded by the ephemeral success that befell their fellow immigrants in a foreign land. After all a cursory juxtaposition of both worlds and one would notice a difference. A difference in educational achievement, a difference in financial growth, a slight difference.

But I begged to differ against the difference, because the basis of the analysis was flawed. Flawed because it only accounted for success in the foreign land, while somehow ignoring the Motherland. The motherland that was the birthplace of the immigrants. The motherland Africa. Africa, which somehow epitomized all that, was wrong with the word. Africa the mother of both worlds and the foundation of the Black race, which had failed to live up to expectations time and again. But still Africa had hope, hope was the water that curbed her thirst, but at the same time hope was the water that drowned her children. Too many times I heard that word ‘hope” shouted out as the anesthesia for Africa, but then hope became an enemy. Because it had become a catalyst for bad leadership. Bad leadership that put forth the mentality that the present was not as important or urgent as a hopeful future. But in all reality hope without urgency and action is nothing but “hopelessness.” Hopelessness that has seen Robert Mugabe turn the once powerful nation of Zimbabwe into a meaningless bloc of land, where hyper-inflated currency has been reduced to mere pieces of refined tree bark. Or hopelessness that stood and watched as Mobutu Sese Seko siphoned the riches of Zaire to a foreign land, while his own people fought for scraps. These leaders for more than 30 years raped their lands, and nobody spoke out against them, for more than 30 years people were quiet. But this story has never been about Mugabe or Mobotu, but rather about Nigeria, the land that birth the word.

Nigeria the largest collection of the black race blessed with the black fluid of power, a fluid that seeps freely through the Delta’s of the land. A fluid that represented blessings, but had some how poisoned the hearts and minds of its leaders, causing them to export half of their lands fluids to  foreign lands, while their very own children suffered. Leaders that would do anything legal or illegal to cling to power, even if it meant death. Leaders that ruled a country for years but still found it hard to deliver constant electricity, or water, the only constant they could deliver was poverty and corruption.

Fortunately Nigeria seems to be headed in the right direction, the right direction that could bring about hope. Good hope. Hope, that one day Nigeria, the largest collection of the black race, will set the script right and create a place of pride for all blacks. A hope that would create a cataclysmic reversal of the mass exodus from not just Nigeria but Africa as well. We can do this, everyone of us, but it would have to start with not just the eradication of divisive words from our vocabs, but with the embrace of unifying words. Words that would serve to heal Africa and remove the wedges of division plaguing the black race. But we can’t do this by keeping silent, we have to speak up. Speak up against the mass abuse of human rights in Africa; speak up against divisions amongst blacks, speak up against the kleptocracy that has plagued African leaders for too long. And now is the time to speak up. Because when we speak we can change our surroundings, and if we can change our surroundings then we can change our community, and if we can change our community, we can change our state, and if we can change our state, we can change our Nation and if we can change our Nation then we can change Africa.

Your voice can change Africa.

Okechukwu Ofili
Copyright © 2008 Ofili Speaks, Inc. All rights reserved

It was dark when we arrived, but the light from the full-moon did little to conceal the faces of nervousness that stood in line that morning. In the cold December morning we all stood together in a line that must have wrapped around the entire building. We waited for what seemed like an eternity, and finally the doors opened, we all shuffled in and were instantly handed out individual numbers. Numbers that would be used to control and direct the crowd of people already forming in the building. I waited for what seemed another eternity till my number was called out, all my documents were intact and I could start the test…I cranked the ignition of the car and it rattled gently, enough proof that it was time. I pulled the car to the back side of the building into a tunnel with a score of other cars and their equally nervous drivers. In the distance I could spot two poles, the “parallels of disaster” disguised subtly by their resplendent yet cautionary yellow color. The poles were the true test of any driver, I was ready, the engine was revving, everything was steady. But I never drove; instead I froze, stopped in my tracks by a system…

I was frustrated and annoyed. I had woken up as early as 5 am in the morning to make it to the DPS office in time for my driving test. But I was prevented from driving, because my car lacked the necessary documents needed to take the driving test. A simple paper that showed auto insurance coverage on my car was what stood before me and my driver’s license. I went home understandably frustrated; I had been counting down the days towards my driver’s license and did not anticipate this roadblock. I was tired of using the public transportation system, but more tired of having to call friends for a ride into town. I had to find a friend with a car that had proper documents. After more than 4 hours of calling and pleading I found a car, a silver Mazda. It was perfect, it had all the insurance papers and the handling was pristine…

It was time again, another round of “get up,” “line up,” “drive up” and like that I was where I was just 2 days ago. But this time I had all the necessary documents even my Exxon Mobil gas receipt, I passed the document check test, I was ready to hit the road. But there was one more test, the car check test. A test to ensure that my car was fully equipped for a drivers test. Everything was checked, the wipers, the trafficator, the steering and finally the horn. I pressed the horn hard but it didn’t make a sound, it was silent. Silence that was only pierced by the stern words of the Test Officer informing me that my car did not pass the “car check test.”

If I was in Nigeria this would have made sense, I could not go anywhere in Lagos without a horn. But this was America and I could not recall the last time I actually used a horn while driving. But that was the rule and thus it was another wasted morning. My new mission was to find a fully functional car with proper documentation and horn. I called around and was able to get my hands on pristine Luxury Toyota Camry equipped with sunroof and fully leather enclosed working horn, perfect…Everything checked out, the documents, the horn and even the luxury sunroof. Finally I was cleared to drive. My first task was to move my car into a space, aptly distinguished by two yellow poles, the dreaded “parallels of disaster.” I started slowly as I had practiced, edged the car a few feet ahead of the primary pole, flicked the traficator light, checked my mirrors and slowly started my motion between the poles…I don’t know if it was the excitement, or the sunroof, but I heard the sound of metal grazing concrete. The passenger side of the car jacked up a few extra inches in the air as if powered by hydraulics straight out of a hip-hop video. I had committed the divine car-test sin “I climbed the curb.” The look of shock and awe on the Testing Officer’s face was enough to confirm my biggest fears…

The fourth time around I made it past the “parallels of disaster” and onto the streets, everything went well. I honked when necessary and inspected my rear view mirror even when it was not necessary. This was too easy, the smile on the Testing Officer’s face was enough to boost my confidence to the next level, unfortunately the next level was not very accommodating...it was the last turn and I could have sworn the road was free. However, the screeching brake from the Ford Focus skidding past us was enough evidence to argue otherwise. The result was all but predictable and was reinforced by the words printed my test document dangerous driving…

After more than 100 miles of test driving, I finally received my American driver’s license. As I slipped the card into my wallet I came to the realization that I had not just received a permit to drive, but rather a validation from the state government that affirmed my understanding of the American driving system. A system that told me that without proper documents or a fully functional albeit inconsequential horn, I could not legitimately drive in the US. This was a sharp contrast to my Nigerian driver’s license experience. Unlike America I did not have to wake up at 5 am in the morning to line up, I simply walked into the Nigerian licensing office sometime around noon. When I arrived I was greeted by a host of people crammed into a small tiny room, a number of people were fully asleep on the floor of the office. I was shocked and confused. In less than 10 minutes, I walked out of the office with a promise to have a Nigerian license delivered to my front door in less than a week. No tests, no verification of driving ability just a mysterious fee to the only guy wide awake. I could have been a wanted criminal for all I knew and still I would have qualified for a license.

My license finally arrived 6 months after I had departed from Nigeria. As I slipped the card into my wallet I came to the realization of what was inherently wrong with the Nigerian system. Simply put we had no system; we simply operated on a system where the loudest and most powerful at any given moment in time defined the system. My uncle a longtime resident of both countries realized this salient fact all too well. He made this known to me on my first day in the America. On that day he did not talk about the large malls, or the fancy cars, or the permanent electric supply, rather he talked about the STOP sign. A simple hexagonal sheet of metal with the words STOP was the object of his fascination. A simple metallic inanimate object controlled million of cars at road-junctions across America, but it was never really about the sign, but rather about the system. Because in reality the system is what gave power to the sign, power that caused cars from all corners to stop and give the right of way to the cars that arrived before them. In Nigeria inanimate objects are powerless because systems are extinct. This system extinction is the catalyst behind the numerous traffic jams in Nigeria, where devoid of a human figure traffic almost always comes to a stand still, turning a seemingly simple street congestion into a massive statewide traffic jam.

But our problem is bigger than the traffic congestions that plague our streets; it lies instead in the congestion that blocks our nation’s advancement. A congestion that occurs at junctions where our nation’s talents and resources should advance, but they collide and freeze. Fortunately this situation can be avoided and the solution like every other is simple, “create a transparent and practical system.” But who creates the system? The government. And who selects the government? The people. We can redefine the Nigerian system.

Okechukwu Ofili
Copyright © 2008 Ofili Speaks, Inc. All rights reserved

No matter how hard I stared or how much I prayed it just kept disappearing, eroding my pride along the way. I wanted to hide my flaws, but couldn’t find a place to hide it. I stared again, watching as another strand fell helplessly to the ground, another follicle lost…and with it another opportunity to smile lost…

It was a high-school Biology class that marked the beginning of an internal battle that I would wage against myself for years. Like an innocent lamb lost in the wild, I was exposed to the bitter concept of dominant/recessive genes. A concept that stated, amongst other things that I had a high probability of experiencing thinning of the hair…My post teenage evolutionary years was a melting point of every physical eyesore a teenager could imagine, from the dreaded pimple break outs to the imaginary hair loss . I was in a constant state of intermittent external self analysis. Analysis that made me subconsciously aware of every seemingly defective component on my body, defects that ranged from the size of my nose, to the zits on my skin, to the hair follicles that barely held on to my head scalp. I would stare in the mirror frequently for long periods, somehow searching for self satisfactory perfection. But that perfection was always one zit or hair follicle away. I searched in the bottles of Proactive and Minioxidil for perfection, but instead I found chemical weapons that would prolong my battle.

A battle that would last all the way to my early 20’s, until one day I stumbled across a man stuck in a chair, with a baby playing on his lap. But he never touched the baby; instead he just stared as if the child was not there. Lost in space as his mind drifted to the moment his bike lounged several feet in the air crashing to the ground breaking his 5^th and 6^th spinal vertebrae. Paralyzed from the shoulder down all he could do was stare as he fought back tears reminding him that he could never hold his own child, but amidst those tears he smiled. A smile that warmed my heart and shed light to my self centered obsession with my body. There were people out there with greater physical loses, undergoing much difficult circumstances and here I was worrying over the loss of a 50 milli-gram hair follicle. My mind instantly flashed back to a song written by India Arie on self discovery, a discovery made after she shaved off all her hair after an all too common and prolonged battle with her body…

To become the women that I am inside
Ninety-seven dreadlock all gone
I looked in the mirror
For the first time and saw that HEY
I am not my hair

At that point I realized that it was never about my hair or my zits. Locked up inside was the true me. I had to end this battle, so I pushed a pair of clippers through my entire scalp, until I had lost everything I feared to lose. And for the first time in the mirror, I saw me. The true me.

“Love all parts of yourself, and if you can’t love them, change them. If you can’t change them, then accept them as they are.” Cherie Carter-Scott

We spend most of our lives searching for the perfect body, subconsciously waging a mental war against our bodies, a war orchestrated by the external noises of the media, telling us what beauty is and is not. But if we take a moment to turn the noise down, and focus deep within, we would find that beauty is not what others think about us, but what we think about ourselves. Search deep enough and you’ll find the beauty that lies within.


Okechukwu Ofili
Copyright © 2008 Ofili Speaks, Inc. All rights reserved

 "Oweroo” were the words she said. In my language that meant he did not get it. My mum was upset seriously and visibly upset, I was in tears crying, what had I done? It seemed like I had blown a once in a lifetime opportunity or so I was made to believe.
In the early 90’s the Nigerian Secondary school entrance level exam was viewed as one of the most critical uncorrupt institutions we had existing. Our University entrance was too politicalized and corrupt and our Primary school entrance exams albeit clean, were too trivial to be considered if ever implemented! So here I was at that point in my life where I had to make the inevitable transition from Primary to Secondary school. To say the least I was excited, you see I had made the 8 hour trip back and forth to Adesoye College in Offa, Kwara State. I don’t know if it was the fact that the school was gigantic beyond imagination or that fact that the school had a healthy mix of White people (as we call them) I don’t know but I was immediately drawn to the red clay of the school. And to make matters worse, my senior brother had already been at Adesoye for a year and he always told us many college adventure stories at the dinner table. My brother for the record was an avid classic story teller and he used to leave the whole room in shambles as we recovered from acrid laughter over his jokes and stories. I always used to imagine what it would be like for me to be over the, in Adesoye, the secondary school of my dreams!
The time came, it was my turn to take the entrance exam. Okechukwu as you would come to find out was an epitome of average, not too bright to stand out and not too stupid to stand out. I merely existed and breathed amongst those that stood out. So as an average I was expected to deal with the entrance, in well an average manner. The morning of the exam was chaotic, there were a zillion students dressed in mufti clamoring for the few existing and highly coveted Adesoye College entry spots. One interesting thing to note was that Adesoye was one of (if not the only) the only schools that did not allow you enter in the JSS2, you had to enter the school in the first year. Thus their entrance exam was very highly contested. The papers were passed around and the first was Maths, as I soon came to realize my secret powers Maths was a breeze, easy to say the least. And then came the English, my most dreaded and hated subject, my Mum at that time was an English teacher and therefore forced English on us. Without her, I’ll probably still be learning my alphabets at this time. Despite her assistance, English was one subject I tackled with absolute hatred, I mean why did you have to write what you thought when you could just say it! My most dreaded section at that time was the essay, it was not the thinking part or imagination that was difficult, it was just the fact that you had to write a gazillion pages over and over again till your hands hurt from the constant scribbling and scratching. I would have taken a serious concise beating from my Dad over writing an English essay. Anyway the essay section arrived and to cut a long story short, I wrote a gazillion pages of something totally different from what was required of me. Totally different! You see my Mum was not just an English teacher, she happened to teach a class of seniors that were all simultaneously writing an exam to, you guessed Adesoye. So she asked me what I wrote about ,which was something about an orphan that was lost…whilst all her students wrote something different from me. The irony however was that her students all wrote something similar.
The car horn sounded like it always did, it was the Peugeot 505 I could have sensed it miles away. As the gate cracked agonizingly open I could not contain my joy. You see today was the day my brother came back from Adesoye for the long holidays and also it was time for me to know the outcome of my entrance exam. Running to the car I could see my mums face, it was like someone had died ( I mean you would have thought that Liverpool had lost the Champions league) my brother was in the same state except that he seemed torn between joy and sadness. Over the loud roaring engines of the car, I heard those words that would haunt me for years “oweroo” which meant “he did not get it.” I could not believe my ears, for some reason the words seemed to bypass my brain waves and go straight to my heart and eyes, it hurt. What hurt the most was that my Mum had already bought my school uniform for the upcoming semester in anticipation of my passing the exam. I was devastated, lost, down, rejected. After a few seconds the words started penetrating to my brain, Not only had I failed to get on the guaranteed list, I was not even on the waiting list. Another salient point to note, was that Adesoye encouraged family attendance to their school, so for me to not be listed with an exceptional brother attending, I must have sucked! I now had fallen from average into the realms of stupidity.
We were now in panic mode, you see outside of Adesoye I merely attended the other entrance exams just to kill time. So we had to start rushing around to figure out what school would accept a below average failure not worthy of the pristine Adesoye college. The school that did amongst others was Corona, a new burgeoning college on the outskirts of Ogun State. Unlike Adesoye this school was small and new, I felt like a super duper failure and remembered the words of my misinformed primary school teacher as she recanted: there are brain A’s the people that get it quick, the smart ones and there are brain B’s the ones that don’t get it as quick, the average ones and brain C’s the one’s that don’t get it at all. I immediately put the brain C tag on myself, until I experienced my “Loudest Silence.”

My heart was visibly pulsating, what was a typical 4 hour journey seemed like eternity.” I handed the result my mum expecting nothing short of the “BIG BANG” except in this case the bang meant the end of life, but I heard nothing…”
After my debacle with the Adesoye entrance exam, Corona was nothing short of a consolation prize, after all the school was just starting and would have accepted a “Mad man” as long as they could breathe and of course pay their fees. Thus the stigma of inferiority and below averageness had subconsciously permeated through me. I strived to break out of the status quo to my previous level of “Just” average, and so I did! Working my way to the realms of the average, I performed averagely in Maths, Integrated Science and surprisingly English. But alas I was in for a surprise! I happened to do well in Music, to the point that I came first, something funny was happening, I was never meant to stand out what was it that made me successful in Music. So I started focusing on my music classes and again I came 1^st, now I started sensing something in myself, something that told me that I was the s***. I started walking around with a certain swagger and arrogance, after all I was known to be the best at music, which was good enough for me, based on my gravity saturated goal of average. And then it happened, that semester seemed like the greatest. I was struggling through classes like I always did, just doing enough to come out average. But this semester was different, I had a certain arrogance about me, which made me feel like I could leave everything to the last minute. After all I was the guy that had come 1^st in music like 4 semesters in a row. I played around during finals, and barely put any effort in review my notes (if I had any) for my upcoming exams.
The day came for the results to be handed by our teacher. It was the same cheap brown envelope that we were used to seeing, except this time it felt different, a little heavier and duller than before. It just felt plain strange. I proceeded to slowly unravel the contents inside, after glancing over the irrelevant “school improvement activities so we can increase your child’s school fees stuff” I got to the report card segment. 27^th out of 30^th, at this point I flipped the report card to make sure that I was not reading someone else’s report, but the name sounded all too familiar even my middle name was added. I could have sworn that my heart missed a couple of beats, because immediately I suffered from lack of oxygen, intermittent headaches and occasional blurry vision (caused by tears). I was devastated, I felt like the world was crumbling down on me. My close friend asked me what my report card was like, but I was too ashamed to say, too too ashamed. All I wanted was to be average, but instead I slumped way below average and it was my fault. The goal I had set was average and my effort less than average.
At this time the last person I wanted to see was my mother. If there was anyone more adept at wielding a piece of stick and talking to inflict physical and mental pain simultaneously, it was my Mum. She would have entered any talent show and whooped anyone of her children and won first prize 9 out of 10 times. And to make matters worse she was a teacher, which gave her ample opportunity to practice with other peoples children, and Nigeria did not help out at all. In the US if the police caught you flogging your child they would throw in jail, but in Nigeria if the police caught you flogging your child, they’ll throw the child in jail and finish flogging him for you, all it will cost you is a small tip!
“I remember an occasion when a visitor came to see our parents who were not in at that time. Since I was the oldest in the house the visitor as is customary in Nigeria, gave some money to me for Christmas (it could the middle of the year but people will give you Christmas money in Nigeria…funny), about N5, which was huge money back in the days. Now the correct thing for me to do was to keep the money till my Mum came back and hand it to her informing her of who left it and why, I think the money went to a mysterious college fund of some sort but we never ever head of them again. Anytime I reminded her of all the money I had given her, she reminded me that I still owed 9-months rent for staying in her after which I shut up. So on this occasion, I decided to revolt, the better side of me told me to do otherwise, but the greedy side of me edged on by the hungry faces of my brothers and cousins urged me to buy some Coke and Okin biscuits (the square kind). You can all but guess what I did.
So a week goes by after I had used my mysterious college fund money to throw a Coke and Biscuit party for my brothers and cousin, I was in the car seat on the drive way about to go for my school lessons. When I heard the words that I dreaded hearing, especially when it was said the way it was “O-K-E-CHU-KUUUUUUUUU,” pierced through the air like some sort o