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Re-occuring Malice: a look into the Nightmares of Inter-Organizational Conflicts

For certain countries, government super-departments are headed by Ministers, with Commissions, Secretariats, Departments and Agencies under them.

Although, this holds true, the government might not allocate separate accommodations for each establishment. It is no secret that many SDAs, especially, don’t have their own buildings, and they’re often accommodated by other SDAs; in most cases, by a landlord-tenant symbiotic arrangement.

Conflicts between host SDAs (we will refer to as HSDA) and Tenant SDAs (we will refer to as TSDA) are not peculiar; like in every symbiotic relationship, at some point, one organism is bound to feel it is being out-sucked; or for lack of a better term, taken advantage of, by the other organism.

Here, the Treasury Single Account, TSA, comes to play. This situation is made worse where the HSDA needs to generate revenue, including rent, and the TSDA is a non-revenue generating establishment. Back when there’s no TSA to mop-up funds, many SDAs generated revenues and declared whatever they felt like; allowing “chuwa-chuwa for the boys/girls”.

With the TSA, however, chuwa-chuwa has been taken off the table; “the boys/girls” are unable to access funds. Therefore, things might take the shape of “is the money going into my pocket?” situation.

Many of such SDAs expect the TSA to pay their rents directly from budgetary provisions; however, like in a lot of public establishments, these things are not automated, albeit important. Moreover, some heads of public establishments are often unbothered about when or how these rents and other necessities are paid, if they’re paid at all; after all, the HSDA can’t push its TSDA out in the streets, because they’re both establishments of the government. Many times, this runs for years.

This usually becomes an auditing nightmare for the HSDAs because they have to account for every dime they generate, including unpaid rents; and unlike accountants, auditors don’t know “bad debt”.

Aside issues with the TSA, a major fault-line occurs where personalities meet. Inter-establishment conflicts may result from a personality clash between heads of the SDAs and/or their staff.
Issues as important as Security and breach of tenancy rules or as trivial as parking space and salutations could spiral into motives for conflicts. Some times, it is one of those “do you know who I am?” and “I will show you pepper” situations.

In either case, the heads of ministries or parastatals, in this case the ministers, could be pulled into it. Sometimes, because of “name-dropping” by someone or even actions by overzealous staff.

This is where good conflict management skills come into PR. The heads of establishments and their staff must know what to say; when, where and how to say it; and to whom to say it; because once the conflict is made public, damage control becomes a lot harder.

Thank you for taking time to read this.

FAIL

Oh dear failure…


How comes my words fail me?

How comes when I consult my diction, it fails me?


I’m known for my prowess in poetry…
But poetry fails me.

Maybe I should just say goodbye…
But my byes fail me.

Maybe I should gidi up and walk away…
But my feet fail me.


I just might mess around and fall…
At least I’d be falling for something.

What happens if I fall and crush on someone?
Would that fail me too?


Once upon a time, I tried to shoot my shot…

Shots failed me.

What if I aim for the top?

Would I fail to hit the middle?


Maybe next time I find me a heartthrob…

I’ll fail to let her go.

Does Islam Permit Wife-Beating? (PART 2)

Chronicles of the Second Disciple:

While Adam’s family searched for and found its peace, another story unfolded.

The Old scholar had other students, amongst whom was Saminu, a hardworking Samaritan whose main preoccupations included running home to his loving and cheerful wife, Asabe.

However, not all that glitters is gold…
Saminu and Asabe had been married for over 10 years, but without the fruit of the womb. You see, Asabe had a medical condition which prevented her from giving birth; even when she conceived, the fetus never survived…

Time passed, and Saminu’s mother grew old and impatient; she wanted a grandchild. And for so long he had dodged the conversation.

One day, Asabe raised the subject; as though she had been convinced or brainwashed by Saminu’s mother. Of course, Saminu dismissed the matter at first… But after almost daily remainders and pressures, he succumbed.

Saminu’s mother had the “perfect” solution; Lady Ladidi, her friend’s daughter who came around to help out every now and then. Although, Saminu knew very little or nothing about his proposed wife, Ladidi was very well know in the Sabon Tasha circles, for her prowess in the kitchen, her beauty and most importantly: fighting skills.

So, Saminu took Ladidi as a second wife, hoping for the best. And life was good for a while. He was fair to each wife in her own right… Until everything took an unexpected dive.

Apparently, Ladidi had expected Saminu to give Asabe “3 strikes” (divorce) once she settled in…

However, Saminu didn’t get that memo. So, Ladidi began to act out and pick offense at anything. But Saminu and Asabe continued to ignore her antics.

One day, when Saminu left for work, Lady Ladidi decided to take matters into her own hands; calling Asabe, as if to chat; when Asabe came, Ladidi shut the door and windows, and began to tie her waist (dammara), in readiness to pummel Asabe (who stood by, confused).

Ladidi started by yelling, slapping and dragging Asabe… But what she didn’t know was that Asabe was well learned in the art of DAMBE (boxing).

To cut the long story short, by the time neighbours had gathered, Asabe had redesigned Ladidi’s beautiful features; she was unrecognizable.

Saminu came home to a large crowd in front of his house, so he ran in, scared for the safety of his beloved Asabe. Lord and behold, he was welcomed by Asabe.

“What’s going on? Why are people here? Where’s Ladidi?..”, he queried.

“She’s there…”, Asabe pointed to Ladidi calmly seated in the sitting room.

All attempts to get Ladidi’s side of the story had failed. So, Saminu took her to the clinic and nursed her until she was back to shape. And after listening to both wives, he felt they both acted irrationally; so he gave them a STRIKE each. And they returned to their parents for a while; perhaps they might reflect on their actions.

When everything calmed, Saminu visited his wives and spoke with their parents. He came to a conclusion that Asabe was remorseful over what had transpired; Ladidi on the other hand, insisted she did nothing wrong, and couldn’t live with Asabe anymore.

With no apparent compromise insight, Saminu took back Asabe and divorced Ladidi.

Months later, doctors had found a way to help Asabe conceive and give birth safely. Within 2 years, a bouncing baby girl; 3 years later, a bubbling baby boy.

And they lived happily ever after (or did they really???)

What happened to Lady Ladidi?

…Stay Tuned for the Part 3

Does Islam Permit Wife-Beating?

Recently, I came across an interesting short piece about the mistranslations of Qur’an 4:34 (Surat An-Nisa verse 34).

I do no intend to go into the controversies; I not being a man of violence or aggression and all. But it’ll be beneficial to stress the difference between the words “Beat” (which many unknowingly, or ignorantly or arrogantly use) and “strike” (which majority of scholars accept as the correct meaning or implication of the word). Yea, probably like ASUU strike or separation.

This is backed by a Hadith in which the Prophet (S.A.W) is reported to have said:

“Give her food when you take food, clothe her when you clothe yourself, do not revile her face, and do not beat her…”

This particular verse plays a major role in the home and society at large. I recall a story about a scholar back when I was like 9 or 10.

Chronicles of The First Disciple and His Translation:

The scholar, a very well travelled old man, taught adult classes (including married men) on Islamic jurisprudence, amongst other subjects. While his wife taught women classes.

One day, something interesting happened. A student, Adam, brought complaints to the scholar about his wife. Apparently, he wanted to follow the Sunnah, so he married an older woman, only to realize that she was more than he could handle.

Adam complained that his wife, Talatu, routinely got on his nerves and his patience was running out. So, the scholar decided to intervene by requesting the wife’s side of the story.
When asked about everything her husband had complained about, Talatu replied:

“dama a bariki ya dauko ni, ko yace maku baiyi bincike bane? Ko yace maku a masallaci munka hadu?…”

Dumbfounded, the old scholar asked both parties what solution they’d like. Adam said he wanted a divorce; but the wife insisted she wasn’t going anywhere even if he divorced her. So, the scholar prescribed Qur’an 4:34 to Adam, settled their immediate concerns and left.

Adam, being an ardent student, decided to apply his teacher’s teachings. He stayed clear of his wife to avoid upsetting her, but 2 days later, Adam was about leaving for his tailoring shop when Talatu grabbed his shorts from behind (police style)!

“Ina zaka je, sarkin gantali? Yau muna na tare da kai”…

Adam felt this was the final straw, he couldn’t take it anymore! Now, it’s time to deal with this woman, Islamically!

Adam managed to drag himself back into the sitting room, grabbed his turban (as though in a fiery rage!), as Talatu pursued and grabbed his shorts, again. A clearly vexed Adam turned to Talatu and went:

“daya, biyu, uku… Ki sakeni, nace ki sakeni…”, but she didn’t sakeshi.

With the tip of his turban, Adam struck his wife a few times, each time followed by a count. By the time people gathered, expecting the worst, they didn’t expect what they saw. Malam Adamu was almost fanning his wife with the turban while she sat laughing her *behind* out.

That event came to be known as the “matar rawani” incident. He became the butt of all jokes amongst his friends.

But as far as poor Adam was concerned, he did as prescribed in Qur’an 4:34. In the end, Adam and Talatu found common grounds, and somehow, peace reigned.

stay tuned for the continuation.

https://acerexy.wordpress.com/2019/02/11/does-islam-permit-wife-beating-part-2/

Effects of Personality Traits on Classification of Political Orientation

Today, there is a large number of political transcripts available on the Web to be mined and used for statistical analysis, and product recommendations. As the online political resources are used for various purposes, automatically determining the political orientation on these transcripts becomes crucial. The methodologies used by machine learning algorithms to do an automatic classification are based on different features that are classified under categories such as Linguistic, Personality etc. Considering the ideological differences between Liberals and Conservatives, in this paper, the effect of Personality traits on political orientation classification is studied. The experiments in this study were based on the correlation between LIWC features and the BIG Five Personality traits. Several experiments were conducted using Convote U.S. Congressional-Speech dataset with seven benchmark classification algorithms. The different methodologies were applied on several LIWC feature sets that constituted by 8 to 64 varying number of features that are correlated to five personality traits. As results of experiments, Neuroticism trait was obtained to be the most differentiating personality trait for classification of political orientation. At the same time, it was observed that the personality trait based classification methodology gives better and comparable results with the related work.

A BITTER STORY

Once upon a time, on God’s green and brown earth, from the lineage of Ancient kings, came a humble man called Mousa; unlike his ancestors who founded the likes of Sabon Sara and Sabon Birni, he abandoned the life of riches to explore the wonders of the world.

For most of his adult life, Mousa’s adventures took him as far as Arabia, China, Rome and Timbuktu; exploring ancient ruins of where great kingdoms once dwelled. However, in his 30’s, Mousa decided to settle down and build a home; thus, he had 3 loving wives and many children. But this was the beginning of a bitter story.

Outside the home, Mousa was a vibrant young man, full of life. His work in the community left smiles on ordinary people’s faces; he never said no to a needy. As far as the extended family went, Mousa was a pillar of hope, a leader.

Home-wise, Mousa’s First wife suffered from a medical condition which prevented her from conceiving easily, at least not until after the Second wife gave birth to 2 children; the first, a girl, the second, a boy. The girl was raised by Mousa’s older sister; as it was customary in some parts of Nigeria’s North, the first child was given to be raised by a respected relative; until puberty or in some cases, maturity.

Months after the birth of Mousa second child, his first wife gave birth to a boy with medical help. Then a year later, the third wife gave birth to a girl; and everything was great and joyful…

…but this did not last long.

As the children grew up, the first wife’s son ‘Sane’, the second wife’s son ‘Awe’ and the third wife’s daughter ‘Hauwe’ grew closer. It was believed that none of trio could tell whose mother was who; Mousa made sure his children were well catered for, equitably. Awe thought the third wife was his mother, Sane thought the second wife was his mother, and Hauwe thought the first wife was her mother; at least for most of their childhood.

But the first wife was not a happy camper; she felt that her son was not loved enough by his father and the extended family. Awe’s innocence and wittiness, as well as his mother’s caring attitude towards others made him the family’s pet. At age 5, Awe understood English, French, Hausa and some Fulfulde; by age 7, he was a young football starlet. On his 8th birthday, Awe almost died of poisoning; his step mother being the main suspect. That was the beginning of Awe’s prolonged health issues. After months of medical treatments, Awe was back on his feet; but the event left an indelible scar on the family’s harmony.

About a year later, Mousa slipped and fell in the bathroom, supposed ‘AUDITORY-IMBALANCE’ caused by ear problems; hence he was bedridden for months. At age 9, Awe was part of the community’s youth cup winning team; medal in hand, he ran home to show his father the good news. A couple of days later, Awe was given ‘The best pupil’ award by his school; this time too, he ran home, excited; another piece of great news for his father’s ears…

…but the cold hands of death had struck.

When he got home, Awe was greeted by weird mourning faces at the gate, as though they felt sorry for him, some by their gazes, and some in tears. He ran into the house, scared and confused; the cries and wailings from within the house magnified as Awe approached his father’s quarters…
Mousa had passed away about half an hour before Awe got home. He was only 47 years old.

…End of Part I

Hausa-Speaking Fulani Scum

Recent events in my beloved country, Nigeria, bring back old memories of lessons one had to learn very early in life.

You see, growing up (not this e-generation… No offense), we met a lot of friends, frenemies, foes et al; who to varied extents, influenced our life choices and experiences.

We didn’t have mobile phones/tablets to distract us from reality. We had pens and papers (some for special occasions and persons… You know what I mean). It was easier, back then, to engage one’s opposing councils (like in debates); we didn’t hide behind e-walls and employ gangs of keyboards and keypads merchants to engage in fisticuffs on our behalf; we couldn’t have. Some even had bloody noses/lips as empirical evidence, for when they tell stories to their children (un)born, flushed or in the pipelines.

It used to be easier to spot fake friends who infiltrated one’s team; it was almost impossible for frenemies to dine with one in public and stab one in secret (behind e-walls). I mean, shit happened every now and then, Satan used some people to test the system; but those people usually got caught, flogged with Lacoste belt, and chicken-fought, as a deterrent.

Despite Nigeria’s mega pot of problems back then, Lawy was raised to see the issue as less about religion, tribe or culture; but about stratification. The haves and have nots!
So he believed, naively… Until an event slapped every naive cell out of Lawy’s head!

As the only science student and a key member of the Drama & Press Clubs back in secondary school, Lawy stood out from the crowd, always. So when it was time to select those to perform a short play in honor of Nigeria’s unity, he was chosen amongst few others. The selections weren’t based on “Federal Character” or tribe; hence, Lawy was chosen to play the character representing “Hausa-speaking Nigeria”.

(I’ll leave you to guess Lawy’s tribe… No, he was neither Hausa nor Fulani)

Rehearsals after rehearsals, the event was getting closer, the stage was set, nerves grew like “agric fowl”.
But on the D-day, Lawy pulled an Eminem (before there was an Eminem) and graced the stage, ready to conquer!

The crowd stood still, A Military General flanked by fire-eyed soldiers clapped on, spectators cheered and chanted… Ginger flowed through Lawy’s veins as the casts were rolled out…. introduced to thunderous “applauds”…

But the ginger was shortlived… For Satan snuck into the crowd with his young followers. Just when Lawy was introduced on stage…

“… He represents Hausa speaking Nigeria”…

A lone voice of Satan pierced forth from the crowd… “… Nama, where is ya cow? You think say na bush be this?”… Followed by pockets of laughs from sections of the crowd.

Yes, the troop performed… Was it their best performance? No… Did Satan offend their rhythm? Yes… So, they performed like sloppy Joe on a diet.

The event wasn’t having a nice ending… But Satan had just misbehaved in the presence of a Nigerian General; awoken pepper in absence of Ginger!
Firstly, the hall was ordered shut (no one was allowed to leave).
Secondly, everyone was ordered to stand until the “laughers” and the “Satan who called Nama” were pointed out.
Thirdly, everyone sat back down except the “laughers” and the “Satan”.

After talking about Nigeria’s history for what must had felt like 20 hours, the General pointed at them and exclaimed:

“you see these young boys and girls? Leaders of tomorrow, right? They’ve taken a big step towards becoming professional bigots. They’ll grow up, finish university (some won’t finish), get jobs (some as criminals), and they’ll strive to become govt thieves. Meanwhile, they’ll shout IT IS OUR TURN TO LEAD, but they’re thinking of their pockets; so they’ll go behind and doublecross their friends and work for the same old leaders. Look at them very well, if they don’t understand the difference between “Hausa speaker” and “Fulani herdsman”, and they prefer to stay arrogantly in ignorance, how are you sure they won’t cause future problems?…”
And he went on and on and on… (You’d have to pay me to recall more).

Over a decade later, the tree began to bring forth fruits (poisonous or not, IDK)…

A “leader of tomorrow” was spotted at a Pro-Biafra protest… Same “youth” was spotted at “OurMumuDonDo” protest…
Another was spotted in posters, vying for coveted political seat… No, he dropped out to pave way for an “old man”…
Another has been spotted in TrollTwitterNg, cheering the Gingers thieves and criminals…

We do not know if or not another has been spotted “enroute” Libya…
Nor are we sure none has been spotted in Team “Sai Buari”…
We can, however, authoritatively say that some others are reading this piece (albeit in a state of anger).

Looking at how things are going from bad to worse in e-bigotosphere, one is forced to recall these memories, albeit unhappy ones.

In today’s young PLCs, e-trolls, e-contractors, INTELlectuals, and Sega-loving gamers (a personal favorite band of Mega Star bigots), one sees the words of that General.

Long Live The Federal Republic of Nigeria!

Realize

We go on living but hardly ever Realize.

We complain that this life isn’t perfect… But if it was perfect, there won’t be a need for the next life… Realize!

We spend the day hustling for worldly gains… But we what would it profit (wo)man to gain the  whole world and lose her/his soul?.. Realize!

We go home late and tired, not even a smile from the spouse… But do we ever care to know how their days have been?.. Realize!

We go to bed worried, what would tomorrow bring?.. But we forget that today brought a whole lot AND we dealt with them!.. Realize!

We wake in the a.m. with no motivation to prosper… But we look into the mirror and all we see is greatness waiting to be unleased!.. Realize!

We leave home without a kiss goodbye for good luck… But that could be our last goodbye… Realize!

Maybe it is time we quit complaining…

May be it is time we hustle to win our souls back…

May be it is time we go home a little early, see what we’ve missed…

May be it is time we worry less about things we can’t change…

May be it is time we unleash this greatness…

May be this time, we should go right back and seize those kisses…

Realize!

Realize

We go on living but hardly ever Realize.

We complain that this life isn’t perfect… But if it was perfect, there won’t be a need for the next life… Realize!

We spend the day hustling for worldly gains… But we what would it profit (wo)man to gain the  whole world and lose her/his soul?.. Realize!

We go home late and tired, not even a smile from the spouse… But do we ever care to know how their days have been?.. Realize!

We go to bed worried, what would tomorrow bring?.. But we forget that today brought a whole lot AND we dealt with them!.. Realize!

We wake in the a.m. with no motivation to prosper… But we look into the mirror and all we see is greatness waiting to be unleased!.. Realize!

We leave home without a kiss goodbye for good luck… But that could be our last goodbye… Realize!

Maybe it is time we quit complaining…

May be it is time we hustle to win our souls back…

May be it is time we go home a little early, see what we’ve missed…

May be it is time we worry less about things we can’t change…

May be it is time we unleash this greatness…

May be this time, we should go right back and seize those kisses…

Realize!

Just Another Year (or not?)

Here we go, it is another year…

Another opportunity for the New Year resolution merchants to roll out new lists of unachievable goals, again.

Another opportunity for some folks to make positive changes (or is it negative?)

Another opportunity for witches to dust their brooms and target great heights (pun intended)

But once again, like the solar year before this, one finds oneself in a state of higgy hagga; confused about what the year has in stock…

“Plan for the future while hoping for the best… Destinies can be changed… Goals can be achieved… But when it’s time, it is time!”… Father used to say.

Sure, I have plans… Scratch that! 

I have always had plans, long and short term plans… Have I achieved my goals? Certainly not all of them; but most.

Once more, plans exist, goals are set… The clock ticks, pendulum swings.

  • Will this be the year I find my “her”?
  • Will this be the year I find my happiness?
  • Will this be the year I’ve been waiting for?
  • Will this be the year I die?

I have no idea!

Meanwhile, I’ll keep succeeding, I’ll keep being mysterious, I’ll strive harder, I’ll take more risks, I’ll shoot more shots, I’ll aim much higher.

To top this all up, I’ll listen to Back Street Boyz and Boyz II Men… I’ll be a better chef and a better friend… I’ll be a better son.

Just like I did last year!

…after all, this is just another year!