No more! No less!!
Despite the many hassles and jargon with which my communication theory lecturer is notorious for, she scores one point with me any day, anytime – and it is in the area of characteristics of a good theory. The fact that a good theory has ‘falsifiable prediction’ played out in my space recently.
The unplanned experiment began one June morning back in my office, when all the ladies purred “whoa she’s pregnant!” as I poured my stomach out from vomiting after I greedily guzzled two cups of tea (of course, I never made it through the second round before ‘the bad and the ugly‘ happened ). Reminiscing on it now, I can’t help but wonder what moved me to that un-lady-like move of two cups of milky-tea in quick succession. But then, I did drink and oops! there came the predictable morning sickness!
But hey! this is where I like the falsifiable character of a theory. Wouldn’t a full-grown girlie like me know if she was pregnant? That was the question I kept asking as the ‘ladies in the house’ kept purring like a satisfied cat, grinning from ear to ear, amusing everyone else but me with their “Eh yah! Pele”; the equivalent of ‘Oh my! Sorry’ . Suddenly, while still brooding over my predicament; something stirred within me and for once, I felt pregnant!
For real, I was pregnant; although, not with baby as my colleagues predicted; but with an idea that my pitiable situation mirrors the current saga in my dear country.
Just about the time the girls realized that their imaginative ‘early morning sickness’ was due to preg-nothing, but a mere case of ‘awuf wey run belle’; I got impregnated with an idea that it is possible that the current bombing rendezvous in my homeland might as well be a child of neglected economical/environmental/social etc development with no relational tie to political predictions at all.
I mean, after all DNA is tested and proven, is it not likely that boko haram is in no way related to its concocted and popular political father?
What do you think?
Your view might just be the solution to this mindless killi me I die palava.
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They too are my people whose children’s coverings at birth are of wool and fur
They are my people whose wards lay still, lifeless without much ado
They too are my people who shake the earth and move the heaven to give their own breath
They are my people whose young minds yearn to explore, yet shrouded in a corner of the world
They too are my people whose fledgling minds are allowed free reign to the detriment of all
They are my people who burn the candle for a seat in buildings of commotion
They too are my people who sleep their way to the best of structures
They are my people whose struggles to scale the hurdles are deemed usual
They too are my people whose merest efforts are greeted with endless pomp
They are my people whose fingers write and rewrite to have a daily portion
They too are my people who with just a snap have more than can be chewed
They are my people, I know they are
Are they my people whose costs of living have no limit?
Are they my people who gloatingly plunder the land?
Are they my people who globe-trot a midst problematic airs?
Are they my people whose images are constantly sullied?
Are they my people who are Heads without heads?
Are they my people who live for Nigeria to break?