I grew up on the streets ….. no that would not be correct. I was forced into the streets. There are many events in a person’s life that define him or her, however ….. every once in while a single event comes through the very eyes of Adroa himself.

Few who know would say that event was watching thieves dismember my father right in front of me at the age of 9 …… but not so ……… they say it is a mother’s love that may defeat death itself and so as walked behind this man as he raped and stabbed my mother i began to understand something that you westerners will never see …….

As I brought down my machete upon his head it shone through me even as though I was looking upon Anansi himself. There is only one power …… my mother dying slowly in my hands ……. there is only one true power …….. unable to shed a tear for her ……. it is the power to take life. This is the only true freedom. These men who appeared to have taken everything form me had in reality given me all that I needed.

Compassion was for the weak …….. the weak would be destroyed …. YES!!! I would take control of my world and give the power to take life to everyone I could find. Along with that power i would give fear ….. a fear of me ….. the one true taker of life. The gods had shown me. We are alone in this life and only the strong will survive ……

In her final moments my mother looked upon me …….. I knew what I had to do …….. this was my moment of testing …. this was the moment the gods were asking me if i was worthy. I cut her down and along with her my soul ….. I did not look back …. I never have ……

YOU!! you know me ….. I am the bringer of death … you who seat half way across the world and make judgements …… walk in my shoes so you may know …… you may know that I am KONY!!!! And that I did not choose this life …… it chose me.

BY: Douglas Ogisi

Having seen and heard so much boo haa about the video, inspite of the length of the video (30 minutes), I decided to watch it. I found it interesting, inspiring even, particularly how someone decided that trying to help other less fortunate people deal with the aftermath of war was their mission… I mean, while I am busy trying to get paid, buy a crib and build wealth for myself and my immediate family (and I am not even talking siblings!), the guys are out there spending their time and money in my backyard (yep, you guessed it, I am African… Nigerian actually).

A few days later, I began to pick up comments about the backlash and criticism of the group for their “alleged misunderstanding” of what was actually happening on the ground. In the midst of the media frenzy, most people seemed to forget that they only became aware of the plight of child solders in Uganda, through this excellent Kony 2012 campaign.

It seems that people can’t resist the urge to criticise even when inaction in itself is a major failure in our society. It’s easy to sit behind the comfort of your computer/tv set and offer your opinions on what is right or wrong about someone else’s actions, motives or mistakes. It’s what most of us do… whether we are watching The Apprentice, Dragons Den, America’s Next Top Model or any reality show on TV. It’s in our nature to find shortcomings in others. What we forget is that most of us don’t even try to do any of things we see on TV or youtube for fear of making a fool of ourselves. A lot of us are not willing to stick our necks out even for our own potential growth, talk less of doing so for the benefit of others.

Will Smith once said “…..If you are not making someone else’s life better, than you are wasting your life!”. As far as I am concerned, the makers of Kony 2012 campaign at least made a hell of difference to one boy’s life and several others as well. Instead of congratulating, encouraging them and perhaps seeing how we too can help and potentially further their work, we turn to critism because it’s easier. If you don’t like how it’s done, start your own campaign, get involved, get on the ground yourself to see what’s actually going on… just do something other than pass judgement.

I will admit that I don’t understand the complexity of what’s going on over there in Uganda or the role of Kony and other stakeholders in the situation. For all I know, the guys running this campaign may have gotten some things wrong. But I tell you, what thing I know is that if someone is willing to leave their child, family and friends to go across to the other side of the world just to try to make someone else’s life better, then they should be applauded. Because, you know what, right now I am pretty damn certain that even I wouldn’t be willing to make that sacrifice! I can only hope that this will change. The Kony 2012 video has definitely got me thinking about how….

I really hope that Jason Russell gets better….

BY: Toju Ogisi

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“This is ridiculous.” he said angrily. “Absolutely ridiculous.”

He was as angry as I expected he would be. This was going to be a long day. We were having more and more of those in recent times. However, this one was different. I was afraid that this would be the long day to end them all…at least for the Hope Restoration Group.

Why? Because of this video that had suddenly taken the world by storm.

The Hope Restoration Group had been struggling for years. Being a non-profit organization was tough at the best of times. Being a non-profit organization in Uganda with no major (national or international) partner during these tough times was…well…it was a wonder we were still going.

The wonder was Micheal Ouko. Michael is originally from Gulu. He experienced first-hand the brutality of the LRA. He was twelve when they got to his village. He lost most of his family. His older brother, the only other survivor, was taken…recruited into Joseph Kony’s group of freedom fighters. Michael still does not know what eventually happened to him. He can’t speak of it without crying.

“We are so close to getting it.” Michael continued. “We have worked so hard. Now, we have this road-block…because of this American and his crusade.” He shook his head and collapsed into the chair.

Poor Michael. I felt his pain. We had been trying to secure funding for our mission in Gulu…to provide a framework that would allow ex-soldiers to re-enter society, without fear of repercussions or punishment.

It’s ironic. If there is anyone who has a right or reason to hate; it’s him. They took EVERYTHING from him. But no. Instead he sees them as victims too. Victims of the madness that we human beings inflict on each other. Micheal believes that the way forward for our great country is reconciliation. He has me convinced. In fact, he will attempt to convince almost anyone who is unfortunate enough to be cross his path.

That’s what HRG is about. That is our mission. And we were finally about to get funding from the government. Michael, rejected a hundred times, had fought doggedly, harrassing them at every turn. He just wouldn’t give up. They had eventually given in, and that very week he was a going to meet with some officials to sign the papers and kick things off.

Then everyone got wind of the “Kony 2012″ video.

Now our funding was put on hold. The government officials had postponed the meeting. They apparently needed to make sure that “limited resources were deployed in the best way to have maximum impact”.

“It is of no use.” He said “There’s more to this than Kony. He isn’t even in Uganda anymore! I would like him brought to Justice as much as anyone, but we must move forward. This kind of pressure from international sources for a mission like this is distracting everyone.

“I have nothing against this Jason Russell. I am sure he means well. But we are Ugandans. We are here, for God’s sake! We love this country. Does he think we are sitting here folding our arms and doing nothing? Eh? Why can’t he use his organization to help us rebuild and move forward? Why? Isn’t that what Invisible Children supposedly has been doing in Uganda? Why this new drive to spend so much effort chasing a mad man who is a mere shadow of what he used to be? We are no longer fools. If we fall into another war it won’t be because of Kony. It will be us…only we Ugandans today can allow it to happen.”

Michael shook his head again. I tried to be supportive.

“You always tell me that this thing we are doing is difficult,” I said “but that I should be strong. You said that God will test my resolve just as victory is in reach…to ensure that I am worthy. My brother, I believe God is testing our resolve. We should not stumble now. Have faith.”

He looked at me as if I was a stranger.

“Okello.” He called my name. “You were listening”.

“You are hard to ignore.” I laughed “I think you should remind these men of that fact.”

He smiled at me.

“You are right, of course.” He said. “We must not give up. These foreigners…they will pick the enemies and attempt to rescue us from them…like superman. Today it is Kony; who knows what it will be tomorrow. However, sooner or later, they will forget us again. We must continue our own mission.”

He sprang up from the chair.

“Where are you going?” I asked. “Won’t you eat?”

“No time.” He said on the way out “I must go and remind them.”

I smiled as he left the room. Then I returned to watching CNN on the old, small TV on the table. All the tenants shared the bill for satellite reception in this Office building. I was thankful for that. I certainly couldn’t afford it at home.

This Kony 2012 thing was still in the News, but it seemed that it was Russell that was the subject this time. I increased the volume.

“…the director of the Kony 2012 was arrested…found naked…pounding his hands on the floor…possibly performing a lewd act in public…” The Newscaster was saying.

Another twist in a story that would no doubt keep going. We too must keep going, I thought to myself.

I wished Jason Russell well as I left the room.

BY: Donald Ogisi

His younger brother had hastily cleared the contents of his own plate soon after it was served. He had licked his fingers as the house-help helped wash his hands before scuttling off to watch tv. With this exit, or betrayal as Mofe saw it, he was left alone to face his mountain of eba.

He had been here before. In fact, this scene was repeated every week for the last year or so. After years of letting her sons eat pretty much what they liked for lunch daily, his mother finally put her foot down and rolled out the once a week “eba” timetable. He had countered this move with a variety of strategies including chucking the food straight into the bin as soon as his mother was out of sight. But of course, this resulted in regular bin checks during lunch. He feigned illness and even forced his sibling on one occasion to eat his potion but all these efforts were fruitless.

Finally, he decided he would sit it out every Wednesday when eba was served. This way, he felt his mother would soon relent. After all, if he gave in so easily, who knows what else the woman might introduce into their diet. No, this was a matter of principle for him. His mother had insisted that he couldn’t leave the kitchen till he had completely finished every morsel of food on his plate.

He saw Mary the house-help wander in again with a wry smile on her face. She beckoned to him… “Mofe, eat now. mummy will get upset, you know”. He eyed her up and down as if he considered her to be spying on behalf of “madam”, his mother. He looked at the clock again. 3.28pm, the tv show “Super Ted” was about the start but he immediately felt regret that he wouldn’t be able discuss that episode with his friends at school the next day. And this was all his mothers fault. He had missed the show for a couple of weeks now and his class mates were beginning to wonder if his parents actually had the generator he had bragged about. Electricity was somewhat erratic in their city and one could always tell which children were from families of wealth based on their ability to keep up with tv shows which were inevitably unaccessible in homes with no alternate source of electricity during power cuts.

He had to think quick. His brother was no where to be found. He was probably planted in from the tv screen. Plan b, he needed to dispose of the eba real quick. He reached for the cold lump of food while looking around for something to wrap it in. He stopped suddenly and decided to leave a small piece behind in order not to arouse suspicion. His plan was simple yet ingenious. He would wrap it in a piece of paper and stash it behind the fridge with the intent to dispose of it later that night. He knew his mother would only check the bins immediately after he had “finished” his meal. He moved quickly and scooped some soup in his mouth. With the eba hidden, he proceeded to arrange the remnants on his plate with the same attention to detail as a crime scene investigator.

He was ready. He called out to his mum hesitantly. He wasn’t sure if he could pull this off. His mummy called back asking, “have you finished your food?”. He responded quickly saying “yes mummy”. After what seemed like forever, his mother walked into the kitchen looking at his face. He barely managed a look of irritation and resignation as if to say “are you happy now that you have forced me to eat a lump of rubbish”. His mum went straight to the bin, checked the content thoroughly before looking at him again suspiciously. He broke a sweat as she seemed puzzled that he had managed to finish a full plate in the space of ten minutes. He held her stare before hearing her say ” go and watch your show”. He hurried into the living room resisting the urge to punch the air in triumph.

He had only missed five minutes of the show. He non-challantly removed his younger brother from the cushion in front of the tv set and secretly congratulated himself. Super Ted and his sidekick Spotty were getting on with fighting evil. He reached for the remote control to turn up the volume when his heard her angry scream. It was his name followed by “come back in here right now if you know what’s good for you”. It was all over, she had found it. He looked at the front door as if running away from home was a real possibility. He wasn’t sure of it but he was certain his little brother half-smiled. He would deal with him later……..

Years later, he watched in awe as his wife patiently tried to put the baby food into his two year old son’s mouth. The little one wasn’t having and kept dodging the spoon every time she got close to his mouth. Finally, she gave up and promptly emptied the plastic plate of mashed fruit and began preparing baby formula in the sink. He looked at Mofe Junior, edged towards him and whispered quietly… “I know your game son! Been there, done that”. As he pulled back, the baby looked away defiantly as if to say “whatever”!

BY: Toju Ogisi

I don’t know how many people out there had this but back at home we had a weekly daily food schedule. Systematically created by my mother in order to ensure hell on earth (that’s my theory anyways). In any case Eba featured on this “bad boy” (I call things “bad boys” …. but don’t worry, it’s the reason I am single so I am getting punished already) like hundreds of times …. ok an exaggeration but you get my point.

Growing up I was always sure that I hated Eba. It wasn’t the taste, or how it looked …… it was more a built-in defence mechanism that demanded that as a growing Nigerian child I just had to hate Eba. So you can understand my trepidation on that fateful day I said to myself right after stuffing myself full of it …… “Well …. with the right soup for lubrication …. its not so bad”.

I chastised myself with great consternation, took myself to my room and began to think about the consequences. Just think what would happen to the aforementioned food schedule if my mother found out that I thought Eba was …. “Not so bad”? Now while Eba was “Not so bad” I didn’t want to be inundated with endless amounts of it so I did what any self respecting child would do. I decided to keep my Eba “like” to myself and continued to turn it down anytime I could which didn’t happen often (have you met my mother?).

I pulled my P.G. Wodehouse book from underneath my pillow and embedded my mind in crumpets and tea time biscuits.

BY: Douglas Ogisi

He jumped on the bus that was heading towards Mile 2. The location was not far from there. As the vehicle moved slowly through Lagos traffic, Bola looked out of the window. Sigh. Life was tough for Lagosians. Life was tough for him. But he had hope. He had to have hope. Without hope, he would sink into the despair that was threatening to envelope him.

Bola was about to mentally reiterate all the reasons he had to be hopeful when he noticed two men laughing inside a buka by the side of the road. They were eating. He saw one of the men roll a ball of what was clearly eba. He did it with skill befitting a veteran. He then dipped the almost perfect sphere into the bowl of what looked like “draw-soup” in front of him. He put this combination into his mouth, savored it, then swallowed. This action was followed by heart-felt laughter.

Bola was hungry. He shook his head and refocused his mind on his upcoming interview.

Bola arrived near his destination to see a line of young people in various types of formal dress. As he walked towards the office he was heading to, it slowly dawned on him that this ridiculous queue began there. All this people were here for the same job. Bola fought back the aforementioned despair that was lurking, and took his place on the queue.

Bola did not get the job.

Hours and hours after he had arrived, he stumbled towards the bus stop. He was dejected, exhausted, but most of all, hungry. He collapsed into a chair at a buka around the corner. The hostess came to him.

“Wetin you wan chop?”.

Bola looked up.

“Eba and ogbono soup…with assorted”.

A couple of minutes later he rolled his own ball…maybe not with the same finesse as the man from earlier on, but to the same effect anyway. He dipped it in the soup, then into his mouth. Ah…restoration.

Bola smiled.

Afterwards, he walked out of the buka. He looked at his fellow Lagosians going about their lives, working hard, being productive.

Yes, he thought to himself, there was hope.

Bola walked towards the bus stop.

BY: Donald Ogisi

At times like this, my mum would flip into the “You boys are spoilt and need to learn how to work” mode and refuse to employ any extra hand. This was complete nonsense. We didn’t need to learn how to work. We already knew how. A reminder wasn’t necessary either. Sadly, my mum disagreed. Sadly, my mum was in charge. Mutiny was not an option. Her word was law. Thus, we suffered this injustice numerous times when I was a teenager. We once lasted two months with no maid. It sucked beyond anything I can describe. The work was bad enough; but the real issue was that someone always had to be at home. We hardly ever left the house empty, for security reasons. That meant my evening drive about town became a luxury. I loved that drive. I needed that drive.

My little brother was usually home; but, being a weirdo, he always locked himself in his room. This was no good when you needed someone to answer the gate. At least he worked. He fed the chickens. I hated doing that more than anything else; and he did it without moaning. I always thought he felt a kinship with them; stuck in those cages, laying eggs for ungrateful masters who would butcher and eat you when you couldn’t do the laying anymore. I have mentioned he was strange.

It was in one of these cases that I saw first hand what could happen when one’s back is pushed against the wall. There was no maid. The poultry was at full capacity and we had an extremely vicious dog to contend with. I had to remember to buy chicken feed, because they wouldn’t lay eggs if they hadn’t eaten properly. We sold some of the eggs that were laid. My mother would be ticked off if there weren’t enough eggs, especially if it was my fault. Needless to say, I made sure they were fed.

The turkeys were a different matter. All they did was stuff their faces and stroll around leisurely. I think I just envied them. At any rate, the alpha male type character was quite antagonistic. He thought he was a king. No, really. I nicknamed him Big Poppa because of this fact. He led the entire troupe around like they were gods or something. He even attacked me a couple of times. They didn’t serve any purpose at that stage. Yes, I knew they would make for a tasty meal somewhere down the line, but in the meantime they were a pain. So, I forgot to buy their feed. I was going to, but I kept putting it off. So, it ran out. The turkeys were starving. It so happened that someone made some beans that didn’t turn out so good at that time. I thought it might be an idea to feed this to the turkeys, so I did. They ignored it. I thought, fine…you’re obviously not really hungry. Cruel, perhaps; but I was still nursing a bruise on my leg where Big Poppa had drop-kicked me. I felt justified.

I wandered outside later on and, lo and behold, the bean cocktail was gone; all of it; and all the dirt around where it had been put. So I didn’t bother buying feed that day either. The next day, I put the dog’s meal out for it. Rex (the dog) was so aggressive that I couldn’t go near him while he was dining. He would actually try to attack me. He forgot that I was the boss, and that sometime later on that day we would play tag, a game which I would let him win. The point was that he had to be restrained. You put out the food and took cover before he went into mad mode. Well, on this day, after the food was put out, Big Poppa arrived on the scene with his henchmen. They were scared silly by that dog. There had been one or two incidents when Rex had managed to get free when the turkeys were out for their daily stroll. It never killed any, but there was still chaos.

Imagine how this leader felt; his family was starving; there was food right there, within reach. The only problem was the vile creature with sharp teeth that laid claim to the grub. Something had to be done. No guts, no glory. It happened fast. All fourteen turkeys made their move at the same time. Rex never stood a chance. At first he tried to grab one with his teeth (ever the nice guy, he didn’t want to kill it, just to hold on to it and scare it off or something). The bird flapped its wings so hard that the he was dazed. I tried to help, but the crazy dog lunged at me in its food-fuelled madness. He was playing nice to the turkeys but thought nothing of ripping me to bits. I left him to his fate. It was over in about ten seconds. They each pecked at the dish about twice each, or something like that. All the food was gone. Then they took off…into the sunset, as it were. That marked a major change in their relationship with Rex. I might be wrong, but I believe in my heart that all further attempts he made to free himself were solely so he could have another one-on-one with Big Poppa and the rest of the crew. Thankfully for them, he never succeeded.

The turkeys explored this change in diet further over the next week. The next day, I noticed them moving with the same single-mindedness that they had when they attacked Rex’s food. It was a monitor lizard; a poor un-suspecting monitor lizard. These reptiles exist in large quantities around where I lived. They had no reason to expect to be attacked by turkeys; cats, maybe, but definitely not turkeys. It had never happened before. It was fundamentally wrong; unnatural even. Nevertheless, a couple of pecks later and he was gone. We didn’t have a lizard problem for months. Only the cats did a better job. The turkeys also tried corn-on-the-cob and some authentic African cuisine, including stewed chicken, before it was over. I eventually bought the feed, and things went back to normal. They kept attacking the lizards though. I guess they tasted good.

I learnt a valuable lesson from this. All it takes is motivation, and you can do anything.

BY: Donald Ogisi

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I alluded to a possible obsession above. Obviously this is an exaggeration (you knew that, right?). However, for someone who has been in “exile” for long time (i.e. me), there’s a tendency to lose sight of where one has come from as one integrates all this stuff from the places one now spends one’s time. So, a good way to address this is to take a trip back to home; to confront one’s demons, as it were. For me, that means going to Nigeria.

Ok, so I didn’t make the trip to Nigeria simply because I wanted to tackle questions about my identity. That was more of a side effect. My real reason for going was to attend a couple of Marriage Ceremonies. One was Traditional, and had been systematically avoided by the groom for years by way of his simple refusal to return home from the U.S. (brilliant strategy, if you ask me). The other was a Church wedding for a good friend…I was expected to be one of the groomsmen. Even though I hadn’t been for over 7 years, not making the trip wasn’t really an option.

So, it was with some perturbation (ok, fear…maybe even dread) that I boarded the plane at Newark Airport. I was finally returning the the land of my birth and upbringing. My mind was all over the place. I tried to think back to the last time I was there. I was a struggling student at University in England, and my trip home was to provide some much needed rest and relaxation, as well as to harrass my parents into giving me more money for my international adventure. The trip before that, barely six months before, was for a similar purpose.

On both occasions, I didn’t have time to truly examine my feelings towards my “home”. I wasn’t really interested in what was going on there at the time. Identity was not an issue. I had other things to worry about. So, it became apparent to me that this was the first time I was returning with no agenda (weddings aside), free of an all-round non-positive outlook, ready to “just see” what was in store for me. The further away from New Jersey I got, the stronger my unquiet got. I was glad I was going to stop over in England briefly, where my brother would join me for the final leg of the journey to Lagos. At least, I wouldn’t be arriving on my own.

That was the plan anyway. But we all know that life has a way of providing excitement (or shafting you, if you prefer) when such is least expected, or needed. About an hour before we were scheduled to land in London, the captain announced that all airports in England were closed because of snowfall. I was surprised. I had barely gotten away from an expected storm in the North East USA only to fly straight into another one in Europe. Us passengers were told that the plane would have to land at an airport in another European City. Brussels was full. Paris was full. Zurich…no go. We were told that we would be landing the party city that is Hannover, Germany. Yay!

If I had internet access onboard, I would have been able to find out from Wikipedia that Hannover is the capital of the federal state of Lower Saxony, and was once the family seat of a group of Kings of Great Britain. Today, it hosts commercial shows like the biggest Marksmen’s funfair (guns!) and the second largest Oktoberfest in the world (beer!). Plus, there is a massive zoo there. All of this means that the place is fairly dead for most of the year.

I took it rather well. I had never been to Germany, even though I lived in England for about 6 years. Maybe this was the universe giving me the chance to experience something new. The thought of missing the wedding because of delays entered my mind, but that seemed highly improbable. I had 4 days left. There was no way in the world I wouldn’t get there in 4 days. There was no point bitching about anything till then.

So it was that over 200 passengers finally made it to a hotel about half an hour from Hannover Airport at about 1 AM local time, courtesy of Virgin Atlantic, after hours spent waiting in various queues. All closer (and fancier) hotels were fully occupied by other stranded people. I won’t talk about how I almost froze to death because I wasn’t dressed for “it’s effing freezing!” temperatures, or the unpleasant jetlag that accompanied me for the 2 days we were there. That would be nitpicking. I mean, things could have been a lot worse. We could have been sleeping on the floor of Heathrow airport like those poor sods we could see on TV.

To be honest, I didn’t completely mind being there. It wasn’t cool being in limbo though. Virgin had nobody on the ground (the flight crew had been put in another hotel, where they could be safe from us), so we had to get our updates from the hotel staff (who managed to stay polite even though they had to handle enquiries from loads of angry americans). There was a board in the lobby that also got updated at various points during the day with information on meals, possible departure times, etc. We never actually saw the so-called Virgin rep who allegedly put the information up. I was sure it was really done by mysterious elves, but then again I was suffering from extreme jetlag and might have been delusional.

In any case, we passengers became like a big family. We were all in the same boat, all of us potentially missing out on important events at our destinations. Reunions, weddings, Christmas dinner, hotel reservations. People start to identify with each other in circumstances like that. We talked about our options, alternative routes, ways to mobilize and get the airline to take us seriously and get us where we needed to go. We gathered for meals at the appointed times, getting to know each other and trying to make the best of a bad situation. The planning of the operation was…almost non-existent. There was no real co-ordination. No one knew how many passengers there were. They didn’t even take our names when we checked in. Anyone could have stepped up to the reception that night and gotten a free room and free meals, all paid for by Virgin. It was really strange.

One afternoon we all had to pile into buses and get taken to eat elsewhere because the hotel restaurant had been booked for some prior event. So, anyone who wasn’t in the lobby at the right time basically missed lunch. What was even scarier was the fact that when it was time to go back, no one bothered to tell us. After the meal, I was lost in conversation with an American Indian – I mean an Indian who I thought was American-raised, but who turned out to have picked up his “extreme” American accent while growing up in India. It was weird; he had only been in the US for about a year or something. I accused him of being a sellout – and an English dude. After a while we realized that the other passengers had disappeared. We ran for the entrance of the building to find that there was one bus there. We got in, and the driver left shortly afterwards. No one ever counted or checked anything. I am convinced there are still a few stranded people in Hannover right now, walking the streets, lost forever because they missed the bus. Ahem.

Oh yeah, as I mentioned at the start, John Oliver was there! I first noticed him at Hannover Airport. He looked regular. In fact, I was starting to think I might be mistaken until I noticed a few people go up to him to shake his hand. Even then, he was really gracious. I expected endless jokes and maniacal laughter. Instead, he was just…regular. I was a little disappointed. And I felt foolish. The fact that I didn’t say hello when I first saw him now meant I could no longer do it.

At lunch, myself and my Indian companion noticed him at a table (with his missus). The lunch tables had enough space for 6 – 8 people, but none of the other spaces were taken. I guess people wanted to give them space or something. We spent a substantial amount of time debating whether or not to sit next to him after we had gotten food. Eventually we made the move, said hello and sat down. Before I had time to engage him, some posh people came and took him away to have lunch at some posh restaurant…away from us mere mortals. Opportunity lost. Sigh.

Later on that day, I was walking past the lobby of the hotel when he called out to me. He asked me if I was on the Jets Football team. I was shocked. Then I realized that I was wearing a Jets hoodie; plus the Jets were actually playing that day (I also like to think there’s a chance I have the build of a football Wide Receiver…at least a kicker…but maybe I’m delusional). I laughed. He laughed. All was well. I didn’t have to go to him and say hello; he came to me! Because I’m cool like that. I might have blushed a little, but don’t tell anyone.

Hannover was turning out to be alright. I figured I would be outta there first thing the next day. Then I checked and saw that it had been snowing again in London. At that point it became apparent that I might actually not make it on time.

You’ll have to come back in a few weeks to read the conclusion of this amazing tale.

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In any case, it’s come to the fore of my mind now because I have been reading about the potentially damaging effect it could have on affordable HIV treatment in the third world. “How?” you ask, a slightly perplexed look on your face. Once again, the devil is not in the idea; it’s in the execution…Free Trade Agreements. I shall return to this in a bit, so stay with me.

When I discovered this issue, I decided to really dig in and find out what I could about this Free Trade concept. I wanted to understand what it was all about, and how it could turn out to be negative. So, I put my excellent research skills to work (RE: Google) and came up trumps. Basically, Free Trade is a system that levels the playing field for anybody wanting to produce/trade a given product. At its core is the principle of making pricing a true reflection of supply and demand. This applies to domestic companies, international companies…everyone, regardless of country or location. Pretty simple.

It’s funny…I have always imagined this is how the world works, mostly. You put effort into producing something – time, money, etc – then you charge a certain price to reflect that. If said item is difficult to produce or rare, and in demand, you can charge more, within reason. I was right. This is how it does work…but only within a given bubble. A bubble, say, like the United States. Any given bubble will have rules in place to protect its “integrity”. The system functions to ensure that any external force that breaches it doesn’t easily cause harm to those inside. Usually, that means that if you are a producer in a given industry within, a producer in the same industry from outside cannot expect to come in and compete without some forced handicap (high taxes for them, tax cuts/subsidies for you etc).

The idea of Free Trade is to make the bubble irrelevant, or at least reduce it’s effectiveness drastically. No Government helping the locals out and making life more difficult for the outsiders. Like I said, a level playing field. It seems to have a whiff of fairness about it, afterall we all end up with a true reflection of prices, and the competition is fair. However, the world as we know it is way too complicated to allow such a principle be applied on a grand scale. Well, at least that’s what I think.

Most of the basis of Free Trade rests on the idea of Specialization, which is one I readily identify with, having run a business in the past (so what if it was a web development company when I was at University…it still counts). Basically, everybody is much more effective if they concentrate on things they are best at (even if you are capable of doing all things reasonably well) and leaving the other bits to people who are better suited. In an ideal scenario, a new web designer could hire a new accountant instead trying to do her taxes herself; and the new accountant could hire the new web designer to manage his website. They can both spend their time doing what they are best at. The system benefits from two people at their highest productivity level, who are also able to trade effectively with each other. Win-win.

The problem here is that societies today are not at a template level. They are filled with multiple examples of our web designer and accountant at multiple levels of complexity. Let’s say, for instance, that the land of Narnia is better at Wheat farming than Hogwarts. Let’s say that it is also cheaper to do it there than in Hogwarts. Now, let’s also say that the reverse is true for the manufacture of…I don’t know…Hawaiian shirts. The idea would be for Hogwarts to leave the wheat to Narnia, and stick with the shirts, and trade with the Narnians for wheat. Even though both Nations can do both, perhaps effectively, this is the optimum arrangement.

Now, in implementing this, the Narnian Government might remove protections in place for its local wheat growers…deregulation, really. These locals would quickly have to get creative in order to survive in this new landscape of “openness”. They would have to find a way to cut prices and compete with the potentially more effective foreign companies…or go out of business. There is more innovation, more co-operation between the nations; it’s all good…for consumers and the whole system at large. But there is a cost. A large chunk of locals who are in this industry will possibly be left without any livelihood. Also, any others who were working towards entering said industry would have to divert their efforts into something else.

So, clearly, trying get this to work on a large scale is difficult. That is why there are Free Trade Agreements (e.g. NAFTA). They basically lay down rules that must be followed by all parties to the agreement. They make sure that everything is set up correctly so things are fair, so all parties are treated equal. It’s deal-making, and someone always loses, at least in the short term. For instance, to “facilitate” this process, subsidies might actually be given to the foreign companies instead of local ones. If these locals are unable or unwilling to deal in the new environment, then it’s often tough luck for them.

Around the Globe, the issues are plentiful. For instance, NAFTA has been blamed for the loss of the United State’s manufacturing credibility (Mexico has grown their ability), while also being blamed for the difficulties local farmers face in Mexico (America wins here). When it happens between Developed countries and Developing countries, we start to see more problems. How much should Governments in less developed countries be allowed to influence prices to encourage entrepreneurship in their own economies while dealing with the much more advanced Companies from the Developed Countries? There’s a very thin line they have to walk.

Locals in Europe tend to have protections in place governing how many hours they can be made to work, how much they must be paid etc. I once worked – I use that term loosely…there was quite a bit of sleeping – for 24 hours straight as a Security “Officer” while I studied in England because the guy for the night shift didn’t show. My manager was extremely worried about all kinds of penalties the company might have to pay if it ever came to light. All of these protections are laughable on the farms and manufacturing plants in Developing countries. So, even though such conditions might not be created as part of any trade agreement, they already exist and are a major reason why business might be significant more expensive in Europe. How do European Governments factor that in when considering Free Trade?

I think that is where things start to get a bit sinister. Now, I am not a big conspiracy theorist – everyone knows the U.S. Government is covering up details of an imminent alien invasion – but my last point underscores part of this idea of framing arguments and deals as existing between Nations for the benefit of their peoples. From what I can see, that’s not the case. The parties that gain from all of these deals are companies, particularly the big boys. A company that would have had trouble being competitive in farming in Europe can move into farming in Jamaica because of a Trade Agreement or an “opening-up” of the markets. They are free of the constraints that would have existed on employee practices back home. At the same time they possess the clout and wealth to completely bamboozle – for lack of a better word – most other local companies. This idea of specialization benefiting even traders in that industry changes because some multinational firm is suddenly able to muscle their way into the game. Locals lose on both sides…the big companies win. I am having trouble seeing how this is good for everyone.

Global producers are…like…evil.

Now, back to how all of this affects affordable HIV treatment. This Article on GlobalIssues.org covers it in more detail, but the general idea is that Indian Companies have been able to make consistently cheaper versions of HIV treatment drugs because they only have to get patents for the “process” by which the product is made, not the “product” itself. That is going away as International Free Trade Agreement rules come into place. This could mean that international companies, attempting to make more money off these drugs, can bring Intellectual Property suits against the Indian Government around this issue. To stay out of trouble, Indian drug manufacturers in this area will have to be more careful. The potential result is a reduction in these sorts of drugs, and a potential increase in costs where available…because of “Free Trade”. Where do we draw the line?

Now, don’t get me wrong. I am not saying all multinationals are bad, or that globalization is wrong…or even that all of these agreements are wrong. It’s just that Free Trade could actually do more harm than good, particularly when looking at developing countries who just can’t operate at the same level as their peers from developed countries. Fair Trade has risen up in recent years to try to address the inbalance that can arise in these situations, but that idea has also been mostly usurped for profit as well.

I was hoping to find a solution when I started out on this path, but I have come up with nothing. At the end of the day, there isn’t a one-size-fits-all package that can be flogged to all parties. So, maybe in that lies the answer…I don’t think we can hope to apply the same principles (i.e. free and open trade) to all situations. We should consider the uniqueness of every situation, of every party involved; maybe even consider the positives of some protectionism. We also need to watch these globe-trotting companies because this is their show, mostly.

The offshoot of all of this might be a more complicated and drawn-out process; but whoever said life is supposed to be easy all the time?

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The destination is a big deal when one is on a journey. Most people would argue that getting to said destination is the whole point. Knowing what is at the end is usually a requirement. This knowledge can change the dynamics of the trip. For instance, most people will readily put up with a whole bunch of trouble, if they get something worthwhile at the end of the day (What would you do for a Klondike bar, anyone?). They’ll be able to think about the end result and say “This will be over at some point, and then I’ll have what I want”. This can do wonders for the human mental state. Also, knowing what sort of party awaits one changes the clothes one might wear there. If I’m just gonna become nothing, then maybe I should live as intensely as possible. If we are going to become spirits for eternity then maybe the pursuit of wealth is not so important. The point is that if people know – and I mean really know – what, if anything, comes after death, then chances are they could act completely different in their daily lives.

In modern society, we have all of these sophisticated rules to govern our actions. Do this, you’ll get by fine. Do that, and we’ll lock you up. It’s a structure – a system, and we operate within it, one way or the other. Life and death can also be thought of as a system as well. Indeed, death itself is often depicted as punishment for not obeying the rules. That is the starting point of Chrisitianity, for instance. We are all tainted by sin and must now die. However, I have heard “preachers” claim that certain brutal acts of violence that took many lives were a “Judgment from God” to teach a lesson. One could point to the fact that, in the Old Testament, God himself flooded the world, destroyed cities, etc. The fundamentalists (Islam now has more than it’s fair share, but back in the day Christians routinely mass-murdered for God) want to “help” by doing some killing as well. Meanwhile, people often expect God to reward them by postponing their death sentence. All of this points to the fact that Life itself, along with certain creature-comforts (like a BMW, for instance), is often thought of as a reward. Still, it’s a question of time. Eventually, everybody dies. So, the most important bit of this whole system is the afterlife.

Oh, the afterlife. What is it? We wonder, we imagine, we dream, we speculate. Still, the answer eludes us…as it must until we actually get there. A large chunk of humanity takes it’s cue from Religion. In general, there are two ways things can go for you in the eyes of the religions of the world; Good or Bad. Good is clearly better. As a base, an eternity of the good life awaits you. The definition of this “good life” varies from being able to eat all the burgers in the world without clogging your arteries to having your way with no less than 72 virgins (if you are a guy. I am not sure what the option is for the ladies). The good life, I say. On the other hand, Bad is not so good. As a base, an eternity of “suffering” awaits you. Once again, just what that eternal suffering is varies widely. It could be physical torment, as in the flames of Hell. It could be you re-living certain events in your life over and over…an endless loop. Bottom line, you want to avoid this scenario if it’s at all possible.

The problem with this system is that it is, for the most part, very much like a standard school grading scale, except you don’t get rewarded for getting anything less than an A++. Good is the highest grade possible. Everything else falls under the “Bad” umbrella. Look at the guys who got the highest grades in your class; think about about how strange they are. Think about the guy who gets really excited talking about potential applications of Quantum Mechanics…could you be that weird? I didn’t think so. That’s why I have always figured that the vast majority of humanity is going to Hell.

Seriously though, the difficulty of making it to Heaven cannot be underestimated. There was one time – I was about thirteen – when I prayed so sincerely for forgiveness of my sins that I actually believed I would go to Heaven. It was a fantastic feeling. It also only lasted about five minutes. I never got it back after that. I just kept…you know…sinning. I suspect that some of the leaders of Christianity from the ancient times understood my feelings. The entry requirements were too stringent for most people so they came up with a pseudo-solution – Purgatory. The elite go to Heaven and the scum go to Hell. For the good folks who just weren’t on top form, they go to purgatory. Now, this place is hellish as well, but over a period of time, you get to “graduate” to the Heaven. Your torment will not be eternal, which works quite well for me. Well, it would if I bought into it. Even at 10 years old when I first heard about it, it struck me as a cop out.

Did you watch Lost? It was only the greatest T.V. show ever made. Anyway, for those of you poor souls who have not witnessed the phenomenon, it is basically about a group of plane-crash survivors stranded on an island. There was a massive debate about whether the island represented some sort of purgatory, or a trial for the people who were brought there. I’m trying not to spoil things here for those who might want to watch it, but the final season also dealt with the idea of limbo and a “preparing ground”, after death, but before moving on to the hereafter. The point is that ideas like these do span various cultures and backgrounds, even though I am looking at things from my own point of view.

A part of me is drawn to the depiction of the journey of death from ancient cultures. Think Hades…or the fantastic tales of forays into the underworld described in books like Joseph Campbell’s “The Hero with a thousand faces”. These tales are so romanticized and filled with all kinds of interesting stuff that one might be inclined to look forward to death. We leave this world behind and move on to the next, to join our ancestors at the grand table after crossing the great river, nourished by the loaf of bread that we were buried with. Certainly sounds more fun than purgatory.

I also like the ideas I have found in Eastern Philosophy (as much as it can be separated from Western Philosophy), and in modern science. Quantum Physics is so cool because there is so much of what could be termed spiritual “mumbo-jumbo” in it. The overlap with Buddhist ideas can be a little scary. Nothing really happens unless we observe it happening i.e. we create reality. That’s the stuff one would find in a New-Age book. In any case, the thrust of Eastern thought is an underlying connectedness of all things and events. What you think of as “you” is just a manifestation (or illusion) for the moment. Your “death” only ends this particular experience, and what is truly “you” goes on. It gets more complicated, depending on which teacher or school you explore, but that’s some idea of how things fall. You don’t have to worry about death, because it’s not really death at all. This is a powerful idea.

At the end of the day, whatever you believe – or don’t – you will die. Despite this fact, we live life. We plan, we build up stuff that we can’t afford to lose. We spend most of our lives working and try to save for the twilight years. There is nothing wrong with any of this. Life cannot stop because there is death. The issue is that we do all of this without really acknowledging death. We live our lives like we have all the time in the world, or at least 60 or 70 years. The idea that we could die at any moment is not really with us. Some of this is obviously because it is a little scary. There is so much going on. I can’t die right now. I have to do this, or do that. My family would be unable to go on, etc. Besides, why bother thinking about something that is likely to depress you?

But maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to consider it just a little bit more. Older folks tend to have much more appreciation of life as it slips away from them. Life is sweet; every oxygen-breathing moment of it. Sometimes we forget that when problems come around. A regular reminder couldn’t hurt. I think it might serve us better if we look at life as a privilege we have for a limited time, and so live it accordingly. Also, a life filled with peace and joy is more likely to benefit you when death comes around. Chances are that if you live your life joyfully maybe, just maybe, Saint Peter might not have the heart to turn you back at the Pearly Gates.

So, maybe it’ll be just like flicking a light-switch; maybe my life will flash before my eyes; maybe there will be an overwhelming feeling of peace. I don’t know. But till then, I will certainly be trying to live everyday like it’s my last.