Author: Noel Ihebuzor

In January, everyone should try and choreograph a ballet. In March we should all write an opera, and in June everyone should paint a fresco. Sounds ludicrous, doesn’t it? And yet the idea that everyone could write a novel in November gets a good deal more acceptance. Why do we assume that, while these other forms would require skills, knowledge and practice beyond most people’s experience, anyone can write a book? It drives me round the bend.

Getting people to explore their creativity is something I’ve always considered important, but I think that should begin with a respect for whatever form you are working in. To start by assuming the form is easy, requires no study, research or insight, is to set yourself up to fail. I don’t think that benefits anyone. So, here are a few counterarguments.

Fifty thousand words is not really a book; that’s rather short. Seventy…

Leaders become manipulators when self-serving goals outweigh organizational interests.

Self-serving goals require manipulation, coercion, deception, and pressure tactics. Shared goals, on the other hand, pull everyone forward.

“There is perhaps nothing more dangerous than a bad person with good people skills.” Bob Burg in Adversaries to Allies.

Manipulators are skillful persuaders.

Context of manipulation:

“No” is the most obvious context of manipulation. Say no to a manipulator and experience things like:

1. Guilt. “If you really cared …”
2. Bullying.
3. Flattery. Manipulation often begins with, “I really admire your ability to …”
4. Intimidation. “You could lose your job.”
5. Withholding information.
6. Half-truths designed to create wrong decisions. They often only tell the side of the story that makes others look bad.
7. Shame.
   (See the complete list given by Facebook contributors.)

Bob Burg writes, “… if you fail to comply with his request, a manipulator will try to make you feel bad, selfish…

My chrysanthemum/daisy/buttercup bouquet in a shoebox is a love poem.  I open it for you, smiling, but you see only the yellows, not the asters that are my eyes.  I sing dandelion seeds, each note touching your face.  You brush it away, this music that is felt, that tickles, that tangles in your hair.  I bring you violets and call them haiku.

By Nwachukwu Egbunike

The streets of Nigeria’s Twitter are hot and harsh these days. The clash of the politico-twitterati on each side of the divide – opposition and the establishment – has been characterized with vile tweet-blood. Politico-Twitterati means those influential tweeps or overlords who are active partisan politicians. They differ from “political tweeps” (or political activists) who though they tweet on politics, owe no allegiance to any political party.

The narrative as expounded by each side of the divide can be grouped into two: disruptive narration (by the opposition) and confutative narration (by the establishment).

The Disruptive Narrative of the Opposition Politico-Twitterati

A casual observation of the handles of some opposition overlords shows that they thrive on rumours. It looks as though they patiently wait for any gaffe from government officials and then precipitate a twitterstorm. For instance take the “news” on the 53 gold plated…

Biko Agozino, poet and professor of African Studies and Criminology, is spearheading a newsletter “OdenIgbo” – which will offer analysis solely in Igbo language.

I must say that this is a bold and ambitious project. For to speak Igbo is one thing, to understand and maintain a conversation in the language – for many, this is a competence that is gradually ebbing – is uncommon. But to launch a publication which will be feature essays exclusively in Igbo is mind blowing! Click on the link below to download a pdf copy of OdenIgbo.

ODENIGBO

Note, it’s not for the faint hearted, let’s see those who can still read and comprehend undiluted Igbo!

Dalu nu!

Open my heart
Like the flower to the sun
Rejoicing in its rays
Basking in its brightness

Open my heart
Like the petals of the hibiscus
Beckoning the butterfly
Seeking the dispersion of its pollen

Open my heart
To receive Your loving kindness
To embrace Your tender mercies
Like a sailor hard pressed at sea
at the sight of shore

Open my heart
to see into Your heart
to know the depth of Your love
Like a child gazing upwards at the
One that gives it suck

Open my heart
To warm to You
Like the child breaking into a smile
At the sound of it’s mother’s voice

Open my heart
To see You
To know You
To love You