The Covid 19 era will usher in the fourth stage of the colonization of Africa.
It will be the stigmatization stage.
Pfizer just announced the discovery of a vaccine for the pandemic.
Other pharmaceutical companies will soon follow suit.
They will distribute these vaccines throughout the world.
But you already know the continent they will forget to send the vaccine to.
AFRICA.
The third stage of colonization is now in progress. This is part of a ten-stage program of total obliteration.
At the onset of the first stage, the colonizer attacked us violently and mercilessly, killing our leaders and taking our land.
At this first stage, they directly rule us and live on our land, openly displaying their weapons of destruction to threaten us and remind us that they are capable of obliterating us and willing to wipe us off the face of the earth at the slightest provocation.
In the United States, the Zoom classroom is becoming the norm in an abnormal world.
It’s unbelievable that the death toll in the United States is nearing the 250,000 number.
That sort of figure is beyond imagination—one-quarter of a million people dead.
How does one wrap one’s mind around that sort of number, in terms of fallen heroes in a single war that has not yet even lasted one year?.
Whereas in Africa, hardly anyone is dying.
When last week the press reported the fall of Jerry Rawlings to the pandemic, it was so shocking, because in Nigeria, everybody is wining, dining, partying, and marketing as if nothing is going on, and everything is honky-dory.
I’m building an art gallery in Austin TX.
The gallery is now nearing completion—hopefully, it will be ready in January 2021.
It’s only a modest gallery, just to satisfy the need for an African art gallery in Texas, such a great state, yet without such a gallery devoted to the art of Africa.
The architect is Beau Frail, from Florida.
The Engineer is R.D. Hammond, from Texas.
Now, please watch this one-minute clip after reading my short note.
This morning I went to my usual coffee shop, not too far from my house in Austin, Texas.
It was my favorite hangout before the outbreak of the Covid.
But now, it has become only a drive-in shop, and I sat in my Jeep, waiting for the young woman to take my order.
“Tall coffee and a banana nut bread warmed,” I told her.
“Sure,” she said. “That will be five dollars and seventy cents.”
A friend, who is also a devout, church-going Christian just talked with me a few minutes ago. He called from Nigeria.
“What is wrong with these kids?” he asked me. “Why can’t they protest peacefully? What has their quarrel against police brutality got to do with burning down buildings, and looting stores? They are criminals. They are worse than the politicians they are criticizing. If you place them in positions of power, they would do worse.”
I didn’t respond. After all, I didn’t call him. He called. He must have something really important to say to have spent his money calling me.
John McArthur, the internationally renowned evangelist, is quoted as observing that “It is confusing to watch people demand justice by violating the law.”
What is even more confusing is to watch the law perpetuate injustice.
And infinitely most perplexing is to watch the officers of the law flout legal procedures and violate human rights with impunity.
This is why SARS provoked such hostile reception from the Nigerian community that it was meant to serve.
It is most confusing to watch Nigerian politicians loot the funds meant for the entire nation.
It is confusing to see the police refuse to prosecute them.
YORUBA DISINFORMATION IS MUNGO PARK
This morning, a friend of mine who is a professor at a university here in Texas woke me up with, “Hey Moyo, what is the meaning of Yoruba?”
This professor called me on WhatsApp video.
Disinformation is as old as the human tongue.
Let me take that back.
Disinformation predates the human tongue.
Disinformation started with the body language of making signs.
When you smile, when you really are plotting to hit a fellow, that is disinformation.
Let the house rat hear
and tell the bush rat.
Safeguard your community.
Let each community of 1000 citizens
Form a fence of 100 youths.
Take a census of 1000 names
in each community unit.
Document the name, age and occupation
of everyone within your community.
Do not rely on police protection
there is none anymore.
THIS FLAG IS SOILED who knew who knew that the white man sprinkled the bullet with…
BISCUIT BONES.
Let me introduce you to Jẹgúdújẹrá, (Chop-and-quench).
Do you know how the Jẹgúdújẹrá Nigerian eats chicken thigh?
I will tell you:
Set the plate of chicken thigh in front of Jẹgúdújẹrá, and the eyes bulge, opening as wide as possible.
A wide smile distorts Jẹgúdújẹrá’s face into a demonic mask of inner delight.
Jẹgúdújẹrá starts with the flesh. With studied concentration, Jẹgúdújẹrá bites deep into the flesh until the entire mouth is full, with both cheeks bulging.
PLEASE HELP US
Junction9: #sorosoke
In the first week of January 1968, at the tender age of 11, I was torn from my mother’s warm bosom and tossed into a boarding house.
That was the day my depression started.
And it continues even now, more than fifty years later.
I am not alone. It happened to my entire generation.
My depressive experience is typical of all of us between the ages of seventy-five and fifty.
This depression is typical of all of us who are the “elites” of Nigeria.