Now you are reading my dairy unrestricted and free of charge. You know better than I do that a dairy is naturally accessible to its owner ONLY, but I have given you the unreserved privilege to flow through my secrets. It is rare if not impossible to find people do this.......in fact if you are not ready to reflect on the words I have written below this paragraph, please kindly stop reading. I am not foolish to have made this diary available for public consumption. Be a gentleman or woman.
You all are beautiful people and I immensely appreciate you all. All of you. I admire the extraordinary things you do, and how beautifully those things are done. Now, here is the reason for publicising my diary: Misconception about Writers.
Most of you are not nice to writers. The actions of most you towards writers are concrete enough to forcibly make a writer throw away his pen and summit to beer - parlouring. Why are you people like this?. I am really not happy about this. Just look me - a full grown up writer who is not bold enough to grow mustache, suffering because some people wrote my chapter wickedly. Benneth and Beautiful people!.
"What do you do for a living?", she asked. "Writing", I told her with a dazzling smile and added mechanically "I am a writer".
Her luminous smile died. It seemed as though her pointed nose would soon fall and her ebonized long hairs which I had initially admired seemed to be shorter than they had been. I observed the contempt in her voice. I am not sure she'd wanted to ask - that is if I should call it a question - the sentence just flew out from her mouth. "Apart from writing what else do you do really?".
In the heat of that moment; I gave her no reply and managed to disgracefully walked away feeling the traumatic bangs of her words in my head. This thing happened in 1916 and the pain is still much around today, 2015. Beautiful people why are you like this?.
Similarly, in 1903, I found a fiancé. Olamipo was her name and I admired the beautiful texture of her skin. They felt like tomato paste. I wrote poems about her eyes, lips and physique. She was a picturesque and my conviction about making her my wife was proven beyond my pen. I recall that cool evening when I finally proposed to her; the response was simple; come and see my parents.
I recall driving to their residence at Ikeja - a bungalow with five functional elevators. The two dogs stationed at the gate didn't respect my London suit, they gave me the reservation of a notorious thief. I think I heard one barked my name, trying to pull forward despite the oversized chain it was bounded with.
I finally saw my in law to be; he didn't even apologize for making me wait in my car while the Gatemate chained the yellow monsters they called dogs.
Olamipo did the introduction and she didn't forget to include how we met. Then her Father quickly followed with someone question: My name, age, state......occupation?. A writer. He didn't say much but there was much in what he said. He concluded by telling me he would get in touch with me without even asking for my phone number, email address( RealBenneth@gmail) or Facebook Id (Benneth Nwankwo Page).
Would it be unethical if he had politely asked for my Twitter handle (@BnSpeaks)? At least he would easily tweet me with the requirements for performing marriage rites as prescribed by their culture. It would never be a bad idea asking for my Instagram handle (@BnSpeaks) for the sole aim of sharing photographs of certain undescriptive items say sizable tubers of yam and cola nuts. Why was he like that?. I have not received any response and up till today I am still single but writing.
In today Nigeria, writers are barley respected - at least I had little respect in the 60s. The then dreaded military governments of Nigeria respected us much and more often than not, some of us - the defiant ones - were made tenants behind bars. I recall Gowon ordered the arrest and inhuman detention of Soyinka and I. There were few beautiful people within his cabinet and it was quite easy to get information on demand. I sent Professor Wole Soyinka a video on BlackBerry messenger, warning him on the impending danger then fled to Benin. It was in Benin that the news of his detention got to me and I tearfully broke down. I was not only weeping because of his unlawful detention; It rudely occurred to me that the message was not sent due to poor network coverage. In my subsequent hand written letters to him, I pleaded for his forgiveness and promised to pursue his release.
Ultimately he was released! A band of writers, headed by me assiduously wrote to the international power brokers and mounted pressure on Gowon's government until Wole was freed. I personally wrote to the White house requesting for merciless economic sanction; it was granted upon receipt.
Listen beautiful people, writers are the backbone of an effectual nation. Show me a great nation and I will show you great writers. Look at Nigeria, just examine our country; where are our writers? Where are they? Writers have been demoralized!. How many of you beautiful people are ready to buy a Nigerian book? How many of you read at least a book per month?. It is painfully. If you think writing is a morsel of fufu, write a story. I do not enjoy the cryptic companionship you beautiful people gives to writers in this country. Some you of you deserves a miserable poem.
In 1967, after returning from Whitehouse where I had a private dinner with the US President Barack Obama, two beautiful people hastily visited my home in Victoria Inland Lagos, Nigeria and made me do things I would never repeat in my lifetime. They religiously lied to me about the quality of my works then suggested it was time I publish them since the spotlight of Whitehouse was on me. I accepted and hastily self published a book "Youthship and Challenges" - a collection of my articles on challenges confronting most Nigerian youths. I will not write about the reception but I can tell you authoritatively and free of charge that it had in 2012, thankfully gone out of print. Since 1967!.
Beautiful people, our writers must be appreciated. Look our writers are dying and when a writer dies, books dies and when books dies; ideas dies and when ideas dies; life ends. That's all for now.
Please follow me on Twitter @BnSpeaks.
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