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Today Marks The 10th Year Dagrin Left Us. Drop Your Wishes

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We can’t just forget the mighty and legend Dagrin, the one who pave way for the nigeria indegenous rappers, with the likes of olamide, seriki, reminisce, etc.

We will forever remember you Dagrin.

Drop your well wishes👇🏻👇🏻

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Help! The future of my hometown is bleak. By Tomy Bakare.

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Grief has a way of making one think. Last week, I went home to Ikire to mourn the passage of my elder sister, Ronke Oyeyode (nee Bakare).

She joined the angels after losing the battle to cancer. Death is mocked because he could not do her a thing again. She has transformed from the ordinary mortal to the land of the glorious immortal. Death is thus put to shame. Her life and time is not the subject of this piece (There are so many things going on in my head now that won’t allow the kind of concentration), rather it is about the impending death of Ikire. The place of my birth is on the death bed and her future is bleak. Do not misunderstand me. It is not about the deplorable state of the roads within the community. It has nothing to do with the epileptic power supply or lack of basic amenities of life that were taken for granted in the seventies. That was a time public taps were running, roads were smooth and electricity was steady. The deplorable condition of things today is common symptoms of irresponsible leadership and is not peculiar with Ikire. It is actually prevalent in most communities in Osun and beyond. I was in Ife, the cradle of Yoruba culture, and ashamed successive administrations in Osun usually looked away and failed to give that ancient city the attention it deserved.

The inner-city roads are more like ponds and would better serve the community with canoes. Since 1999, I doubt if any repair work has been done on those roads. What you have are carcasses of Western Region public works and relics of Uncle Bola Ige administration of Old Oyo state. We seemed to be under a potent spell of lying politicians who never kept their campaign promises. They promised heaven on earth but ended making the world scarier than the hellfire. That is not even my concern here. My concern is not about the chaotic present. My grouse is that the future of my home town cannot be guaranteed. Why? Just wait. Jose Rizal, the Philippine freedom fighter said; “the youth is the hope of our fatherland.” Conversely, the fatherland is hopeless if the youth has no certain future. Here is my concern. Each time I followed a sympathizer who came to condole with the family over our loss to the road a few meters away from the house, an offensive smell of cannabis rented the air. At first, I ignored it as a one-off. After many stops at the spot, it became apparent that it is a regular occurrence. It is a two-four-seven thing. This made me probe further. I discovered that the small kiosk nearby is the joint where the persistent foul smell emanated from. The place was crowded by mostly teenagers who may be oblivious of that their future is in jeopardy.

On one occasion, I thought the game was up for the gang when a police vehicle pulled over. To my bewilderment, the four policemen who came down the vehicle happily exchanged pleasantries with the boys, paid, and collected some of the stuff sold at the ‘joint’. One even collected lighted stuff from one of the boys and took a long puff at it before they drove away. Further enquiries revealed there are about 15 other kiosks in the community. I counted 9 of them and observed boys smoke their brains out. In those days, there were young men who smoked banned substances in the community. However, it was not as widespread as it has become. Such activities were shrouded in secrecy. Those caught smoking became about derision and a source of shame to their families.

The open display of this thief-of-the-future and the obvious absence of any effort to stop it suggest that the community has greatly reduced their concern.

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