Man did not sign a consent form before arriving on earth. He did not negotiate the climate of his birth, the economy of his century, the religion of his parents, or the fragility of his bones. He simply appeared . As Jean-Paul Sartre would say, he finds himself “thrown” into existence—condemned to be free, yet not consulted about being. This is the primordial confusion: existence precedes permission. On the surface of the earth, life appears ordinary. Some find it sweet; others taste only bitterness; many sip from a strange cocktail of sweet-bitter paradox. But beneath this ordinary surface lurks a metaphysical tension: Can any human creature truly choose the state he desires – peaceful, eudemonic, triumphant – without interference from forces beyond his control? Is man truly sovereign over his condition? Or is he but a fragile reed bent by invisible winds? The Illusion of Measure Long before existentialism, Protagoras declared, “Man is the measure of all things: of the thing...
Nigeria, with other nations, is a land of constant negotiation with danger. To live here is to be alert. At Oshodi, a woman instinctively pulls her child back from the rush of okada riders. At Oluku, a man jumps aside as a reckless mini bus veers too close. When gunshots crack in a distant street, crowds scatter without waiting to ask who is shooting. Self-preservation is etched into our bones, a survival script rehearsed in every market, motor park, and traffic jam. And yet, paradoxically, this same instinct to survive is matched by an almost stubborn desire to flirt with death. The Lagos driver who carefully waits for the green traffic light later drinks himself into stupor and insists on driving home. The civil servant who avoids unclean water to protect his health will, with equal certainty, consume endless bottles of sweet soda that quietly corrode his body. A man who cries out in panic when a snake slithers across the compound may, the same evening, light a cig...