Funny points...

On average how much time of your life do you spend making cups to tea? The average person drinks 74,802 cups of tea in their lifetime. This equates to around 2,493 hours spent making tea. That's a long time.
What is the most remixed song ever?
It's 'I Feel Loved' by Depeche Mode. There are 862 known versions, but few are official releases.

Which landmark would Brits most like to have sex at?
Wembley Stadium toppled the list, followed by Stonehenge in second place and the London Eye in third.
Where is the smallest house in the UK?
The smallest house in the UK is a 6-foot wide house in Conwy, at the Quay, in north Wales. A 7-foot man once lived there - on his own.
What are the chances of a meteor crashing into the back of my head and giving me superhuman powers?
There's a 1 in 96 trillion chance - that's like winning the Lottery jackpot TWICE in a row. Good luck.
Which is the only country in the Europe where you can marry someone who's already dead.
According to French law, a marriage between a living person and a dead person can take place as long as it can be shown they had intended to marry.
What's the most bizarre experiment ever?
Stubbins Ffirth tried to prove yellow fever wasn't contagious by pouring infected vomit into his eyes, inhaling it, frying it and drinking it. He was wrong.
I was born in outer space - what nationality am I?
The Outer Space Treaty of 1967 follows the tradition of maritime law - you have the nationality of the spaceship you were born in.
How many words do you need to have invented your own language?
To create a language, you need 10,000 words or more. Volapuk was created in 1979-80 by Johann Martine Schleyer. Esperanto was created seven years later.

Knife on skin......

I can still remember my first time in a dissecting room......sometime in 1998. The stench of formalin hit my nose and the deeper recesses of my brain real hard! We saw cadavers (dead bodies) on each of the dissecting tables, and wondered we had to add "butchering" to the already busy and scary syllabus we had. I don't think any one fainted..............even though there had been many stories flying around of how certain senior colleagues had fainted on their first day in the medical abattoir.

Without much ado, we started our dissection, we had to start with the lower limbs (legs) - study the anatomy (bones, muscles, arteries, veins and nerves) and learn as much as possible. We were in clusters of about twenty around each table. Seems funny now, but even in a few minutes the groups involuntarily subdivided themselves into smaller groups of the action-folk (those who did all the cutting), the stuff-movers (those who seemed to have read their anatomy books a million times) and the backbenchers (they peeped over the shoulders of the first two).

"Where did these bodies come from?" One of my classmates asked.

It was a question that came out of the blue and took us all off guard.

"Oooooh, I heard they are the bodies of armed robbers and the others are corpses that were never claimed"

The question was answered by XX. She always knew the latest news and gossips, so everyone just nodded in agreement. She had never been wrong, so why should today be an exception? Every evening for months, we all trudged like zombies after long days of lectures for our usual "cutting and talking". We finished the lower limbs in a few weeks, moved to the abdomen and then the thorax (chest). About three months later, we were up to the upper limbs. By now, it seemed they were no more catching armed robbers because we were running short of bodies. At some point, we only had the arms to work on. The bodies were regularly preserved with formalin, and even now the formalin could not cover up the "smell of death and rot". Formalin smell was soon replaced by some sort of rotten egg smell. Our friends and roommates, who were non-medical ran away from us when they saw us coming from the Anatomy area. Would you blame them?

Hmmmmm.........Pause. I think I may have disgusted not a few people with my intro., and even put off some doctors-to-be. I really hope not, because we also had a lot of good times them. More importantly, it was the beginning of the "surgeon-life" for some of us. The beginning of the "knife-on-skin" lifestyle.

Now I get into theatre and I am not fazed at all. A good part of that is due to the yesteryears. It is nothing compared to operating on a life patient, but I don't think I could have coped if I did not have that gradual transition process.

"Knife on Skin" - that is what my consultant says to inform the theatre nurses that we have started the surgical procedure. Surgery is all about practice, the more you do, the better you become - I think it is a bit like driving. Forgive the analogy! I am told there are some who never make good surgeons, surgery is not just coded in the genetic make-up.

Practice starts with the sutures, observing procedures (just watching), knowing the instruments and then assisting. Just like there are different types of surgeons, there are different types of teachers. Some are better than some others.

I will never forget when a certain teacher left me in the middle of a procedure to complete it on my own. I had observed and assisted in quite a number, but never taught I was going to get hands-on experience so soon. He handed the instruments to me and headed off. I took them in my hands and prayed for divine intervention. A million thoughts raced through my head. What should I do? How should I do it? Can I ask for help? What if I can't do it?

I think my whole life played out in the first few seconds. My fingers were trembling like I was connected to some electric grid. Sweat drops like beads formed on my forehead. To worsen matters, I was wearing surgical goggles and the mist that formed on it obscured my view. Oh my God!

Slowly and steadily, I made it. From the corners of my eyes, I could see the theatre staff - anaesthetists, scrub nurses etc waiting like forever for me to "close up". Anyway, after like semi-forever, I finished. I was grateful to God, to my ancestors, to my parents ( I am sure they must have been praying for me too)! Phew.

But as I changed out of my scrubs into my usual clothes, I thought to myself - "C'mon, if I had made it then many years ago in that Formalin-soaked room, I can make it anywhere".

Do you believe in Jazz?

I have always treated "jazz"-related stories and experiences with so much scepticsm. For those who don't have a clue about what my intro. statement means, jazz is the same as african magic or voodoo. Come to think of it............why african magic? Why not european magic or american magic? Anyway, that's a story for another day?

Jazz has an international appeal, even though many think it is only widespread in Africa and South America. I came across a patient recently who told me how she tried some jazz-related treatment for her ailment. Popular programmes like Harry Potter, Charmed, Merlin, The Lord of the Rings etc show that "jazz" is not unheard of on the non-African side of the Atlantic.

A friend once said it's funny how Harry Potter & the Sorcerer's Stone is not regarded as occultic but a yoruba home video film titled Hassan Ponle, Omo Babalawo (the herbalist's son) would be criticised by many as being evil.

My mum and grandparents used to tell me stories from their childhood experiences in the village - scary stories of herbalists and how some old hag changed to a wild animal (Beauty and the Beast, Snow White kinda stuff), but I always played it down as some "figment of imagination" cooked up to scare little children.

I still don't believe most of the stories, but I learnt to think twice before turning a blind eye.....when I meant Rilwan (not real name).

Rilwan was in his second year when I was in my last year of high school. He was a very troublesome chap and got into trouble so many times. There was this day he nicked some other guy's bag and got caught. He was reported to some of my mates and was scolded. Not mild scolding, some real CIA-style flogging! This went on for minutes and the guy did not even shed a tear. The Boy RSM (or head boy in civilian parlance) heard of this and took things up a notch. He got Rilwan drenched in water and got some brand new kobokos (horsewhips) to flog him.

From what I was told, he did not even feel the pain. After several hours of flogging, with his face motionless and the floggers quite fatigued...............someone had to ask him the 'all important question'.

"How come you don't feel any pain?"

"My grandfather boiled me"

"Boiled?"

He went on to narrate a story of how his grandfather had "cooked" his grandchildren (Rilwan inclusive) in some large pot of concoction to prevent them from feeling pain. The jazz had worked for him since then. By the time he finished his story, you could feel a broomstick drop.

Some months later, Spencer (a friend of mine) popped into my room to say hello and we started chatting. He sat on Mo's bed and soon got caught up in our long conversation. Mo was a junior boy who stayed in my room. I had no problems with him. As far as I was concerned, he was a nice chap.

Spencer got agitated and wanted to drive home a point, his hand felt something hard in the soft mattress he was sitting on. He looked at me with a look of surprise mixed with shock. We got a razor blade and cut through the mattress cover to get the object out.

It looked like a small purse, some snakeskin wrappings pierced with feathers and containing cowries. I was infuriated.................Had I been a victim of Jazz?

After a mild grilling session, Mo confessed that his mum had put it there after she bought the mattress. The charm was supposed to protect him from harm. Harm, my foot! I told him to pack his things and leave my room.

May God help us from Jazz!

Healthcare in two different worlds.....

A few months ago, I was involved in a debate with a couple of friends about the health care system in Nigeria. The president of Nigeria, Umar Yar'Adua was out of the country for about 16 days because of an ailment. Reports said it was for the kidney problem he had been battling with even before he assumed office.

Abou a year before that, the former vice president, Abubakar Atiku was also flown to a private hospital in London after injuring his ankle in a gym. Gani Fawehinmi, the vocal barrister and Senior Advocate of the masses was also hospitalised in the UK for a while.

One of my most favourite TV presenters, Yinka Craig was transferred to a reputable U.S. hospital for treatment some months ago, for a serious ailment as well. The gist from the grapevine was that "those who called themselves friends" were not so helpful. I was so heartbroken to hear that he died! A minute's silence to a great man............

Why do we always have to get better healthcare from shores faraway? Don't get me wrong - if I have a loved one back home who is in some dire clinical state, I would fight tooth and nail for them to get flown out.

But why is our health care system so warped from top to bottom? Having worked as a doctor in Nigeria and in the UK has opened my eyes to several discrepancies. Can the gulf be bridged? My head tells me one thing, while my heart tells me something else.

Years ago, Aneurin Bevan fought for the NHS to take off amidst so much opposition. He wanted healthcare to be readily available to everyone. Yeah, it was at a cost....everyone had to be taxed but it has done so much to help the life expectancy rate of the population. Even colleagues in the American system admit that that the NHS wins "hands down" when compared to the US "insurance-tainted" structure.

Can Nigeria get to that stage? Can we build up an enviable healthcare system?

Compare the following scenarios........

A patient comes in with a suspected brain bleed and you need a CT scan to confirm your diagnosis. You brace yourself up, keep a straight face and pray to the Almighty to give you strength as you break this "bad news" to the family.

You tell the family that they would need to pay for a scan ( last time I checked, it cost about 40,000 naira - not a small amount for an average poor family). They cry and wail, and start calling family members in Lagos, Abuja, Oturkpo, Ilesha etcetera and maybe, get half the amount in two weeks when the patient has forgotten what Planet Earth looks like.

Somewhere else, if I drop four cards for CT scans in an hour, they would all get done ASAP. Most things get done in time, altho' there are still the long waiting times sha!

About thirty pregnant (very pregnant) women are crammed on mattress-less beds, with about 90% of them contracting and ready to "drop" soon. The nurses shout at them at intervals to keep quiet and stop moaning. When the nurses feel some baby's arrival is imminent, they tell the pregnant woman to pack all her belonings and run to the delivery room.

Believe me, I saw this with my two eyes in some small district hospital in Ibadan! Some unfortunate woman was told to run to the delivery room and her baby dropped in the connecting corridor. Eeeeeuuurgh!!!

Over here, an intravenous drug abuser (IVDU as we call them) is admitted with a large abscess on his finger. He had injected heroine into all available veins he could get in his body, and when that was no longer possible he went for a tiny one he could see on his finger. This got infected and he was at risk of losing his finger. Even though he was such a nuisance on the ward and was even caught trying to inject heroine AGAIN in the ward toilet, everyone had to be nice to him! You gat to respect and be nice even if the fellow does not deserve it.

I sincerely pray I would be a contributor to a better healthcare system in Nigeria and I hope you would be one too. What do you think?

Personally, I think our Naija leaders should get their priorities right and give healthcare the attention it deserves. Setting long term goals without any action to support it is useless! First, we said polio would have been eradicated in 2000 but we are one of the five most-infected countries. We joined the cry to have the Millenium Development Goals (MDGs) fulfilled by 2010...that's two years away and there is no way we are gonna make it.

Now I heard someone in the Senate mentioned 2020..........Not again!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Power: Can you handle it?

When power is mentioned, what comes immediately to most minds is greed, egocentricity or nepotism. Power can be very good, very good infact; that it so easily becomes a sucking leech that drains all the good from the power-monger. Examples abound - remember figures like Adolf Hitler, Stalin, Idi Amin and of course, the man in the news - Mugabe. These are people who at some point abused power and assumed the role of “gods on earth”.

Abuse of power is the illegitimate use of power. It is that situation that exists whenever someone who has POWER over others, (that is, the capacity to impose his or her will on those others) for example, by virtue of his or her social position, physical strength, knowledge, technology, weapons, wealth, or the trust that others have in him or her, unjustifiably uses that power to exploit or harm those others, or through lack of action, allows exploitation or harm to occur to them.

Most rulers do not start off being power drunk – Stalin was once a likeable leader of the workers’ and peasants’ group, Hitler in his early days in office was praised everywhere for drastically cutting employment rates in Germany, cheering crowds gathered to Idi Amin’s first radio broadcast in which he promised to hand over power as soon as possible, while Mugabe who came to power in 1987 was widely regarded as a very intelligent and educated man (he had about seven university degrees before coming to office).

We all love popularity, positions, recognition, titles and degrees! Idi Amin used the titles - "His Excellency, President for Life, Field Marshall Al-Hadji Doctor Idi Amin Dada, VC, Lord of All the Beasts of the Earth and Fishes of the Seas and Conqueror of the British Empire in Africa in General and Uganda in Particular." He was really some heck of a guy!

Wow! So is there some bug that compulsorily bites every office-holder, infecting them with some crazy bloodborne virus that rewires their brains and influences their major decisions? Or is there some Illuminati-type worldwide secret cult that forces all national leaders to comply with a set of nefarious orders? Can anyone really resist the lures or temptations that come with cabinet posts? Are we all powerless wimps that must succumb to these evil desires?

When in a position of power, either as a top government agent, CEO of a company or the head of the family, we should be able to control our privileges.
We should always remember that the power that happens to be thrust on us inadvertently, can so rapidly vapourize!

Just for Laffs......

THIS IS JUST TOO FUNNY, Got this in my mail box from a friend.

READ EACH SENTENCE SLOWLY, It's an ABSOLUTELY BRILLIANT PIECE. Some people just have a knack for thinking up all sorts..

Before marriage.... .

He: Yes. At last. It was so hard to wait.

She: Do you want me to leave?

He: No! Don't even think about it.

She: Do you love me?

He: Of course! Over and over!

She: Have you ever cheated on me?

He: No! Why are you even asking?

She: Will you kiss me?

He: Every chance I get.

She: Will you hit me?

He: Are you crazy! I'm not that kind of person!

She: Can I trust you?

He: Yes.

She: Darling!

After marriage.... SIMPLY READ FROM BOTTOM TO TOP.

Mischief of yester-years!

Some weeks ago, my mum came visiting and since we had not seen each other in ages, there was so much to catch up on. It was fun, so much nostalgic memories to reminisce over! We talked about the family, my childhood tantrums and everything that mattered.

One particular story really amused me. Especially since this was the first time my mum was going to know the true details.

Now my mum used to be a very strict disciplinarian..........this trait simmered down with my younger siblings, I guess she put in her maximal input while dealing with me. Before you could say "Jinadu Ribadu", some whip or something with a similar function would appear from nowhere. The subsequent Tom-and-Jerry chase is better seen than imagined and I can even remember some neighbours at the time who heard me shout cheekily, and then asked themselves if I was really her child. The funny thing was....... I preferred the "Tom-and-Jerry chases" to "verbal wash-downs". A verbal dressing-down usually left me sober for weeks.

I can't really remember what I did this time (Can you blame me?), but my mum came home and got wind of it. Immediately, I knew I was in some real trouble.

"Aaaaaaaaannnnnnnddddddddddddddddddy!!!!!!!!!!!"

"Yes mummy" ( Quickly calling on God and my forefathers to come down and help their favourite son)

From some metres away, I could see she had gotten her koboko ready. A few lashes and pleadings later, God and the forefathers had still not come to my rescue, so I cooked up something myself. I never expected it to work so well, though!

I suddenly collapsed........all my life I had never fainted before, but my mischievous mind guessed I had to lie still and keep the whites of the eyes well exposed. A few body jerks were added for maximal effect.

I had never seen my mum so scared. She carried me in her arms, shouting my name repeatedly. I even started pitying her, I wanted to wake up but waking up at that moment would probably have earned some more lashes of the koboko.

My auntie added salt to injury by telling my mum, " I told you oooooh, one day you will kill him".

I chuckled silently to myself. Mumsie carried me all the way to the small clinic down the street, where the doctor examined me and certified me okay.

By this time, I had to wake up.....because I was scared the doctor might squeal on me! My relieved mum took me back home and cooked some delicious meal - I think it was poundo with egusi sef!

Now fast-forward a few years, since the "trial show" had worked well, I tried it again with a senior boy in secondary school. The guy wanted me to give him my shoes, and I blatantly refused. He was much bigger than me, and since I was quite small then.......it was a perfect David-Goliath mismatch.

He punched and slapped me like some Jet Li wannabe, and my small frame flew across the corridor. As soon as my butt landed on the floor, I went unconscious and started jerking furiously. You should have seen me, it was pure art at its best! (Laffs). Everyone, especially "Jet Li" got so scared. You could see and smell fear all over the place. He and his classmates carried me to their class and were at a loss of what to do. Fortunately for them, I produced some feeble coughs which brought delight to their faces. One of them got me a bottle of water and begged me not to report the guy who had "decked" me. After their pleas and bribes, they escorted me out towards my class.

As I stepped into my class, my mates who knew what I was capable of started hailing me.

"Phonetique! Phonetique!! Phonetique!!! (That was my nickname in secondary school)

You should have seen the spring in my step as I "bounced" to my seat.