[from the Diasporean Stables…

Let’s Talk About…]

A Tale of Two Mothers…

by
- Austin J. Otah Jr. Esq.

When you ask me what I am, I suppose I can get away by saying I am Diasporean…
Yes ke! I was born abroad, in the UK to be exact; lived and studied on both sides of
the divide growing up both in the ‘old’ [analogue] and ‘new’ [techno] eras. I dare
say my generation and those of my ilk have a foot both in the old and the new. We are
a unique breed thanks to the world turning into an international ‘village’; where we
have had not just theoretical but personal experiential moments on both sides of the
world, wherever our parents’ chips lay. Despite our talent, skill, verve, nerve and
guile replete, no one has actually captured the essence of our time and our unique
natures. It had to be a female from the ‘70s who so sterlingly and beguilingly saved
our collective bacons representing us in prose and verse in such stirring fashion that I
must doff my cap to Adichie. It is good to fear God because I remember back in
London in the ‘90s that avid reader that I am, I realized that there were books written
in Nigeria capturing the earlier centuries and up to the 40s, 50s and even early 70s.
There were some of that generation [I should say the ‘50s Generation] who wrote the
Pacesetters series, which dealt with the late 70s to the 80s etc. but there were none
that captured ‘us’ directly as in, written by us! I am of the ‘60s generation. I like to
self-consciously call us the ‘Weetabix’ generation because we grew up drinking
cornflakes and other cereals back then [When we returned to Nigeria in the early
‘70s, most adults we met could not take the cereals or like even Quaker oats or
custard much if at all. It had to be ogi]. I felt perturbed and that perhaps I should
write but…I remember my first foray into writing a book as an 8 year old. I started in
an old exercise book and I tried to write a Western about a cowboy kid. I quickly lost
my way and to be honest, I lacked agidi. It did not help that the adults around me told
me to go ‘read my book!’ and stop fanciful nonsense! Wow. It makes me now
appreciate children keenly. When I see a noisy child, I ‘see’ a gifted orator trying to
understand his/her gift and not knowing how best to apply it. When I see a child
interested in sound and music always dancing and screeching, I see a child with a
musical ear and a talent for musical instruments who needs guidance and exposure. I
tend to ‘see’ differently. I certainly saw differently as a child.

Now in the ‘90s, I did feel the ‘call’ to write but that irrational old familiar childhood
‘fear’ – where do I start? How do I write? What do I say? What would people
think!? That stopped me. I must admit. It paralysed my desire to capture our
generation. Thankfully it is not too late to do something about it today. Humbly, a

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little girl showed me the way. I will even admit further that I was quite ‘relieved’
when she started writing so I could of course ‘avoid’ having to write. Mek Adichie
‘carry go’ abi? The excuses we make. Yes so I have confessed. I did not write and
this is a lesson: not just the fear of failure but also the fear of success can equally stop
you! Like Kipling treat these two ‘impostors’ just the same. Ignore them and go for
what you want. God’s Gifts to you are free! Okay cowed, humbled and grateful for
the elusive 2nd chance, here I am. We are created for a purpose and for a season.
Our generation is our season. If we do not ‘bless’ our generation with our positive
and burgeoning gifts, we will take them to the grave and we will rob the future of
humankind. It is to me a grave responsibility. Of course one that stands tall from our
60s Generation is Okri. Ben Okri has written some very haunting tales and has won
many awards including the Booker Prize but I tend to see him as different. He lives
abroad in London and hardly participates in Nigeria’s affairs. I mean you wouldn’t
see him the way you will see our literary doyen, 'Wole Soyinka. He is very quiet.
Which to me is sad…the effect of living abroad in the West and then coming home to
grow up and roost impacted our psyches in so many ways. It was positive, negative,
traumatic, enjoyable, ugly, and beautiful. In one word, different so let’s talk about…

…There’s a secret I must share about those of us who were ‘born abroad’ and if you
like unwittingly and purely by chance, took advantage of colonial independence to be
born in the UK and other Countries outside Nigeria such as the US. We had this self-
pride as children. We felt ‘advantaged’. Most of us naturally spoke through our
noses and we had the benefit of toys such as Lego and having watched Superman and
read comics such as Bingo, whoopee, Korak, Tarzan, DC comics, Marvel comics, we
felt we had an edge. We were also exposed to a broader literary base. My father had
a library of books from the 50s and 60s that so much of what we have today cannot
compare in terms of quality. It was in my father’s library that I discovered Marie
Corelli’s ‘Boy’ for instance. Let’s face it, we did have something to brag about but as
insensitive as a naïve child could be and of course with no grounding in diplomacy,
our unique ‘been to’ generation tended to rub it in. Of course our ‘local’ pal barely
stood a chance! As a 4 year old I just knew I could not step out of my house without
at least a singlet and shorts. My energetic neighbours ran around in rainbow
coloured blue pants that you tied on the side. These were my playmates and although
we said nothing, we secretly marvelled at how they could do that and how their
parents could let them. We felt special. And we had toys!

We also felt we had the best of both worlds especially for those of us who grew up in
Lagos and not one of the suburbs. Lagos was Nigeria’s answer to London being our
Capital and commercial nerve centre. It had to us, the best schools per square mile,
the best TV programmes, Bar Beach and Federal Palace Hotel. We also had cinemas
and we had the National Stadium. I must say I felt very good about life. My early
exposure to literature and to life abroad, being a sensitive and very observant child,
luckily impacted positively on my ability to handle my academics especially when it
came to reading and writing. The Nursery Primer is a must read for every child – I

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do not care how many new fangled technobabble educational theories and gimmicks
there are out there…the Primer for me any day.

I felt so good about life because thanks to a disciplinarian of a father, I learnt quickly
to develop ambition. By 7 I was to be a doctor, engineer, lawyer and I was to come
‘first’ in my class or I would experience the cane. To be fair to my dad, he was happy
with ‘top five’ in the class. You got less and you had some serious explaining to do.
It was a way of life. So I knew early enough in Nigeria that I had to do well in school
and I had it at the back of my mind that I would return to England one day either for
visiting on holidays and certainly for further studies after all it is the land of my birth.
I was settled in that. I had very fond memories of London. The toys…oh, the toys. I
remember watching Superman, Batman and so many other cartoons. I remember the
mash potatoes and sausages. So delightful. I remember my toy cars [matchbox toys]
and my popgun. I remember how everything looked nice and orderly. I was very
happy. I also remember our Lego. My brother was an expert in building houses with
Lego. He was a guru with Lego. He also has one of the most active imaginations I
have ever known treating me to different worlds and vistas and stories. My brother
was the ‘parent’ that ‘sold’ bedtime stories to me. I think it is a con. Parents don’t
tell; they sell stories to children to lure them, not lull them, to sleep so they can go
about adult business. So unfair I used to think.

I remember my brother and I were not best pleased when we were brought
unknowingly to Nigeria and to Lagos. It was almost rustic and rudimentary
compared to ‘our’ London. In fact there was no comparison! No good TV. Only
came on after 5pm! The programmes were not much to write home about. I longed
for Superman. Lagos TV tried to make up much later with Marine Boy, Gigantor,
Famous 5 and other programmes. At the time we did not care much for Village
Headmaster and eventually Masquerade and those other unique beautiful Nigerian
programmes that I now long for today. C’est la vie. It just wasn’t the same though. I
had heady images of great London. It’s streets I know were not exactly paved with
gold but they were beautiful and lovely and ordered and all my memories were good.
I was back home in Nigeria and when my parents took me on a very long arduous
journey to a remote outpost somewhere in the Deltan or as at the time Midwestern
outback and ‘claimed’ that this was my ‘hometown’, my village, where I encountered
unfamiliar and rather depressing smells with no electricity and funny water; I knew I
had to ‘escape’! I knew I had had it. How could my parents not know what they were
doing to me? I wanted out. As I grew up, I harboured at the back of my mind the day
I was going to ‘escape’ from Nigeria. I figured that if I was dutiful and obedient and
kept passing all of my examinations, it did not matter what I experienced, I was going
to get back to my London, my UK….one day. Our unique ‘been to’ generation
perhaps felt we were doing Nigeria a favour. No one ever voices these things but it
was there. It was a secret you see…

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..So all of 3 and a half years old, I was bundled off to Fountain Nursery School in
Surulere where I learnt to exercise my lungs lustily singing with gusto, classic nursery
rhymes like row your boat, twinkle star, my mother, the naughty boy, the grand old
duke of york etc. etc. and on to the primary school where I discovered the ladybird
series and then from private school to public free school [Surulere Baptist School II,
Modupe Johnson Crescent, S/L, Lagos]. That was another cause for private rebellion
and dissent because Fountain school is what today you would call ‘bling bling’ whilst
SBS II was devoid of all the niceties. One remarkable thing though was that the
educational standard at SBS II was perhaps higher than at Fountain. It was at SBS II
that I honed my talent for English and Math and discovered the World. From SBS II,
I went to Igbobi College Yaba, Lagos, which has produced so many stalwarts of
Society today [including the current Vice President of Nigeria] in so many spheres of
life before I went to university at Ilorin and eventually finishing at OAU, Ife. After
Law School back in Lagos and Youth Service in Port Harcourt, my childhood dream
of going back to ‘my’ London materialized and I eventually after a year or two of
legal practice went again to London primarily to study for a Master’s Degree at Law.
I obtained an MA at Law at the London Guildhall [now Metropolitan] University
within 3 years of my return to the UK but my experience was rather unexpected. I
ended up in legal practice in London, even setting up and running a Solicitor’s
Practice and you could say living the dream but my yearning was for Nigeria. I am
happier back home today. Inexplicable.

Ordinarily I should say that it was that childhood dream of one day going back to my
London that moved me but I would be lying. I cannot speak for most of my fellow
unique generation members but by the time I was 22, I was no longer enamoured
about London or UK. I had come to love Nigeria. Nevertheless ambition was such
that a Master’s Degree under the UK Educational System was paramount if I was
going to make a difference in Nigeria one day so off I went! My objective having
spent most of my time in education in Nigeria simply passing exams, was to not only
complete my Masters but to gain some experience working in England. I gave myself
5 years but ended up spending at least 16 therein. Considering that I had spent 19 1/2
years in Nigeria previously, I think I am well suited to comment on my experience at
the hands of these two ‘mothers’. They are ‘motherlands’ after all, aren’t they? So
let’s talk about…

I would describe Nigeria as that senior wife and mother in a polygynous home
back in the village where all the children are hers and she makes a point of not
discriminating amongst her brood whether directly from her or not. England
on the other hand I see as that yuppie modern day single mom who hardly has
time for herself not to talk of her child and who secretly begrudges her child
for having to be responsible for the child and for the time taken from her for
her own ‘runs’. Completely lacking the maternal instinct. I say this with
feeling.

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Nigeria welcomed me with open hands. She shared her meagre belongings
with me. She did not lie to me. It wasn’t easy. It was rough. It was tough but
she was real. She was happy to receive me and gave me a home and her local
food and quickly placed me in school. She indulged my funny accent and
actually celebrated the fact that I had one. She even deferred to me somewhat
letting me be bigheaded and boosting my self-confidence no end. She supplied
me with teachers in her own way and taught me the rudiments of education.
She did not limit my unbridled desire to learn and to explore and she made
room. She was a ready disciplinarian to correct my childish and erring ways
but she made me understand that she wanted the best for me. She never once
asked me for a legal tender for my presence in her home. Rather she pushed
cajoled and nurtured me to achieve every height I could possibly attain. She
early exposed me to radio and if I had wanted, television. She pushed me to
represent her at youth level – if I had the ability. She celebrated my little
academic successes and told me I was great. She gave me a pledge and an
anthem and made me want to attain high office and make a difference in the
world – as a Nigerian. I forgot, literally, that I never had a Nigerian Passport.
She taught me very subtly and by the time I had attained the age of 21 I was not
in a hurry to go anywhere. I had become quite versatile with the pen and the
tongue. The standard of education I had been exposed to made it clear that it
was of international standard and sometimes even beyond. She made me proud
of my ‘village surroundings’ and most importantly she gave me a foundation, a
sure footing, instilling in me belief, confidence and trust in my ability to
achieve so much so that I wanted to go out there and take the world – for
Nigeria! I would feel best fulfilled if I achieved accolades and success known
as a Nigerian to the World!

After putting all of this in me and making me the man I had chosen to become, I
decided on my own volition to return to my ‘birth’ mother at least to experience
what my childhood reminded me was bliss as well of course to get a different
valuable life and academic experience. I assured myself that I would return to
my Nigerian surrogate mother after say, five years, and she did not quibble.
She never let on that she had loved me despite the fact that I never had a
Nigerian Passport and that at that time I was not entitled to one unless I
renounced my birth mother. She did not put me through that trauma. She let
me apply for a British Passport and saw me through until I left the shores for
my birth mother.

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She let me apply for a different Passport even though she had not cared to ask
me which one I should have when she nurtured me from kindergarten to
university. It didn’t matter to her. It didn’t matter…

…My experience at the British High Commission left much to be desired. It

was a chastening experience. I got the impression that the officials [it was
their turn] looked down at me and seemed to imply that I was lying. They put
so many onerous conditions and hurdles in my way but for my mother who lives
in London, I doubt if I would have been able to obtain a British Passport, at
least at the time I did.

I arrived in wintry conditions in London. As soon as I alighted from the Egypt

Air airplane, an icy blast hit me. The force was so unexpected that my eyes and
nose watered. I was clearly poorly dressed for the weather and my innards
soon knew about it, with my teeth chattering nonstop. I never knew snot could
freeze and that my hands had so many nerve endings – they hurt so much from
the cold. I also had no idea that in England, by 4 O’ Clock in the afternoon it
grew pitch dark during the winter so that the days were very short. I had never
seen so much unyielding concrete crammed together in such small space. I
longed for dust! I found the atmosphere foreboding and had I been able, I
would have returned to my surrogate mother at the shortest opportunity. I
christened London a narrow, cold, concrete jungle.

My first sight of an underground train station tunnel [the ‘tube’] was equally
alarming. I was however busy marvelling at the engineering miracle I was
witnessing that it masked my initial alarm. I soon got into the swing of things
which I won’t discuss here save to make some salient observations thus:

The English begrudge the fact that some of us, by birth and therefore
entitlement, hold a British Passport and can hardly hide the fact. This is one
reason their ‘Iron Lady’ recalled the privilege over 30 years ago. You face this
animosity each time at the airport where they treat your passport as if it MUST
be a forgery! What is comical and unfortunate is that you tend to get this
treatment even more from fellow foreigners especially the Indians/Asians –
fellow migrants – than the English themselves. I put it down to some inveterate
complicated social complex vacillating between inferiority and superiority
‘issues’ especially where the foreigner wishes to show he/she ‘belongs’.

Afro-Carribeans are fundamentally disunited so it is easy for the host to initiate

‘social engineering’ schemes amongst its migrant community which it terms

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‘ethnic minorities’ [EMs] and sow seeds that exacerbate these differences. The
hosts seem to have a mortal fear of EMs becoming financially independent.
They have cottoned unto the Biblical adage that the borrower is servant to the
lender and they want the EMs to be in servitude – generally.

My educational qualifications were ‘supposed to be’ inferior to international

standards or those of the UK so the ‘mere’ fact that I was a qualified lawyer
abroad was of little value to the average employer. What is heartbreaking is
that so many of us believe these naysayers and it set so many academically
backward for years. Of course I ignored them. My surrogate mother had
trained me too well. Even when I applied for jobs that A/L holders were
qualified for, my qualifications were not seen as an advantage for the
employer. I coined a phrase for this strange phenomenon: “over-qualified but
under-experienced”. In other words we do not want you. I soon found a
‘suitable’ blue-collar job to support my Master’s Programme being dictated to
by a 17-year-old Scot who could not string 3 O/Ls together to save his life.
Experience counts more in England it would seem. To be fair, it was a
different Society of which I had little real understanding.

A lack of intelligence should increase to the degree the pigmentation of your

skin darkened. So if you are dark-skinned it is ‘assumed’ you are dumb and
not entitled to have ambition. Marley’s vision that one day the colour of a
man’s skin would have no significance than the colour of his eyes hit home one
bright day in London. I say Amen to that even if I still do not see its harbour -
yet. Oh, the fact that the Sun is high in the sky in London does not mean the
weather would be hot. Do not be fooled. I never really got to tabs with the fact
that I could be staring at a big bright Sun yet be freezing.

Any achievements made by Afro-Carribeans are either ignored or diluted or at

best given a foot-note in some Paper. If possible the Afro-Carrib’s link to the
English or other Western influences are highlighted and his link to his natural
roots diminished. Nigeria on the other hand will trumpet even what should
really be a footnote! It is Nigerian by a Nigerian that heralds Nigeria. It will
be published so there!

Education is an amazing resource and even a ‘tourist attraction’ in England

yet for those who should be entitled for free as Citizens would be denied. Back
in the ‘90s I was asked to wait for 3 years since I had been away for so long. I
decided to get a part time job and pay my way. My educational experience was
also limited in part and not as mind-blowing as I expected. Too many of the

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tutors were not that able. They were not very good teachers and I found myself
self-tutoring. I got my degree and professional qualifications but it felt as if I
studied more at home than in school. Nigerian teachers actually ‘teach’. The
main advantage for someone like me that has a morbid reluctance to cram, is
that the UK system allows for individual expression rather than learning rote
fashion as encouraged back home in Nigeria.

Citizens are entitled to a freebie called variously ‘unemployment benefit’ but in

sum if unduly indulged, can truncate creativity and productivity in the
individual. Whilst in sum the principle behind it is noble, the tendency to abuse
it is rife. Its ‘victims’ tend to lose self-reliance and unlike me who decided
when the ‘system’ refused to employ me, to ‘deploy’ myself by creating
employment myself, most get drawn into the degrading lifestyle of dependency.
It is even soul destroying. I commend the book ‘the law, the lawyers & the
lawless’ by Dele Ogun Esq, one of the literary heralds of our generation who
has been quietly making a difference. You see an ensample of me, a Nigerian,
here promoting a Nigerian! He is unsung in England where he resides in spite
of the importance of his literary works!

You as a migrant are not encouraged as you are in Nigeria to succeed. Any
achievement you have is by dint of personal effort and self-discipline. The
minutes and seconds, not years as in Nigeria, are measured in England. There
is no time. Nigeria, if you have learnt anything actually prepares you for the
challenge of England. It is a meaty challenge. I was ‘resisted’ in gaining
employment in every ramification that resistance can exist. I was also resisted
when I decided to create employment and the English ‘system’ was prepared to
deny its principles and flout its own legal rules to justify its illegal conduct.

Racism. Parents sending their children abroad must needs educate their
children about this social cancer. They should prepare their minds so that they
can properly prepare for and deal with it. It has caused all manner of
psychological harm to my ilk abroad. In Nigeria it may be called ‘tribalism’
but this racism in England is akin to apartheid in South Africa. It is real,
honest, direct and like the Sun, always there in the background. You decide to
live and move with this reality and learn how to minimize its influence in your
daily affairs. It is an evil that most Nigerians who seek to travel abroad do not
realize or appreciate just how insidious it is. That I carried a British Passport
was just a happenstance and I was challenged at the airport, in my car when
the Police just ‘randomly’ decide to pull me over and become pseudo-
immigration officers and by ‘fellow’ Citizens. EMs do not belong and in some

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plainly logical realism which is argued by some of our English hosts, EMs have
their Country which they can return to and make better so that others would
want to live there ordinarily but this begs the lie. Yes it is true that it is proper
for Migrants to return and build their own Countries in an ideal world but one
reason for migrants existing in the first place in the UK is that their collective
Countries’ economies were plundered and devastated by England and its
Western cronies. A lot of this is still ongoing looking at Nigeria as an example.
These are unarguable facts. Moving on…

I suppose I experienced in my sojourn abroad in the UK how an abandoned

baby feels. I suppose a lot of us members of our unique generation feel this
way but keep quiet. It is psychological; it is traumatic; it is difficult to
articulate and with all matters in which the human factor is involved, each
experience, real and painful and as challenging as it is, is always unique and
individual. I know how an abandoned baby feels.

Your financial background or backers or standing will more or less insulate

one from the otherwise grating and raw deal that one would experience
abroad. For me it was one in which I was an eaglet that had flown the nest
and for the most part on my own. For those who come abroad on scholarships
and salaries or those who have not just a silver spoon but a golden goblet, their
experience, depending on their nous and ability, is usually a swansong but they
will have their ‘experience’ all the same.

The psychologist would suggest that I had experienced ‘rejection’ although I

chose to see it as a loss to the UK. Mother USA is kinder to its birth children
who it not only tends to more readily assimilate but affirm and empower
economically. Mother UK looks at her ‘errant’ or EM children with the eye of
one who should know where they are at all times so limits them as best she can.
It is no wonder that Eric Blair [pen name George Orwell] who wrote ‘1984’
[from whence the phrase ‘big brother’ comes] was English and that London
has the highest number of cameras per square mile in the World. That I left my
birth mother under a cloud had nothing to do with her. She was ready to keep
me so long as I appreciated the glass ceiling she had artificially created for
those of her children she termed ‘EMs’. She tried perhaps in her way to woo
me with her ‘organisation’, beautiful roads, houses, regular electricity, sights,
highlights, events, travel spots and other social benefits and events. I chose not
to stay and was happy to leave when, in spite of my best efforts it was obvious
that I should be offering my wares where I was wanted – on my own terms.
Every child needs praise and upliftment. Every child that is celebrated rather

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than tolerated would grow to make a positive difference in Society. Those that
are abused, if not healed would only grow, no matter what progress they make
perhaps inadvertently, to abuse others.

I appreciate the wisdom of my parents bringing me home to my ‘real’ mother.

It helps me appreciate that a ‘mother’ does not have to be biological to mother
and a biological birth is not enough to make a birth mother a real mother.
Warts and all, poor electricity, roads, infrastructure, failing educational
standards, polarised economy et al, the nature of Nigeria’s Potential is of a
peculiar buoyancy and piquancy that magnetizes. It says dare to dream.
Forget America, Nigeria is the land of opportunity especially for the Nigerian.

I marvel that these days, the UK, US and other European Governments would
advise their Citizens to more or less avoid Nigeria yet going to Heathrow, all
the BA and Virgin Air business to first class seats are always sold out! You
begin to wonder who is fooling who. Nigeria is indeed the land of opportunity
for the Nigerian but the ‘foreigners’ who are not called EMs in Nigeria and are
not called ‘migrants’ but ‘Expatriates’ continue to take increasing and unfair
advantage. So many of my ilk are languishing abroad, mostly in fine fettle and
good jobs no doubt but wishing they could be home – but are afraid to take a
step.

Our brand of ‘tribalism’ and ‘federal character’ [a bane on real progress in

Nigeria] has isolated so many of us and the sooner the Government develops
strategies and ways by which the diaspora community of Nigeria can engage in
the economy, the better for Nigeria for Nigerians. It is not easy to return home.
The physical, financial, psychological and physiological challenges on us can
hardly be understated. Some of us do not feel we ‘achieved’. To come home,
knowing sometimes how well our counterparts at home have fared is enough to
keep us in hiding! That notwithstanding, our experience in the Diaspora is an
amazing asset which Nigeria should annex, apart from our qualifications, to
hone her competitive edge. I think sometimes that education is overrated in its
present format. I have seen persons who did not have degrees build
universities. Helen Keller was blind and deaf and did not attend regular
school yet her books are used in university and she taught there. Even those in
the diaspora that were unable to finish their studies have a unique insight into
our educational systems and whose contribution is germane. They should also
be welcomed home to contribute and to even rehabilitate.

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Our motherland trained and equipped us for the battle set before us by the
world. Let us face the truth: the best Country that will recognize and celebrate
you of Nigerian parentage is NIGERIA. She may not have all it takes and she
may be blinded by ‘x’ factors within and without her borders but she wants her
Citizens, her children to progress and make a difference. She has welcomed
me home ready or not – still unquestioning and still undemanding save that I
come and make a positive, proactive, engaging, fulsome and active
contribution. She welcomed me home and offered me employments even when
I did not apply. She gave me multiple accommodations. She made room for
me and asked her ‘other children’ to give me respect and status. She opened
all her Court rooms to me and even promoted me. She gave me her news
pages; she gave me her airwaves. I was not qualified. I remember that I could
barely get to speak on radio in the UK in spite of my positive efforts. They did
not want to hear my voice or my unique opinions because it didn’t ‘fit’. Mother
Nigeria did not care that I had been away, not for those five years I promised
but even more than 15. In other words in her own way, she continues to
demonstrate her unconditional love - for me. That is a true mother. I love
Nigeria. My instinct to soar like an Eagle over the horizons of the world with
the crest of ‘Nigeria’ emblazoned on my brow remains true. She made me who
I am. I still sing that Nigerian Anthem with pride and recite the Pledge with
feeling. As the saying goes, there are mothers and there are mothers… and I
thank God for my Nigerian mother…

…Lately I have been looking closely at the lyrics of the Nigerian Anthem and
the words of the Pledge and I say let’s talk about…

AUSTIN J OTAH JR ESQ.

IS A LAWYER AND NOTARY PUBLIC
18 July 2015

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