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Africa’s top fintech player is getting ready for an IPO
Flutterwave, the Nigeria-based digital payments company and Africa’s most valuable startup, has made changes to its corporate team as part of moves aimed at preparing for an initial public offering, its chief executive told Semafor Africa.
Olugbenga ‘GB’ Agboola, speaking at Semafor’s World Economy Summit in Washington D.C. on April 18, described Flutterwave’s hopes for a public offering as part of a broader future agenda. “Right now our goal is to be IPO-ready, ensuring we have the right corporate governance in place, making sure we are operating well,” Agboola said. “We want to be a long-term company in Africa, for Africa – and so the goal is building the right infrastructure to be here for the next ten-plus years.”
Flutterwave’s core product is processing online payments, enabling businesses to receive payments from consumers and businesses operating in Africa. It currently operates in more than 30 countries, according to Agboola, with Uber being a flagship client on the continent. Key among the company’s milestones for being IPO-ready are recent hires, including a new board chair, two independent directors, and experienced executives to fill roles needed to “translate tech speak” for regulators, Agboola said.
The hires come on the back of a number of high-profile departures in recent months. An ex-American Express executive who was Flutterwave’s chief finance officer left after two years last November, while a chief operating officer who had been in her role for six years left in March.
The exits raised doubts about the company’s readiness to go public, as have operational lapses like the loss of tens of millions of dollars through supposed unauthorized transactions allegedly carried out by vendors in Nigeria. A court permitted the company to contact the vendors to begin recovery of the money lost in October.
In the meantime, Flutterwave is focused on improving communications and active engagement with African regulators, who have been doing “a lot of listening” in the last two years, Agboola said. Flutterwave has endured some friction with regulators, especially in Kenya where the asset recovery agency banned the company’s accounts in relation to a fraud investigation. But there has been progress elsewhere, like in neighboring Rwanda where the company received two licenses last year.On potential acquisitions, Agboola played down the possibility that Flutterwave may acquire a Nigerian bank. “We believe fintech can complement banks properly and that synergy is great for value,” he said.
Flutterwave has come a long way since it opened shop just eight years ago in Lagos. It has grown rapidly with a series of groundbreaking funding rounds for African startups at the top of the market in 2021, raising just under half a billion dollars. Its last major round saw it achieve a valuation of $3 billion — the highest ever for an African tech startup. Ever since then, speculation has grown over when the fintech company would go public. The fervor isn’t just about Flutterwave. The entire African tech ecosystem has placed their hopes on Flutterwave being the one that proves Africa can produce world class tech companies that can return potentially huge profits to investors. Doing that successfully would, of course, be a massive boost to rivals and supporters alike.
But the journey hasn’t been easy. Flutterwave has suffered the growing pains of any young company, except on steroids because its huge funding and industry expectations mean everything gets amplified. It has run into governance speed bumps, cross border regulatory challenges, internal scandals, and plain old operational mishaps.
In our brief on-stage interview, Agboola, who has started to make more public appearances in recent times, seemed keen to show caution and a willingness to work closely with regulators. He acknowledged that in the past there perhaps had been a desire to move fast and break things, as the saying goes in Silicon Valley. The challenge with that approach in Africa is there often aren’t enough things to break in the first place.
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The “1-800 Happy Birthday” digital voice mail project is transformed into an exhibition in Brooklyn, and welcomes visitors.
A phone booth dedicated to Tony Robinson, in the “1-800 Happy Birthday” exhibition in Brooklyn.Credit...Lila Barth for The New York Times
Sept. 23, 2022
If Oscar Grant III could celebrate his birthday, his mother, the Rev. Wanda Johnson, said, he’d welcome the entire neighborhood from his Hayward, Calif., block and serve platters of gumbo, his Nana’s tacos and barbecue chicken. But Johnson now honors his birthday without him, as do other mothers whose children were killed by the police.
“On their birthdays, their chair is empty,” Johnson said in an interview, “where it didn’t have to be.”
Grant was killed in 2009, shot in the back while lying down by a transit officer on New Year’s Day in Oakland, Calif. He was 22.
His mother throws birthday bashes, and has participated in a voice-mail-message art project with a similar aim: to celebrate the lives of people killed by the police or while in police custody. An extension of that project is opening on Friday in a building near the border of Bushwick and East Williamsburg, Brooklyn. The original edition of the work, “1-800 Happy Birthday,” started online in 2020, to allow people to listen to and share celebratory messages for Latino and Black people killed by the police. It was a move, Mohammad Gorjestani, a filmmaker behind the project, said, to flip “the reference point emotionally from death to life.”
In the central space of the exhibition, 12 pay phones, one for each person being honored, are arranged in a circle. Each one, adorned with family photos and flowers, forms a shrine of sorts, where visitors can listen in to the voice mail messages that have been left.
Also in the exhibition, designed to reflect an urban community, a wall mural, created by the artist Kenya Lawton, a.k.a. Art1 Airbrush, stretches across from a translucent brownstone and a bodega. Visitors can buy birthday cards, balloons, prayer candles and flowers at the bodega, to pay tribute to the lives being honored. (All proceeds will be directed to the 1-800 Happy Birthday Family Fund, which will distribute donations equally to causes of a family’s choosing.) Behind the brownstone’s exterior is a family living room. There, visitors can use phones to leave voice mail messages for any of the 12 people, or peruse resource materials on social justice and trauma healing. (Those who can’t make it to the exhibition in person can leave messages via the website 1800HappyBirthday.com.)
For this art exhibition, Gorjestani, the filmmaker who conceived of the project with the studio Even/Odd, which he founded, has teamed up with the nonprofit Worthless Studios and the family members of victims. He said the intent is to create “a mirror for people to reflect in a new way.”
The 12 people the exhibition focuses on are Grant, Eric Garner, Sandra Bland, Philando Castile, Dujuan Armstrong, Stephon Clark, Fred Cox, Xzavier Hill, Donovon Lynch, Sean Monterrosa, Tony Robinson and Mario Woods.
They are referred to as “celebrants,” and the exhibition uses communal spaces like the living room to emphasize family memoriesand personal aspirations. It also incorporates airbrush and typeface styles that are popular in communities of color.
“Don’t think about this as someone you saw in a headline that died, think about this as someone that was living,” Gorjestani said.
A Worthless Studios curator, Klaudia Ofwona Draber, who also leads a residency, KODA, that explores social justice art, worked closely with the family members and friends of all 12 celebrants, and called the experience emotional but rewarding. Among the mementos Ofwona Draber collected for the exhibition included the high school graduation cap of Hill, an 18-year-old who was killed by Virginia State Police troopers in 2021. The hat reads, “not a statistic,” and has a chain-link design bordering the rim. The showcase is a new way of communicating about police brutality, she said, and she hopes the families will be proud of the end result.
“What we’re doing or aiming to do at this exhibition is to, yes, raise awareness but also to inspire action or to work with people wherever they are in their healing journeys,” Ofwona Draber said. The exhibition runs through Jan. 16 at the Worthless Studios space.
The studios’ executive director, Marcia Santoni, said she’s anticipating a visceral reaction as visitors listen to the voice mails. “This, for some people, will be an education and awakening,” she said.
A series of panel discussions will be held on Saturday in conjunction with the exhibition, moderated by Johnson, with other mothers and family members of celebrants who will share memories, resources and healing approaches.
Throughout the project, Johnson said, listening to the voice mail messages from family members reflecting on old memories and strangers singing happy birthday has been a reminder that her son’s life mattered.
“Shouting Oscar’s name 13 years later still reminds us and lets us know that people’s lives are valued,” she said. “They need to be valued.”
1-800 Happy Birthday
7 Knickerbocker Avenue, Brooklyn; through Jan. 16; worthlessstudios.org.
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Heather Cox Richardson:
September 7, 2020 (Monday)
I have been holding off for a calm news day to examine exactly what the fifth volume of the Senate Intelligence Committee’s bipartisan report on Russia’s attempts to influence the 2016 election said, and why it is important. The report came out on August 18 and, in the storm of other news, has gotten less attention than it should have.
While Special Counsel Robert Mueller marshaled a team to look into potential crimes committed by members of the Trump campaign and by Russian actors in the 2016 election, the Senate Intelligence Committee also conducted an investigation. The Senate committee was not limited, as Mueller was, by a directive from the acting Attorney General Rod Rosenstein. It looked more widely at the contacts between members of the 2016 Trump campaign and Russian operatives. Because Republicans control the Senate, the Senate Intelligence Committee is chaired by a Republican, first by Richard Burr (R-NC) and then, after Burr stepped down under allegations of insider trading, by Marco Rubio (R-FL).
The first volume of the committee’s report established that Russians successfully breached U.S. election systems in 2016. According to the Intelligence Community, “Russian intelligence obtained and maintained access to elements of multiple U.S. state or local electoral boards,” but the Department of Homeland Security “assesses that the types of systems Russian actors targeted or compromised were not involved in vote tallying.” Interestingly, the section on Russian attacks on voting machines is almost entirely redacted.
The second volume explained that Russian operatives “sought to influence the 2016 U.S. presidential election by harming Hillary Clinton's chances of success and supporting Donald Trump at the direction of the Kremlin.” It concluded that “in 2016, Russian operatives… used social media to conduct an information warfare campaign designed to spread disinformation and societal division in the United States. Masquerading as Americans, these operatives used targeted advertisements, intentionally falsified news articles, self-generated content, and social media platform tools to interact with and attempt to deceive tens of millions of social media users in the United States. This campaign sought to polarize Americans on the basis of societal, ideological, and racial differences, provoked real world events, and was part of a foreign government's covert support of Russia's favored candidate in the U.S. presidential election.”
The third volume examined how the U.S. government responded to the Russian attacks. The fourth reviewed and defended the methods and findings of the Intelligence Community.
And, on August 18, the committee released the fifth volume. The committee reviewed about a million documents and interviewed more than 200 witnesses. Its 966 pages establish extensive connections between Russian operatives and Trump campaign officials in 2016.
They established that Trump’s campaign chairman Paul Manafort worked closely during the campaign with his longtime business associate in Ukraine, Konstantin Kilimnik, whom the report identifies as a “Russian intelligence officer.”
This means that, according to Republicans—as well as the Democrats on the committee—in 2016, Trump’s campaign manager was actively working with a Russian intelligence officer.
Paul Manafort’s backstory matters.
Manafort cut his political teeth in Richard Nixon’s 1972 campaign, along with his friend Roger Stone, whom he had met in the Young Republicans organization, a social and political network of young professionals. Manafort worked for Ronald Reagan in 1980 and George H. W. Bush in 1988. In 1980, he and Roger Stone were two of the three principals who formed a lobbying firm in Washington, D.C., that brought under one roof lobbying and political consulting as well as public relations. Bundling these functions was groundbreaking: they would get their clients elected, and then help clients lobby them. One of their first clients was a friend of Stone’s: Donald J. Trump.
Quickly, Manafort began to look to foreign countries for his clients. He took advantage of the anti-communist focus of foreign policy after Reagan, cleaning up shady clients to look good enough to U.S. lawmakers that they could get U.S. dollars to shore up their political interests. Touting his connections to the Reagan and Bush administrations, Manafort racked up clients. He backed so many dictatorial governments—Nigeria, Kenya, Zaire, Equatorial Guinea, Saudi Arabia, and Somalia, among others—that a 1992 report from the Center for Public Integrity called his firm “The Torturers’ Lobby.”
In 1995, Manafort started his own firm and, a decade later, he began working for a young Russian billionaire Oleg Deripaska, who was eager to prove useful to Vladimir Putin. At the time, Putin was trying to consolidate power in Russia, where oligarchs were rising to replace the region’s communist leaders and were monopolizing formerly publicly held industries. In 2004, American journalist Paul Klebnikov, the chief editor of Forbes in Russia, was murdered as he tried to call attention to what the oligarchs were doing.
In 1991, Ukraine had declared its independence from the USSR, and threats of Ukrainian freedom soon worried Deripaska, who had business interests there. In 2004, it appeared at first that a Russian-backed politician, Viktor Yanukovych, was elected president of Ukraine. But Yanukovych was rumored to have ties to organized crime, and the election was so full of fraud—including the poisoning of a key rival who wanted to break ties with Russia and align Ukraine with Europe—the government voided the election and called for a do-over. Yanukovych needed a makeover fast, and for that he called on a political consultant with a reputation for making unsavory characters palatable to the media: Deripaska’s friend Paul Manafort.
For ten years, from 2004 to 2014, Manafort worked for Yanukovych and his party, trying to make what the U.S. State Department called a party of “mobsters and oligarchs” look legitimate. He made a fortune thanks to his new friends, especially Deripaska. In 2010, Yanukovych finally won the presidency on a platform of rejecting NATO, the North Atlantic Treaty Organization through which Europe joined together to oppose first the USSR, and then the rising threat of Russia. Immediately, Yanukovych turned Ukraine toward Russia. In 2014, after months of popular protests, Ukrainians ousted Yanukovych from power in what is known as the Revolution of Dignity. Yanukovych fled to Russia.
Shortly after Yanukovych’s ouster, Russia invaded Ukraine’s Crimea and annexed it, prompting the United States and the European Union to impose economic sanctions on Russia itself and also on specific Russian businesses and oligarchs, prohibiting them from doing business in United States territories. These sanctions crippled Russia and froze the assets of key Russian oligarchs.
Now without his main source of income, Manafort owed about $17 million to Deripaska. By 2016, his longtime friend and business partner Roger Stone was advising Trump’s floundering presidential campaign, and Manafort was happy to step in to help remake it. He did not take a salary, but reached out to Deripaska through one of his Ukrainian business partners, Konstantin Kilimnik, immediately after landing the job, asking him “How do we use to get whole? Has OVD [Oleg Vladimirovich Deripaska] operation seen?”
Manafort began as a campaign advisor in March 2016, and became the chairman in late June, after the June 9 meeting between Don Jr., Jared Kushner, and Manafort with a number of people, including a Russian lawyer associated with Putin’s intelligence services, in Trump Tower. (Remember that Trump tried to explain away that meeting as being about “adoptions,” because the Russian response to sanctions was to shut down American adoptions of Russian children.)
The fifth volume of the Senate Intelligence Report establishes that Kilimnik is a “Russian intelligence officer,” and that he acted as a liaison between Manafort and Deripaska while Manafort ran Trump’s campaign. On several occasions, Manafort passed the campaign’s sensitive internal polling data to Kilimnik, although because their communications were encrypted, the committee could not determine what became of the information. (Such polling might well dovetail with the information in volume 2.)
The report says Kilimnik may have been directly involved in hacking Democratic National Committee emails and handing the stolen files to WikiLeaks. The committee found “significant evidence” that WikiLeaks was “knowingly collaborating with Russian government officials.” The report also establishes that Trump repeatedly discussed the WikiLeaks document dumps with operative Roger Stone, then lied about those discussions with investigators.
The report says Manafort lied consistently about his interactions with Kilimnik, and has chosen to go to jail rather than change his story. It also notes that it is Kilimnik who launched the story that it was Ukraine, not Russia, that interfered in the U.S. election.
According to the report: "Taken as a whole, Manafort's high level access and willingness to share information with individuals closely affiliated with the Russian intelligence services, particularly Kilimnik and associates of Oleg Deripaska, represented a grave counterintelligence threat."
The report also established that the White House “significantly hampered” the investigation.
The Manafort story is only one of the issues covered in Volume 5.
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PASTOR FAINTS IN CHURCH (Part 1)
No one knew that the man behind the whole program had fainted and passing away in the office.
The service was electrifying, it was our yearly praise program. Those who know me, knows I don't do things half way for God. I go all out when it has to do with God.
We prepared for 50,000 worshippers, the overflow was designed by one of the best event planners in town. We just changed all our key equipments and instruments to the latest make.
We invited 3 major Christian musicians from the United States and 7 from Nigeria, Kenya and South Africa. We lodged them all in 5 star reservations.
Our choir had been practicing for 5 Months just for this program and the new choir garment is angelic.
We have all the major TV stations broadcasting live, there was traffic in town because our program brought the town to a stand still.
I was enjoying the music on the exalted podium, I was rejoicing that God had blessed us so much with such a great ministry. I felt pressed, I decided to use the toilet in my office
Just as I pulled down my briefs to use the toilet, I slumped and fainted.
I left my body and stared down at my contorted form, half naked and lifeless. I wanted to cover my nakedness, so that when members discover my body, it will be honourable to behold, but I couldn't.
An Angel stood by, He smiled and said, "Leave the body, there's nothing you can do about it. Follow me"
I followed the Angel into the church. I could see the members dancing with joy, my wife was dancing with other female ministers unaware that I was dying....
I looked into the auditorium, I couldn't find one single Angel aside the one with me. I questioned the Angel, "how come there are no Angels in our program, wherever there is praise, God comes down, who can't I find Angels in our praise service?"
The Angel didn't reply, He simply grabbed my hands and at the speed of light, we traveled into the heavens..
I found myself in the presence of the LIGHT on a very magnificent throne. Words fail me to describe the beauty. The throne was so high and mighty.
I heard a voice asking me... WHAT WERE YOU DOING ON EARTH TODAY!
I answered, We are having our yearly national praise program tagged PRAIZNATION. The number one praise program in any church in Africa.
The Voice roared back....WHO GAVE YOU THE IDEA OF THE PROGRAM?
I didn't know when a large screen opened up in front of me, and I saw myself watching a concert by Beyonce after which I decided to do the Christian version.... The idea came from my heart.
THE LIGHT ASKED: WHO GAVE YOU THE NAME FOR THE PROGRAM?
I saw myself in my office, playing with various words to form the title. I personally gave the title myself.
THE LIGHT ASKED: WHO CHOSE THE DATE FOR THE PROGRAM
I saw myself with the church council, looking at the calendar, to choose the date that works best for us. I led the team in choosing the date.
THE LIGHT ASKED: WHO WAS GLORIFIED BY THE LAST PROGRAM
I saw myself and my wife, discussing in our bedroom. We were reading the various accolades from all over the world.
I saw another scene, where I was preaching, I was telling the church how our praise program was the best in Africa
I saw another scene, I was receiving award for the praise pastor of the year
I saw the award sitting visibly behind my chair in the office so that it can be seen by all in my broadcast. I shared in the glory for the program.
THE LIGHT SAID: YOU DESIGNED THE PROGRAM, YOU CREATED IT, YOU NAMED IT AND YOU EXECUTED IT.
I HAVE NO RECORDS OF ANY SUCH PROGRAM. I HAVE NO HANDS IN IT AND I DON'T GIVE REWARDS FOR ASSIGNMENTS I DIDN'T GIVE.
I saw a mighty hand collecting a document titled PRAIZNATION from my hands and tossing it into the fire.
Part 2
Hearing God Series
Before i could say a word, I was lifted into a place, what I saw and heard were too much for me, I started shedding tears of joy.
I was in the midst of the largest choir gathering I have ever seen. Trillions upon trillions of Angels in pure white choir robes.
Their voices were too sweet, too delicious, too sonorous, too melodious that I started shedding tears of joy.
Just at that instant, a large screen opened right in front of me and in our program, the most expensive international gospel artist's voice boomed from invincible speakers, the whole music, the voice, the costly instruments all sounded like frog croaking in comparison to the heavenly choir....
I screamed, "please stop the noise"
The screen changed to an old woman, in a remote village, singing hymns in a foreign language, her voice was so ordinary. Fine white smoke was coming from her mouth but by the time it gets to the throne of LIGHT, it becomes sound just like the beautiful voices of the Angelic choir.
The screen changed to a very small underground church in India, they were having a worship service, the white smoke from their service was very thick, and it sounded so sweet in heaven
The screen changed again to a popular gospel artist in his studio, trying to compose a song. An Angel was trying to give him a tune but he didn't like it, I saw Satan adding a new tune and new lyrics filled with pride, worldliness and love for popularity.
I saw the song released and many churches singing the song. They so much loved the song but the song formed a black smoke filled with noise and not allowed in heaven.
I heard a voice saying.... THOSE THAT WORSHIP ME, MUST WORSHIP ME IN SPIRIT AND IN TRUTH..... I AM ONLY INTERESTED IN MUSIC AUTHORED BY MY SPIRIT COMING FROM A MOUTH THAT HAS BEEN CLEANSED BY THE TRUTH.
I was lifted again and taken to the instrument section in heaven.
Wow
Unbelievable
I saw the head of the choir, He was very huge, very handsome, very smooth. In him was all kinds of instruments. Stars were all around him.
I heard the voice saying... THERE IS NO VACUUM IN HEAVEN, SEE THE REPLACEMENT FOR LUCIFER.
I saw Angels made of instruments, I saw an Angel like a keyboard, but instead of 7 white notes and 5 black notes I saw endless keys. The Angel played notes I never knew existed.
I saw an Angel like a giant saxophone, but with 7 heads of saxophone, playing seven tunes at the same time
I saw an Angel like a guitar, but with about one million strings, he sounded like the waves of the sea, like a million waters.....
I saw Angels created like drums, when they shake, they sound like symphony orchestra of thunders....
When they all combine their sounds, the heavens vibrated in melodious heavenly music that makes me shed the tears of joy...
For the first time I understood the meaning of that verse..... IN THE PRESENCE OF GOD, THERE IS FULLNESS OF JOY.
I Heard the Voice saying..... ALL YOUR FLESH MADE MUSIC IS LIKE FILTHY NOISES BEFORE ME....
YOUR VERY BEST MUSIC, WITHOUT MY SPIRIT AND TRUTH, ARE EMPTY NOISES.
I DON'T NEED YOUR EARTHLY MUSIC BEFORE I AM ENTERTAINED. I HAVE MORE MUSICIANS BEFORE MY THRONE THAN ALL OF MANKIND EVER CREATED.
I HAVE REJECTED ALL THE PRAISES FROM YOUR CHURCH, I HAVE NO RECORDS.
I broke down in tears, this time, tears of Agony.....
The Angel touched me.
He told me, "The Voice asked me to show you specifically why your praises were rejected"
At the speed of light, I found myself back in the church.
My wife was still dancing, the church was still jumping, the musicians were sweating, the instrumentalists were playing
But I was no longer entertained
My body was still lying lifeless in the office.
Part 3
Hearing God Series
The assistant pastor saw my lifeless body in the church office toilet, but he closed the door and went back into the church to dance
He was praising God that I am dead and he will now become the next pastor.
He even went to dance with my wife
Gosh......
The Angel tapped me, so I took my attention away from the assistant pastor.
The Angel led me to the media room. We just purchased musical equipment worth 1 million dollars. Physically the equipment were new, but from my spiritual state, I could see rotten blood on the equipment. The equipments were stained with blood.
I looked at the Angel confused.
A small screen popped out, right by my side and I saw the day I announced to the church that we plan to buy new equipments.
We posted the church account number on all our social media platforms.
On the little screen, I could see one fraudster, who just duped an old woman of her pension, He was happy to be successful, He saw our account details online and he transferred funds into our account
As soon as that money entered our account, it stained all our funds
I saw another member, she was supposed to send funds for the hospital bills of her parents, but because I challenged my members to sow their last money first to the church before anyone else.
Her parents died 3 days after she transferred money to the church in defiance to the nudging of the Holy Spirit to do otherwise.
As soon as the money dropped into our account, it stained our funds with blood of her about to die, parents.
THE VOICE ASKED ME: DID YOU COME TO ME TO ASK FOR NEW EQUIPMENTS?
No Lord! I replied
THE VOICE ASKED: DID YOU ASK ME BEFORE YOU BECAME A COOPERATE BEGGAR, POSTING YOUR ACCOUNTS FOR EVERYONE?
No Lord, I'm sorry Lord: I replied
WHAT IS WRITTEN IN THE BOOK OF GALATIANS, CHAPTER 5, VERSE 9
I replied: “A little yeast works through the whole batch of dough.”
THE VOICE SAID: WHAT DO YOU UNDERSTAND BY THAT VERSE JUDE.
I replied: My Lord, just one corrupted donation can corrupt the who church purse
THE VOICE REPLIED: I HAVE REJECTED ALL THE EQUIPMENT YOU PURCHASED. THEY DO NOT BRING ME SWEET SOUNDS BECAUSE THE BLOOD OF THE DEAD AND THE HURT OF THAT WOMAN CRIES TO ME, WHENEVER YOU USE THESE EQUIPMENTS.
While I was still thinking about this, the Angel tapped me and I found myself back in the church.
A sister was crying as the music was playing, the Angel asked me, is she crying because of the power of God in this place or for the love of music?
A small screen opened up before me, I saw the same sister crying while watching a movie
The screen changed and I saw the same sister crying for joy when she attended the concert of a popular half naked singer
THE VOICE SAID: YOU FOCUS MORE ON THE PHYSICAL SIDE OF MINISTRY RATHER THAN THE SPIRIT BEHIND THE MINISTRY. YOUR WORSHIPPERS ARE NOW USED TO THE SUPERFICIAL WORSHIP. THEY RESPOND NOT TO MY SPIRIT AND MY PRESENCE BUT THEY RESPOND TO THE SPIRIT OF THE MUSIC.
I was lifted from the sister to the altar where the music minister was blasting in tongues.
The Angel asked me, what should happen when people speak in tongues
I told him, I don't know
A small screen opened and I saw the disciples of Jesus, in the upper room, I saw them praying and cloves of fire dropping on each of them, and as they opened their mouth to pray in tongue, huge fire fell out of their mouth.
The screen changed, I saw a young girl of 14 years, she received the Holy Spirit and started speaking in tongues. Huge fire fell out of her mouth
The screen disappeared and I looked at the music minister currently speaking in tongues, it sounded so good to the human ears but I can't find any fire coming from his mouth.
I was lifted from the altar to the midst of the instrumentalists, they were skillfully playing but most of them had stains on their hands and black smoke coming out of their instruments
The keyboardist hands were stained from playing at the club.
The guy playing the sax had a mouth stained with fornication.
THE VOICE SPOKE: WHO ARE THESE
I replied: They are very skillful players, we actually pay them to lift up our praises through instruments
THE VOICE SAID: WHAT IS WRITTEN IN THE BOOK OF MATTHEW 29 VERSE 19
I replied: go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit
THE VOICE REPLIED: ARE THESE DISCIPLES
No my Lord: I replied
THE VOICE REPLIED: THESE ARE HIRELINGS, THESE ARE NOT DISCIPLES. THESE ARE DOGS, MUSICAL PROSTITUTES WHO FOLLOW THE HIGHEST BIDDER. THESE ARE NOT CHILDREN. THEIR PLAYING IS AN ABOMINATION UNTO ME
Just that instant, I was lifted up in a flash.
I found myself at a different throne.
Mercy was seated on the throne and fresh blood dropped from His palms.
He said: JUDE, ONLY THOSE WHO WORSHIP ME IN SPIRIT AND TRUTH PLEASES ME. YOU HAVE WORKED HARD WITH FLESH AND ALL YOUR EFFORTS HAD BEEN WASTED AND I HAVE NO RECORDS.
I WILL HAVE MERCY ON YOU AND SEND YOU BACK.
YOU HAVE COPIED OTHERS IN MINISTRY RATHER THAN FOLLOW MY LEADING
I LEAD THROUGH THE NARROW WAY, ONLY A FEW CAN FOLLOW ME.
I HEREBY OPEN YOUR SPIRITUAL EYES AND SPIRITUAL EARS. I WILL LEAD YOU MY WAY FROM NOW ON.
GO BACK!!!
As I heard that word, Go back! I woke up in the toilet.
I heard the noise coming from the auditorium, I knew the whole program was just a noise, I knew God wasn't backing us up.
Part 4
Hearing God Series
Should I allow the program to continue, we had spent millions already or should I stop the program right now
Oh God help me....
I stepped outside the toilet, I looked into my office and I saw so many strange things in my office.
This is the first time I am seeing things clearly spiritually.
I have been a pastor for 8 years, I actually went to Bible college of our church and I passed with first class.
I have been zealous for God and I copy everything good I see from my father's in faith, but I was never taught that I could see very clearly in the spirit.
I thought that, only special anointed men of God were permitted to see, I thought I could only see via my dreams, but right here and now, I could see things that had been in my office all these while.
There is a standing golden clock, that was given to me by one of my occultist friends, during my birthday. It looks so beautiful that I placed it beside my table in the office. For the first time, I noticed it has a big eye. It was a monitoring clock, it was being used to see things happening in my office.
Oh my God!!!!
Being a blind Christian is very dangerous but being a blind leader in the church is a disaster.
My attention was drawn to an award given to me 5 years ago. A community award for our church's contribution to the community. I could see spiritually that it has an ear.
I placed it on my table, as a thing of pride not knowing that it was being used to listen to my private discussions.
Now I can hear strange discussions in my office. I followed the voices and I discovered there were 3 personalities sitting on my chair in the office.
One was dressed is multicoloured attire, he had a chain on his neck with a bold emblem of letter P.
The second one had a head filled with dark smoke. He had a chain on his neck with a bold emblem of letter A.
While the third was a female, she had a chain on her neck with a bold emblem of letter M.
They were arguing?
He can see us!
No he can't see us now, he has been blind since the day he lost is virginity in primary 5.
If he can't see us, why is he looking at this side strangely?
Ahhhh, he can see us, don't you see the scale is removed from his eyes?
Oh yes, there is no scale on his ears also.
He should be able to hear us too.
They stood up from my chair and said "hi". Waving at me.
Instinctively and bemused by what was happening, I replied "Hi"
They rushed to the corner of my office screaming... He can see, He can hear, we are finished.
Ahhhhh you mean such things were happening around me, and I didn't know?
A deaf Christian is in trouble. A deaf Christian leader is worse than a pandemic.
I faced the three personalities and asked them
How can you be sitting on the seat of a pastor inside the church and you are not afraid?
One answered me, "don't you know that if you are outside the will of God, you must be inside the will of Satan?"
"It's been a while that God had left you, and where God is absent, we are present"
Ahhhh
I raised my voice and shouted "I bind you in Jesus name"
They laughed at me. One replied "Oga stop binding don't waste your binding"
The other replied "See this fine boy pastor, isn't it written in your Bible that you must submit to God before you can resist the devil? Have you submitted to God? Are you not doing things your way? When last did you ask God for direction before taking steps?"
The third one spoke, "isn't it written in your Bible that Christians who are friends with the world system are the enemies of God? Are you not worldly? What is the difference between you and the world celebrities? Do you even know the Bible? Is it not the fine Bible verses that you know, the tough Bible verses you stylishly avoid? Irresponsible pastor raising irresponsible congregation, teacher of grace"
They all shouted back at me. "We bind you by the authority of the Bible verses you disobeyed"
I suddenly felt so tired and I fell down. I fainted again.
This time I saw myself at the throne of Mercy, but this time, it was a court session.
Mercy was seated on the throne.
I was in the accused box, in chains
Those three personalities were at witness box against me.
Mr Death was the prison warden at my back. He had a tag on his garment, "A senior staff of Hell"
A very handsome, sweet spoken, smooth and melodious voiced fellow was standing before Mercy. He is the head of the prosecution team.
I know him the same instant I saw him. He is the accuser of brethren, the fallen choir master in heaven. He is Lucifer.
Lucifer said: Oh Lord my God, the one who is gracious and merciful, the only true God, I worship.
Lucifer went flat before Jesus rolling to the right and to the left in worship.
Mehn..... This guy worships Jesus better than I have ever done.
Lucifer continued: According to your everlasting word, you said in Isaiah that your word will not return void, but it must accomplish that which you sent it. You said the soul that sins must die. We all know there is no repentance in the grave. This Jude had sinned and he must die. Please let him die....
MERCY replied him in a voice that sounded like many cool waters: Yes Lucifer, my words don't return to me void. I once showed the man mercy, he is yet to enjoy that mercy on earth. That mercy cancel death. He is not dying today.
The whole court stood up and bowed to the ground saying "As the Lord pleases"
Mr Death was taken away from my back and another demon took his place.
Lucifer again, worshipped MERCY then said: My Lord JESUS......
As he mentioned the name of JESUS, all the kneels bow and every one said.... JESUS IS LORD.....
Lucifer continued.... You are a just judge.... You promised to listen to us when we use your name. I have just called your name, listen to my next case.
MERCY replied: Yes I said that and I honour my word. Present your next case against him.
Lucifer worshipped again then said.... I agree my Creator and my master that we can't kill him now, but we want to bind him and his destiny by the authority of the Bible verses he disobeyed.
My Lord I have three witnesses to present, May I my Worship?
MERCY signalled to Lucifer to go ahead
Ahhhh
I bursted into tears, I can't end like this
On earth, in the church, I had fainted again in the church office and the congregation were busy dancings in a musical concert where God was absent.
Part 5
Hearing God Series
*******************
The last evidence shows that my wife was having an affair with the assistant pastor
*******************
My Lord I have three witnesses to present, May I my Worship?
MERCY signalled to Lucifer to go ahead
Ahhhh
I bursted into tears, I can't end like this
Lucifer presented the first witness. That personality with emblem letter P.
As you know my Lord, I am pride. The accused has given me full permission to operate in his life, here are my exhibits
P1
The accused isn't satisfied with the names he was called when born, he now goes by the title REVEREND DR JUDE JONES, THE SENIOR PASTOR EXNATE CHRISTIAN CENTER, THE PASTOR OF THE MOMENT WITH CELESTIAL GRACE.
This pride makes him get angry anytime he was referred to as simply bro Jude. In one instance, he lambasted his workers for not addressing him properly in church magazine and flyers.
This contravene to law of Jesus written in the book of Mathew 23:10 Neither be ye called masters: for one is your Master, even Christ.
P2
The accused cannot sit in normal chairs or with his members. He now has a special seat, big enough for 5 persons but made for himself alone. Even his wife can't seat on that chair.
This contravene the example my Lord laid down on earth and your instructions in the book of Luke 14:10 But when thou art bidden, go and sit down in the lowest room;
P3
The accused doesn't respect his wife at all, he treats her like a second class citizen and her opinion are useless to him. He neglect the fact that my Lord said, two shall become one.
He doesn't submit to his wife at all, he lay claim on the verse that woman should submit but he neglected Ephesians 5:21 Submitting yourselves one to another in the fear of God.
P4
A fall out from the previous exhibit, he made his wife to fall into the sin of adultery. His wife, though she had never intentionally broken her marriage vows, she has fallen in love with the assistant pastor
She found solace in his assistant, she discusses more with his assistant and she is now only happy when she is chatting with the assistant.
Hmmmm
The last evidence shows that my wife was having an affair with the assistant pastor, howbeit an emotional affair
Oh God!!!!
P5
The accused has converted himself to a demi-god to be worshipped. His members now call him lord, God's assistant, Papa, master and all forms of names that challenges the Fathership of the only Father in heaven.
His members now kneel in his presence, some even roll on the floor for him.
His messages encourages his members to continue because he only talks about miracles that happen by his anointing
This contravene many laws as I quote below
Matthew 23:8 But be not ye called Rabbi: for one is your Master, even Christ; and all ye are brethren. 23:9 And call no man your father upon the earth: for one is your Father, which is in heaven.
Exodus 34:14 Do not worship any other god, for the LORD, whose name is Jealous, is a jealous God.
I rest my case.
Lucifer called witness 2
I am the principality called Anger. The accused have given me full permission to operate in his life
A1
The accused used to sit together with his wife in church until one day, she ate cold beans and she farted during service. He got so angry and he didn't forgive her till date. He stopped her from sitting with him everywhere they go. This contravene the law in Ephesians 5:25 Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it;
He doesn't love his wife enough to forgive her
A2
The accused once caught a church usher, stealing money. A sum of 1.2 million naira and he locked him up in the police station till the family came to pay up. This is the same man that my Lord has forgiven severally for converting church money, properties and Gods gift to his own personal property. A value we cannot estimate.
He is like the servant in the parable of my Lord in Matthew 18:21-35. He contravene your law my Lord
A3
The accused knows how to keep malice for days
This contravene your law that says until that person offend us on the same offence 77 times a day, we shouldn't get angry.
On this note and with these evidences, I rest my case
Lucifer presented the third witness
She says: My name is princess mammon. I am the representative of the wickedness in high places. I work in the money and worldliness department of the directorate of Mammon.
The accused loves me so much and he has given me full permission to work in his life
I hereby present my evidences
M1
The accused didn't go into ministry because he wanted to serve you my Lord. He was tired of poverty and he discovered that Anointing can lead to wealth, so he cried for Anointing so that people can come to him and he too will become popular.
This contravene the laws in Matthew 15:8 This people draweth nigh unto me with their mouth, and honoureth me with their lips; but their heart is far from me. 15:9 But in vain they do worship me, teaching for doctrines the commandments of men.
M2
As soon as the accused got one small Anointing, he didn't deny himself again any pleasures of the world. He uses the anointing to satisfy his cravings for worldly acquisition.
He already had 3 good cars, but lust and lack of sacrifice made him give it out to those who will sing his praises so that he can buy 3 very expensive cars with features he doesn't need.
He wasted kingdom resources on a private jet so that he can satisfy his lust for lush lifestyle and not because he needs it.
So that members won't accuse him of wasting resources, he created program in many nations so he can justify a private jet.
He didn't deny himself anything, this contravene your law in Luke 9:23 And he said to them all, If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me.
M3
The accused has spent resources on building signature auditorium and organising signature programs. Billions of naira had been spent to make his ministry look good. He concentrated on earthly building and structures than the poor you sent him to.
His ministry had helped 1.2million poor people and he televised his donations as against your instructions that no one should see when you are helping the less privileged. Matthew 6:3 But when thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth: 6:4 That thine alms may be in secret: and thy Father which seeth in secret himself shall reward thee openly.
If he had utilized the finances you legitimately brought his way, he should have assisted 17.8 million poor persons. A lot of deaths, sicknesses and broken homes would have been saved. But he used the resources to make a name for himself.
This contravene several of your laws like Matthew 25:34 Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: 25:35 For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: 25:36 Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
I rest my case
At this point, Lucifer looked up to MERCY and he said
"I hereby rest my case. You are the just judge.
Is he guilty or not"
MERCY REPLIED. JUDE JONES IS GUILTY.
Ahhhhh
All the prosecution and witnesses jumped for joy.
Lucifer spoke again. My Lord and my only God, your word says, Romans 6:23 For the wages of sin is death. Please my Lord do the needful now, you honour your word more than your name.
MERCY SPOKE AGAIN: "LUCIFER! COMPLETE THAT BIBLE VERSE ROMANS 6:23 AND JOHN 10:10"
Lucifer went on his kneels, he was stammering.....
I think cat has beaten his tongue....
Part 6
Hearing God Series
Lucifer went on his kneels, he was stammering.....
I think cat has beaten his tongue....
MERCY SPOKE: I HAVE RELEASED MERCY BEFORE ALL THESE ACCUSATIONS.
IF HE WAS DEAD, HE WON'T BE ABLE TO RECEIVE MERCY BUT HE IS NOT DEAD YET, HE ONLY FAINTED, MY MERCY IS ALWAYS AVAILABLE FOR THE LIVING.
Lucifer started rolling on the floor as he spoke: "My Lord, you only allow me to kill a few of them everyday. You kept your mercy available for them all"
"You tricked me to kill you over 2,000 years ago and that my mistake released your blood that keeps releasing mercy that defeats me daily"
Please My Lord and my God, let me kill more of them, they are cold, they have left your commandments, they have created human gods, they have designed 21st century Christianity, they have neglected the instructions you gave them, their churches are now disco halls, over 70% of them didn't go to church because they love you, they only come because the hated poverty and seeking for prosperity.
I have succeeded in turning them to human anointing worshippers, I have silenced many of their preachers with wealth.
They don't think about you, they are selfish, self centered and they aren't preparing for eternity.
My Lord, you love them but they don't love you. They only love the earth despite you warning them not to.
Let me cause a major disaster, let me cause the wall of their fanciful auditorium to fall over them, let me poison their food so that they can die in tens of thousands. Let me attack their jamboree called conferences and conventions.
My Lord, you created me to destroy, you created me to kill, please let me kill, let me destroy. Let me do my job on a greater scale.
My Lord they aren't ready to sacrifice anything for you, they have watered down Christianity, the little foxes I sponsored into the church some years ago have become leaders and leading millions astray. I have introduced once saved forever saved and they bought the ideas despite all you wrote in the Bible. My foxes had changed the meaning of grace. They have lifted prosperity above holiness.
Please let me kill them in their cold state. Please my Master, give me the go ahead
MERCY SPOKE: MY LOVE FOR MANKIND IS GREATER THAN YOUR HUNGER FOR DESTRUCTION. I STILL HAVE OVER 7,000 PERSONS, WHO WILL NOT BOW DOWN TO THE NEW RELIGION, WHO WILL LEAD THE NEW REVIVAL.
I HAVE SOULS WHO I HAVE MADE HUNGRY FOR ME AND THEY WILL STILL CORRECT THE ERRORS IN MY CHURCH
I WILL STILL RAISE WRITERS, SINGERS, TEACHERS, MINISTERS WHO WILL LEAD MY PEOPLE BACK TO ME
LUCIFER, YOUR REQUEST ISN'T GRANTED
Then mercy looked at me
I AM GIVING YOU A VERY UNCOMMON GRACE TO GO BACK, WORK OUT YOUR SALVATION WITH FEAR AND TREMBLING. CORRECT YOUR ERRORS AND GLORIFY ME.
IT'S ONLY IN ME THAT YOU HAVE LIFE.
GO BACK JUDE
At this point, I heard people calling my name, I woke up in the hospital. My wife and some other ministers were by my bed side praying.
The assistant pastor was holding the hands of my wife in prayers.
When I came around, everyone jumped for joy. My wife was hugging the assistant pastor instead of hugging me.
Not withstanding my state, I rushed down to my wife, hugged her to myself and brought her to my bed space in the hospital.
She was surprised and my assistant was angry.
I was scheduled to give a speech at the end of the musical concert, it was shortly before my speech that my wife came to look for me. She called the other ministers
Assistant pastor was telling everyone not to bother, that I am already dead.
At the insisting of my wife, I was smuggled out of the church to the nearest hospital.
I heard my ministers praising God, some of them were saying that, it was the praise program that didn't allow me to die
They claim that the praises was so hot that God had to stop death from taking me away
Others claimed that it was the arrow of death that came for me and their prayers by the hospital bed stopped the arrow.
Some others were boasting that it was my Anointing that saved me from death
I shook my head were I was seated. If only they knew that all the praises we rendered during the very expensive praise program was not accepted by heaven, if only they knew that it was only by mercy that I am alive today.
All my pride, arrogance and self accomplishment was gone. I am alive only by grace.
I am a nobody on my own. I am only relevant if Christ allows.
I saw the assistant pastor looking at my wife strangely.
I could see the hunger in his eyes. I almost got angry but I cautioned myself.
I thanked everyone for their support, I asked everyone to leave except my wife and my assistant pastor
If I can't keep malice and I can't get angry, then I have to deal with this issue now.
As soon as the others left, the assistant pastor burst into tongues....
Hmmm
God please grant me wisdom
Part 7
Hearing God Series
As soon as the others left, the assistant pastor burst into tongues....
I didn't know when I shouted "Oga stop abeg" (meaning "man please stop")
They both looked at me surprised at my outburst
Hmmm
God please grant me wisdom
I heard the Holy Spirit clearly telling me to shut up and look up.
I looked up and see a new born baby floating on the ceiling, the baby was desperately looking for help. As soon as the baby saw that I could see her, she beckoned that I should please follow her.
I told my wife and my assistant to follow me. They both were bemused, they exchanged a secret look then followed me.
I noticed my wife was timid and my heart broke. I must have been so tough on her.
Oh God please help me to correct my mistakes.
At that little prayer, I heard the Holy Spirit telling me to hold the hand of my wife as we walk out of my hospital room.
I obeyed and held her hand. She was surprised but quietly followed me.
The assistant pastor averted his gaze.
I kept following the baby till we got to a door marked, THEATRE.
The baby entered and I followed still holding my wife.
We bursted into a commotion scene, doctors confused, nurses running everywhere. They were trying to resuscitate the woman who just delivered a dead baby.
The birth was a still born, so they had thrown the baby carelessly into the bin by the wall. All attention was on the women.
The baby I was following led me to the bin and waited by the bin.
I heard the Holy Spirit telling me to decree that the baby should come alive.
At this time, the nurses had come to chase us out of the theatre.
I shouted at the top of my voice, being made confident by what I saw and what the Holy Spirit told me. DEBORAH COME BACK IN JESUS NAME. I didn't know how I knew the baby should be called Deborah.
The baby sneezed and started wailing.....
The dying mother sneezed and started crying.....
The doctors almost jumped out of their skin and they started talking rubbish in their confusion
The nurses ran out of the theatre
My wife let go my hand and crouched on the floor crying.....
My assistant pastor, ran out of the door
In the midst of the whole confusion, the Holy Spirit (my new companion) was telling me that the name of the woman is also Deborah, and she was told by God to name her baby Deborah.
God led her to this hospital for her antenatal. She wanted to go to the United States for her delivery, but God told her to use the closest hospital to our church.
This woman went for a scan three days ago and her baby was pronounced dead.
She was scheduled for an immediate operation but God told her to tell the doctors to schedule the operation 3 days later.
God told her that He didn't give her a name for a dead child, but the vessel God wanted to use isn't ready but will be ready in 3 days time.
Her husband and family members had made jest of her for waiting on God and staying in Nigeria for her delivery.
She remained Christly stubborn. She actually came to the hospital with her baby things.
She told her husband, "God told me that my baby is Deborah and I shall be known as Deborah's mum."
So God, the perfect arranger, the way maker, the best match maker, ensured I was discovered fainted in the office by my wife, so that I can be taken to the hospital where this child of God will be battling with the spirit of death, both for herself and for her baby.
In the midst of the commotion, I had peace because I could hear from the Holy Spirit and I could see into the supernatural.
Can I pause here to pray for my readers, may every scale that blocks your Spiritual eyes and ears be removed by Mercy in Jesus name. Amen.
*********
After the whole commotion ended, every one agreed that I don't need to be admitted at the hospital again.
Became I haven't heard from the Holy Spirit that I should leave my wife's hand, I held on to it tightly. My wife was quiet now..
The assistant pastor was no where to be found.
I had a little talk with my ministers and sent them back to church so they could attend to all our invited guests.
Despite the fact that a lot of dignitaries were waiting for me in the church, I decided to go home with my wife.
For the first time in many years, I wasn't eager to go to church. My eyes are opened. The structure isn't what makes the church a church but the Spirit of God.
No wonder Jesus said, where two or three are gathered in His name, He will be there.
The over 50,000 persons who gathered for our concert came because some wanted to dance, some were bored and needed a place to go. Some missed their club gig and decided to replace it with church gig. Many came because of the artist we invited. We organised it so as to make history and make a name for ourselves. Jesus was absent.
When I got home, I didn't leave the hands of my wife. I kept on holding it till we got to the bedroom.
I wanted to talk but the Holy Spirit still asked me to shut up.
So we both sat on the bed, starring into the ceiling.
It was so awkward.
The silence was so deafening
But I kept holding her hands
The Holy Spirit was quiet
My spiritual eyes saw nothing
I really have a lot to say but the Holy Spirit, my new personal teacher had told me to shut up.
Then her phone rang
It was a call from the assistant pastor
She used her free hand to pick the call and she put the call on speaker
"My love, what is happening to your husband, I don't understand what is happening, I am confused here" he said, not knowing that the phone was on speaker
My wife bursted into tears. Not minding the blabbing of the caller, she knelt before me and said " My husband I need to confess"
That same moment the Holy Spirit spoke "Be still and know that I am God. I am more than enough to take charge of any situation in your life. Learn to wait on me"
Part 8
Hearing God Series
My wife bursted into tears. Not minding the blabbing of the caller, she knelt before me and said " My husband I need to confess"
Pastor Abong was my boyfriend in secondary school and we lost touch over the years.
I was surprised when he was the one that was transferred to our branch from the international head quarters.
I was fed up of acting right in church when our home was in shambles. You were very angry with me regularly. Everything I did at home annoys you.
Because of my highly placed position in the church, I couldn't talk to anyone. Because I am the one other pastors wife look up to for marriage advice, I bottled up my hurt and pain inside.
I was about to do something drastic when Abong arrived. Due to our history together I was open to him.
He came to report his wife to me, his marriage is also scattered, his wife had denied him sex for over 2 years. She had pushed him out of the matrimonial bedroom. She told him that she hate him with passion.
We naturally started discussing and keeping ourselves company. He had made efforts to hold me or kiss me, but I didn't agree
To be honest, I didn't know when we started sending love messages to ourselves. I didn't know when I started sneaking out of the house to meet with him in restaurants just to be away from all my own marital storms.
My husband, I am sorry.
Two weeks ago, I stumbled on a Facebook post that says, emotional relationship is adultery. I felt bad, I told Abong but he wasn't ready to stop.
I went into fasting and prayer. I told God I will give him anything just to have my marriage back. I told God to name his price.
God gave me a dream. I saw an old man walking into my room, he brought out a big sack and told me to open my closet. He packed all the cloths that were either short or tight for my stature. He went into my closet and packed all my jewelleries. He packed all my make up kits and even my sexy G-string panties. He packed all my wigs and add-on eye lashes.
Then he went to my shelve, packed off, all the feminism novels I had gathered over the years.
Finally he collected my phone and started deleting all the romance and x-rated novels I had downloaded.
He now gave me our wedding picture as compensation for everything he packed. Then I woke up from my dream.
I knew the sacrifice He wanted for my marriage is what He showed me in the dream.
My darling husband, I complied last weekend, you were to busy to notice, I have changed totally from what I used to be.
This week, I fasted and I cried to God that since I have given Him everything He wanted, He must give me my husband back.
I told Abong we needed to stop our relationship but he blackmailed me that he would expose all our chat. He also emotionally blackmailed me that He would kill himself if I stop spending time with him.
I was afraid to tell you because I know what you can do when you get angry
I'm so sorry my husband. I will take any punishment you decide to give me....
I was totally disappointed at her, at my assistant pastor and most of all at myself.
I feel like dealing with that assistant pastor but I need to wait for the Holy Spirit.
I remembered that one of the points Satan had against me was being unforgiving.
I lifted up my wife from the floor and hugged her to myself.
Immediately I did that, I felt the warm love of God and I heard the Holy Spirit say "YOU JUST PASSED A TEST".
My assistant kept trying to text my wife to confirm if she had truly confessed to me or not, but I told my wife to just act normal with him.
****************
Five days later, at the leading of the Holy Spirit, I organized a dinner for both families. My family and the assistant pastor family.
We do this once every year.
I acted normal as if I haven't heard anything.
He was stealing glances at my wife but I kept my cool in Christ.
During the dinner, I stylishly apologized to his wife. I said "my sister, let me apologize that I kept your husband busy for months as we prepare for the praise program"
Usually, his wife was so reserved, she is an introvert and she keeps to herself, but tonight she seems very jovial.
She smiled and reply "pastor! Don't mind my husband o, no matter how late he gets home, I must be ready for sex. He loves sex more than food"
Assistant pastor was staring at his food very seriously.
My wife almost chocked on her meal.
I smiled, God is exposing the lair.
His wife continued her chatter....
I also want to thank you and mummy for the one million naira you gave our family. Though my husband wanted to keep it a secret but I saw the alert.
This time I chuckled too. So he was stealing money from the church in addition to trying to get my wife.
Sweet Holy Spirit, well done.
His wife continued...."I also want to thank you sir"....
It's ok now, let us eat.... The husband interjected in a stern voice
The wife for the first time jumped up in our presence, faced her husband saying "do you want to beat me in the presence of pastor?"
"The way you beat me when I questioned your traveling with Helen for church ministration"
She faced me, "I'm sorry sir, don't send my husband on ministration with that Helen. My husband is a smooth womaniser."
My wife was standing by now....
The eyes of the assistant pastor was very red and his hands shaking....
I replied his wife, "I never sent your husband on any ministration with Helen neither did I send any money to your husband"
His wife shouted... "Abong the smooth liar"
At this point, my wife spoke up, "Pastor Abong, but you told me your wife didn't give you sex for 2 years, you told me she locked you out, you told me she is the one troubling your marriage?"
At this point, pastor Abong stood up and faced me and said....
"Well FYI, your wife has been asking me out, I have evidence of our chats.
I smiled and replied: "I have seen the chats too so I am not surprised". I stood up to hug my wife in solidarity.
His wife laughed loud and said, "bros FYI, I have seen all the chats too. I saw how much lies you told her and how she told you to stop calling her but you refused"
"I saw your chats to that young widow in church and to numerous sisters"
I saw it all 3 days ago.
You lock your phone always but you forgot to lock it 3 days ago and I saw all your deceit.
I added my own bit, I told him "Pastor Abong, I saw you when you came into the office and you discovered me fainted, you were wicked enough to leave me there and go to dance with my innocent wife."
Ahhhh, your heart is wicked.
At this junction, assistant pastor was expecting me to shout at him or arrest him.
The wife who feels so much pain was now crying.
My wife had to comfort her.
But I will forgive him for 4 reasons
First, if I had treated my own wife well, he won't have been able to come into her. I have a great fault
Two: The accuser, the devil is waiting for me to make a mistake and I won't give him a chance.
Three: My new friend, the Holy Spirit told me I must forgive.
Four: I wasn't the one that exposed him, God, who is now fighting for me, exposed him.
So I forgave him but he was still arrogant.
The Holy Spirit to me not to suspend pastor Abong, that He wants to deal with him Himself.
3 weeks later, he went to see one of his girlfriends, she was also double dating a very crazy tout. The guy caught them in the act and used cutlass to deal with pastor Abong.
Today he is on a wheel chair. He is no longer a womaniser and very devoted to God
Hmmmm stop trying God's patience. He can be a consuming fire.
3 months after my experience I was sacked as the pastor by the church board
*Part 9*
*Final*
Hearing God Series
After my encounter I discovered that there are two ways to run a church and that there are two ways to run any ministry that God has called you into.
The popular way or the Jesus way
I discovered that the popular way is the way every other person tend to run ministry without taking into consideration the instruction of Jesus who founded Christianity.
So we have a new kind of religion that looks like Christianity but designed to please the people rather than obey God.
The second way is the way of the Holy Spirit, where all decisions and all activities must first be signed off by the Holy Spirit before you take any step or do anything.
I discovered that this way is tough and it's not easy and it is naturally against my human instinct.
I learnt that for me to appropriately have a ministry that will please God, I have to die to my own thinking, my own desires and submit hundred percent to the leading of the Holy Spirit.
This was tough
This was not only tough for me and my wife, but it was tough for our church members because they have been used to the human way of running ministry.
The common phrase that was now used to describe me was that, I had gone crazy. Some others said that when I fainted my head must have hit the ground and now I am a lunatic.
But the more they call me crazy, the more they called me abnormal, the more the Holy Spirit congratulated me for obeying him.
I discovered that to please the Holy Spirit in this world of ours, you will be hated and despised by those who don't have time to follow or listen to the Holy Spirit.
This is where my problem began
*MESSAGES*
Before now I used to listen to other people's messages and use it to prepare my own message or I read Christian literature to prepare my own messages.
After my encounter, when the Holy Spirit became my personal teacher, I had to go back to read the Bible and understand the message.
I must practice the message in my own life before I am permitted to preach it on the altar.
It is now do as I do, not do as I say.
The Holy Spirit told me that He is not gathering people to church in order to entertain them because when we die we will have the best entertainment in heaven. He told me that the only reason why He has gathered people to church is to help them to pass their test and make it to heaven and that any other thing we do that does not add value to members getting to heaven is a total waste of time.
So my messages changed from prosperity, blessing and Grace to holiness, righteousness and heaven and my pastor colleagues didn't like it so I was no longer invited to preach in their churches.
*MONEY*
There is a man that used to sow seeds into my life regularly in tens of millions. After my encounter, he brought his seed again and the Holy Spirit told me not to collect it.
As soon as I told him that the Holy Spirit told me not to collect it, he laughed and said finally your eyes are opened.
Actually the Holy Spirit told me later that anytime I collect the seed of this man, my marriage suffers because the seed is coming from the hand of an unrepentant wife beater.
After this encounter I set up a committee in the church to investigate everyone that is bringing sizeable payments into the church.
A lot of the heavy financiers didn't want the source of their money investigated so they stopped paying money into our church and this got me queries from the headquarters.
*MY LIFE OF LUXURY*
My parish is the most successful parish in our denomination so I enjoyed a lavish lifestyle. I had state of the art cars and a private jet.
The Holy Spirit told me that I do not have a house in heaven because I have enjoyed beyond what I should enjoy on earth.
Rather than having a house in heaven, I am indebted to heaven. I have withhold more than I should have.
God told me that, I must first pay my debt for the monies I shouldn't have spent but I have lavished on my lust for lush lifestyle.
So I sold my private jet, I sold all my cars and I sold my house to move to a modest environment with modest cars. I set up secret accounts to take care of the poor and the needy in our church and in the environment.
Every time a financial breakthrough comes my way, I take only what I need to live and give out the rest to help those around me.
Every time I do this, the only spirit shows me my house in heaven, it is currently being built. The less I use on earth and the more I give out to those in need around me the more my house is being constructed in heaven. By Femi Oluyamoju. KDG
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CYTONN CHYS WAY FORWARD ON THE TWO REAL ESTATE FUNDS
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CYTONN CHYS WAY FORWARD ON THE TWO REAL ESTATE FUNDS
Yesterday, the investors of Cytonn High Yield Solutions(CHYS) and Cytonn Project Notes(CPN) held a virtual Extraordinary General Meeting(EGM) to discuss the status of these funds; given they have faced illiquidity following the impact of Covid–19, litigation, bad publicity and a lot of misinformation to investors.
The meeting was held to discuss how investors would be able to unlock their liquidity in the funds after the force majeure extension.
The Board Chair of Cytonn Group- Professor Daniel Mugendi, thanked the clients for having stood with the Cytonn Brand this far and asked for candid, open and transparent discussions during the meeting.
Also speaking during the EGM, the CHYS board chair, Mr Maina Apologised to the investors for the current funds’ position and noted that “CHYS and CPN funds continue being illiquid, given the slow performance of the real estate sector since the onset of Covid-19”.
Speaking during the meeting, Elizabeth N. Nkukuu noted that “The fund manager continues to seek ways to ensure that value for all the investors is preserved and this will only be realized once the projects are complete”. Elizabeth N. Nkukuu (CFA) took clients through the portfolio allocation in the ten real estate projects. “Given time, we are confident that Cytonn will deliver the real estate projects and pay back investors” she added.
The meeting also served as a platform for investors to raise their concerns directly and the management was also given a chance to respond to these concerns.
Some of the concerns raised by investors during the EGM centered on the question of what it would take for investors to unlock their funds. Investors’ sentiments were geared towards repayment of their principal and interest. However as presented by their Acting Chair, Mr Maina, he noted that while he recognized their frustrations, investors could not be paid due to lack of asset sales.
Following the EGM, investors noted there was need to hold another meeting for the management to present detailed information on the options. The dates of the next meeting would be communicated to investors.
Cytonn Investments Management Plc is an independent investment management firm, with offices in Nairobi – Kenya. We are primarily focused on offering alternative investment solutions to Individual High-Net-Worth Investors, Global and Local Institutional Investors and Kenyans in the diaspora interested in the high-growth East-African region.
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Half Pant Final
by Paul Teodo & Tom Myers
He was 7 feet tall, wearing yellow flowered shorts that stopped an inch above his deeply scarred right knee. Muscular calves supported long legs that ended in crooked toes sprouting from lime green sandals. The image of a blues man wailing on his Stratocaster was silk-screened in silver on his black tee shirt. “Buddy Guy” in script identified the artist.
“You play ball?” I didn’t know what else to say.
“Turkey,” he said, straightening his black cowboy hat, “Slim” embroidered along the left side, silver coins embedded in its red satin band. There was nothing slim about him. He wasn’t a seven-foot bean pole. He was a muscular seven-footer with a well-manicured salt-and-pepper goatee.
“Turkey?”
“Yeah, they have a league. They needed a ‘big.’ I dabbled.”
I’d heard of pro basketball in Spain, Italy, Israel, even Australia, but not Turkey. “Well, that’s not what we’re here for. Thanks for coming.”
He kept looking out the window as if someone was out to get him. “Ra said you were okay.”
“Ra?”
“Raheem.”
“Our cook?”
“Yeah, we ball together, over on Madison, 24-hour gym, just down from the stadium. He vouched for you.” He glanced out the window again.
I resisted the urge to follow his stare.
“When do you have time? You’re already at three hospitals, Lourdes, Nicoletta, Pious, and you ball?”
“Sleep’s overrated. You only die once. Like I said, that’s why I came. Ra, he said you were okay. Said you were open,” he chuckled, “to a little different, and I can be different.”
Yeah, I thought, he was different. “Glad I got a good recommendation.”
“So what do you need?”
“I’ll be straight with you. We got a problem. Our orthos think they own the place.”
He looked back at me. “I’ve heard. You got Vince who thinks he’s the Don of the hospital and should get paid juice.” I cringed at his bluntness. “Schweingart, the Nazi, is flat-out scary, and Seamus can’t stay sober, and came close to killing a guy last month in the OR.” He looked out the window again. “Yeah, you got problems.”
How’d he know about all that shit? Were we that infamous? And what the hell was out the window? “How’d you hear about all that?”
He smiled, towering over me like I was a child. My chin, maybe, came up to his waist. “C’mon.” He clapped his hands shut; the slap of his palms, like a bullet, echoed off my office walls. “People talk, and they tell others not to talk, which makes them talk even more.” He studied his hand as if he was examining a wound. Empty. He shook his head with disappointment. “I used to be better.”
He folded himself like a wounded crane into a chair, making it, and my desk look miniature next to his out-sized frame.
I scanned his CV. It smelled like cigarettes, coffee stains obliterated most of his references. “Guadalajara Medical School?”
“I like the sun.”
“What else do you like?”
He shifted, struggling to find his “spot” in a human-sized seat. “Mexicans, they’re so laid back, and their cuisine.”
“And?”
“I quit. I don’t do that stuff anymore.” He tapped his chest. “Bad for the lungs….” He wrenched his neck with a giant hand, Big-foot came to mind, looking around the room trying to figure out a way of answering me without sounding stupid. A bone somewhere inside cracked, exploding like a firecracker, making me jump.
“Jesus,” I said, letting him off the hook for a second.
“C-4. I took a charge from a kid from Kenya. Fractured my spine.”
“You quit…you were saying.”
“Yeah. I mean I got into Michigan, Rush, Hopkins, but I wanted sun, and chill. So ‘Mexico, here I come.’”
“That’s when it started?”
“Naw, in high school, but I stopped when I got to Mexico.”
“Get busted?”
“No way.” He said like he was proud of himself. “I had a vision.”
“Totally done with it?”
“Yep, twelve years. She stays on me.”
“She?”
“My wife.”
“What she do?”
“Sex therapist.”
The conversation was making me feel like I was the only old maid in a popcorn machine.
“You have a colorful life.”
“I get interested in everything really easy, and I get bored even easier. So I bounce around.”
“You think you can handle it here?”
“I can adapt to just about anything, and because of how I am,” he smiled and waved his hand over his Goliath-sized frame, his flowered shorts, his skin-tight Buddy Guy tee, and his silver-studded, red-sash hat, “I’m used to taking a little shit.”
I imagined it wasn’t too much shit, given his imposing stature. “I can’t have you giving it back. These guys are vicious. I need to run a hospital.”
“You like Mexican?”
Back into the popcorn machine. I tried to keep the conversation going. “Good people. A big part of our patient base. A bit shy for me. But terribly discriminated against.”
“I mean food.”
“Food?”
“Yeah, tamales, tacos, empanadas, and horchata, my favorite drink. Saved my ass when I got off the stuff.”
“Why?”
“Why?” He repeated.
“Why are you interested in my palate?”
“I’m hungry. Let’s eat. If I’m gonna get my ass grilled, it might as well be where the grilling isn’t just my ass.”
“I gotta check my schedule.” I hate Mexican food.
“Screw your schedule. I’ll drive.”
More bones cracked as he uncoiled from the chair, sending shivers up my spine, “Jesus.” He straightened his right leg, massaging it with the longest fingers I’d ever seen.
“IT band. Tighter than a freakin’ bungee cord. It’s all connected.”
“Kenyan kid?”
“Yep, a nice kid. Coulda played in the NBA . But he broke my freakin’ back. He got me into medicine. I owe him. Killed a lion with his bare hands. He could really play ball. His family didn’t want him to leave. He’s in line to be a chief or something.”
“Who coulda played in the NBA?”
He paused, his eyes darting out the window again. “Both of us. Let’s go eat.”
“You’re something. What’s with the window?”
He shrugged. “We keep in touch. I told you I like different. Let’s go.”
We walked to the door. “Sasha. Dr. Vuckovich and I are going to lunch. I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Make it two,” he said, removing his hat, revealing a polished skull, wiping beads of sweat from his extremely broad forehead.
Sasha gave me a disgruntled look, then a disapproving grunt, acting as if she was writing something distasteful on a piece of yellow paper to show to all of her friends.
“We’re getting Mexican. Can I bring you back something?”
“You hate Mexican.”
So much for my diplomacy with Dr. V.
He smiled, grabbed my arm and pulled me forward. “Let’s go. You’ll like this, Boss. I parked in front.” I stumbled to keep up. His gait was about 142 feet longer than mine. “Hope I didn’t bend the rules too much.” He turned, giving me a shit-eating smile.
I was now his boss? Were we making progress? Who the hell could figure?
Just to the left of the front entrance, taking up two spots, one a handicap space, sat a vehicle that should have been repossessed by a chop-shop on 63rd Street. He waved his hand at this long black piece of metal, bowing as if he was introducing royalty. “Meet Miss Koko.”
“Koko?” I asked, trying to hide my displeasure at both his cavalier attitude toward our parking regulations and being carted off to a Mexican lunch in this ridiculous piece of shit.
“Yep, Koko Taylor,” he said proudly. “Best blues singer this city’s ever had.”
“You named your car after a blues singer?”
“Better than Impala or Bonneville, or Arthur.” His voice rose, echoing off our one-hundred year-old building. “C’mon, all bullshit names.”
I popped open the door. “It’s a fucking hearse.”
A huge grin spread across his face. “Not anymore. I had a patient trick it out for me. I did his shoulder. Put him back to work. He was broke. No insurance. He got what he wanted and so did I.” He opened the door threw his hat into the back seat. “It’s more like a cargo van.”
“You really drive this?”
“Yep, everywhere, and check this out” Despite his size he slid in effortlessly, and arched his back against the black velvet front seat. His legs stretched under the dash deep into what would normally be the engine compartment. He wiggled his snake-like toes and smiled, and let out a satisfied groan.” Leg room. A shit-load of leg room!”
I looked into his back seat, sliding in, imagining all the dead bodies that had rested there. I noticed what appeared to be a neck of a guitar peeking out from a Navajo blanket. Across the top, embossed in gold on shiny black wood was the word Gibson. “A guitar?” I nodded to the back seat.
“For my band,” he said, popping a mint into his mouth. “Want one?”
“Band?”
“Well, not really mine, we got a gig tonight. Wanna come? I’ll comp you.”
The popcorn kept exploding all around me, and I was still the old maid.
“Gig? Where?”
“Let’s go.” He slammed Koko into gear, kicked it in the ass, and sped out of the parking lot.
“Sure.” Why the hell not?
“Great! Rosa’s. Armitage, near Western.” He leaned over, not slowing one bit, his shoulder jammed into my chest, ripped open the glove compartment and the pulled a ticket from the box.
He handed it to me then slammed on his brakes, and screamed. “Asshole!”
Dr. V. was able to hand me my comped ticket for his gig and avoid crushing a neon blue Prius at the same time.
“That was close,” I said looking down at the ticket.
“Naw, I’m a defensive driver.”
I wanted to tell him he was an offensive driver but I bit my tongue. I looked back at the ticket. It read: Chicago Blues Pussyhounds, Featuring Dr. Slim. Slim? from his hat.
“Provocative name.”
“Gets people’s attention. Layla thought of it.”
“Layla?”
“My wife.”
The sex therapist. Jesus.
It was like I was in a movie. And I was having a helluva time keeping up. Vuckovich’s Most Excellent Adventure.
“Relax,” he ordered, and flipped on the stereo, multiple pulsing speakers rattled my bones. A soulful woman’s voice rose over it all. He pointed in the air, bobbing his head to the beat of the thumping music. “Koko! Let’s go! I got a hip at Pious at 3!”
“Any bodies back there?” I asked, looking at the cavernous area behind us.
“I keep ‘em alive,” he smiled and popped another mint. “I don’t kill ‘em like your boys.”
He’d heard that too? Shit.
***
“He wears half pant.”
Dev Balakrishnan, unlike Igor Vuckovich, was nowhere near seven feet tall. In fact, he barely cleared five feet. I didn’t think he’d fall in love with Dr. V, but I thought he’d at least give him a chance.
“He’s got great experience.” I was grasping.
“And auto is for dead people.”
Shit, he’d seen Koko.
“Dr. Balakrishnan,” I butchered his name every time I tried to say it.
“B,” he said “call me B. I’d rather hear you say B than you pronounce name like a contagious disease.”
I peered into the conference room where B had been interrogating V who now sat alone upright and uncomfortable, in a wooden chair, drumming his hands on the table, head bobbing up and down, probably grooving to Koko or Buddy. I indulged myself for a moment, imagining their interview, popcorn exploding all over the room.
“Why do you wear half pant?”
“Half pant?”
“Yes. And your car is for dead people. And toes should not be seen.”
“Ever listen to Koko Taylor, Doc? I think you’d dig her.”
I would have bought a ticket to that show.
“We’re dying here,” I said to B. “With only three orthos, and they run the department like gangsters.”
“The man would not fit here.” He pointed to Dr. V, now standing, rocking out on his air guitar. “He is too much, how you say, eccentric. Plus, training is bad. Mexico.”
“And Vince and his boys do fit? Schweingart got his training in the Caribbean at a pop-up school that closed right after he graduated.”
“They do not wear half pant or drive car for dead people.”
“I’ll bring it to the Board.” I lowered my voice trying to make him think.
Dr. B winced. “Board is for major issues.”
“This is a major issue. They’re killing us. They’re all trying to squeeze us, and we got nothing left.”
“I do not know this squeeze.”
B was dumb like a fox. He knew what those guys were. He did it once in a while too, but overall he was a good guy. He played fair and was a good surgeon. He took who came in the door and didn’t try to bullshit his way out of treating people who had no dough. Vince and his crew were different. No money or insurance? Then it was… Too big a case. We don’t have a bed. We’re short staffed. No supplies. Too much a risk. So ship ‘em out to someplace else. The County was always their fallback. If they could pay, then Vince and his boys would roll out the red carpet. What they did was plain wrong, a royal pain in the ass, and illegal. If Medicare pays your hospital and doctors, you have to care for those who can’t pay. And while docs were making lame excuses not to treat a banged up guy laid out in the mangled and broken, the entire place would back up like the traffic on the Jane Byrne or worse yet, the Hillside Fucking Strangler. Bullshit, and we were all tired of it.
“Doc, you know what I’m talking about. You accepted the position of President of the Medical Staff” and its stipend, I implied. “It’s time for you to man up.”
Pondering what he should do, he studied me with puffy eyes and labored breath, looked to Dr. V, still grooving to his tunes. He rubbed his disheveled hair. “Temporary,” he said, clearing his phlegmy throat. “We will give him temporary opportunity. Vince going to vacation home in Florida for February month. He can take his call. Ten days.”
“Temporary��” I began…but stopped. B could tell I was ready to fight, so I countered with silence.
“But,” he pointed at me, “no Board. We will work this out man to man.”
So, what direction should I go? Eat the entire enchilada, I hate Mexican, or take it one bite at a time? “I’m not sure Dr. V would go for that. Would you?”
“He will agree.”
“How do you know?”
B looked at me. A wry smile peeked out from under his scruff. “He already told me he would.”
***
“A John Doe.”
“Who’s on call?”
Shaneese, our ER traffic cop, paused. “Vince,” she said, her voice low, filled with disdain. “He won’t take it. You know that.”
We paid the asshole a grand for every call he took. But she was right. He’d hem and haw and make everybody sit on their hands, listening to his excuses.
I could see her standing in the ER, hand on hip, head tilted, staring at the ceiling, waiting for my response, judging the shit out of me.
“John Doe?” I asked, as if I hadn’t heard her, trying to buy time.
She did not respond. She let me dangle.
“What’s the damage?”
“He was thrown off a roof.” Her voice flat. “Multiple cervical fractures.”
“Jesus.”
“People are animals.”
“How many?”
“I stopped counting at C-5,” she said, growing more impatient.
“Stable?” Stupid question.
Her voice rising. “Stable? At least three of his seven vertebrae are busted. His spinal cord probably sprung a leak. He’s NOT stable. He’s going to die. He needs surgery now!”
“Call Vince. Tell him what you got and let me know what he says.”
I could feel her scorn as she hung up. And I deserved it. I’d let this shit go on too long.
Fuck. I grabbed my phone and called the front desk.
“Hello.”
“Shanda could you get me Dr. Endrizzi?”
“He don’t like me to call him. He only likes to talk to medical folks.”
“What’s his number?”
“Office or cell?”
“Cell.”
“312-665-3987. Good luck.”
***
“Hello.” His voice thick, filled with the hills of northern Italy.
“Vince, it’s Jim. We got a situation in the ER.”
“The John Doe with the spine?”
He’d heard already. “Yeah.”
“Too complex for us.”
“You’ve done them before.”
“Not too complex for me, but your staff isn’t qualified.” He hung up.
Sonofabitch. That arrogant prick. Isn’t qualified? Our staff was good, real good, and brave as shit. I redialed. “This is Dr. Endrizzi, I cannot take a call. I’m gone in February with important Medical Business. If you have big problem, call 911, or go to Hospital Emergency. They take care of you.”
Important Medical Business, my ass.
I yanked open my office door and headed to the OR.
I swiped my card and the panels slid open. I asked the OR Receptionist Denelle, “is Dr. Balakrishnan in there?” I pointed to suite #1, where we configured the surgical table and the lighting for a man of his small stature.
“He’s got a TURP,” she said, without looking up from her desk.
“How long before he’s done?”
“Depends on the size of the prostate.” She smiled.
I wasn’t in the mood for jokes. “I’ll wait.”
“Put this on.” She handed me a package of scrubs.
In the middle of my rage I struggled to yank on the gown, booties, gloves, and mask. She pointed to a chair in the corner of the room. I sat dressed in my surgery get-up like a child waiting to be punished by Mother Superior.
Denelle picked up the phone and tapped numbers with her pencil. “This is Denelle,” she said, “Tell Dr. B the boss is here for him.”
I stared at the thin red second hand on the wall-mounted clock, swooshing around the face in slow motion, my leg jumpy, like a junkie, full of rage. Important Medical Business, my ass. Your staff aren’t qualified. Fuck him.
The surgical suite door slid open. The tiny man waddled toward me, his disheveled hair peeking out from under his blue cap. He unpeeled his bloody gloves, the rubber making a snapping sound. He sighed and shook his head. “Big case.” His voice tired, never looking this old. “What is it?”
I stood. “Vince.”
His face contorted. “What now?”
“We got a John Doe in the ER. Busted neck. Vince won’t do the case.”
“It sounds complex.”
“Doc, don’t go down that path. He can do it. We can do it. He blew me off.”
“These are difficult decisions.”
“My ass. It’s a John Doe. He wants nothing to do with them. That’s why we pay him a fucking grand a call.” I was too loud.
B took me by the arm and led me to an empty suite. “He told me he wasn’t going to take any cases today. He’s leaving tomorrow morning.”
“What the hell are we gonna do with the patient?”
“Half pant.”
“What?”
“Call half pant surgeon.”
Was he shitting me? “No way. It’s Vince’s call. He’s already got his grand. It’s his case.”
“Call half pant.”
John Doe needed help. I’d deal with Vince later.
***
No cell reception in the OR, so I rushed to the waiting area. As soon as I walked in, a flock of petrified family members approached me. For a moment, I was disoriented, like a man just entering a room with the lights out. Then it hit me. My scrubs, mask, and gloves.
“I’m not a doctor,” I said, sounding like a moron. “I’m not,” I pleaded with them to believe me.
I fumbled with the buttons on my phone. Vuckovich, nothing came up. I couldn’t have. I tried again. V-U Still nothing. Then it hit me. I looked around to see if I’d get caught. 7-footer. I punched it in. Bingo. The phone rang once. “Yo.” His voice so loud it hurt. Koko Taylor blasted in the background. I could picture him, head bobbing, fingers fretting his invisible Gibson. “Yo,” he yelled again. “What’s up?”
“We got a John Doe in the ER.”
He didn’t let me finish. “On my way.” Sirens blared over Koko. I pictured him speeding down 63rd Street in that black chop-shopped hearse. “Don’t get pulled over. I hear sirens.”
“Siren’s mine. I told you, my guy pimped this baby out. Ten minutes.” His phone went dead.
***
I called Shaneese in the ER. “Dr. Vuckovich is on his way.”
“Dr. Who?”
“Vuckovich,” I said. “Send the John Doe to the OR with everything you got on him.”
“One second,” She said. “Can I help you?”
“Where’s the OR?” I heard over the commotion.
“Who the hell are you?” Shaneese did not mince words.
“Igor.”
“Igor?” Her voice rose over the craziness.
“Shaneese!” I shouted.
“I can’t talk!” she said. ”I got a crazy monster in here, wearing flowery shorts,” her voice rose, “a black hat, and a pair of nasty feet, telling me he got to go to the OR.”
“That’s Dr. Vuckovich.”
“You playin’ with me.”
“Shaneese, I’m not. He’s got temporary privileges. He’s gonna do the case.”
“A big ass man comin’ in here…”
“I’ll explain later. Just get him to the OR.”
“Who parked a hearse in the doctors’ parking lot?” Al, our ER security guard, yelled over the ruckus.
“It’s not a hearse.” I heard Dr. V retort.
“Shaneese, get him to the OR.”
Five minutes later, the elevator door opened. Removing his hat, then ducking his head to get out, Igor Vuckovich appeared, carrying a red duffle bag with a white crescent and TURKEY emblazoned on its side. He looked around the waiting room, spotted me, and smiled.
I gave him a confused look.
“From my playing days. You doin’ surgery now?” He pointed at my scrubs.
“He’s in there.” I nodded to where they’d taken John Doe, ignoring his joke.
“You are a doctor,” a visitor said.
“He’s not,” Dr. V interrupted, “but I am.”
“I never seen no doctor who look like you.”
“Me either,” V smiled. “Let’s rock and roll.”
I swiped my card and the doors slid open.
He entered, again bowing his head, this time not removing his hat. He dropped his bag on the floor and grabbed a package wrapped in plastic and a CD. He ripped open the plastic removing the largest pair of scrubs I’d ever seen and began dressing in the middle of the OR. The legs traveled past my chin. The arms could have served as a strait jacket for a lineman on the Bears, and his booties looked like canoe paddles. Our staff was in awe, speechless, jaws descending to the floor.
Dr. Balakrishnan approached Dr. V, “Thank you for helping us.”
“Dev, you assisting on this?”
“I…” B paused.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun.”
“I…”
I’d never seen Balakrishnan so lost for words.
“Here.” V tossed the CD to one of the techs. “Koko Taylor track 2. Anesthesia?”
“In the suite already.” Danny, our tech, said, looking ready to jive to Koko. “Wait!” Danny shouted.
V swung around. “What?”
Danny jumped removing V’s cowboy hat. “Now you’re good.”
“Thanks,” V said.
Dr. V scrubbed his immense fingers, paws and forearms in the sink. He motioned for Dr. B to join.
They toweled off and donned fresh masks, eyes meeting each other’s. “Let’s go,” V said to B.
The sight of this odd couple entering surgical suite 1, B’s suite, that he shared with absolutely no one, caused me grave consternation. What scared the shit out of me was a squatty little urologist assisting a seven foot orthopod with complex surgery. At the same time I was invigorated like a man who’d just slugged a double espresso.
“We gotta fix this.” I heard Dr. V laugh, raising the OR lights to their highest, then sliding the tiny platform stool we had made for Dr. B, in his direction.
The doors to the suite slid shut.
And that was that. Our new eccentric, Blues-playing, Koko Taylor-loving, orthopod worked side by side with our diminutive, Board-fearing Chief Medical Officer, saving the life of Mr. John Doe.
This is what we did. This is what we should do.
I waited in the family area, still wearing my scrubs, playing chess, losing to a man with no teeth.
The door slid open. B standing next to V. Both tired, sweaty, and smiling. Visitors’ eyes rose to the men in the doorway. “He made it.” V announcing to the crowd. “He made it,” B softly echoing V.
“You were magnificent,” Balakrishnan placed his hand in Vuckovich’s. “Magnificent.”
“We worked well together.” V rubbed B’s shoulder.
“No, what you did was remarkable.”
“Koko.” He smiled.
The toothless man, who’d just beaten me in chess four times in a row, stood. “Thank the Lord Jesus for these two fine men.” His smile warm, his eyes bright. He then began to clap. Another visitor stood, then another. The room now full, with deafening applause bouncing off the walls. Igor and Dev, exhausted, soaking in their well-earned recognition.
“Let’s go.” Dr. V’s voice cut through the acknowledgement.
We stripped off our scrubs and headed toward the parking lot.
“Go? Where?” Balakrishnan asked.
“Celebrate! Mexican! We’ll take Ms. Koko. My treat!”
I paused…fuck me…I hated Mexican.
“You in?” B asked me like an excited little kid.
I’d brought this strange creature here, a mammoth guitar-playing behemoth, but without Dr. Dev Balakrishnan’s help, Mr. John Doe would be dead, and I’d be going after Vince like a hit man.
But Mexican? C’mon.
“You’re wasting time. Let’s go. I sit in front.”Balakrishnan was almost giddy.
John Doe was not dead. He was alive.
“I’m in,” I said, reaching for Koko’s back door.
“Nope,” Dr. V said.
He tossed me the keys. “You’re driving.”
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So do you follow Johnson's advice to Florence, "to run as a man, you must train like a man"? One other point, do you think you have plateaued, leveled off and must now move to your next plateau in order to exceed your old times?
Nope I don’t!One thing I’ve never adhered to as anindividual and as an athlete is double standards. I have never agreed with the oldsaying that men are better than women. Physicalstrength can be defined in different ways. Women bubble with a source of powerthat even science has yet to fully understand. They tend to be better survivorsthan men. What’s more, they are born this way. Note, don’t get me wrong here itis true however that biologically speaking men produce more testosterone thanwomen. One of the main reasons why, in my opinion it is near impossible for awoman to ever become the fastest human on Earth is because men have the biological advantage ofproducing more testosterone. But if we think about it, Florence Joyner Griffithis the 4th fastest human on the planet, she is so close to AsafaPowell’s time. I personally believe that a younger Flo Jo given the propertools and conditions could have been the 3rd fastest person on Earth– keep in mind that Flo was 28 when she became the fastest women on Earth. Also,note I’mcertainly not going to engage in a “men versus women” battle. Both men andwomen have strengths and weaknesses. Weare equal but different. Those differences are complementary and should becelebrated rather than eroded.It’s not about training like a man, it’s all about training harder. When I look at men training duringtrack practices they often tend to be physically harder and more demanding thanthose of women. I remember once when I first got into track, it was weightlifting day and the coach separated the guys and the girls – we were doing thesame drills, but different with weight. The twist here is that I was placedwith the boys.I have always been on the thicker side (like Rosa Acosta)and the other females I was training with were more on the petite side. To makea long story short, I was lifting the same weight as the guys. I was so excitedthat day to be honest with you, I’ve always loved to dismantle the old societalbelief that women are not made to lift heavy.All that said, I believe one of the factors that couldexplain why female sprinters have not yet been able to reach Flo Jo’s time orrun as fast as she is because they don’t use the internal robustness they wereborn with to its full potential.
INTERNAL ROBUSTNESS:
Anyhow, back to survival, recent researches havedemonstrated that women are better survivors. You’re probably wondering whatall that has to do with running, well I’ll get into it a bit later on.For almost two decades, Steven Austad, an internationalexpert on ageing, and chair of the biology department at the University ofAlabama, has been studying one of the best-known yet under-researched facts ofhuman biology: that women live longer than men. According to Austad (2016), atevery age, women seem to survive better than men despite suffering morephysical limitations later in life. His longevity database shows that all overthe world and as far back as records have been kept, women outlive men byaround five or six years. He describes them as being more “robust”.What makes baby girls so robust remains mostly a mystery.Research published in 2014 by scientists at the University of Adelaide suggeststhat a mother’s placenta may behave differently depending on the sex of thebaby, doing more to maintain the pregnancy and increase immunity againstinfections. For reasons unknown, girls may be getting an extra dose ofsurvivability in the womb.Robustness,toughness or pure power – whatever it’s called – this survival ability cracksapart the stereotype.
NOW WE’REGETTING TO THE RUNNING PART:
Women are known to be particularly good at endurancerunning, notes Marlene Zuk, who runs a lab focusing on evolutionary biology atthe University of Minnesota. In her 2013 book Paleofantasy, she writes thatwomen’s running abilities decline extremely slowly into old age. They’ve beenknown to go long distances even while pregnant. In 2011, for example, AmberMiller ran the Chicago marathon before giving birth seven hours later. Worldrecord holder Paula Radcliffe has trained through two pregnancies.Why, then, are women not all Amazons? Why do we imaginefemininity to mean small, waif-like bodies? The lives of most ordinary women,outside the pages of magazines, destroy this notion. If you go to India, youwill see female construction workers lining the streets, hauling piles ofbricks on their heads to building sites. In Kenya, there are female securityguards everywhere, patrolling offices and hotels. Out in rural areas, there arewomen doing hard physical labour, often hauling their children in slings. Ourancestors would have done the same.In evolutionary terms, these were the circumstances underwhich our bodies were forged. For an enormous chunk of early human history, aswe migrated through Africa to the rest of the world, women would also havetravelled hundreds or thousands of miles, sometimes under extreme environmentalconditions. “Just reproducing and surviving in these conditions, talk aboutnatural selection” (Saini. 2017).Now going back to what I mentioned earlier on, the reasonwomen are athletically limited when it comes to their physical abilities isbecause they are trained too often delicately as you saw from the example I’vegiven earlier from my track practice. If more women would tap into thatinternal robustness and potentialize it such as Flo Jo did their athletic performancecould be phenomenal I believe.I know there are some people who will be coming at mesaying, well if women start training too hard, they may start to look manly,muscly and unattractive. If there is onething I’ve always hated to hear is that old fashion misconception. A lot ofpeople who are unfamiliar with bodybuilding, athleticism and nutrition sciencehave that mentality.Women do not produce enough testosterone to look like a man.I repeat WOMEN DO NOT PRODUCE ENOUGH TESTOSTERONE TO LOOK LIKE A MAN! It hasnever been scientifically proven that lifting heavy will make a woman growfacial hair, get a deep voice and so on. I have seen girls leg press 400lbs (including myself) and they look just fine! There is no way for a woman to ever achievethat look naturally (see picture below) unless she is using roids or was bornwith an intersex trait or a medical condition such as hyperandrogenism. Womenusing steroids such as high doses of testosterone grow facial hair, their vocalchords thicken, their voices drop, they get hair on their chest and back, theirclitoris grow into a male-like appendage…
Thisis what astronomical doses of testosterone in women do… To make huge gains like that realistically, it’s almost impossible without anabolics, period. That said, I love and support all of my “buff” Barbies out there, I love watching bodybuilding shows, but I have never condoned the use of steroids especially as an ethical athlete. Also, I’m using bodybuilding as an example here, but females abusing steroids happens in every sport.
How fast can humans run? The fastest person clocked on our planettoday is the Jamaican athlete Usain Bolt, who ran the 100 meter sprint at the 2008 Summer Olympics in Beijing in aworld record of 9.58 seconds, which works out to be about 37.6 kilometers perhour or 23.4 miles per hour.For a brief period during that sprint, Bolt reached an astounding 12.3 metersper second (27.51 mph or 44.28 kph).nd (27.51 mph or 44.28 kph).Humanscould perhaps run as fast 40 mph, a new study suggests. Such a feat would leavein the dust the world’s fastest runner, Usain Bolt, who has clocked nearly 28mph in the 100-meter sprint [X]. The new findings come after researchers took a new look atthe factors that limit human speed. Their conclusions? The top speed humanscould reach may come down to how quickly muscles in the body can move and thisapplies to both men and women. Previousstudies have suggested the main hindrance to speed is that our limbs can onlytake a certain amount of force when they strike the ground. This may not be thewhole story, however.“Ifone considers that elite sprinters can apply peak forces of 800 to 1,000 poundswith a single limb during each sprinting step, it’s easy to believe thatrunners are probably operating at or near the force limits of their muscles andlimbs,” said Peter Weyand of Southern Methodist University, one of thestudy’s authors. But Weyand and colleagues found in treadmill tests that ourlimbs can handle a lot more force than what is applied during top-speedrunning.
How to improve your running speed?
Now regarding your second questions, I don’t think that Ihave reached a plateau, but I think that my bad habits are what’s underminingmy full potential, I’ll elaborate on that. No matter what the statistics say,you need to remember that every individual differs from the next. There arefactors such as body type, age, gender, fitness and more that can alsodetermine the speed at which one can run. To keep thing short and simple here I’llonly elaborate on the training aspect.The way I got seriously intofitness is by jogging daily, but as sprinter the problem here is that thisundermines my performance (I would do push-ups and sit ups as strength trainingbut no weight lifting). As a matter of fact, I did not start taken weightlifting seriously until the age of 20 I’d say, so I wasted two years not listeningto my coaches and wasting my potential… In another post, I discussed thedifference between marathoner and sprinter. The issue with me is that I had a very hardtime letting go of jogging daily – when I first started sprints one of my coachtold me to stop jogging so much, but jogging became such a huge part of my lifethat I completely discredited his advice.Many people are very comfortablewith just jogging. This helps them to maintain a steady pace and moderatespeed. However, runners who like to run jog and take their time with theirruns may not have the best time scores for long distance runs or short distanceones. Instead of training like a sprinter I was training like a jogger. I wasnot developing my fast-twitch fibers. I was doing too much LISS and not enoughHIIT. Fast-twitch fibers are essential to sprinters. I had very low “explosivepower” in my legs. I learned the hard way to listen to my coaches.
NOW YOU’RE PROBABLY WONDERING WHYTOO MUCH JOGGING IS BAD FOR SPRINTER
Well for a 100/200 or 300-meterrunner running XC or jogging daily is bad. Not because fast-twitch fibers will convertinto slow-twitch fibers, such as muscles cannot convert into fat and vice versasame applies for muscle fibers – fast twitch fibers can’t convert into slow twitch.However, whatever fiber type breakdown you have can begin to take on thecharacteristics of the type of training you are doing. Run fast fibers getbetter at trying to hand that training. Train slow and you get better atrunning slow for a really long time. I have had discussions with some people whobelieve you can convert fast twitch fibers by about 6%, but this theory needsto be reinforced by research studies… In addition, if your body has a lot of fasttwitch oxidative fibers your training can cause them to look a lot like slowtwitch fibers.A true sprinter will never surpassa marathoner in a marathon and vice versa a true marathoner will never surpassa sprinter in a sprint. Now people will point out some individuals who have hadsuccess in XC were sprinters but the reason you can point to these individualsis because they are rare and special. Understanding this it then leads to thequestion: are these people really sprinters or poorly identified middledistance runners or elite milers?Over the last few years I’ve beentrying to find the right balance of LISS and HIIT. For elite sprinters, I believethat a combination of moderate jogging, fast running/agility training and strength training intoa daily routine can create the perfect recipe for speed and pace improvement. I’mstill trying to figure out the perfect formula…
SOURCES:
Austad,S.N. (2016). Sex Differences in Lifespan. CellMetabolism, Vol 23 (Issue 6), p.1022-1033.
Hirst,K,K. (2017, October 09th). HowFast Can Humans Run? The Physics and Limits of Human Sprinting. Retrievedfrom https://www.thoughtco.com/how-fast-can-humans-run-4152138
Saini,A. (2017). Inferior:how science got women wrong and the new research that’s rewriting the story.Boston: Beacon Press.
Saini,A. (2017, June 11th). Retrieved from https://www.theguardian.com/world/2017/jun/11/the-weaker-sex-science-that-shows-women-are-stronger-than-men
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Excellent Quality High Back Office Chairs in Kenya that includes High Back – Matrix, High Back–Clinton and many more.Stores in Nairobi and Mombasa.
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What Climate Change Means for the Future of Coffee
Starmaya. Centroamericano. H1. These are names those serious about their coffee should get to know, as hybrid varieties may be the coffees of the future.
Despite the abundance of specialty beans available today — familiar coffees include Arabica from Ethiopia, Colombia, Guatemala, and beyond — experts agree the coffee landscape is fundamentally changing.
Climate change threatens an existential disruption to the coffee industry with a veritable list of end-times plagues: heat, drought, floods, pests, and disease. As existing coffee breeds struggle in the extreme weather, prices will rise while Arabica varieties wane.
Farmers are now shifting their techniques. Many are adopting hardier hybrids like those mentioned above. But without a monumental reduction in global carbon emissions, shifts in America’s coffee supply could be a few bad harvests from collapsing.
The Fragility of the Coffee Supply Chain
Coffee is an agricultural product that depends on a vast and complex network of players to bring flawless beans to retail shelves each week. While around 64 percent of Americans drink coffee each day, few recognize the fragility of its supply chain. Between 70 and 80 percent of global production depends on 25 million smallholder farmers working five acres or less in Africa and Latin America. For the last decade, these farmers have struggled to make ends meet, many surviving at the threshold of poverty.
Climate change experts warn that global temperatures will continue to rise this century, increasing between 1.5 and 4.5 degrees Celsius (about 35 to 40 degrees Fahrenheit) in the hottest months. However, it is the resultant weather swings that pose the greatest present-day problems for coffee producers — and consumers.
“Most places growing coffee are already experiencing tremendous variability,” Hanna Neuschwander, communications director, World Coffee Research, says. “And that’s what pushes a farmer out. It’s not the 0.1-degree gradual rise, it’s the peaks and troughs, and those are already here.”
The World Coffee Research organization (WCR) was founded in 2012 as a non-profit to study the future of the industry’s agricultural sector with climate change as the backdrop.
WCR views climate change as the single biggest threat to the long-term sustainability of coffee. Without a reduction in carbon emissions, research and development must focus on mitigation like planting climate-appropriate varieties. Much like the hybrids in the wine industry, coffee varieties are created to account for environmental realities.
As Neuschwander explains, “Modern breeding is like a design process. What features do I want this chair to have? A straight back, a comfortable seat? We ask the same questions about [coffee] varieties.”
The goal is for “designer” hybrids to weather environmental extremes.
How Wild Weather Hurts Small Farmers
Thirty-year industry veteran roaster George Howell of the eponymous company in Massachusetts likens climate change to a spinning top. “The unpredictability is creating turbulence,” he says. “Imagine the disruption caused by sudden heavy storms during the harvest season or dry spells during the rainy season.”
East Africa is historically prone to weather extremes but is otherwise thought optimal for coffee farming. However, droughts and floods have intensified. In late 2019 and early 2020, Kenya, Rwanda, and Ethiopia faced a surge in rainfall attributed to the Indian Ocean Dipole (IOD) weather system. Like the Indian Ocean’s version of the Pacific’s El Niño, the IOD can lift ocean temperatures up to 3.6 degrees Fahrenheit (2 degrees Celsius).
Ethiopia’s coffee farmers rely on seasonal arid weather in November to dry their cherries on raised beds. With the early, prolonged rains of 2019 in Jimma, farmers scrambled to shield crops with tarps, risking moisture and mold and mistakes.
When rain falls unexpectedly or with ferocity, it disrupts the entire value chain, from picking, processing, logistics to quality control. Classic supply and demand dictates less and more expensive coffee for American drinkers while hurting farmers.
More Heat, More Problems
In Central America, humid and wet conditions have pushed a devastating fungus called leaf rust, or roya, deep into new regions from Colombia up to Mexico.
El Savador is a stark example: “In 2010-2011, the country produced 1.7 million 60-kilogram bags of coffee. During the 2013-2014 harvest, farmers only produced 499,000 bags,” Matthew Swenson, chief product officer, Chameleon Cold Brew Coffee in Texas, says. Leaf rust is believed to be the culprit for much of the 70 percent decrease in production.
In 2011, heavy wind and rain from Tropical Storm Agatha carried spores into Guatemala’s mountains, bringing with it an explosion of fungus. “I remember driving around and seeing farms without a single leaf or cherry due to rust in 2012,” Howell says, recalling a buying trip to the country. “It was all gone. Leaves had fallen to the ground. Those farmers who lost that crop had no safety net, no subsidies, nothing.”
Much like wine grapes, higher temperatures impact the coffee plant negatively by accelerating ripening, shifting harvest dates forward, and reducing photosynthesis, which compromises flavor development and quality. Because Arabica grows best in cooler conditions, quality degrades as the thermometer reading rises.
Changes in climate invite new diseases and pests to thrive — for example, the life cycle of the coffee borer beetle has become faster, increasing its populations. The beetles bore into the coffee cherry to lay eggs that hatch days later, destroying the fruit from the inside out.
Farms at lower elevations in Brazil are now grappling with rising temperatures, yet they have nowhere to go. “It’s unrealistic to think producers can afford new land or move up the mountain to a cooler location, especially when they’re already struggling,” says Gabriel Agrelli Moreira of Daterra Coffee, a sustainable coffee farm in Brazil.
While farmers could pivot from quality Arabica production to sturdier, high-volume Robusta, the suggestion is akin to Burgundy’s Pinot Noir and Chardonnay growers switching to Gamay and Aligoté.
Hope for Hybrids
Much of the coffee industry’s hope lies at the feet of F1 hybrids. These varieties are stronger in the face of weather extremes and diseases. To save the industry, they must prove climate-change-proof and economically viable for the farmer while tasting delicious to consumers.
Though farmers and breeders have been taking advantage of hybrids (when two unique coffee varieties are bred together) for over 100 years, the use of first-generation (F1) hybrids, which tend to have significantly higher performance, is very new in coffee — they have only been planted commercially for less than 10 years.
The F1 generating excitement is Starmaya, a variety that can be shared among farmers in cheaper seed form. Australian roasting company Single O released a limited-edition Starmaya coffee to prove its consumer appeal, pitching it as “climate-resilient” and “future-friendly.”
Can Adaptive Farming, Soil Carbon Sequestration and Hybrids Save Coffee?
Unfortunately, a one-size-fits-all panacea to mitigating climate change doesn’t exist. Every farmer must adjust their practices based on knowledge, resources, and stamina.
Raul Perez is a fourth-generation coffee farmer in Acatenango, Guatemala. The beans from his farm, La Soledad, frequently end up in the hands of America’s best roasters, from George Howell Coffee to Intelligentsia.
Perez uses adaptive farming techniques to combat heat and drought. Shade trees keep coffee plants cool. Eschewing herbicides helps grass preserve soil moisture and prevent erosion. Grafting Arabica to Robusta roots, using a common technique in wine, helps with drought- and heat-resistance. He’s also experimenting with hybrids with promising results.
Daterra launched Bioterra Academy, a research lab used to study soil health and “carbon farming” as a tool to fight climate change. A healthy soil retains water, prevents plant disease, cycles nutrients, fixes nitrogen, and can sequester carbon.
“About 25 percent of the planet’s soil has already been degraded,” Moreira says. The UN FAO calculates the world has only 60 years of harvests left, and the International Center for Tropical Agriculture (CIAT) suggests half the world’s coffee-producing land will be unsuitable by 2050.
American Business Must Invest at the Source: Small Coffee Farmers
“Private enterprise needs to step up and lead the way. Businesses at the top of the supply chain have a moral and business continuity obligation to re-invest at origin because without those farmers, we don’t have a healthy long-term prospect for our businesses,” Swenson says.
Promising tools like farming strategies and hybrids are only as good as their reach. Most smallholder farmers can’t afford to renovate farms. Many live in remote areas without access to research. Country-specific coffee associations like ANACAFE in Guatemala and the Federación Nacional de Cafeteros (FNC) in Colombia provide varying degrees of assistance, along with non-governmental organizations and private donors, but business must be integral to the solution.
In Guatemala, Chameleon Coffee is funding educational centers focused around 12-acre plots. On these experimental farms, producers can learn about the best varieties for their areas, methods of re-planting, proper plant spacing, and other techniques like pruning. Swenson says the effort is worth it because the company can demonstrate best practices without farmers risking their crops, while simultaneously building trust.
Saving coffee will take strategy and time, but forget the future. Climate change is here now, and its effects are rippling through the industry, soon to reach your very cup.
The article What Climate Change Means for the Future of Coffee appeared first on VinePair.
source https://vinepair.com/articles/climate-change-coffee-production/
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Text
What Climate Change Means for the Future of Coffee
Starmaya. Centroamericano. H1. These are names those serious about their coffee should get to know, as hybrid varieties may be the coffees of the future.
Despite the abundance of specialty beans available today — familiar coffees include Arabica from Ethiopia, Colombia, Guatemala, and beyond — experts agree the coffee landscape is fundamentally changing.
Climate change threatens an existential disruption to the coffee industry with a veritable list of end-times plagues: heat, drought, floods, pests, and disease. As existing coffee breeds struggle in the extreme weather, prices will rise while Arabica varieties wane.
Farmers are now shifting their techniques. Many are adopting hardier hybrids like those mentioned above. But without a monumental reduction in global carbon emissions, shifts in America’s coffee supply could be a few bad harvests from collapsing.
The Fragility of the Coffee Supply Chain
Coffee is an agricultural product that depends on a vast and complex network of players to bring flawless beans to retail shelves each week. While around 64 percent of Americans drink coffee each day, few recognize the fragility of its supply chain. Between 70 and 80 percent of global production depends on 25 million smallholder farmers working five acres or less in Africa and Latin America. For the last decade, these farmers have struggled to make ends meet, many surviving at the threshold of poverty.
Climate change experts warn that global temperatures will continue to rise this century, increasing between 1.5 and 4.5 degrees Celsius (about 35 to 40 degrees Fahrenheit) in the hottest months. However, it is the resultant weather swings that pose the greatest present-day problems for coffee producers — and consumers.
“Most places growing coffee are already experiencing tremendous variability,” Hanna Neuschwander, communications director, World Coffee Research, says. “And that’s what pushes a farmer out. It’s not the 0.1-degree gradual rise, it’s the peaks and troughs, and those are already here.”
The World Coffee Research organization (WCR) was founded in 2012 as a non-profit to study the future of the industry’s agricultural sector with climate change as the backdrop.
WCR views climate change as the single biggest threat to the long-term sustainability of coffee. Without a reduction in carbon emissions, research and development must focus on mitigation like planting climate-appropriate varieties. Much like the hybrids in the wine industry, coffee varieties are created to account for environmental realities.
As Neuschwander explains, “Modern breeding is like a design process. What features do I want this chair to have? A straight back, a comfortable seat? We ask the same questions about [coffee] varieties.”
The goal is for “designer” hybrids to weather environmental extremes.
How Wild Weather Hurts Small Farmers
Thirty-year industry veteran roaster George Howell of the eponymous company in Massachusetts likens climate change to a spinning top. “The unpredictability is creating turbulence,” he says. “Imagine the disruption caused by sudden heavy storms during the harvest season or dry spells during the rainy season.”
East Africa is historically prone to weather extremes but is otherwise thought optimal for coffee farming. However, droughts and floods have intensified. In late 2019 and early 2020, Kenya, Rwanda, and Ethiopia faced a surge in rainfall attributed to the Indian Ocean Dipole (IOD) weather system. Like the Indian Ocean’s version of the Pacific’s El Niño, the IOD can lift ocean temperatures up to 3.6 degrees Fahrenheit (2 degrees Celsius).
Ethiopia’s coffee farmers rely on seasonal arid weather in November to dry their cherries on raised beds. With the early, prolonged rains of 2019 in Jimma, farmers scrambled to shield crops with tarps, risking moisture and mold and mistakes.
When rain falls unexpectedly or with ferocity, it disrupts the entire value chain, from picking, processing, logistics to quality control. Classic supply and demand dictates less and more expensive coffee for American drinkers while hurting farmers.
More Heat, More Problems
In Central America, humid and wet conditions have pushed a devastating fungus called leaf rust, or roya, deep into new regions from Colombia up to Mexico.
El Savador is a stark example: “In 2010-2011, the country produced 1.7 million 60-kilogram bags of coffee. During the 2013-2014 harvest, farmers only produced 499,000 bags,” Matthew Swenson, chief product officer, Chameleon Cold Brew Coffee in Texas, says. Leaf rust is believed to be the culprit for much of the 70 percent decrease in production.
In 2011, heavy wind and rain from Tropical Storm Agatha carried spores into Guatemala’s mountains, bringing with it an explosion of fungus. “I remember driving around and seeing farms without a single leaf or cherry due to rust in 2012,” Howell says, recalling a buying trip to the country. “It was all gone. Leaves had fallen to the ground. Those farmers who lost that crop had no safety net, no subsidies, nothing.”
Much like wine grapes, higher temperatures impact the coffee plant negatively by accelerating ripening, shifting harvest dates forward, and reducing photosynthesis, which compromises flavor development and quality. Because Arabica grows best in cooler conditions, quality degrades as the thermometer reading rises.
Changes in climate invite new diseases and pests to thrive — for example, the life cycle of the coffee borer beetle has become faster, increasing its populations. The beetles bore into the coffee cherry to lay eggs that hatch days later, destroying the fruit from the inside out.
Farms at lower elevations in Brazil are now grappling with rising temperatures, yet they have nowhere to go. “It’s unrealistic to think producers can afford new land or move up the mountain to a cooler location, especially when they’re already struggling,” says Gabriel Agrelli Moreira of Daterra Coffee, a sustainable coffee farm in Brazil.
While farmers could pivot from quality Arabica production to sturdier, high-volume Robusta, the suggestion is akin to Burgundy’s Pinot Noir and Chardonnay growers switching to Gamay and Aligoté.
Hope for Hybrids
Much of the coffee industry’s hope lies at the feet of F1 hybrids. These varieties are stronger in the face of weather extremes and diseases. To save the industry, they must prove climate-change-proof and economically viable for the farmer while tasting delicious to consumers.
Though farmers and breeders have been taking advantage of hybrids (when two unique coffee varieties are bred together) for over 100 years, the use of first-generation (F1) hybrids, which tend to have significantly higher performance, is very new in coffee — they have only been planted commercially for less than 10 years.
The F1 generating excitement is Starmaya, a variety that can be shared among farmers in cheaper seed form. Australian roasting company Single O released a limited-edition Starmaya coffee to prove its consumer appeal, pitching it as “climate-resilient” and “future-friendly.”
Can Adaptive Farming, Soil Carbon Sequestration and Hybrids Save Coffee?
Unfortunately, a one-size-fits-all panacea to mitigating climate change doesn’t exist. Every farmer must adjust their practices based on knowledge, resources, and stamina.
Raul Perez is a fourth-generation coffee farmer in Acatenango, Guatemala. The beans from his farm, La Soledad, frequently end up in the hands of America’s best roasters, from George Howell Coffee to Intelligentsia.
Perez uses adaptive farming techniques to combat heat and drought. Shade trees keep coffee plants cool. Eschewing herbicides helps grass preserve soil moisture and prevent erosion. Grafting Arabica to Robusta roots, using a common technique in wine, helps with drought- and heat-resistance. He’s also experimenting with hybrids with promising results.
Daterra launched Bioterra Academy, a research lab used to study soil health and “carbon farming” as a tool to fight climate change. A healthy soil retains water, prevents plant disease, cycles nutrients, fixes nitrogen, and can sequester carbon.
“About 25 percent of the planet’s soil has already been degraded,” Moreira says. The UN FAO calculates the world has only 60 years of harvests left, and the International Center for Tropical Agriculture (CIAT) suggests half the world’s coffee-producing land will be unsuitable by 2050.
American Business Must Invest at the Source: Small Coffee Farmers
“Private enterprise needs to step up and lead the way. Businesses at the top of the supply chain have a moral and business continuity obligation to re-invest at origin because without those farmers, we don’t have a healthy long-term prospect for our businesses,” Swenson says.
Promising tools like farming strategies and hybrids are only as good as their reach. Most smallholder farmers can’t afford to renovate farms. Many live in remote areas without access to research. Country-specific coffee associations like ANACAFE in Guatemala and the Federación Nacional de Cafeteros (FNC) in Colombia provide varying degrees of assistance, along with non-governmental organizations and private donors, but business must be integral to the solution.
In Guatemala, Chameleon Coffee is funding educational centers focused around 12-acre plots. On these experimental farms, producers can learn about the best varieties for their areas, methods of re-planting, proper plant spacing, and other techniques like pruning. Swenson says the effort is worth it because the company can demonstrate best practices without farmers risking their crops, while simultaneously building trust.
Saving coffee will take strategy and time, but forget the future. Climate change is here now, and its effects are rippling through the industry, soon to reach your very cup.
The article What Climate Change Means for the Future of Coffee appeared first on VinePair.
Via https://vinepair.com/articles/climate-change-coffee-production/
source https://vinology1.weebly.com/blog/what-climate-change-means-for-the-future-of-coffee
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