I know of an old man who lived the life of a Nigerian comedy script; he smelled like wet tobacco drying under a hot sun. His teeth, like the thatched roofing of his wife’s kitchen, were shades of black and brown. He lived in an obscure village in the rural areas of south-east Nigeria which he claimed was a G.R.A because of its calmness and serenity. The old man hardly complained of a difficult village life. He rarely complained at all. He believed that life was to be enjoyed despite all odds. So, every day, he looked forward to tapping his palm trees, playing coupon and making love to his wife.