Unless you have been living under a rock or third-mainland Bridge for that matter, you would have definitely seen pictures of the 32 contestants for the Most Beautiful Girl In Nigeria. I would like to frame what I am about to say in a clean polite manner…but honestly all I can say is that the pictures were TERRRIBLE. Now I am not saying the girls are not beautiful or anything, because that is not what the contest is about (plus Ms.Kaduna and Ms.Imo were quite *cough *cough). However, the organizers, the photographer, the make up artist and anyone else involved in leaking releasing these pictures needs to be shot! But with rubber band o…no bokoharam in this joint.
 

On a serious note, this is why they have to be shot…the most beautiful girl in Nigeria is a NATIONAL contest not a local contest….I repeat NATIONAL contest…that said it is extremely inexcusable for the pictures to look like a drunk make-up artist prepped the girls only for a blind photographer to take the pictures and and then send them to a nursery school for photo editing! Especially when Nigeria has exceptional talents such as Lola Maja (Make-Up), Collins Metu (Photography) and Geofrey Olisa (Picture Editing) to name a few. I have no idea who organized the photoshoot, but I can take a stab and say that he did not get the job based on his/her talent. I mean we had girls wearing t-shirts and training bras for a National contest photo-shoot with weave tracks showings on their heads! #fml (Fufu Makes Me Laugh).
 

What kills me the most is that these pictures even as bad as they are could still have been rescued. Hello! We now have Instagram and numerous other simple and FREE photo editing software out there. I spent less than 10 minutes using this website http://pixlr.com/o-matic/ to edit 5 of the 32 contestant pictures. And while the clean-up does not necessarily fix the initial disastrous pictures…it helps make it a bit better. You can see the changes below and decide for yourself:
 

In conclusion, let us do what we can do to ensure that the MBGN organizers do not repeat this crime against humanity Nigeria again! And that we extend quality imagery in all facets of Nigerian life including books, magazines and especially NOLLYWOOD! Because contrary to popular belief, people do judge books by their covers and people judge countries by the quality of their images.
 

PS: I might sound like I am joking, but these pictures really made me sad. Nigeria can do better than this and it is the little details that would help us solve the big problems. As bloggers and based on National pride, we should demand better pictures or clean up the pictures before posting.
 

Wishing You Extreme Success,

Have a question for Ofili? Leave a comment below. Ofili strives to answer every question he is asked.

After spending sleepless nights studying, almost over-dosing on Ramen noodles and practically making the library desk my bed for 5 years…I had finally graduated from college. All my Nigerian lantern burning skills and mosquito dodging talents had gotten me through American college with ease. My reward after much rejection by various companies <see that article> was a full time job as a design engineer. I was excited about the prospects of being an engineer that actually did engineering. As an engineer [especially a designer for that matter] one of the things you had to participate in were what we called design review meetings. It was were designs were destroyed analyzed and critiqued to ensure that all aspects of the design had been fully considered. So it was no surprise that less than 24 hours after I had resumed work I was forced thrust into a review meeting.
 

The conference room had a large table littered with white pieces of A4 paper and had the largest sheet of paper I had ever seen in my life lying smack dab in the middle of the table. There were engineers from all echelons of the company huddled around the table murmuring to themselves. I walked up to the table to see what all the buzz was about, but all I could see on the paper was a labyrinth of lines and numbers that made no sense to me. To be honest it looked like a Pablo Picasso painting, but without out the color and sprinkled with a dose of confusion. But the other engineers understood it, not only did they understand it…they were excited by it and spoke over each other to get their their thoughts across. From the outside it looked very chaotic and unruly…however, After listening to the loud chatter for a few more minutes I began to understand that the ink lines represented an actual component and the numbers were scaled dimensions. With my new found knowledge and as the newest engineer in the room, I wanted to impress. So I did what every young wannabe engineer would do

I recently downloaded the Nigeria constitution on my blackberry thanks to this nifty link. But imagine my disappointment when I read the constitution and found out that there was not an explicit section that dealt with a Nigerian’s right to shit with dignity. I know some people might think this is trivial or irrelevant, but trust me it is very important! Several months ago I was at the Muritala International airport. I had just finished checking in when I felt a sudden rumbling in my stomach. This normally occurred when I was about to give a speech or when the elastic capacity in my stomach walls had stretched beyond its critical point. Unfortunately it was the latter…I needed to find a toilet and fast. I computed in my head that I had about 20 to 25 minutes before my stomach would be forced to deploy its contents. This was enough time for me to run through customs, security clearance and customs again (if you have been to MMA you know what I mean). Unfortunately my perfectly computed time (plus with buffer) did not agree with my stomach, somehow I had failed to factor in the fact that pounded yam mixed with Egusi and Goat Meat created a much greater stretching effect on the stomach than other foods.

By the time I got through customs, the only thing  circulating in my head were the words “must find toilet now.” It was as if the local food lodged in my stomach was doing all it could do to stay in Nigeria. Fortunately after dodging the second barrier of customs agents, I was able to find a clean and vacant stall. I was relieved, cause it could have turned out ugly.

After ridding my body of the Nigerian food impregnating it…I turned casually to clean myself up. And that was when I realized my biggest mistake. I had not checked for toiletries, there was no tissue paper in my stall. I looked over at the opposite stall and all over the toilet but there was no tissue paper to be found (apparently they had been kidnapped). I was in a quagmire of shit, mentally and physically. What would I do? I took one look at my white t-shirt and proceeded to

The words hit me like a ton of bricks! Mike had what! I exclaimed

…Mike was the quintessential kid, everyone wanted to be like him. Unlike us Mike lived a liberal life; his stories were filled with sultry tales of adventures on the streets of Lagos. As a young teenager his stories sparked our interest. I got to know Mike personally as a student at my Mum’s after-school tutorial program. He always arrived in the latest car models and his clothes exuded richness. I often wondered why we didn’t have the same cool clothes as Mike or the same liberal freedoms as Mike. It was okay for Mike to stay up past midnight, but for us it was two death sentences in one.

In the early 70’s popular Nigerian artist Fela Kuti released “shuffering and shmiling” a song that served to juxtapose the chaotic environment of Africa with the blinding optimism of its indigenes. Optimism that many times was the product of a mass flooding of religious hope into the minds of Africa’s people. According to Fela “suffer suffer for world, enjoy for heaven” was the motto that seemed to place the minds of Africans into a false sense of enjoyment, one that caused them to ignore their current and often chaotic predicament and remain enthusiastically optimistic for a future that was bleak.

On a hot 1995 summer morning my family gathered for breakfast in the reception of a hotel. It was the same sweet breakfast routine, tea, bread and a little family talk, the moment was beautiful. However in the space of less than 30 seconds what seemed like a beautiful breakfast gathering became a bitter family experience. From the corner of the room came the words “I hate you Mum,” “Your Stupid Mum,” and other words not fit for the public. It was a kid barely 10 years old raining words of insult on his mum, the whole room froze as the kid went on for what must have been a whole minute of diatribe against his Mum. Something about this picture was wrong, I knew it was wrong because I saw the look on my fathers face and the movement of my Mothers hand, they were thinking the same thing “why hasn’t someone knocked this kid out?” Then I remembered we were in America…

It was dark when we arrived, but the light from the full-moon did little to conceal the faces of nervousness that stood in line that morning. In the cold December morning we all stood together in a line that must have wrapped around the entire building. We waited for what seemed like an eternity, and finally the doors opened, we all shuffled in and were instantly handed out individual numbers. Numbers that would be used to control and direct the crowd of people already forming in the building. I waited for what seemed another eternity till my number was called out, all my documents were intact and I could start the test…

Don’t forget once you get that Dream, take it back to your country and give them a piece of that inspiration”

Writing inspired by Wyclef Jean’s
Memoirs of an Immigrant: “Heavens in New York”