Latest news with #SundayAlamba
Euronews
7 days ago
- Entertainment
- Euronews
In Pictures: Sacred masks and dancing fill Benin's capital
Sacred spirits met swirling colour in Porto-Novo this weekend, as performers in elaborate wooden masks and flowing fabrics danced through the streets during Benin's annual traditional mask festival – seen here through the lens of photographer Sunday Alamba. The lively event brought together sacred and secular mask traditions from across Benin and the surrounding region, aiming to both honour ancient customs and position Porto-Novo as a rising star on the West African cultural tourism map. Closely tied to the Yoruba, Somba, and Betammaribe communities, many of the masks – like Egungun and Zangbeto – represent ancestral spirits that guard communities and connect the living with the spiritual world. As drummers filled the air with rhythm, costumed performers acted out stories passed down through generations. While rooted in Vodun heritage, the festival also offers a broader cultural experience. Visitors explored a bustling festival village featuring local crafts and regional cuisine, and enjoyed concerts and parades. Organised with backing from Benin's Ministry of Tourism, Culture and Arts, the event is part of a growing effort to boost the country's visibility on the international cultural stage. With attendees from neighbouring countries, Europe, and beyond, the festival is fast becoming a highlight on Benin's cultural calendar.
San Francisco Chronicle
03-08-2025
- General
- San Francisco Chronicle
'God understands us': Inside a Nigerian church where deaf people find faith and community
People interact using sign language during a church service at the Christian Mission for the Deaf in Lagos, Nigeria, Sunday, July 13, 2025. Sunday Alamba/AP Remi Akinremi, a pastor, preaches using sign language during a church service at the Christian Mission for the Deaf in Lagos, Nigeria, Sunday, July 13, 2025. Sunday Alamba/AP A member of the choir uses sign language during a church service at the Christian Mission for the Deaf in Lagos, Nigeria, Sunday, July 13, 2025. Sunday Alamba/AP Imoh Udoka, a pastor, preaches using sign language during a church service at the Christian Mission for the Deaf in Lagos, Nigeria, Sunday, July 13, 2025. Sunday Alamba/AP A woman reads the bible during a church service at the Christian Mission for the Deaf in Lagos, Nigeria, Sunday, July 13, 2025. Sunday Alamba/AP LAGOS, Nigeria (AP) — It is like any other church in Nigeria 's megacity of Lagos. A lectern faces rows of plastic chairs. A biblical quote is written on a beam above. There is a music section, with a set of drums. Sash-wearing church wardens move around to enforce order. But it is also different. For hours, the only sounds are exclamations and thunderous bursts of drums, with their vibrations the cues for when to pray, kneel or respond to the preacher's calls for 'Hallelujah.' This is a church for deaf people in Somolu, a mixed-income suburb, where about 50 to 60 people worship weekly. Advertisement Article continues below this ad Imoh Udoka, a father of two children, has attended the church for 36 years. He was 9 years old when he contracted meningitis, losing his hearing as well as access to his faith. Most churches in Nigeria do not have accommodation for deaf people. Then Udoka, now a teacher of sign language, discovered the church via community outreach. 'Here in this church, we have access to worship God in our sign language,' he told The Associated Press. 'God also understands us' Remi Akinrenmi is one of the pastors. Every Sunday, he mounts the pulpit with charismatic energy to preach in sign language. His big frame makes for a commanding presence. On one Sunday, he preached about the sinister consequences of jealousy. On another, he preached the importance of faith. Attendees waved their hands above their heads in response to 'Praise the Lord.' Advertisement Article continues below this ad Most important for Akinrenmi is that members see the church as a community. 'There was no community for us before the deaf church started," he said. 'Now, we see each other and say, 'Oh, you are deaf, too. I am also deaf.' And we are now together and have formed a community.' God understands every language, he said: "With sign language, God also understands us.' Disability advocates say that in the absence of inclusive churches and institutions, churches like this and a handful of affiliates in southern Nigeria are crucial, especially in African societies where the perception of people with disabilities is influenced by traditional beliefs. Some see a disability as a divine punishment. 'An exclusive space like this church offers them an opportunity for a safe space to be able to connect and relate,' said Treasures Uchegbu, founder of Speaking Fingers, a sign language advocacy group in Lagos. 'They can say, 'I am not a deaf person just standing alone, I have other deaf people around.'" Advertisement Article continues below this ad How the church came to be The church organizes evangelism outreach programs to other deaf communities in Lagos. It also runs a teaching unit for sign language, a vital tool for understanding the world better, according to Akinrenmi. Hearing children of church members also attend the classes to better relate to their parents and others, and some hearing students attend church services for immersion learning. The church started in 1956 in colonial Nigeria as the Christian Mission for Deaf Africans. In today's Nigeria, an estimated 10 million people out of the population of 220 million are deaf or have difficulty hearing. There is limited infrastructure in Nigeria for people with disabilities, and laws to improve their welfare and prevent discrimination are barely enforced. Efforts by advocates to push for more inclusive legislation have not materialized. They blame a lack of political will. Oluwakemi Oluwatoke-Ogunjirin, a 49-year-old worker with the Lagos state government, was born deaf. She attended hearing churches with her family but always felt lost. Advertisement Article continues below this ad Depending solely on public infrastructure in other parts of life, she struggles to get by. But at the church, she said, she has found a community where she can feel safe and understood. 'The church goes beyond faith; we have people like ourselves that we can talk to as friends,' Oluwatoke-Ogunjirin said. With the church's help, she has improved her sign language and can communicate widely, breaking the isolation she grew up with. 'The sign language makes life very easy for us," she said. 'It helps us communicate beyond the church.' ___ Advertisement Article continues below this ad For more on Africa and development: The Associated Press receives financial support for global health and development coverage in Africa from the Gates Foundation. The AP is solely responsible for all content. Find AP's standards for working with philanthropies, a list of supporters and funded coverage areas at
Forbes
07-04-2025
- Business
- Forbes
A Food System In Crisis - Why Investors Must Rethink Risk Management
(AP Photo/Sunday Alamba) Copyright 2012 AP. All rights reserved. In a world increasingly defined by geopolitical volatility, climate disruption, and social instability, one of the most underappreciated vulnerabilities sits quietly on our plates: the global food system. Despite mounting data and visible supply chain stress, many businesses still treat environmental disclosures as regulatory box-ticking. It's time to call out this out and demand effective risk management. In an extraordinary move cutting through corporate PR and greenwashing alike, an anonymous group of senior professionals from the UK's largest food companies—Inside Track x Food—recently released a rare, candid memo warning that the sector is heading toward unprecedented instability, and investors are dangerously unaware. This isn't climate activism. It's a board-level SOS. According to the memo, yield, quality, and predictability from global sourcing regions can no longer be taken for granted. Soil degradation, water scarcity, and climate volatility have become immediate operational threats. Yet mitigation strategies presented to investors are often insufficient or misleading. 'What was a long-term threat is now a short-term threat,' the memo states. 'The balance of action needs to change.' Frameworks like TCFD, TNFD, and CSRD are being treated as compliance tasks instead of strategic imperatives. Meanwhile, businesses remain focused on short-term efficiency, ignoring systemic risks piling up in their supply chains. Richard Zaltzman, chief executive of EIT Food says: 'Finance is complacent. Complacent with regards to its understanding of the risks inherent in the food sector, and also the needs of the sector to maintain socio-economic stability. The Arab Spring was triggered, in part, by wheat price spikes. Eventually, that displacement of risk will come back and bite you.' His warning echoes the memo's core message: what was once seen as a long-term climate risk is now an imminent threat to profitability, supply stability, and geopolitical order. The memo highlights how extreme weather in Spain has already affected the UK's access to tomatoes, salad, and broccoli, while global shocks have disrupted supplies of cocoa, coffee, and sunflower oil. Many companies are relying on vague strategies to shift sourcing to new regions, but the memo calls this dangerously naïve and says: 'We cannot all source everything from somewhere else at a time when other companies and other countries are seeking to do the same.' It also highlights a cultural failure: short-term thinking dominates boardrooms, while legal, audit, and risk teams remain siloed and under-equipped to manage the challenges they face. At the same time, companies prioritize good news over honesty—leaving shareholders with a false sense of security. Despite years of warnings, the investment community hasn't truly grappled with the scale of food system risk. Capital continues flowing into high-growth sectors like AI, leaving the agrifood system—so vital to global stability—underfunded and misunderstood. 'We've masked the effects of risk in global food supply chains,' says Zaltzman. 'When global food prices rise, it's not Wall Street that feels it—it's often Africa or South America.' The World Bank has estimated that trillions are required in investment to make the global food system more robust, yet Earth Track analysis shows the world still provides environmentally harmful subsidies to the tune of $2.4 trillion a year. And capital markets, designed to optimize for returns—not prevention—are not built to respond. The food sector's structural challenge is both economic and political. For investors seeking long-term, stable returns, the middle of the food chain—agriculture, processing, and logistics—is both high-risk and low-margin. 'If you're private equity or VC, you can't extract the return. If you're a pension fund, it's too volatile,' Zaltzman notes. 'No one's investing, and that's a systemic failure.' Pushback against ESG and climate regulation is worsening the problem. As climate action becomes politicized, companies feel less empowered to speak openly or pursue joint strategies—further entrenching risk. Still, Zaltzman sees hope in examples like the Andhra Pradesh Community Managed Natural Farming initiative in India. 'You can turn desert back into productive in two or three years, he says. 'Millions of farmers are already doing this. It's one of the best-kept secrets in the world.' The early months of COVID showed how quickly the environment can respond when the system is forced to pause. But assuming we'll always have time to act later is, as Zaltzman warns, 'a dangerous mindset.' 'It's like discovering a pill that lets you cram for your A-levels in a week,' Zaltzman says. 'Once you know it works, you assume you can always do it tomorrow.' The authors of the memo urge investors and boards to move from passive disclosure to proactive risk management. They ask: is your board treating this like the high-likelihood crisis it is? The memo states: 'This crisis will be even more significant with the difference that this time we can see it coming.' For Zaltzman, what's desperately needed is a shift from corporate risk disclosure to value-chain risk management. But competition laws often stand in the way. 'Imagine a joined-up risk assessment for the grain crop value chain—one that involves the big players and key investors. Right now, that's hard to do legally under antitrust rules. But maybe it's time to prioritize food security over market competition.' He applauds organizations like Unilever for making real commitments to regenerative agriculture but warns that few initiatives have yet been stress-tested under real-world pressure adding, 'That's the true metric.' The most striking metaphor in the memo compares the global food system to a 'bubble'—one built on overconfidence in the stability of soil, water, and weather. Like the housing market before 2008, it's inflating on flawed assumptions. When it bursts, the consequences will be financial, social, and political. But there's still time—if investors act. What we're seeing is a rare and candid moment of introspection from those inside the machine. This isn't about ESG window dressing or vague climate pledges—it's a direct appeal to the financial stakeholders who have the power to force systemic change. 'This isn't about upside,' Zaltzman says. 'This is about preventing a system from collapse. And the money is still asleep at the wheel.' In a world where food security is poised to become the next frontier of geopolitical and financial risk, failing to ask the right questions looks like nothing more than a recipe for disaster.
