Àgbà kán ṣe bẹ́ẹ̀ lÓgùn; Yemo̩ja ló gbé e lọ.


A grown person does not scratch his buttocks in the early morning without showing some whiteness.


Àgbà kì í fàárọ̀ họ ìdí kó má kan funfun.


"An elderly person does not engage in the type of play that provokes the comment, ""What brought all this about?"""


Àgbà kì í ṣerée kí-ló-bá-yìí-wá?


An elderly person does not perform rituals like a youth.


Àgbà kì í ṣorò bí èwe.


An elder is not present at a market and permit a child's head to rest askew.


Àgbà kì í wà lọ́jà kórí ọmọ titun wọ́.


It is an empty barrel that is noisy; a sack full of money makes no sound.


Àgbá òfìfo ní ń pariwo; àpò tó kún fówó kì í dún.


An elder that has no substance should have cunning.


Àgbà tí kò lẹ́sẹ̀ nílẹ̀ a lọ́gbọ́n nínú.


It is an elder who does not know his limitations that is washed away by a river.


Àgbà tí kò mọ ìwọ̀n araa rẹ̀ lodò ń gbé lọ́.


An elder without self-respect might as well have only one eye, that one eye being in the center of his forehead.


Àgbà tí kò nítìjú, ojú kan ni ìbá ní; ojú kan náà a wà lọ́gangan iwájúu rẹ̀.


"An elder courting disgrace, after his head has been shaved he says, ""Now, how about shaving the beard (as a gratuity)?"""


Àgbà tí yó tẹ̀ẹ́, bó fárí tán, a ní ó ku járá ẹnu.


An elder who insults a youth makes a present of his own insult.


Àgbà tó bú ọmọdé fi èébúu rẹ̀ tọrọ.


It is an elder who delivers himself unto youths that the youth will insult.


Àgbà tó fi araa rẹ̀ féwe lèwe ń bú.


An elder who is wary of disgrace will not play at stealing.


Àgbà tó mọ ìtìjú kì í folè ṣeré.


The elder who escapes into his inner chamber because of forty cowries: two hundred cowries are not enough for casual spending.


Àgbà tó torí ogójì wọ ìyẹ̀wù; igbawó ò tó ohun à-mú-ṣèyẹ.


Borrowed trousers: if they are not too tight around the legs, they will be too loose; one's own things fit one exactly.


À-gbàbọ̀-ọ ṣòkòtò, bí kò fúnni lẹ́sẹ̀ a ṣoni; rẹ́múrẹ́mú ni ohun ẹni ń bani mu.


The elders of the town will not assemble and eat the intestines of a bush-rat, only stale pounded yams.


Àgbààgbà ìlú ò lè péjọ kí wọn ó jẹ ìfun òkété, àfi iyán àná.


Worthless elderly person who is eating corn gruel worth one tenth of a penny, he says he only wants the hot water on top of it.


Àgbà-ìyà tí ń mùkọ ọ̀níní, ó ní nítorí omi gbígbóná oríi rẹ̀ ni.


The elderly crab that enters into a bucket; it is thoroughly disgraced.


Àgbàlagbà akàn tó kó sí garawa yègèdè, ojú tì í.


An elder should not behave in an unbecoming manner.


Àgbàlagbà kì í ṣe lágbalàgba.


An elder does not wash his hand and then decide to eat more.


Àgbàlagbà kì í wẹwọ́ tán kó ní òun ó jẹ si.


"An elder does not rejoice in a manner that would provoke, ""What brought all this about?"""


Àgbàlagbà kì í yọ ayọ̀ọ kí-ló-báyìí-wá?


"An elder who does not greet the Ààrẹ tries a ""hanging"" rope for size."


Àgbàlagbà tí ò kí Ààrẹ ń fi okùn sin araa rẹ̀.


An elder who climbs palm-trees: if he crashes from the tree he will find himself in heaven.


Àgbàlagbà tó ń gun ọ̀pẹ, bó bá já lulẹ̀ ó dọ̀run.


See also, Ẹni tó mọ ayéé jẹ kì í gun àgbọn.


Compare: Bí a bá dàgbà à yé ogunún jà.


The rain flood ruins the path believing that it is repairing it.


Àgbàrá ba ọ̀nà jẹ́, ó rò pé òún tún ọ̀nà ṣe.


What strength does the calabash have at its disposal that makes it attempt to scoop up all the water in the ocean?


Agbára wo ló wà lọ́wọ́ igbá tó fẹ́ fi gbọ́n omi òkun?


It is an overreaching kite that proposes to eat snails.


Àgbéré àwòdì ní ń ní òun ó jẹ ìgbín.


The cockroach overreaches itself when it says it will dance in the company of chickens.


Àgbéré laáyán gbé tó ní òun ó jòó láàárín adìẹ.


The bird only attempts the impossible; it cannot drink the milk in a coconut.


Àgbéré lẹyẹ ńgbé; kò lè mu omi inú àgbọn


The overreaching mud idol that asked to be put in the rain; as the arms fell off, so did the thighs; the rounded head could not support itself.


Àgbérée ṣìgìdì tó ní ká gbé òun sójò; bí apá ti ń ya nitan ń ya; kidiri orí ò lè dá dúró.


The tongue is the border of the mouth.


Ahọ́n ni ìpínnlẹ̀ ẹnu.


Lack of regard for a person during the day makes one kick the person during the night as one tosses restlessly in sleep.


Àìjọnilójú lọ́sàn-án ní ń múni jarunpá luni lóru.


"Not-assuming-the-position-of-ruler-at-all is far better than, ""My word is not heeded by the people."""


"Àì-kúkú-joye, ó sàn ju, ""Ẹnuù mi ò ká ìlú"" lọ."


It is a deficiency of biceps that blunts the machete; if one has strong biceps one can cut trees with a cudgel.


Àì-lápá làdá ò mú; bí a bá lápá, ọmọ owú too gégi.


"It is inability to fight that prompts one to say, ""My father's front yard does not extend this far."""


"Àìlèjà ni à ń sọ pé ""Ojúde bàbáà mi ò dé ìhín."""


It is severe ignorance that prompts a mouse to challenge a cat to a fight.


Àì-mọ̀-kan, àì-mọ̀-kàn ní ń mú èkúté-ilé pe ológbò níjà.


It is the absence of people on the farm that brings one to conversing with a dog.


Àìsí èèyàn lóko là ń bá ajá sọ̀rọ̀.


The leopard being away from home, the dog barks.


Àìsí-ńlé ẹkùn, ajá ń gbó.


The cat being away from home, the house becomes a domain for mice.


Àìsí-ńlé ológbò, ilé dilé èkúté.


The failure of the àbà tree to fruit brought the bird to eating garden egg; ordinarily birds would not eat bitter tomato.


Àìso àbà ló mẹ́yẹ wá jẹ̀gbá; ẹyẹ kì í jẹ̀gbá.


A dog does not bark in the leopard's lair.


Ajá kì í gbó níbojì ẹkùn.


A dog does not go into the wild to hunt a leopard.


Ajá kì í lọ ságinjù lọ ṣọdẹ ẹkùn.


A dog is never so fierce that it can guard two doorways.


Ajá kì í rorò kó ṣọ́ ojúlé méjì.


A dog knows excrement; a pig knows a mud pit; a turkey knows to whom to direct its fart.


Ajá mọ ìgbẹ́; ẹlẹ́dẹ̀ẹ́ mọ àfọ̀; tòlótòló mọ ẹni tí yó yìnbọn ìdí sí.


A dog dares not go to a wolf's mosque to make ablutions.


Ajá ò gbọdọ̀ dé mọ́ṣáláṣí ìkókò ṣàlùwàlá.


The dog sees palm-oil but does not lick it; did its mother excrete palm-nut pericarp?


Ajá rí epo kò lá; ìyáa rẹ̀ẹ́ ṣu ihá bí?


A dog that chases a leopard is seeking trouble.


Ajá tó ń lépa ẹkùn, ìyọnu ló ń wá.


The dog returns to its vomit.


Ajá tún padà sí èébìi rẹ̀.


The uncharacteristically spruced up partridge swells its chest.


Àjàjà ṣoge àparò, abàyà kelú.


The elephant does not break and run at the sight of dogs; a person with two hundred dogs dares not stalk an elephant.


Àjànàkú ò tu lójú alájá; o-nígba-ajá ò gbọdọ̀ tọ́pa erin.


Tortoise says there is nothing quite like expertise in one's calling; it says if it puts a palm-fruit into its mouth, it spits out a palm-nut.


Ìjàpá ní kò sí ohun tó dà bí ohun tí a mọ̀ ọ́n ṣe; ó ní bí òun bá ju ẹyìn sẹ́nu, òun a tu èkùrọ́ sílẹ̀.


Tortoise argues that it that might have farted is sound asleep, and, surely, those that sleep do not fart!


Ìjàpá ní òun tí ìbá só ló sùn yìí, bẹ́ẹ̀ni ẹní bá sùn kì í só.


Tortoise set out on a journey and it was asked when it would return; it replied that it would be after it had earned disgrace.


Ìjàpá ń lọ sájò, wọ́n ní ìgbà wo ni yó dèé, ó ní ó dìgbàtí òun bá tẹ́.


It is a loosely hung net that teaches the fruit pigeon a lesson.


Àjátì àwọ̀n ní ń kọ́ òrofó lọ́gbọ́n.


Feeding-without-leaving kills the Tullberg's rat; feeding-without-departing kills the spotted grass mouse; feeding-without-departing kills the máláàjú rat.


À-jẹ-ì-kúrò ní ń pa ẹmọ́n; à-jẹ-ì-kúrò ní ń pa àfè; à-jẹ-ì-kúrò ní ń pa máláàjú.


Eating-until-vomiting is the trait of the bat.


À-jẹ-pọ̀ ni tàdán.


Eating-absolutely-everything, eating-with-abandon, eating with all ten fingers is unworthy of human beings.


À-jẹ-tán, à-jẹ-ì-mọra, ká fi ọwọ́ mẹ́wẹ̀ẹ̀wá jẹun ò yẹ ọmọ èèyàn.


Sitting-without-getting-up, speaking-without-waiting-for-responses, walking people on their way and not turning back, unpleasantness is what they breed.


À-jókòó-àì-dìde, à-sọ̀rọ̀-àì-gbèsì, ká sinni títí ká má padà sílé, àì-sunwọ̀n ní ń gbẹ̀yìn-in rẹ̀.


The bow cannot fight, but who dares confront it with a stick?


Àkàtàm̀pò ò tó ìjàá jà; ta ní tó mú igi wá kò ó lójú?


Refusal-to-acknowledge-salutations enhances the god's dignity.


Àkíìjẹ́ mú òrìṣà níyì.


The rag knows its place; it remains quietly on the rafters.


Àkísàá mọ ìwọ̀n araa rẹ̀, ó gbé párá jẹ́.


Woodpeckers in the forest say they can carve mortars, frogs in the stream say they can string beads, and awúrebe say they can weave cloth.


Àkókó inú igbó ní àwọ́n lè gbẹ́ odó; ọ̀pọ̀lọ́ lódòó ní àwọ́n lè lọ́ ìlẹ̀kẹ̀; awúrebé ní àwọ́n lè hun aṣọ.


An overly squeamish person owns nothing; raffia cloth is no good for trousers.


Akórira ò ní nǹkan; ọ̀dùn ò sunwọ̀ fún ṣòkòtò.


Dead, I will not eat its broth; alive, I will not send it on an errand.


Akú, n kò ní omitooroo rẹ̀ ẹ́ lá; àìkú, n kò níí pè é rán níṣẹ́.


The rooster shows its maturity by its early rising; it shows its lack of maturity by defecating on the floor.


Àkùkọ̀ adìyẹ́ fi dídájí ṣàgbà; ó fi ṣíṣu-sílẹ̀ ṣèwe.


It is the owner of the machete who exercises authority over mutual laborers.


Aládàá lo làṣẹ àro.


A shameless person goes to die in his relative-in-laws' house.


Aláìnítìjú lọ kú sílé ànaa rẹ̀.


A wearer of a battle-helmet does not flee from war.


Alákòró kì í sá fógun.


A lizard does not boast that it will kill a snake.


Aláǹgbá kì í lérí àti pa ejò.


The cricket arises in the morning and vows to perform wonders.


Aláàńtètè: ó jí ní kùtùkùtù ó ní òun ó dàá yànpọ̀n-yànpọ̀n sílẹ̀.


It is an overreaching dog that chases leopards.


Aláṣejù ajá ní ń lépa ẹkùn.


The immoderate person, greatest of cowards.


Aláṣejù, baba ojo.


It is an immoderate person who carries his offering past Èṣù's shrine; one-who-carries-his-alms-past-the-mosque.


Aláṣejù ní ń gbẹ́bọ kọjá ìdí èṣù; a-gbé-sàráà-kọjá-a-mọ́ṣáláṣí.


The immoderate person easily finds disgrace; immoderation is the father of disgrace.


Aláṣejù, pẹ̀rẹ̀ ní ńtẹ́; àṣéjù, baba àṣetẹ́.


"Overzealous wife that calls her husband ""father."""


Aláṣejù tí ń pọkọ ní baba.


A person dressed in white does not sit at the stall of a palm-oil seller.


Aláṣọ àlà kì í jókòó sísọ̀ elépo.


A person who has only one set of clothing does not bargain until he is wet.


Aláṣọ kan kì í ná ànárẹ.


A person who has only one set of clothing does not play in the rain.


Aláṣọ kan kì í ṣeré òjò.


The person who must settle his/her affair knows best how he/she plans to go about doing so.


Alátiṣe ní ń mọ àtiṣe araa rẹ̀.


The visitor does not take his/her leave and take the host along.


Àlejò kì í lọ kó mú onílé dání.


The visitor does not recount the history of the town for the host.


Àlejò kì í pìtàn ìlú fónílé.


To be pursued does not become an elder; an elder does not cause himself to be pursued.


Àlémú ò yẹ àgbà; àgbà kì í ṣe ohun àlémú.


The dùndún player does not lead a song.


A-lu-dùndún kì í dárin.


The àmọ̀tẹ́kùn looks like a leopard, but it cannot do what a leopard can do.


Àmọ̀tẹ́kùn fara jọ ẹkùn, kò lè ṣe bí ẹkùn.


The lizard is not good-looking to start with, and it slips into indigo dye.


Amùrín ò sunwọ̀n, ó yí sáró.


Yesterday the antelope was caught in a pit-trap; today the antelope is caught in a pit-trap; is there no other animal in the forest besides the antelope?


Ànámánàá ẹtù jìnfìn; ònímónìí ẹtù jìnfìn; ẹran mìíràn ò sí nígbó lẹ́yìn ẹtù?


The mouse cannot get a grip on the awùsá nut; all it can do is roll it around.


Apá èkúté-ilé ò ká awùsá; kìkìi yíyíkiri ló mọ.


Excessive ribbing unfailingly leads to a fight.


Àpárá ńlá, ìjà ní ń dà.


The fire is being most overbearing; there is nothing fire can do to water.


Àpárá ńlá ni iná ń dá; iná ò lè rí omi gbéṣe.


The termite is being most overbearing; a termite cannot eat a rock.


Àpárá ńlá nikán ń dá; ikán ò lè mu òkúta.


"Calling a person ""Mother of the Compound"" is only a mark of respect; there is no mother in the compound who does not have a name."


"Àpọ́nlé ni ""İyáa Káà""; ìyá kan ò sí ní káà tí kò lórúkọ."


Calling a person a foreman is only a mark of respect; nobody can be four men.


"Àpọ́nlé ni ""Fọ́maàn""; ẹnìkan ò lè ṣe èèyàn mẹ́rin."


The bush dweller says he heard a rumour; who told him, if it was not a town dweller?


Ara okó ní òun gbọ́ fínrín fínrín; ta ló sọ fun bí kò ṣe ará ile?


Restlessness, father of all diseases.


Ara-àìbalẹ̀, olórí àrùn.


Something-seen-but-unmentionable, the man of the house shits in the sauce-pan.


À-rí-ì-gbọdọ̀-wí, baálé ilé ṣu sápẹ.


Something-seen-but-unmentionable, the man of the house walks around with mucus dripping from his nose.


Àrí-ì-gbọdọ̀-wí, baálé ilé yọkun lémú.


Fear of losing face within one's home dissuades one from eating day-old chicks.


Àrífín ilé ò jẹ́ ká jẹ òròmọ adìyẹ.


The bead maker cannot fashion a shoe; the mortar carver cannot manufacture a shinbone.


Arọ̀lẹ̀kẹ̀ ò rọ bàtà; gbẹ́dó-gbẹ́dó ò rọ ojúgun.


When a kite hovers, a chicken does not hang on to an insect.


Àṣá kì í rà kádìẹ gbé kòkòrò dání.


He-who-lives-in-style-but-pays-no-attention-to-his-armpits, both armpits are taken over with foamy filth.


A-ṣe-bọ̀rọ̀kìnní-má-kìíyè-sábíyá, gbogbo abíyá dọ́ṣẹ.


Lack of moderation is the father of disgrace; disgrace comes of immoderation; a grown person who clothes himself in immoderation will find disgrace.


Àṣejù baba àṣetẹ́; ẹ̀tẹ́ ní ń gbẹ̀yìn àṣejù; àgbàlagbà tó wẹ̀wù àṣejù ẹ̀tẹ́ ni yó fi rí.


Denying-until-death is the way a venerable person denies a matter.


À-sẹ́-kú làgbàlagbà ń sẹ́ ọ̀ràn.


The newly emerged palm frond says it will touch the sky; did those that came before it do so?


Àṣẹ̀ṣẹ̀yọ màrìwò, ó ní òun ó kan ọ̀run; àwọn aṣáájúu rẹ̀ ṣe bẹ́ẹ̀ rí?


This is a variant of the previous entry, using a different name, ọ̀gọmọ̀, for palm frond.


Àṣẹ̀ṣẹ̀yọ ọ̀gọmọ̀ ó ní òun ó kan ọ̀run; àwọn aṣáájúu rẹ̀ ṣe bẹ́ẹ̀ rí?


Clothes washed clean make identifying the rich person impossible.


Aṣọ à-fọ̀-fún ò jẹ́ ká mọ olówó.


Whatever clothing one is left with is one's best.


Aṣọ tó kuni kù ní ń jẹ́ gọgọwú.


A person who is mindful of his/her image is not easily disgraced.


A-ṣúra-mú ò tẹ́ bọ̀rọ̀.


Spreading-the-mat-without-rolling-it-back-up is the mark of the wealthy; sandals are the mark of the illustrious; if one sings one's praise too loudly one is liable to be made a king.


À-tẹ́-ẹ̀-ká ni iyì ọlọ́lá; sálúbàtà ni iyì ọlọ̀tọ̀; bá a bá gbéra lágbèéjù ọba ni wọ́n ń finí i ṣe


Borrowing-money-to-spend does not speak well of one; borrowed trousers do not become a person; if it is not tight around the legs it is difficult to remove; it is one's thing that fits one.


À-wín-ná-wó ò yẹni; à-gbà-bọ̀-ọ ṣòkòtò ò yẹ ọmọ èèyàn; bí kò fúnni lẹ́sẹ̀ a dòrògí; ohun ẹni ní ńyẹni.


A priest one does not hit does not hit one.


Àwòrò tí a ò bá lù kì í luni.


One-who-enters-a-town-and-maintains-his/her-reputation does because he/she knows his/her place.


A-wọ̀lú-má-tẹ̀ẹ́, ìwọ̀n araa rẹ̀ ló mọ̀.


Àwúrebe says it can make a path; who would wish to follow a path it makes?


Àwúrèbeé ní òún lè yẹ̀nà; ta ní jẹ́ tọ ọ̀nà àwúrèbe?


The Colobus monkey ate its fill one day, and asked that his front teeth be knocked out.


Àáyá yó níjọ́ kan, ó ní ká ká òun léhín ọ̀kánkán.


Cockroach and ant make ready for war and say they are off to capture chicken; we see their departure, but not their return.


Aáyán ati eèrà ṣígun, wọ́n ní àwọ́n ń lọ mú adìẹ àlọ la rí, a ò rábọ̀.


The cockroach would ride a horse; it is the chicken that does not allow.


Aáyán fẹ gẹṣin; adìẹ ni ò gbà fún un.


The cockroach would dance; it is the chicken that does not allow.


Aáyán fẹ́ jó; adìẹ ni ò jẹ́.


A cockroach does not trip an elephant; a human being does not trip a chimpanzee.


Aáyán kì í yán ẹsẹ̀ erin; èèyàn kì í yán ẹsẹ̀ irò.


It is excessive rejoicing that breaks the frog's thigh.


Ayọ̀ àyọ̀jù làkèré fi ń ṣẹ́ nítan.


Dancing to bàtá music and exposing one's teeth is excessive happiness.


Àyọ̀yó ni bàtá à-jó-fẹ-eyín.


The diviner does not ask for yesterday's sacrifice.


Babaláwo kì í bèèrè ẹbọ àná.


The busybody is not there yet; but he is on his way.


Bẹbẹlúbẹ ò ì tíì débẹ̀; ibẹ̀ ló ń bọ̀.


When one becomes old, one stops warring.


Bí a bá dàgbà à yé ogun-ún jà.


If we compare notes with others, we wind up eating bile.


Bí a bá fi inú wénú; iwọ là ń jẹ.


If one eats with a youth on the farm he stares at the protrusion of one's nose.


Bí a bá ń bá ọmọdé jẹun lóko, gànmùganmu imú ẹni ní ń wò.


If one prepares pounded yams, the uninvited should depart.


Bí a bá ń gúnyán, kòmẹsẹ̀ á yọ.


One admits to one's limits; one does not cease speaking to one's relatives-in-law.


Bí a bá ti lè ṣe là ń wí; a kì í yan àna ẹni lódì.


One arrives according to one's worth; a horseless person does not arrive with the noise of hoofs and stirrups.


Bí a bá ti mọ là ń dé; a-láì-lẹ́ṣin kì í dé wọ̀nwọ̀n.


"One dies according to one's weight; the robin does not die and make a resounding noise ""on hitting the ground."""


Bí a bá ti mọ là ń kú; olongo kì í kú tìyàntìyàn.


If someone wets the bed, each person should know where he or she slept.


Bí a bá tọ̀ sílé, onípò a mọ ipò.


If one says that a matter now lies in the hands of the Ifá priest the Ifá priest says it lies in the hands of Ifá; if one says that it lies in the hands of the venerable medicine man the venerable medicine man says it rests in the hands of the god of herbs; if one says it rests in the hands of the formidable moslem priest he says it is in the hands of God the most glorious.


Bí a bá wí pé ó dọwọ́ọ babaláwo, babaláwo a ló dọwọ́ Ifá; bí a bá ní ó dọwọ́ àgbà ìṣègùn, àgbà ìṣègùn a ló dọwọ́ Ọ̀sanyìn; bí a bá ní ó dọwọ́ ààfáà tó gbójú, a ní ó dọwọ́ Ọlọ́run ọ̀gá ògo.


If one has not acquired one garment after another, one does not call one a rag.


Bí a kò bá dáṣọ lé aṣọ, a kì í pe ọ̀kan lákìísà.


If one cannot throw a Nupe man in a wrestling match, he should not throw one.


Bí a kò bá lè dá Tápà, Tápà kì í dáni.


If one does not go to the farm of lies, lies are not told against one.


Bí a kò bá lọ sóko irọ́, a kì í pa á mọ́ni.


If one has not been false, one does not die in disgrace.


Bí a kò bá ṣèké, a kì í fi ẹ̀tẹ́ kú.


If one has not yet sat down, one does not stretch one's legs out.


Bí a kò bá tíì jókòó, a kì í nasẹ̀.


If one is yet unable to build a house, one makes a tent.


Bí a kò bá tíì lè kọ́lé, àgọ́ là ń pa.


If one lacks the wherewithal to act like a father to a child, one does not summon the seller of bean fritters.


Bí a kò bá tó baba ọmọọ́ ṣe, a kì í pe alákàrà.


If one lacks the means to reject suffering and attempts to reject it, one's suffering simply multiplies.


Bí a kò bá tó ìyàá kọ̀ tí à ń kọ̀ ọ́, àjẹkún ìyà là ń jẹ.


The heights one will reach keeps one from evil deeds; the ordained limit to one's greatness keeps one from doing good deeds.


Bí a ó ti tó kì í jẹ́ ká hùwà búburú; bí a ó ti mọ kì í jẹ́ ká hùwà rere.


If an elder does not do something fearful, the youth do not flee.


Bí àgbà kò bá ṣe ohun ẹ̀rù, ọmọdé kì í sá.


Unless an elephant had swallowed something, it would not turn its bloated stomach to the hunter.


Bí àjànàkú ò bá rí ohun gbémì, kì í ṣe inú gbẹndu sọ́dẹ.


When the dog sees the eyes of the leopard, it keeps very still.


Bí ajá rójú ẹkùn, a pa rọ́rọ́.


When the wife has got to know the husband, the marriage broker makes way.


Bí ayá bá mojú ọkọ, alárenà a yẹ̀bá.


If life is being good to one, one is liable to act disgracefully.


Bí ayé bá ń yẹni, ìwà ìbàjẹ́ là ń hù.


If the chief is turning somersaults, the messenger should be found standing erect.


Bí baálẹ̀ bá ń tàkìtì, òrógi là ń bá ẹmẹsẹ̀.


If a person says there is no one like him/her, wise people maintain a contemplative silence.


Bí èèyán bá ní kò sí irú òun, àwọn ọlọgbọ́n a máa wòye.


If a tick fastens on to a dog's mouth, does one ask a jackal to dislodge it?


Bí eégbọn bá so mọ́ ajá lẹ́nu, akátá là ń ní kó já a?


If a tick clings to a fox's nose, it is not a chicken that will remove it.


Bí eégbọn bá ṣo ayínrín nímú, adìẹ kọ́ ni yó ja.


If a leopard does not act mighty, one refers to it as a cat.


Bí ẹkùn ò bá fẹ̀, èse là ń pè é.


If the person offering a sacrifice does not invite one, intruding is not proper for one.


Bí ẹlẹ́bọ ò bá pe ẹni, àṣefín ò yẹni.


Reducing corruption takes a specific kind of investment


Mímú àdínkù bá iwà-ìbàjẹ́ gba irúfẹ́ ìdókówò kan tó yátò.


So in 2011, someone broke into my sister's office at the university where she teaches in Nigeria.


Ní ọdún 2011, ẹnìkan lọ fọ́ ọ́fíísì ẹ̀gbọ́n mi lóbìnrin ní fásitì tí wón ti ń ṣiṣẹ́ olùkọ́ni ní orílẹ̀-ède Nàìjíríà .


Now thankfully, the person was caught, arrested and charged to court.


Ní báyìí a dúpẹ́, ọwọ́ ba ẹni náà, wọ́n mú u wọ́n sì gbe lọ sílé-ẹjọ́.


When I get into court, the clerks who were assigned to my sister's case informed her that they wouldn't be able to process the paperwork unless she paid a bribe.


Nígbà tí mo dé inú ilé-ẹjọ́, akọ̀wé tí wọ́n yàn sídi ìgbẹ́jọ́ ẹ̀gbọ́n mi fi tó wọn léti wí pé àwọn ò ní lè ṣiṣẹ́ lórí àwọn ìwe wọn àyàfi tí wọ́n bá san owó-ìbọ̀bẹ́.


Now, at first she thought it was part of a practical joke.


Ní báyìí, ní ákọ̀kọ́ wọ́n rò wí pé lára àwàdà lásán ni.


But then she realized they were serious.


Ṣùgbọ́n nígbà náà wọ́n rí i wí pé wọ́n mú u lọ́kùkúdùn.


And then she became furious.


Ni inú bá bí wọn.


I mean, think about it: here she was, the recent victim of a crime, with the very people who were supposed to help her, and they were demanding a bribe from her.


Mò ń sọ nipa pé, ẹ ronú sí i: àwọn rè é, ẹni tó ṣẹ̀sẹ̀ lùgbàdi ìwà ọ̀daràn, pẹ̀lú àwọn ènìyàn gaan tó yẹ kí wọ́n ràn wọ́n lọ́wọ́, wọ́n sì tún bèrè owó-ìbọ̀bẹ́ lọ́wọ́ wọn.


That's just one of the many ways that corruption impacts millions of people in my country.


Ọ̀kan nìyẹn nínú àwọn ọ̀nà tí ìwà-ìbàjẹ́ ti ń nípa lára mílíọ́nù àwọn ènìyàn ní orílẹ̀-èdè mi.


You know, growing up in Nigeria, corruption permeated virtually every element of the society.


Ẹ mọ̀, nígbà tí mò ń dàgbà ní orílẹ̀-ède Nàìjíríà , ìwà-ìbàjẹ́ fẹ́rẹ̀ gba gbogbo ǹkan inú àwùjọ lááyè.


Reports of politicians embezzling millions of dollars were common.


Ìròyìn nípa àwọn olóṣèlú tí wọ́n kó mílíọ́nu dọ́là jẹ wọ́pọ̀.


Police officers stealing money or extorting money from everyday hardworking citizens was routine practice.


Àwọn ọlọ́pà tí wọ́n ń jí owó tàbí tí wọ́n ń lọ́wó gbà lọ́wọ́ àwọn ará ìlú tí wọ́n ń ṣiṣẹ́ kára lójoojúmọ́ jẹ́ ìṣesí ojoojúmọ́.


I felt that development could never actually happen, so long as corruption persisted.


Mó rò wí pé ìdágbàsókè ò ní ṣẹlẹ̀ láyéláyé, lódiwọ̀n ìgbà tí ìwà ìbàjẹ́ bá ṣì ń tẹ̀ síwájú.


But over the past several years, in my research on innovation and prosperity, I've learned that corruption is actually not the problem hindering our development.


Ṣùgbọ́n láti bí ọdún mélòó kan sẹ́yìn, nínú ìwádìí mi lórí ìṣẹ̀dá ǹkan-ọ̀tun àti ìdàgbàsóke, mo ṣàkíyèsí wí pé ìwà-ìbàjẹ́ kọ́ ni ìṣòro tó ń ṣe ìdèna ìdàgbàsókè wa.


In fact, conventional thinking on corruption and its relationship to development is not only wrong, but it's holding many poor countries backwards.


Ní òtítọ́, ìrònú ọ̀pọ̀lọpọ̀ nípa ìwà-ìbàjẹ́ àti àjọṣepọ̀ rẹ̀ pẹ̀lú ìdàgbàsókè kò lòdì nìkan, ó ń fa ọ̀pọ̀lọpọ̀ àwọn orílẹ̀-èdè tí wọ́ n kúṣẹ̀ sẹ́yìn.


So, the thinking goes like this: in a society that's poor and corrupt, our best shot at reducing corruption is to create good laws, enforce them well, and this will make way for development and innovation to flourish.


Nítorí náà, Ìrònú náà lọ báyìí: ní àwùjọ tó kúṣẹ̀ tí wọ́n sì ní ìwà-ìbàjẹ́, ìgbìyànjú wa tó dára jù láti mú àdínkù bá ìwà-ìbàjẹ́ ni láti ṣẹ̀dá àwọn ọ̀fin gidi, ká lòwọ́n dáadáa, èyí ó sì ṣínà fún ìdàgbàsókè àti ìṣẹ̀dá ǹkan ọ̀tun láti gbòòrò si.


Now, it makes sense on paper, which is why many governments and development organizations invest billions of dollars annually on institutional reform and anti-corruption programs.


Ní báyìí, ó mú ọpọlọ dání lórí ìwé, ló fà á tí ọ̀pọ̀lọpọ̀ àwọn ìjọba àti àwọn ilé-iṣẹ́ ìdàgbàsókè ṣe ń ná bílíọ́nù dọ́là lọ́dọọdún lórí àtúnṣe ilé-iṣẹ́ àti àwọn ètò tó ń gbógun ti ìwà-ìbàjẹ́.


But many of these programs fail to reduce corruption, because we have the equation backwards.


Ṣùgbọ́n ọ̀pọ̀lọpọ̀ àwọn ètò wọ̀nyí kùnà láti mú àdínkù bá iwà-ìbàjẹ́, nítorí a ti to ọ̀rọ̀ wa lẹ́yìn-lẹ́yìn.


You see, societies don't develop because they've reduced corruption.


Ṣé ẹ ríi, àwùjọ ò kí ń dàgbà sókè nítorí wọ́n ti mú àdínkù bá ìwà-ìbàjẹ́.


They're able to reduce corruption because they've developed.


Wọ́n mú àdínkù bá ìwà-ìbàjẹ́ nítorí wọ́n ti dàgbà sókè ni.


And societies develop through investments in innovation.


Àwùjọ sì máa ń dàgbàsókè nípasẹ̀ ìdókówò nínu ìṣẹ̀dá.


Now, at first, I thought this was impossible.


Ní báyìí, ní àkọ́kọ́, mo rò wí pé èyí ò ṣe é ṣe ni.


Why would anyone in their right mind invest in a society where, at least on the surface, it seems a terrible place to do business?


Báwo ni ẹnìkan tí ọpọlọ rẹ̀ẹ́ pé ṣe lè dókówò ní àwùjọ tí, ó kéré jù lérèfé, ó dàbi àyè tó burú jáì láti ṣòwò.


You know, a society where politicians are corrupt and consumers are poor?


Ẹ mọ̀, àwùjọ tí àwọn olóṣèlú ti jẹ́ oníwà ìbàjẹ́ tí àwọn oníbàráà sì ti kúṣẹ̀?


But then, the more I learned about the relationship between innovation and corruption, the more I started to see things differently.


Ṣùgbọ́n, bí mo ṣe ń kẹ́kọ̀ọ́ síi nípa àjọṣepọ̀ láàrín ìṣẹ̀dá àti ìwà-ìbàjẹ́, bẹ́ẹ̀ náà ní mo bẹ̀rẹ̀ sí ní rí ǹkan lọ́nà tó yátọ̀.


Here's how this played out in sub-Saharan Africa as the region developed its telecommunications industry.


Báyìí ni èyí ṣe ṣẹlẹ̀ ní ìwò-oòrùn ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ bí agbègbè náà ṣe ń ṣe ìdàgbàsókè ẹ̀ka ìbáraẹnisọ̀rọ rẹ̀.


In the late 1990s, fewer than five percent of people in sub-Saharan Africa had phones.


Ní òpin àsìko ọdún 1990s, àwọn ènìyàn tó dín ní ìdá márùn-ún ní ìwọ̀-oòrun ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ tí wọ́n ní ẹ̀rọ-ìbánisọ̀rọ̀.


In Nigeria, for example, the country had more than 110 million people but fewer than half a million phones in the whole nation.


Ní orílẹ̀-èdè Nàìjíríà , fún àpẹẹrẹ, orílẹ̀-èdè náà ní ju ààdọ́fa mílíọ́nù ènìyàn lọ ṣùgbọ́n ó dín ní ìdàjì mílíọ́nù ẹ̀rọ-ìbánisọ̀ro ̣̀ tó wà ní gbógbo orílẹ̀-èdè náà.


Now, this scarcity fueled widespread corruption in the industry.


Ní báyìí, ọ̀wọ́n yìí jẹ́ kí ìwà-ìbàjẹ́ tàn kálẹ̀ ní ẹ̀ka náà.


I mean, public officials who worked for the state-owned phone companies demanded bribes from people who wanted phones.


Mò ń sọ nípa, àwọn aṣojú ìjọba tí wọ́n ń ṣiṣẹ́ fún àwọn ilé-iṣẹ́ ẹ̀rọ ìbánisọ̀rọ̀ ìjọba tí wọ́n ń bère owó-ìbọ̀bẹ́ lọ́wọ́ àwọn ènìyàn ti ́ wọ́n fẹ́ ẹ̀rọ ìbánisọ̀rọ̀.


And because most people couldn't afford to pay the bribes, phones were only available to those who were wealthy.


Nítorí pé ọ̀pọ̀lọpọ̀ àwọn ènìyàn ò lè san owó-ìbọ̀bẹ́ náà, àwọn tí wọ́n lówó ni èrò ìbánisọ̀rọ̀ náà ṣí sílẹ̀ fún.


Then an entrepreneur named Mo Ibrahim decided that he would set up a telecommunications company on the continent.


Nígbà náà ni oníṣówò kan tí orúkọ rẹ̀ ń jẹ́ Mo Ibrahim bá pinnu pé òun yóò dá ilé-iṣẹ́ ìbáraẹnisọ̀rọ̀ sílẹ̀ ní ẹkùn náà.


Now, when he told his colleagues about his idea, they just laughed at him.


Báyìí, nígbà tó sọ fún àwọn ọgbà rẹ̀ nípa èrò rẹ̀, wọ́n kò fi ṣe yẹ̀yẹ́ ni.


But Mo Ibrahim was undeterred.


Ṣùgbọ́n Mo Ibrahim kò jákàn.


And so in 1998, he set up Celtel.


Nítorí náà ní ọdún 1998, ó dá Celtel sílẹ̀.


The company provided affordable mobile phones and cell service to millions of Africans, in some of the poorest and most corrupt countries in the region -- I mean countries such as Congo, Malawi, Sierra Leone and Uganda.


Ilé-iṣẹ́ náà pèse èrọ-ìbánisọ̀rọ̀ alágbèká àti iṣẹ́ ẹ̀rọ tó rọjú fún mílíọ́nù ọmọ ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀, ní àwọn orílẹ̀-èdè tí wọ́n kúṣẹ̀jùlọ tí wọ́n sì ní ìwà-ìbàjẹ́ jùlọ ní ẹkùn náà -- mò ń sọ nípa orílẹ̀-èdè bi Congo, Malawi, Sierra Leone àti Uganda.


"You see, in our research, we call what Mo Ibrahim built a ""market-creating innovation."


"Ṣé ẹ rí i, nínú ìwádìí wa, a pe ǹkan tí Mo Ibrahim ṣẹ̀dá ni ""ìṣẹ̀dá tó ń ṣe ìdásílẹ̀ ọjà."


Market-creating innovations transform complicated and expensive products into products that are simple and affordable, so that many more people in society could access them.


""" ìṣẹ̀dá tó ń ṣe ìdásílẹ̀ ọjà máa ń ṣe àyípadà àwọn èròjà àmúdijú tó wọ́n di àwọn èròjà tó rọrùn tí ò sì ga ju ara lọ, kí ọ̀pọ̀lọpọ̀ àwọn ènìyàn nínú àwùjọ lè ní ànfàní sí wọn."


Now in this case, phones were expensive before Celtel made them much more affordable.


Báyìí ní ti ọ̀rọ yìí, àwọn ẹ̀rọ-ìbánisọ̀rọ̀ wọ́n ṣíwájú kí Celtel tó sọ wọ́n di èyí tí ò ga ju ara lọ.


As other investors -- some of his colleagues, actually -- saw that it was possible to create a successful mobile phone company on the continent, they flooded in with billions of dollars of investments.


Gẹ́gẹ́ bí àwọn olókówò míràn -- àwọn kan nínú àwọn akẹgbẹ́ rẹ̀, lóòtọ́ -- rí i wí pé ó ṣe é ṣe láti ṣẹ̀da ilé-iṣẹ́ ẹ̀rọ-ìbánisọ̀rọ̀ alágbèká ní àṣeyọrí ní ẹkùn náà, wọ́n rọ́ wọlé pẹ̀lú ìdókówò tó tó bílíọ́nù dọ́là.


And this led to significant growth in the industry.


Èyí sì yọrí sí ìdàgbàsókè tó ṣe pàtàkì ní ẹ̀ka náà.


From barely nothing in 2000, today, virtually every African country now has a vibrant mobile telecommunications industry.


Láti àìfẹ́rẹ̀ sí ǹkankan ní ọdún 2000, lónìí, ó fẹ́rẹ̀ jẹ́ wí pé gbogbo orílẹ̀ èdè ní ilẹ̀ Adúláwò ni wọ́n ti ní ẹ̀ka ìbáraẹnisọ̀rọ̀ to múná dóko.


The sector now supports close to one billion phone connections, it has created nearly four million jobs and generates billions of dollars in taxes every year.


Ẹ̀ka náà ti wá ń ṣe àtìlẹyìn tó súmọ́ bílíọ́nù kan fún ìsopọ̀ ẹ̀rọ-ìbánisọ̀rọ̀, ó ti pèsè tó mílíọ́nù mẹ́rin iṣẹ́ ó sì ti pèse bílíọ̀nu dọ́là owó-orí lọ́dọọdún.


These are taxes that governments can now reinvest into the economy to build their institutions.


Àwọn wọ̀nyí ni owó-orí tí àwọn ìjọba lè wá tún dà sínú ọrọ̀-ajẹ́ láti kọ́ àwọn ilé-iṣẹ́ wọn.


And here's the thing: because most people no longer have to bribe public officials just to get a phone, corruption -- at least within this industry -- has reduced.


Ǹkan ọ̀hún rèé: nítorí ọ̀pọ̀lọpọ̀ àwọn ènìyàn ò nílò láti fún àwọn aṣojú ìjọba ní owó-ìbọ̀bẹ́ láti gba ẹ̀rọ-ìbánisọ̀rọ̀, ìwà-ìbàjẹ́ =--@ ókéré tán láàrín ẹ̀ka náà -- ti dínkù.


Now, if Mo Ibrahim had waited for corruption to be fixed in all of sub-Saharan Africa before he invested, he would still be waiting today.


Ní báyìí, tó bá jẹ́ wí pé Mo Ibrahim ti dúró pé kí wọ́n wá ìyanjú sí ìwà-ìbájẹ́ ní ìwọ̀-oòrun ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ kó tó dókówò ni, yóó sì ma dúró dòní.


You know, most people who engage in corruption know they shouldn't.


Ẹ mọ̀, ọ̀pọ̀lọpọ̀ àwọn ènìyàn tí wọ́n ń hu ìwà ìbàjẹ́ mọ̀ pé kò yẹ.


I mean, the public officials who were demanding bribes from people to get phones and the people who were paying the bribes -- they knew they were breaking the law.


Mò ń sọ nípa, àwọn aṣojú ìjọba tí wọ́n ń bèèrè fún owó-ìbọ̀bẹ́ lọ́wọ́ àwọn ènìyàn láti gba ẹ̀rọ-ìbánisọ̀rọ̀ àti àwọn tí wọ́n ń san owó ìbọ̀bẹ́ pẹ̀lú -- wọ́n mọ̀ wípé àwọn ń rú òfin ni.


But they did it anyways.


Ṣùgbọ́n wọ́n ṣà ṣe é ṣá.


The question is: Why?


Ìbéérè náà ni, torí kíni?


The answer?


Ìdáhùn rẹ̀?


See, whenever people would benefit from gaining access to something that scarce, this makes corruption attractive.


Ẹ wòó, ìgbàkúùgbà tí àwọn ènìyàn bá ti máa rí ànfàní látara ìní ànfàní sí ǹkan tó ṣọ̀wọ́n, èyí máa ń jẹ́ kí ìwà-ìbàjẹ́ wọjú.


You know, in poor countries, we complain a lot about corrupt politicians who embezzle state funds.


Ẹ mọ̀, ní àwọn orílẹ̀-èdè tí wọ́n kúṣẹ̀, a máa ń ṣe asọ̀ púpọ̀ nípa àwọn olóṣèlú oníwà ìbàjẹ́ tí wọ́n ń kó owó orílẹ̀-èdè jẹ.


But in many of those countries, economic opportunity is scarce, and so corruption becomes an attractive way to gain wealth.


Ṣùgbọ́n ní ọ̀pọ̀lọpọ̀ àwọ̀n orílẹ̀-èdè wọ̀yẹn, ànfàní ọrọ̀-ajé ṣọ̀wọ́n, nitorí náà ni ìwà-ìbàjẹ́ fi di ọ̀nà tó wọjú láti jère ọrọ̀.


We also complain about civil servants like police officers, who extort money from everyday hardworking citizens.


A tún máa ń ṣe asọ̀ nípa àwọn òṣìṣẹ́ ìjọba bí ọlọ́pà, tí wọ́n ń lọ́wó gbà lọ́wọ́ àwọn ọmọ orílẹ̀-èdè tí wọ́n ń ṣiṣẹ́ kárakára lójoojúmọ́.


But most civil servants are grossly underpaid and are leading desperate lives.


Ṣùgbọ́n ọ̀pọ̀lọpọ̀ àwọn òṣìṣẹ́ ìjọba ni owó-oṣù wọ́n kéré jọjọ tí wọ́n sì ń gbé ìgbéayé àìbìkítà.


And so for them, extortion or corruption is a good way to make a living.


Nítorí náà fún wọn, ìlọ́ni-lọ́wọ́-gbà tàbí ìwà-ìbàjẹ́ jẹ́ ọ̀na kan tó dára láti rí owó.


You know, this phenomenon also plays itself out in wealthy countries as well.


Ẹ mọ̀, ǹkan yìí tún máa ń ṣẹlẹ̀ ní àwọn orílẹ̀-èdè tí wọ́n rọrọ̀ bákan náà.


When rich parents bribe university officials --


Nigbà tí àwọn òbí tó lówó bá ń fún àwọn aṣojú fásitì ní owó-ìbọ̀bẹ́.


When rich parents bribe university officials so their children can gain admission into elite colleges, the circumstance is different, but the principle is the same.


Nigbà tí àwọn òbí tó lówó lọ́wọ́ bá ń fún àwọn aṣojú fásitì ní owó-ìbọ̀bẹ́ kí àwọn ọmọ wọn lè rí àyè wọlé sí àwọn ilé-ẹ̀kọ́ tó lórúkọ, ohun tó rọ̀ mọ́ èyí yátọ̀, ṣùgbọ́n bákan náà ni ìlàna wọn.


I mean, admission into elite colleges is scarce, and so bribery becomes attractive.


Mò ń sọ nípa pé, ìgbaniwọlé sí àwọn ilé-ẹ̀kọ́ tó lórúkọ ṣọ̀wọ́n, nítorí náà ni owó ìbọ̀bẹ́ ṣe wọjú.


The thing is, I'm not trying to say there shouldn't be things that are scarce in society or things that are selective.


Ǹkan náà ni wí pé, mi ò gbìyànjú láti sọ wí pé kó má sìí àwọn ǹkan tó ṣọ̀wọ́n láwùjọ tàbí àwọn ǹkan tí wọ́n máa ń yọbọ.


What I'm just trying to explain is this relationship between corruption and scarcity.


Ǹkan tí mò ń gbìyànjú láti ṣàlàyé ni àjọṣepọ̀ yìí láàrín ìwà-ìbàjẹ́ àti ọ̀wọ́n.


And in most poor countries, way too many basic things are scarce.


Ní ọ̀pọ̀ àwọn orílẹ̀-èdè tí wọ́n kúṣẹ̀, ọ̀pọ̀ àwọn ǹkan kòṣeé-má-nì ni wọ́n ṣọ̀wọ́n.


I mean things like food, education, health care, economic opportunity, jobs.


Mò ń sọ nípa àwọn ǹkan bí oúnjẹ, ètò ẹ̀kọ́, ajẹmọ́ ìtọ́jú ìlera, ànfàni ọrọ̀-ajé, iṣẹ́.


This creates the perfect breeding ground for corruption to thrive.


Èyí pèse ilẹ̀ ọlọ́ràá fún ìwà-ìbàjẹ́ láti tayọ.


Now, in no way does this excuse corrupt behavior.


Ní báyìí, kò sí ọ̀nà tí èyí fi jẹ́ àwíjàre fún ìwà-ìbàjẹ́.


It just helps us understand it a bit better.


Ó kọ̀ ràn wá lọ́wọ́ láti ní òye nípa rẹ̀ si.


Investing in businesses that make things affordable and accessible to so many more people attacks this scarcity and creates the revenues for governments to reinvest in their economies.


Ìdókówò nínu okòwò tó má a ń jẹ́ kí ǹkán rọjú kí ọ̀pọ̀ ènìyán sì ní ànfàní sí i máa ń kojú ọ̀wọ́n yìí ó sì máa ń pèse owó fún àwọn ìjọba láti tún dókówò nínú ọrọ̀-ajé wọn.


Now, when this happens on a countrywide level, it can revolutionize nations.


Ní báyìí, nígbà tí èyí bá sẹlẹ̀ yíká orílẹ̀-èdè, ó lè mú àyípadà bá àwọn orílẹ̀-èdè.


Consider the impact in South Korea.


Ẹ ro ipa rẹ̀ ní orílẹ̀-ède South Korea.


Now, in the 1950s, South Korea was a desperately poor country, and it was very corrupt.


Báyìí, ní àsìko ọdún 1950, orílẹ̀-ède South Korea jẹ́ orílẹ̀-èdè kan tó kúṣẹ láìsí ìrètí, wọ́n sì ní ìwà-ìbàjẹ́ tó pọ̀.


The country was ruled by an authoritarian government and engaged in bribery and embezzlement.


Orílẹ̀-èdè náà wà lábẹ́ ìdarí ìjọba apàṣẹ wàá wọ́n sì ń kópa nínu owó-ìbọ̀bẹ́ àti ìkówó jẹ.


"In fact, economists at the time said South Korea was trapped in poverty, and they referred to it as ""an economic basket case."


"Lóòtọ́, àwọn onímọ̀ nípa ọrọ̀-ajé ní àsìkò náà sọ wí pé orílẹ̀-ède South Korea ti wọ panpẹ́ òṣì, wọ́n sì ń tọ́ka sí wọn gẹ́gẹ́ bi ""àpótí apẹ̀rẹ ọrọ̀-ajé."


When you looked at South Korea's institutions, even as late as the 1980s, they were on par with some of the poorest and most corrupt African countries at the time.


Tí ẹ bá wo àwọn ilé-iṣẹ́ orílẹ̀-ède South Korea, kódà di òpin àsìko 1980, wọ́n wà ní ọgba pẹ̀lú àwọn orílẹ̀-èdè Adúláwọ̀ tí wọ́n kúṣẹ̀ tí wọ́n sì ń hu ìwà-ìbàjẹ́ jùlọ ní àsìkò náà.


But as companies like Samsung, Kia, Hyundai invested in innovations that made things much more affordable for so many more people, South Korea ultimately became prosperous.


Ṣùgbọ́n bí àwọn ilé-iṣẹ́ bi Samsung, Kia, Hyundai ṣe dókówò nínu ìṣẹ̀dá tó jẹ́ kí àwọn ǹkan túbọ̀ rọjú fún ọ̀pọ̀ ènìyàn, orílẹ̀-ède South Korea di ilú tó lámìlaka nígbẹ́yìn.


As the country grew prosperous, it was able to transition from an authoritarian government to a democratic government and has been able to reinvest in building its institutions.


Bí orílẹ̀-èdè náà ṣe ń làmìlaka, ó rí ànfàní láti ṣe ìṣípòrọpò láti ìjọba apàṣẹ wàá sí ìjọba àwarawa wọ́n sì ti ni ànfàní láti dókówò nínú ki ́kọ́ àwọn ilé-iṣẹ́ rẹ̀.


And this has paid off tremendously.


Èyí dẹ̀ ti mú èrè tó pọ̀ wá.


For instance, in 2018, South Korea's president was sentenced to 25 years in prison on corruption-related charges.


Fún àpẹẹrẹ, ní ọdún 2018, ààrẹ orílẹ̀-èdè South Korea gba ìdájọ́ ẹ̀wọn odún mẹ́ẹ̀dọ́gbọ̀n fún àwọn ẹ̀sùn tó níṣe pẹ̀lú ìwà-ìbàjẹ́.


This could never have happened decades ago when the country was poor and ruled by an authoritarian government.


Èyí kì bá tí ṣẹlẹ̀ ní bíi ẹ̀wá ọdún sẹ́yìn nígbà tí orílẹ̀-èdè náà kúṣẹ̀ tó sì wà lábẹ́ ìjọba apàṣẹ wàá.


In fact, as we looked at most prosperous countries today, what we found was, they were able to reduce corruption as they became prosperous -- not before.


Ní òótọ́, bí a ṣe ń wo ọpọ̀lọpọ̀ àwọn orílẹ̀-èdè tí wọ́n làmìlaka jùlọ lónì, ohun tí a rí ni wí pé, wọ́n ní ànfàní láti mú àdínkù bá ìwà-ìbàjẹ́ bí wọ́n ṣe ń làmìlaka -- kìí ṣe ṣíwájú.


And so where does that leave us?


Níbo wá ni ìyẹ́n fi wá sí?


I know it may sound like I'm saying we should just ignore corruption.


Mo mọ̀ pé ó lè máa jọ bí ẹni pé mò ń sọ wí pé kí á fojú fo ìwà-ìbàjẹ́.


That's not what I'm saying at all.


Kìí ṣe ǹkan tí mò ń sọ nìyẹn rárá.


What I'm suggesting, though, is that corruption, especially for most people in poor countries, is a work-around.


Ǹkan tí mò ń dá lábàá, bó tilẹ̀ jẹ́ wí pé, ni wí pé ìwà-ìbàjẹ́, pàápàá jùlọ fún ọ̀pọ̀lọpọ̀ àwọn ènìyànn ní àwòn orílẹ̀-èdè tí wọ́n kúṣẹ̀, ní wọ́n ń yà sílẹ̀.


It's a utility in a place where there are fewer better options to solve a problem.


Ó jẹ́ ohun-ìlò kan ní ààyè níbi tójẹ́ wí pé ànfàní diẹ̀ ló wà láti yanjú ìṣòro.


Investing in innovations that make products much more affordable for many people not only attacks this scarcity but it creates a sustainable source of revenue for governments to reinvest into the economies to strengthen their institutions.


Dídókówò nínu ìṣẹ̀da tó máa ń jẹ́ kí àwọn èròjà túbọ̀ rọjú fún ọ̀pọ̀ ènìyàn kò ní kojú ọ̀wọ́n yìí nìkan ṣùgbọ́n yóò pèse ọ̀nà ìpawó wọlé fún àwọn ìjọba láti dawó padà sínú ọrọ̀-ajé láti ró ilé-iṣẹ́ wọn lágbára.


This is the critical missing piece in the economic development puzzle that will ultimately help us reduce corruption.


Èyí ni oríkèé pàtàkì tí ó sọnù nínu àyo ìdàgbàsókè ọrọ̀-ajé tí yóò ràn wá lọ́wọ́ láti mú àdínkù bá ìwà-ìbàjẹ́ nígbẹ́yìn.


You know, I lost hope in Nigeria when I was 16.


Ẹ mọ̀, mo sọ ìrètí nù nínu orílẹ̀-èdè Nàìjíríà nígbà tí mo wà lọ́mọ odún mẹ́rìn-dín-lógún.


And in some ways, the country has actually gotten worse.


Ní àwọn ọ̀nà kànkan, orílẹ̀-èdè náà ti bàlùmọ̀ lóòtọ́.


In addition to widespread poverty and endemic corruption, Nigeria now actually deals with terrorist organizations like Boko Haram.


Ní àfikún sí ìtànkálẹ̀ òṣì àti àjàkálẹ̀ ààrun ìwà-ìbàjẹ́, orílẹ̀-ède Nàìjíríà ti ń kojú àwọn ẹgbẹ́ agbésúnmọ̀mí bíi Boko Haram báyìí.


But somehow, I am more hopeful about Nigeria today than I have ever been before.


Ṣùgbọ́n ṣá, mo túbọ̀ ń ní ìrètí síi nípa orílẹ̀-ède Nàìjíríà lónìí ju ti tẹ́lẹ̀ lọ.


When I see organizations investing in innovations that are creating jobs for people and making things affordable -- I mean organizations like Lifestores Pharmacy, making drugs and pharmaceuticals more affordable for people; or Metro Africa Xpress, tackling the scarcity of distribution and logistics for many small businesses; or Andela, creating economic opportunity for software developers -- I am optimistic about the future.


Tí mó bá ń rí àwọn ilé-iṣẹ́ tí wọ́ ń dókówò nínu ìṣẹ̀dá tó ń pèse iṣẹ́ fún àwọn ènìyàn tí wọ́n sì ń jẹ́ kí àwọn ǹkan ó rọjú -- mò ń sọ nípa àwọn ilé-iṣẹ́ bíi ilé-ìtajà òògùn Lifestores, tó ń jẹ́ kí àwọn òògùn àti àwọn ohun èlò ìtọ́jú túbọ̀ rojú fún àwọn ènìyàn; tàbí Metro Africa Xpress, tó ń gbógun ti ọ̀wọ́n ìgbéká àti àwọn ohun-èlò fún àwọn òwò kékèké; tàbí Andela, tó ń pèsè ànfàni ọrọ̀-ajé fún àwọn tó ń pèse ohun-èlo kọ̀mpútà tí ò ṣe é fọwọ́ kàn -- Mo ní ìrètí nípa ọjọ́-iwájú.


I hope you will be, too.


Mo lérò pé ìwọ náà yóò ní, bákan náà.


Ẹ seun.


How young Africans found a voice on Twitter


Bí àwọn ọ̀dọ́ ní ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ ṣe ń ṣe àwárí ohùn wọn lóri ìkàni Twitter.


It began with one question: If Africa was a bar, what would your country be drinking or doing?


Ó bẹ̀rẹ̀ pẹ̀lú ìbéérè kan: tí ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ bá jẹ́ ilé ọtí, kíni orílẹ̀-èdè rẹ yóò maa mu tàbí kíni yóò maa ṣe?


I kicked it off with a guess about South Africa, which wasn't exactly according to the rules because South Africa's not my country.


Mo bẹ̀rẹ rẹ̀ pẹ̀lú èrò nípa orílẹ̀-ède South Africa, èyí tí kò tọ̀nà gẹ́gẹ́ bí òfin nítori orílẹ̀-ède South Africa kìí ṣe orílẹ̀-èdè mi.


But alluding to the country's continual attempts to build a postracial society after being ravaged for decades by apartheid, I tweeted, #ifafricawasabar South Africa would be drinking all kinds of alcohol and begging them to get along in its stomach.


Ṣùgbọ́n títọ́ka sí bí orílẹ̀-èdè náà ṣe ń gbìyànjú láti ṣẹ̀dá àwùjọ aìsíẹlẹ́yàmẹ̀yà lẹ́yìn tí wọ́n ti kojú ẹlẹ́yàmẹ̀yà fún aìmọye o


And then I waited.


Mo bá dúró


And then I had that funny feeling where I wondered if I crossed the line.


Ó bá ń ṣe mí bí ẹ̀rín níbi ti mo ti ń rò ó wí pé ṣé mi ò ti kọjá ẹnu àlà.


So, I sent out a few other tweets about my own country and a few other African countries I'm familiar with.


Mo bá tún tẹ àwọn àtẹ̀jíṣẹ́ míràn ránṣẹ́ nípa orílẹ̀-èdè tẹ̀mi gangan àti diẹ̀ nínú àwọn orílẹ̀-èdè míràn ní ilẹ̀ Africa ti mo mọ̀ dijú.


And then I waited again, but this time I read through almost every tweet I had ever tweeted to convince myself, no, to remind myself that I'm really funny and that if nobody gets it, that's fine.


Mo bá tún dúró, sùgbọ́n ní àsìkò yìí mo fẹ́rẹ̀ ka gbogbo àtẹ̀jíṣẹ́ ti mo ti kọ rí láti fi dára mi lójú, rárá, láti rán ara mi létí wí pé aláwádà ni mí àti wí pé tí kò bá yé ẹnìkẹ́ni, ó dára.


But luckily, I didn't have to do that for very long.


Ṣùgbọ́n oríire mi, mi ò ní láti ṣe èyí fún ìgbà pípẹ́.


Very soon, people were participating.


Láìpẹ́, àwọn ènìyàn ti ń kópa.


In fact, by the end of that week in July, the hashtag #ifafricawasabar would have garnered around 60,000 tweets, lit up the continent and made its way to publications all over the world.


Lóòtọ́, nígbà tí yóò fi di ìparí ọ̀sẹ̀ yẹn nínú oṣù Agẹmọ, ìkàni #tíIlẹ̀Adúláwọ̀bájẹ́iléọtí ti ní àtẹ̀jíṣẹ́ tó ń lọ bi ẹgbẹ̀rún lọ́nà ọgọ́ta, ó tan ìmọ́lẹ̀ yíká ẹkùn náà ó sì ti di títẹ̀ jáde káàkiri àgbáyé.


People were using the hashtag to do many different things.


Àwọn ènìyàn ń lo ìkànì náà láti ṣe oríṣiríṣi ǹkan.


To poke fun at their stereotypes: [#IfAfricaWasABar Nigeria would be outside explaining that he will pay the entrance fee, all he needs is the bouncer's account details.


Láti nàka sí ìgbàgbọ wọn: [#tíIlẹ̀Adúláwọ̀bájẹ́iléọtí orílẹ̀-ède Nàìjíríà yóò wà níta tí yóò ma ṣàlàyé wí pé òhun yóò san owó ìwọlé, gbogbo ohun tó nílò ni àlàyé nípa ilé-ìfowopamọ́ ẹ̀ṣọ́ tó wà lẹ́nu ọ̀nà.


To criticize government spending: [#ifafricawasabar South Africa would be ordering bottles it can't pronounce running a tab it won't be able to pay]


Láti tako ìnáwó ìjọba: [#tíIlẹ̀Adúláwọ̀bájẹ́iléọtí orílẹ̀-ède South Africa yóò ma bèrè fún àwọn ìgò tí kò léè pè ti yóó sì máa jẹ gbèsè tí kò ní lè san]


To make light of geopolitical tensions: [#IfAfricaWasABar South Sudan would be the new guy with serious anger management issues.


Láti sọ ìbẹ̀rùbojo ọrọ̀-ajé agbègbè di fúfúyẹ́: [#tíIlẹ̀Adúláwọ̀bájẹ́iléọtí orílẹ̀-ède South Sudan yóò jẹ́ ọkùnrin tuntun náà tó ní ìṣòro ìṣàmójú tó ìbínú ẹni.


To remind us that even in Africa there are some countries we don't know exist: [#IfAfricaWasABar Lesotho would be that person who nobody really knows but is always in the pictures.


Láti rán wa léti pé kódà nílẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ àwọn orílẹ̀-èdè kan ń bẹ ti a kò mọ̀ wí pé wọ́n wà: [#tíIlẹ̀Adúláwọ̀bájẹ́iléọtí orílẹ̀-ède Lesotho yóò jẹ́ ẹni náà tí ẹnikẹ́ni ò fi bẹ́ẹ̀ mọ̀ ṣùgbọ́n tó máa ń wà nínú àwòrán ní gbogbo ìgbà.


"And also to make fun of the countries that don't think that they're in Africa: [#IfAfricaWasABar Egypt, Libya, Tunisia, Algeria and Morocco be like ""What the hell are we doing here?"


"Bákan náà ni láti fi àwọn orílẹ̀-èdè tí wọn ò lérò wí pé ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ ni àwọ́n wà ṣe yẹ̀yẹ́: [#tíIlẹ̀Adúláwọ̀bájẹ́iléọtí orílẹ̀-ède Egypt, Libya, Tunisia, Algeria, àti Morocco máa wò ó wí pé ""kíni à ń ṣe níbí?"


And to note the countries that had made a big turnaround: [#ifAfricawasabar Rwanda would be that girl that comes with no money and no transport but leaves drunk, happy and rich]


Àti láti mọ àwọn orílẹ̀-èdè tí àyípadà ńlá ti débá: [#tíIlẹ̀Adúláwọ̀bájẹ́iléọtí orílẹ̀-ède Rwanda yóò jẹ́ ọmọbìnrin yẹn tó wá láìní owó lọ́wọ́ láìní owó ọkọ̀ sùgbọ́n tí ó kúrò lẹ́ni tó ti mutí yó, tó ń dunú tó sì dolówó].


But most importantly, people were using the hashtag to connect.


Ṣùgbọ́n ní pátàkì jùlọ, àwọn ènìyàn ń lo ìkànì náà láti sopọ̀.


People were connecting over their Africanness.


Àwọn ènìyàn ń sopọ̀ nípa ìjẹ́ ọmọ ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀.


So for one week in July, Twitter became a real African bar.


Fún òsẹ̀ kan nínu oṣù Agẹmọ, ìkàni Twitter di ilé-ọtí ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ lóòtọ́.


And I was really thrilled, mainly because I realized that Pan-Africanism could work, that we had before us, between us, at our fingertips a platform that just needed a small spark to light in us a hunger for each other.


Imú mi sì dùn, nítorí mo ríi wí pé ìṣọ̀kan ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ lè ṣiṣẹ́, tó wà níwájúu wa, láàrín wa, ní àrọ́wọ́tó wa tó kọ̀ nílò ògúná kékeré láti tan iná ìjẹ̀ran ara wa.


My name is Siyanda Mohutsiwa, I'm 22 years old and I am Pan-Africanist by birth.


Orúkọ mi ni Siyanda Mohutsiwa, mo jẹ́ ọmọdún méjì-lé-lógún mo sì jẹ́ olólùfẹ́ ìṣọ̀kan ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ pẹ̀lú ìbí.


Now, I say I'm Pan-Africanist by birth because my parents are from two different African countries.


Ní báyìí, mó ní mo jẹ́ olólùfẹ́ ìṣọ̀kan ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ pẹ̀lú ìbí nítorí wí pé àwọn òbí mi wá láti orílẹ̀-èdè méjì ọ̀tọ̀ọ̀tọ̀ nílẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀.


My father's from a country called Botswana in southern Africa.


Bàbá mi jẹ́ ọmọ orílẹ̀-èdè tí wọ́n ń pè ní Botswana ní gúúsù ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀.


It's only slightly bigger than Germany.


Díẹ̀ ló fi tóbi ju orílẹ̀-ède Germany lọ.


This year we celebrate our 50th year of stable democracy.


Ní ọdún yìí a ṣe ayẹyẹ àdọ́ta ọdún ìdúró ṣinṣin ọmìnira wa.


And it has some very progressive social policies.


Ó sì ní àwọn ìpinnu ìtẹ̀síẃjú àwùjọ gidi.


My mother's country is the Kingdom of Swaziland.


Orílẹ̀-èdè ìyá mi ni ìlu-ọba Swaziland.


It's a very, very small country, also in southern Africa.


Ó jẹ́ orílẹ̀-èdè tó kéré púpọ̀, tí ohun náà wà ní gúúsù ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀.


It is Africa's last complete monarchy.


Ó jẹ́ ilú tó gbẹ́yìn nílẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ tí ìṣèlú lábẹ́ ọba rẹ̀ ṣì pé.


So it's been ruled by a king and a royal family in line with their tradition, for a very long time.


Ó ti wà lábẹ́ ìdarí ọba àti ìdílé ọba kan ní ìbámu pẹ̀lú àṣa wọn, fún ìgbà pípẹ́.


On paper, these countries seem very different.


Lórí ìwé, àwọn orílẹ̀-èdè wọ̀nyí lè dàbi ẹní yátọ̀ gidi gan.


And when I was a kid, I could see the difference.


Nígbà tí mo wà lọ́mọdé, mo máa ń rí ìyàtọ̀ náà.


It rained a lot in one country, it didn't rain quite as much in the other.


Òjó máa ń rọ̀ púpọ̀ ní orílẹ̀-èdè kan, kìí rọ̀ tó bẹ́ẹ̀ ní ìkejì.


But outside of that, I didn't really realize why it mattered that my parents were from two different places.


Ṣùgbọ́n yàtọ̀ sí èyí, mi ò tilẹ̀ mọ̀ ìdi tó fi pọn dandan pé àwọn òbí mi wá láti àyè méjì ọ̀tọ̀ọ̀tọ̀.


But it would go on to have a very peculiar effect on me.


Sùgbọ́n yóò padà nípa ọ̀tọ̀ lára mi.


You see, I was born in one country and raised in the other.


Ṣé ẹ ríi, wọ́n bími ní orílẹ̀-èdè kan wọ́n sì rè mí ní ìkejì.


When we moved to Botswana, I was a toddler who spoke fluent SiSwati and nothing else.


Nígbà tí a kó lọ sí orílẹ̀-ède Botswana, mo jẹ́ ọmọ òpónlo tó ń sọ SiSwati dijú láìsí ǹkan mìíràn.


So I was being introduced to my new home, my new cultural identity, as a complete outsider, incapable of comprehending anything that was being said to me by the family and country whose traditions I was meant to move forward.


Nígbà tí wọ́n fi ojú mi mọ ilé tuntun, àsà abínibí mi tuntun, gẹ́gẹ́ bí aráàta pátápátá, tí ò ní ìkápá láti ní òye ǹkan tí àwọn ẹbí mi ń sọfún mi àti orílẹ̀-èdè tó yẹ kí n gbé àṣa rẹ̀ lárugẹ.


But very soon, I would shed SiSwati.


Ṣùgbọ́n láìpẹ́, màá sọ SiSwati nù.


And when I would go back to Swaziland, I would be constantly confronted by how very non-Swazi I was becoming.


Nígbà tí mo bá ma padà lọ sí orílẹ̀-ède Swaziland, màá máa ní ìdojúkọ lemọ́lemọ́ pẹ̀lú bí mo ti ṣe ń di eni tí kìí ṣe ọmọ Swazi mọ́.


Add to that my entry into Africa's private school system, whose entire purpose is to beat the Africanness out of you, and I would have a very peculiar adolescence.


Sí ìyẹn ìwọlé mi sínú èto ilé-ẹ̀kọ́ aládàni ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀, tó jẹ́ pé gbogbo èro tiwọn ni láti gbọn ìjẹ́ ọmọ ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ dànù kúrò láraà rẹ, tí màá sì ní ìjẹ́ ọ̀dọ́ tó yátọ̀.


But I think that my interest in ideas of identity was born here, in the strange intersection of belonging to two places at once but not really belonging to either one very well and belonging to this vast space in between and around simultaneously.


Ṣùgbọ́n mo rò wí pé ìfẹ́ mi nínú èro ìdánimọ̀ ni wọ́n bí síbí, pẹ̀lú ìkọlura àjòjì pé mo jẹ́ ọmọ ìlú méjì lẹ́ẹ̀kan náà ṣùgbọ́n tí mi ò fi tara-tara jẹ́ ti ìkankan nínú wọn dáadáa ti mo sì jẹ́ ti àyè to fẹ̀ yíì láàrín àti yíká rẹ̀ lẹ́ẹ̀kan náà.


I became obsessed with the idea of a shared African identity.


Mo di ẹni tó ń nífẹ̀ẹ́ sí èrò ìdánimò ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ àjọni.


Since then, I have continued to read about politics and geography and identity and what all those things mean.


Láti ìgbà náà, mo ti tẹ̀síwájú láti máa kà nípa òṣèlú àti ẹ̀kọ́ nípa ayé àti ìdánimọ̀ àti ǹkan ti àwọn wọ̀nyí túmọ̀ sí.


I've also held on to a deep curiosity about African philosophies.


Mo tún ti ni òye tó jinlẹ̀ nípa ìmọ̀ ìjìnlẹ̀-èrò ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀.


When I began to read, I gravitated towards the works of black intellectuals like Steve Biko and Frantz Fanon, who tackled complex ideas like decolonization and black consciousness.


Nígbà ti mo bẹ̀rẹ̀ síní kàwé, mo sún mọ́ iṣẹ́ àwọn aláwọ̀-dúdú tó láròjinlẹ̀ bi Steve Biko àti Frantz Fanon, tó tako àwọn èrò àmúdijú bíi aìmúnisìn àti ìmọ aláwọ̀ dúdú.


And when I thought, at 14, that I had digested these grand ideas, I moved on to the speeches of iconic African statesmen like Burkina Faso's Thomas Sankara and Congo's Patrice Lumumba.


Nígbà tí mo rò ó, ní ọmọdún mẹ́rìnlá, pé mo ti mọ gbogbo èrò tó gbòòrò wọ̀nyí, mo tẹ̀síwájú sí ọ̀rọ̀ àwọn àgbà akọni ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ bíi Thomas Sankara ti orílẹ̀-ède Burkina Faso àti Patrice Lumumba ti orílẹ̀-ède Congo.


I read every piece of African fiction that I could get my hands on.


Mo ka gbogbo ìtàn-àròsọ ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ tí mo lè fi ọwọ́ bà.


So when Twitter came, I hopped on with the enthusiasm of a teenage girl whose friends are super, super bored of hearing about all this random stuff.


Nítorí náà nígbà ti ìkàni Twitter dé, mo fò sókè pẹ̀lú ìdùnú ọmọbìnrin tó wà lábẹ́ ogún ọdún tó ti sú àwọn ọ̀rẹ rẹ̀ láti máa gbọ́ nípa àwọn ǹkan tí kò ní ètò wọ̀nyí.


The year was 2011 and all over southern Africa and the whole continent, affordable data packages for smartphones and Internet surfing became much easier to get.


2011 ni ọdún náà yíká gbogbo gúúsù ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ àti gbogbo ẹkùn náà, àwọn èto dátà tí kò gani lára fún ẹ̀rọ-ìbánisọ̀rọ̀ ayárabí àṣá àti lílọ sórí ìkàni ayélukára di ìrọ̀rùn síi láti rí.


So my generation, we were sending messages to each other on this platform that just needed 140 characters and a little bit of creativity.


Ìran tèmi, à ń fi àtẹ̀jíṣẹ́ ránṣẹ́ sí ara wa lóri ìkànì yìí tó kọ̀ nílò ogóje lẹ́tà àti ọgbọ́n àtinúdá diẹ̀.


On long commutes to work, in lectures that some of us should have been paying attention to, on our lunch breaks, we would communicate as much as we could about the everyday realities of being young and African.


Ní ìrìnàjò tó jìn lọ síbi iṣẹ́, ní àwọn ìdánilẹ́kọ̀ọ́ tó yẹ kí àwọn kan nínú wa máa fi ọkàn sí, lásìko ìjáde oúnjẹ ọ̀sán wa, a máa ń sọ̀rọ̀ ní ọ̀pọ̀ tí a lè sọ nípa ìbáyému ojoojúmọ́ nípa ìjẹ́ ọ̀dọ́ àti ọmọ ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀.


But of course, this luxury was not available to everybody.


Ṣùgbọ́n bẹ́ẹ̀ ni, ọrọ̀ yìí ò sí fún gbogbo ènìyàn.


So this meant that if you were a teenage girl in Botswana and you wanted to have fun on the Internet, one, you had to tweet in English.


Èyí túmọ̀ sí wí pé tí o bá jẹ́ ọmọbìnrin lábẹ́ ogún ọdún ní orílẹ̀-ède Botswana tí o sì fẹ́ ṣe fàájì lórí ìkàni ayélukára, àkọ́kọ́, o ní láti tẹ àtẹ̀jíṣẹ́ ní ède gẹ̀ẹ́sì.


Two, you had to follow more than just the three other people you knew online.


Ẹ̀kejì, o ní láti tẹ̀lé jú àwọn ènìyàn mẹ́ta mìíràn tí o mọ̀ lórí ìkàni ayélukára lọ.


You had to follow South Africans, Zimbabweans, Ghanaians, Nigerians.


O ní láti tẹ̀lé àwọn ọmọ orílẹ̀-ède South Africa, Zimbabawe, Ghana, Nigeria.


And suddenly, your whole world opened up.


Lójijì, gbogbo ìgbésíayé rẹ yóò ṣí sílẹ̀.


And my whole world did open up.


Gbogbo ìgbésíayé mi dẹ̀ ṣí sílẹ̀ lóòtọ́.


I followed vibrant Africans who were travelling around the continent, taking pictures of themselves and posting them under the hashtag #myafrica.


Mo tẹ̀lé àwọn ọmọ ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ tí wọ́n gbónu tí wọ́n ń rín ìrìnàjò káàkiri ẹkùn náà, tí wọ́n ń ya àwòrán ara wọn tí wọ́n sì ń fi ránṣẹ ́lábẹ́ ìkàni #ilẹ̀Adúláwọ̀mi.


Because at that time, if you were to search Africa on Twitter or on Google or any kind of social media, you would think that the entire continent was just pictures of animals and white guys drinking cocktails in hotel resorts.


Torí ní àsìkò náà, tí o bá fẹ́ wá ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ lóri ìkani Twitter tàbi lóri Google tàbí èyíkéyí ìkànì ìbánidọ́rẹ̀, wàá lérò wí pé gbogbo ẹkùn náà kọ̀ jẹ́ àwòran ẹranko àti àwọn aláwọ̀-funfun tí wọ́n ń muti ní àwọn ilé ìtura ìgbafẹ́ ni.


But Africans were using this platform to take some kind of ownership of the tourism sectors.


Ṣùgbọ́n àwọn ọmọ ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ ń lo ìkànì yìí láti kéde ìní àwọn ẹ̀ka ìrìn-àjo afẹ́.


It was Africans taking selfies on the beaches of Nigeria.


Àwọn ọmọ ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ ni wọ́n ń ya àwòrán ní etí òkun orílẹ̀-ède Nàìjíríà .


It was Africans in cocktail bars in Nairobi.


Àwọn ọmọ ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ ni wọ́n wà ní àwọn ilé-ọtí ni orílẹ̀-ède Nairobi.


And these were the same Africans that I began to meet in my own travels around the continent.


Àwọn wọ̀nyí kan náà ni àwọn ọmọ ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ tí mo bẹ̀rẹ̀ sí pàdé nínú ìrìnàjo tèmi gaan yíká ẹkùn náà.


We would discuss African literature, politics, economic policy.


A máa ń jírórò nípa lítiréṣọ̀ ilè Adúláwọ̀, òṣèlú, ìpinnu ọrọ̀-ajé


But almost invariably, every single time, we would end up discussing Twitter.


Ṣùgbọ́n láìní yípada, ní àsìkò kànkan, a máa ń padà sọ nípa Twitter.


And that's when I realized what this was.


Nígbà náà ni mo mọ ohun tí èyí jẹ́.


We were standing in the middle of something amazing, because for the first time ever young Africans could discuss the future of our continent in real time, without the restriction of borders, finances and watchful governments.


A dúró láàrín ǹkankan tó yanilẹ́nu, nítorí fún ìgbà àkọ́kọ́ àwọn ọ̀dọ́ nílẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ lè jírórò nípa ọjọ́-iwájú ẹkùn wọn lásíkò, láìsí ìdíwọ́ ibodè, owó àti ìjọba aṣọ́ni.


Because the little known truth is many Africans know a lot less about other African countries than some Westerners might know about Africa as a whole.


Nítorí òótọ́ díè tí a mọ̀ ni wí pé ọ̀pọ̀lọpọ̀ ọmọ ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ ò ní ìmọ̀ púpọ̀ nípa àwọn orílẹ̀-èdè Adúláwọ̀ tókù ju bí àwọn aláwọ̀ funfun ṣe lè mọ̀ nípa ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ lápapọ̀.


This is by accident, but sometimes, it's by design.


Èyí jẹ́ àṣìṣe, ṣùgbọ́n nígbà míràn, ó lè jẹ́ nípa àtò.


For example, in apartheid South Africa, black South Africans were constantly being bombarded with this message that any country ruled by black people was destined for failure.


Fún àpẹẹrẹ, ní àsìko ẹlẹ́yàmẹ̀yà ní orílẹ̀-ède South Africa, àwọn aláwọ̀-dúdú ní South Africa ni wọ́n ń ránṣẹ́ sí ní gbogbo ìgbà pé orílẹ̀-èdè ti aláwọ̀-dúdú bá ń darí ti yan àyànmọ́ ìjakulẹ̀.


And this was done to convince them that they were much better off under crushing white rule than they were living in a black and free nation.


Wọ́n ṣe èyí láti fi dáwọn lójú wí pé ìgbeayé àwọ́n dára lábẹ́ òòrìn ìjọba aláwọ̀-funfun ju bí àwọ́n ṣe ń gbé ní orílẹ̀-ède aláwọ̀-dúdú àti olómìnira.


Add to that Africa's colonial, archaic education system, which has been unthinkingly carried over from the 1920s -- and at the age of 15, I could name all the various causes of the wars that had happened in Europe in the past 200 years, but I couldn't name the president of my neighboring country.


Ní àfikún sí ìyẹn ètò ẹ̀kọ ìjọba amúnisìn ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ tó ti darúgbó, tí wọ́n ti gbé kọjá láìbá ìrònú mu láti àsìko ọdún 1920 -- nígbàtí mo wà ní ọmọ ọdún mẹ́ẹ̀dógún, mo lè dárúkọ gbogbo okùnfa àwọn ogun tí ó ti wáyé nílẹ̀ Yúróòpù láti ní igba odún sẹyìn, ṣùgbọ́n mi ò lè dárúkọ olórí orílẹ̀-èdè tó súmọ mi.


And to me, this doesn't make any sense because whether we like it or not, the fates of African people are deeply intertwined.


Sí èmi, èyí ò bá ìrònú mu nítorí boyá a fẹ́ tàbí a kọ̀, ìrètí àwọn ènìyan ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ wọnú ara wọn.


When disaster hits, when turmoil hits, we share the consequences.


Nígbà tí ọ̀fọ́ bá ṣẹ̀, tí wàhálà bá ṣẹlẹ̀, ajọ máa ń pín ìpadàbọ rẹ̀ ni.


When Burundians flee political turmoil, they go to us, to other African countries.


Nígbà tí àwọn ara ìlu Burundi sá fún wàhálà òṣèlú, wọ́n wá báwa, sí àwọn orílẹ̀-èdè tókù nílẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀.


Africa has six of the world's largest refugee centers.


Ilè Adúláwọ̀ ní mẹ́fà nínú àwọn ààyè àwọn atìpó tó tóbi jù lágbàyé.


What was once a Burundian problem becomes an African problem.


Ǹkan tó jẹ́ ìṣòro ọmọ orílẹ̀-ède Burundi nígbà kan ti di ìṣòro ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀.


So to me, there are no Sudanese problems or South African problems or Kenyan problems, only African problems because eventually, we share the turmoil.


Sí èmi, kò sí ǹkan tó ń jẹ́ ìṣòro orílẹ̀-ède sudan tàbí orílẹ̀-ède South Africa tàbí ìṣòro orílẹ̀-ède kenya, ìṣòro ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ nìkan ni nítorí nígbẹ́yìn, a jọ́ ń pín ìṣòro náà ni.


So if we share the problems, why aren't we doing a better job of sharing the successes?


Nítorí náà tí a bá jọ pín àwọn ìṣòro náà, kí ló dé tí a ò ṣiṣẹ́ dáadáa láti pín àwọn àṣeyọrí náà?


How can we do that?


Báwo la ṣe lè ṣe ìyẹn?


Well, in the long term, we can shoot towards increasing inter-African trade, removing borders and putting pressure on leaders to fulfill regional agreements they've already signed.


Ó daa, ní àsìkò ọjọ́ iwájú, a lè pinnu nípa ṣíṣe àfikún sí òwò láàrin ilè Adúláwọ̀, pẹ̀lú yíyọ àwọn ibodè kúrò àti gbígbé ẹrù ru àwọn adarí wa láti ṣe ìmúṣẹ àwọn àdéhùn agbègbè tí wọ́n ti buwọ́ lù.


But I think that the biggest way for Africa to share its successes is to foster something I like to call social Pan-Africanism.


Ṣùgbọ́n mo rò wí pé onà tó tóbi jù fún ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ láti pín àṣeyọrí rẹ̀ ni láti sàmójútó ǹkan tí mo fẹ́ràn láti pè ní ìṣọ̀kan ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀.


Now, political Pan-Africanism already exists, so I'm not inventing anything totally new here.


Ní báyìí, òṣèlú ìṣọ̀kan ilẹ̀ Adúláwò ti wà tẹ́lẹ̀, nítorí náà mi ò ṣe àgbélẹ̀rọ ǹkan tuntun níbí.


But political Pan-Africanism is usually the African unity of the political elite.


Ṣùgbọ́n òṣèlú ìṣọ̀kan ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ máa ń sábà jẹ́ ìṣọ̀kan àwọn alẹ́nulọ́rọ̀ nínú òṣèlú.


And who does that benefit?


Ta ni ìyẹn wá ń se ànfàní fún?


Well, African leaders, almost exclusively.


Ó dáa, àwọn adarí nílẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀, ó fẹ́rẹ̀ jẹ́ ní àdáyanrí.


No, what I'm talking about is the Pan-Africanism of the ordinary African.


Rárá, ohun tí mò ń sọ nípa rẹ̀ ni ìṣọ̀kan ilẹ̀ Africa àwọn ènìyan ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀.


Young Africans like me, we are bursting with creative energy, with innovative ideas.


Àwọn ọ̀dọ́ ọmọ ilẹ̀ adúláwọ̀ b́ii tèmi, tí a kún fún agbára ọgbọ́n àtinúdá, pẹ̀lú èro ìṣẹ̀dá.


But with bad governance and shaky institutions, all of this potential could go to waste.


Ṣùgbọ́n pẹ̀lu ijọba tí ò da àti orílẹ̀-èdè tó ń ṣòjòjò, gbogbo èbùn yìí lè má wùlo.


On a continent where more than a handful of leaders have been in power longer than the majority of the populations has been alive, we are in desperate need of something new, something that works.


Ní ẹkùn tí àwọn adarí diẹ̀ ti wà ní ìjọba ju iye ọdún tí ọ̀pọ̀lọpọ̀ àwọn ará ìlú ti lò láyé, a nílò ǹkan tuntun lọ́nàkọnà, ǹkan tí yóò ṣiṣẹ́.


And I think that thing is social Pan-Africanism.


Mo dẹ̀ rò ó wí pé ǹkan náà ni ìṣọ̀kan àwùjọ ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀.


My dream is that young Africans stop allowing borders and circumstance to suffocate our innovation.


Àlá mi ni pé kí àwọn ọ̀dọ́ nílẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ kọ̀ láti máa jẹ́ kí ibodè àti àwọn ǹkan tó lè dóru mú ìṣẹ̀da wa.


"My dream is that when a young African comes up with something brilliant, they don't say, ""Well, this wouldn't work in my country,"" and then give up."


"Àlá mi ni pé tí ọ̀dọ́ ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ bá wá pẹ̀lú ǹkan tó mọ́yán lórí, wọn ò ní sọ wí pé, eléyìí kò ní ṣẹlẹ̀ ní ilú mi, "" kí wọ́n wá jáwọ́."


My dream is that young Africans begin to realize that the entire continent is our canvas, is our home.


Àlá mi ni pé àwọn ọ̀dọ́ ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ yóò bẹ̀rẹ̀ síní mọ̀ pé gbogbo ẹkùn náà ni ibùsun wa, ni ilée wa.


Using the Internet, we can begin to think collaboratively, we can begin to innovate together.


Lílo ìkàni ayélukára, a lè bẹ̀rè síní ronú papọ̀, a lè bẹ̀rẹ̀ síní ṣẹ̀da ohun-ọ̀tun lápapọ̀.


"In Africa, we say, ""If you want to go fast, you go alone, but if you want to go far, you go together."


"Nílẹ̀ adúláwọ̀, a máa ń sọ pé, ""tí ó bá fẹ́ yára lọ, o lè dá nìkan lọ, ṣùgbọ́n tí o bá fẹ́ rìn jìnà, ẹ kọ́wọ̀ọ́ rìn."


And I believe that social Pan-Africanism is how we can go far together.


Mo dẹ̀ nígbàgbọ́ wí pé ìṣọ̀kan àwùjọ ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ ni ọ̀nà tí a lè fi jọ rìn jìnà lápapọ̀.


And this is already happening.


Èyí dẹ̀ ti ń ṣẹlẹ̀.


Access to these online networks has given young Africans something we've always had to violently take: a voice.


Ànfàni sí àwọn ìkànì ayélukára wọ̀nyí ti fún àwọn ọ̀dọ́ nílẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ ní ǹkan tí a ti máa ń fi rògbòdìyàn gbà.


We now have a platform.


A ti ní ìkànì kan.


Before now, if you wanted to be heard by your possibly tyrannical government, you were pushed to protest, suffer the consequences and have your fingers crossed that some Western paper somewhere might make someone care.


Ṣíwájú àkókò yìí, tí o bá fẹ́ di gbígbọ́ lọ́dọ̀ ìjọba apàṣẹ wàá rẹ, wọ́n ó tìẹ́ láti ṣe ìfẹ̀hónú hàn, láti faragbá ìpadàbọ rẹ̀ tí wàá sìkáwọ́ọ̀ rẹ rọ̀ pé àwọn ìwé-ìròyìn aláwọ̀ funfun níbìkan lè jẹ́ kí ẹnìkan ó nífẹ̀ sí i.


But now we have opportunities to back each other up in ways we never could before.


Ṣùgbọ́n nísinyìí a ní àwọn ànfàní láti gberawa lẹ́yìn ní àwọn ọ̀nà tí a kò lè ṣe tẹ́lẹ̀.


We support South African students who are marching against ridiculously high tertiary fees.


A ṣe àtìlẹyìn fún àwọn akẹ́kọ̀ọ́ orílẹ̀-ède South Africa tí wọ́n ń ṣe ìwọ́de tako owó gegere ilé-ìwé gíga.


We support Zimbabwean women who are marching to parliament.


A ṣe àtìlẹyìn fún àwọn obìnrin ní orílẹ̀-ède Zimbabwe tí wọ́n ń ṣe ìwọ́de lọ sí ilé aṣòfin.


We support Angolan journalists who are being illegally detained.


A ṣe àtìlẹyìn fún àwọn akọ̀ròyin orílẹ̀-ède Angólà tí wọ́n ń mú sí àtìmọ́lé lọ́nà tí ò bófin mu.


For the first time ever, African pain and African aspiration has the ability to be witnessed by those who can empathize with it the most: other Africans.


Fún ìgbà àkọ́kọ́, ẹ̀dun ọmọ ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ àti àfojúsùn ọmọ ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ ní ànfàní láti di rírí fún àwọn tí wọ́n lẹ̀ kẹ́dùn pẹ̀lú rẹ̀ jù: àwọn òwọn ọmọ ilẹ̀ Ad́láwọ̀ tókù.


I believe that with a social Pan-Africanist thinking and using the Internet as a tool, we can begin to rescue each other, and ultimately, to rescue ourselves.


Mo nígbàgbọ́ pé pẹ̀lú ìrònú nípa ìṣọ̀kan àwùjọ ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ àti ìkàni ayélukára gẹ́gẹ́ bi irinṣẹ́, a lè bẹ̀rẹ̀ síní gba ara wa sílẹ̀, nígbẹ́yìn, láti gbarawa sílẹ̀.


Mothers helping mothers fight HIV


Àwọn ìyá tí wọ́n ń ran àwọn ìyá lọ́wọ́ láti jagun ààrun kòkòro apa sójà ara.


I want you to take a trip with me.


Mo fẹ́ kí ẹ rin ìrìnàjò kan pèlú mi.


Picture yourself driving down a small road in Africa, and as you drive along, you look off to the side, and this is what you see: you see a field of graves.


Ẹ àwòran ara yín bí ẹni tó ń wakọ̀ ní ọnà tóóró kan nílẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀, bí o ṣe ń wakọ̀ lọ, o gbojú sí ẹ̀gbẹ́, ǹkan tí o sì rí rèé: o rí àyè tí wọ́n sìnkú sí.


And you stop, and you get out of your car and you take a picture.


Ẹ wá dúró, o bọ́síta nínú ọkọ̀ yín ẹ dẹ̀ ya àwòrán kan.


"And you go into the town, and you inquire, ""What's going on here? and people are initially reluctant to tell you."


"Ẹ wá wọ àdúgbò náà lọ, ẹ wá ń bèrè, ""kí ló ń ṣẹlẹ̀ níbí? "" ní àkọ́kọ́ àwọn ẹnìyan lọ́ra láti sọ fún yín."


"And then someone says, ""These are the recent AIDS deaths in our community."


"Nigbà náà ni ẹnìkan sọ wí pé, ""Àwọn wọ̀nyí ni àwọn ikú kòkòro apa sójà ara ní àwùjọ wa láìpẹ́ yìí."


HIV isn't like other medical conditions; it's stigmatizing.


""" Kòkòro apa sójà ara ò dàbí àwọn aìsàn tókù; ó máa ń fa ìdẹ́yẹsí."


People are reluctant to talk about it -- there's a fear associated with it.


Àwọn ènìyán máa ń lọ́ra láti sọ̀rọ̀ nípa rẹ̀ -- ìbẹ̀rù kan rọ̀ mọ.


And I'm going to talk about HIV today, about the deaths, about the stigma.


Màá sọ nípa kòkòro apa sójà ara lónì, nípa ikú, nípa ìdẹ́yẹsí.


It's a medical story, but more than that, it's a social story.


Ìtan ìmọ̀-ìṣègùn ni, ṣùgbọ́n jù bẹ́ẹ̀ lọ, ìtàn àwùjọ ni.


This map depicts the global distribution of HIV.


Àwòrán orílẹ̀-èdè yìí fi ìpín kòkòro apa sójà ara ní ilẹ̀ àgbáyé hàn.


And as you can see, Africa has a disproportionate share of the infection.


Bí ẹ ṣe rí i, Ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ ló ní ìpín àkóràn tó pọ̀jù.


There are 33 million people living with HIV in the world today.


Mílíọ́nù mẹ́tà-lé-lọ́gbọ̀n (33) àwọn ènìyàn ni wọ́n ń gbé pẹ̀lú kòkòro apa sójà ara lágbáyé lónì.


Of these, two-thirds, 22 million are living in sub-Saharan Africa.


Nínú àwọn wọ̀nyí, ìdá méjì nínú mẹ́ta, mílíọ́nù méjì-lé-lógún ni wọ́n ń gbé ní ìwọ̀-oòrun ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀.


There are 1.4 million pregnant women in low- and middle-income countries living with HIV and of these, 90 percent are in sub-Saharan Africa.


Mílíọ́nù kan lé ẹgbẹ̀rún lọ́nà erínwó ni àwọn aláboyún ní àwọn orílẹ̀-èdè tí ìpawó-wọlé wọn kére tàbí tó wà lágbede méjì tí wọ́n ń gbé pẹ̀lu kòkòro apa sójà ara nínú àwọn wọ̀nyí, ìdá àdọ́rùn wà ní iwọ̀-oòrun ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀.


We talk about things in relative terms.


A máa ń sọ́rọ̀ nípa ǹkan pẹ̀lú ọ̀rọ̀-ìperí tó jọra wọn.


And I'm going to talk about annual pregnancies and HIV-positive mothers.


Màá sọ̀rọ̀ nípa oyún ọdọọdún àti àwọn ìyá tí wọ́n ti ní kòkòro apa sójà ara.


The United States -- a large country -- each year, 7,000 mothers with HIV who give birth to a child.


Orílẹ̀-ède Amẹ́ríkà -- orílẹ̀-èdè tó tóbi -- lọ́dọọdún, ẹgbẹ̀rún méje (7,000) àwọn ìyá tí wọ́n ní kòkòro apa sójà ara ni wọ́n bímọ.


But you go to Rwanda -- a very small country -- 8,000 mothers with HIV who are pregnant.


Ṣùgbọ́n ẹ̀yin ẹ lọ sí orílẹ̀-ède Rwanda -- orílẹ̀-èdè tó kéré jọjọ -- ẹgbẹ̀rún mẹ́jọ (8,000) àwọn ìyá tí wọ́n ní kòkòro apa sójà ara tí wọ́n lóyún.


And then you go to Baragwanath Hospital, outside of Johannesburg in South Africa, and 8,000 HIV-positive pregnant women giving birth -- a hospital the same as a country.


Kí ẹ wá lọ sí ilé-ìwòsan Baragwanath, ní ìta Johannesburg ní orílẹ̀-ède South Africa, àti ẹgbẹ̀rún mẹ́jọ (8,000) àwọn aláboyún tí wọ́n ní kòkòro apa sójà ara tí wọ́n ń bímọ -- ilé-ìwòsàn kan tó ṣe dèèdé pẹ̀lu orílẹ̀-èdè kan.


And to realize that this is just the tip of an iceberg that when you compare everything here to South Africa, it just pales, because in South Africa, each year 300,000 mothers with HIV give birth to children.


Láti wá mọ̀ wí pé a ṣẹ̀ ń mẹ́yẹ bọ̀ lápò ni pé tí ẹ bá ṣàfiwée gbogbo ǹkan níbí sí orílẹ̀-ède South Africa, ó kọ̀ funfun ni, nítorí ní orílẹ̀-ède South Africa, ní ọdọọdún ẹgbẹ̀rún lọ́nà ọ̀rìn-dín-nírinwó (300,000) àwọn ìyá tí wọ́n ní kòkòro apa sójà ara ni wọ́n bímọ.


So we talk about PMTCT, and we refer to PMTCT, prevention of mother to child transmission.


A sọ̀rọ̀ nípa PMTCT, a sì máa ń tọ́ka sí PMTCT, ìdèna àkóràn ìyá sí ọmọ.


I think there's an assumption amongst most people in the public that if a mother is HIV-positive, she's going to infect her child.


Mo rò wí pé èrò kan wà láàrín ọ̀pọ̀lọpọ̀ àwọn ènìyàn láwùjọ pé tí ìyá bá ní kòkòro apa sójà ara, ó máa kó o ran ọmọ rẹ̀.


The reality is really, very different.


Òtítọ́ náà yátọ̀ gidi gan.


In resource-rich countries, with all the tests and treatment we currently have, less than two percent of babies are born HIV-positive -- 98 percent of babies are born HIV-negative.


Ní àwọn orílẹ̀-èdè tí wọ́n ní ohun àlùmọ́nì lọ́pọ̀, pẹ̀lú gbogbo àyẹ̀wò àti ìtọ́jú tí a ní, ó dín ní ìdá méjì àwọn ìkókó tí wọ́n bí pẹ̀lú kòkòro apa sójà ara -- ìdá méjì-dín-lọ́gọ́rùn àwọn ìkókó ni wọn kò ní kòkòro apa sójà ara.


And yet, the reality in resource-poor countries, in the absence of tests and treatment, 40 percent -- 40 percent of children are infected -- 40 percent versus two percent -- an enormous difference.


Síbẹ̀, òtítọ́ ní àwọn orílẹ̀-èdè tí wọn kò ní ohun-èlò, tí kò sí àyèwò àti ìtọ́jú, ìda ogójì -- ìda ogójì àwọn ọmọ ni wọ́n ní i -- ìda ogójì kojúu ìdá méjì - ìyàtọ̀ tó pọ̀ gidi gan.


So these programs -- and I'm going to refer to PMTCT though my talk -- these prevention programs, simply, they're the tests and the drugs that we give to mothers to prevent them from infecting their babies, and also the medicines we give to mothers to keep them healthy and alive to raise their children.


Àwọn ètò yìí -- màá tọ́ka sí PMTCT bó tilẹ̀ jẹ́ wí pé ìjírórò mi - àwọn ètò ìdènà wọ̀nyí, ní ṣókí, àwọn ni àwọn àyẹ̀wò àti àwọn òògùn tí à ń fún àwọn ìyá láti dèna àkóràn àwọn ọmọ wọn, bákan náà àwọn òògùn tí à ń fún àwọn ìyá láti jẹ́ kí ara wọ́n le kí wọ́n lè wà láyé láti re àwọn ọmọ wọn.


So it's the test a mother gets when she comes in.


Àyẹ̀wò náà ni ìyá ń gbà nígbà tó bá wọlé wá.


It's the drugs she receives to protect the baby that's inside the uterus and during delivery.


Àwọn ògùn tí ó gbà láti dáábò bo ọmọ tó wà ní ilé-ọmọ àti lásíkò ìrọbí.


It's the guidance she gets around infant feeding and safer sex.


Àwọn ìtọ́sọ́nà tó ń gbà nípa ìfọ́mọlọ́mú àti ìbálópọ̀ aláìléwu.


It's an entire package of services, and it works.


Àkójọpọ̀ gbogbo iṣẹ́ ni, ó sì ń ṣiṣẹ́.


So in the United States, since the advent of treatment in the middle of the 1990s, there's been an 80-percent decline in the number of HIV-infected children.


Ní orílẹ̀ ède Amẹ́ríkà, láti ìgbà tí ìtọ́jú ti dé láàrín àsìko ọdún 1990, àdínkù tó tó ìdá ọgọ́rin ti dé bá iye àwọn ọmọ tó ní kòkòro apa sójà ara.


Less than 100 babies are born with HIV each year in the United States and yet, still, over 400,000 children are born every year in the world today with HIV.


Àwọn ìkókó tó dín ní ọgọ́rùn ni wọ́n ń bí pẹ̀lu kòkòro apa sójà ara lọ́dọọdún ní orílẹ̀-ède Amẹ́ríkà síbẹ̀, bákan náà, ẹgbẹ̀rún lọ́nà erínwó lé ọmọ ni wọ́n ń bí lọ́dọọdún lágbàyé lónì tó ní kòkòro apa sójà ara.


What does that mean?


Kíni ìyẹn tumọ̀ sí?


It means 1,100 children infected each day -- 1,100 children each day, infected with HIV.


Ó túmọ̀ sí wí pé ọ̀rùn-lé-lẹ́gbẹ́rùn ọmọ ló ń ní àkóràn lójoojúmọ́ - ọ̀rùn-lé-lẹ́gbẹ́rùn (1,100) ọmọ lójoojúmọ́, ló ń ní àkóràn kòkòro apa sójà ara.


And where do they come from?


Níbo ni wọ́n ti ń wá?


Well, less than one comes from the United States.


Ó dáa, ó dín ní ẹyọ̀kan ni ó ń wá láti orílẹ̀-ède Amẹ́ríkà.


One, on average, comes from Europe.


Ẹyọ̀kan, ní àròpin, ni ó ń wá láti ilẹ̀ Yúróòpù.


100 come from Asia and the Pacific.


Ọgọ́rùún wá láti agbọn Asia àti Pacific.


And each day, a thousand babies -- a thousand babies are born each day with HIV in Africa.


Ní ọjọ́ kànkan, ẹgbẹ̀rún kan àwọn ìkókó - ẹgbẹ̀rún kan àwọn ìkókó ni wọ́n ń bí lọ́jó kànkan pẹ̀lú kòkòro apa sójà ara ní ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀.


So again, I look at the globe here and the disproportionate share of HIV in Africa.


Lẹ́ẹ̀kan síi, mo wo àwòran àgbáyé tó wà níbí àti ìpín kòkòro apa sójà ara ní ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ tó ti kọjá àyè.


And let's look at another map.


Ẹ jẹ́ kí á wo àwòrán orílẹ̀-èdè mìíràn.


That thin sliver you see here, that's Africa.


Ilà fàdákà tírín tí ẹ rí níbí yìí, ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ nìyẹn.


And it's the same with nurses.


Bákan náà ni pẹ̀lú àwọn nọ́ọ́sì.


The truth is sub-Saharan Africa has 24 percent of the global disease burden and yet only three percent of the world's health care workers.


Ọtítọ́ ibẹ̀ ni wí pé ìwò-oòrun ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ ní ìdá mẹ́rìn-lé-lógún (24%) wàhálà ààrùn àgbáyé síbẹ̀ ìdá mẹ́ta àwọn òṣìṣẹ́ ìlera àgbáyé péré.


That means doctors and nurses simply don't have the time to take care of patients.


Ìyẹn túmọ̀ sí wí pé àwọn oníṣègùn òyìnbó àti àwọn nọ́ọ́sì ò ní àkókò láti tọ́jú àwọn aláìsàn.


A nurse in a busy clinic will see 50 to 100 patients in a day, which leaves her just minutes per patient -- minutes per patient.


Nọ́ọ́sì kan ní ààyè ìtọ́jú máa rí àdọ́ta (50) sí ọgọ́rùn (100) àwọn aláìsàn lọ́jọ́ kan, tí ó fun ní ànfàní ìṣẹ́jú díẹ̀ fún aláìsàn kan -- ìṣẹ́jú díẹ̀ fún aláìsàn kan.


And so when we look at these PMTCT programs, what does it mean?


Tí a bá wá wo àwọn èto PMTCT wọ̀nyí, kí ló túmọ̀ sí?


Well, back in 2001, when there was just a simple test and a single dose of a drug, a nurse, in the course of her few minutes with a patient, would have to counsel for the HIV test, perform the HIV test, explain the results, dispense a single dose of the drug, Nevirapine, explain how to take it, discuss infant feeding options, reinforce infant feeding, and test the baby -- in minutes.


Ó dáa, ní ọdún 2001, nígbà tí ó jẹ́ wí pé àyẹ̀wò péréte àti hóró òògùn kan ló wà, nọ́ọ́sì kan, lásíkò ìṣẹ́jú péréte rẹ̀ pẹ̀lú aláìsàn kan, ní láti ṣe ìdánilẹ́kọ̀ fún àyẹ̀wo kòkòro apa sójà ara, ṣe àyẹ̀wo kòkòrò apa sójà ara, ṣàlàye èsì, fún wọn ní hóró òògùn kan, Nevirapine, ṣàlàye bí wọn ó ṣe lò ó, jírórò àwọn ẹ̀yan ìfọ́mọlọ́mú, ṣe ìwúrí fún ìfọ́mọlọ́mú, kó sì ṣe àyẹ̀wò fún ìkókó náà - ní ìṣẹ́jú díẹ̀.


Well, fortunately since 2001, we've got new treatments, new tests, and we're far more successful, but we don't have any more nurses.


Ó dáa, Oríire ni pé láti ọdún 2001, a ti ní àwọn ìtọ́jú tuntun, àyẹ̀wò tuntun, a sì ti ṣe àṣeyọrí jìnà, ṣùgbọ́n a kò ní àwọn nọ́ọ́sì púpọ̀ mọ́.


And so these are the tests a nurse now has to do in those same few minutes.


Àwọn àyẹ̀wò wọ̀nyí ní nọ́ọ́sì kan ní láti ṣe láàrín ìṣẹ́jú péréte kan náà.


It's not possible -- it doesn't work.


Kò ṣe é ṣe -- kò kí ń ṣiṣẹ́.


And so we need to find better ways of providing care.


Nítorí náà a ní láti wá àwọn ọ̀nà tó dára láti pèsè ìtọ́jú.


This is a picture of a maternal health clinic in Africa -- mothers coming, pregnant and with their babies.


Èyí ni àwòran ilé-ìwòsàn ìgbèbí ní ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ -- àwọn ìyá tó ń wá, tí wọ́n lóyún tí wọ́n wá pẹ̀lú àwọn ìkókó wọn.


These women are here for care, but we know that just doing a test, just giving someone a drug, it's not enough.


Àwọn obìnrin wònyí wá síbí fún ìtọ́jú, ṣùgbọ́n a mọ̀ wí pé ṣíṣe àyẹ̀wò kan, fífún ènìyàn lógùn nìkan, kò tó.


Meds don't equal medical care.


Òògùn ò dọ́gba pẹ̀lú ìtọ́jú.


Doctors and nurses, frankly, don't have the time or skills to tell people what to do in ways they understand.


Àwọn Oníṣégùn-òyìnbó àti àwọn nọ́ọ́sì, ní tòótọ́, ò ní àkókò tàbí ìmọ̀ọ́ṣe láti sọ fún àwọn ènìyàn ǹkan tí wọn yóò ṣe ní ọ̀nà tí yóò yé wọn.


"I'm a doctor -- I tell people things to do, and I expect them to follow my guidance -- because I'm a doctor; I went to Harvard -- but the reality is, if I tell a patient, ""You should have safer sex."


"Mo jẹ́ onímọ̀-ìṣègùn -- mo máa ń sọ fún àwọn ènìyàn ohun tí wọn yóò ṣe, mo dẹ̀ lérò wí pé wọn yóò tẹ̀lé ìmọ̀ràn mi -- nítorí oníṣégùn-òyìnbó ni mí; mo lọ sí Havard - ṣùgbọ́n òtítọ́ ibẹ̀ ni wí pé, tí mo bá sọ fún aláìsàn kan, ""kí ẹ ní ìbálópọ̀ aláìléwu."


"You should always use a condom,"" and yet, in her relationship, she's not empowered -- what's going to happen?"


"Kí ẹ máa lo rọ́bà ìdáábò bò ní gbogbo ìgbà, ""síbẹ̀, nínú àjọṣepọ̀ rẹ̀, kò ní agbára - kí ni yóò ṣẹlẹ̀?"


If I tell her to take her medicines every day and yet, no one in the household knows about her illness, so it's just not going to work.


Tí mo bá sọ fún-un wí pé kó lo òògun rẹ̀ lójoojúmọ́ síbẹ̀, kò sí ẹnìkan ní ìdílé rẹ̀ to mọ̀ nípa àìsan rẹ̀.


And so we need to do more, we need to do it differently, we need to do it in ways that are affordable and accessible and can be taken to scale, which means it can be done everywhere.


Nítorí náà a ní láti ṣe síi, a ní láti ṣe é lọ́nà tó yátọ̀, a ní láti ṣe é ní ọ̀nà tí kò ní gaju ara lọ tí wọn yóò sì ní ànfàní síi ti wọ́n lè gbe sórí òṣùwọ̀n, tó túmọ̀ sí wí pé wọ́n lè ṣe é níbikíbi.


So, I want to tell you a story -- I want to take you on a little trip.


Nítorí náà, mo fẹ́ sọ ìtàn kan fún yín - mo fẹ́ múu yín rin ìrìnàjò kékeré kan.


Imagine yourself, if you can, you're a young woman in Africa, you're going to the hospital or clinic.


Ẹ wòye ara yín, tí o bá lè ṣe bẹ́ẹ̀, o jẹ́ ọ̀dọ́bìnrin nílẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀, ò ń lọ sí ilé-ìwòsàn tàbí ààyè-ìtọ́jú.


You go in for a test and you find out that you're pregnant, and you're delighted.


Ẹ wọlé fún àyẹ̀wò o wá mọ̀ wí pé o ti loyún, inúù rẹ sì dùn.


And then they give you another test and they tell you you're HIV-positive, and you're devastated.


Nígbà náà ni wọ́n bá fún ẹ ní àyẹ̀wò míràn wọ́n sì sọ fún ẹ wí pé o ní kòkòro apa sójà ara, ó sì rẹ̀ ọ́ wẹ̀sì.


And the nurse takes you into a room, and she tells you about the tests and HIV and the medicines you can take and how to take care of yourself and your baby, and you hear none of it.


Nọ́ọ́sì náà bá mú ẹ lọ sínú yàrá kan, ó sì ń sọ fún ẹ nípa àwọn àyẹ̀wò náà àti kòkòro apa sójà ara àti àwọn òògùn tí ẹ lè lò àti bí ẹ ó ṣe ṣe ìtọ́jú ara yín àti ọmọ yín, ẹ ò sì gbọ́ ǹkankan nínu rẹ̀.


"All you're hearing is, ""I'm going to die, and my baby is going to die."


"Gbogbo ǹkan tí ẹ̀ ń gbọ́ ni, ""Màá kú, ọmọọ̀ mi náà máa kú."


And then you're out on the street, and you don't know where to go.


O bá bọ́ sí ìgboro, o kò sì mọ ibi à á yà sí.


And you don't know who you can talk to, because the truth is, HIV is so stigmatizing that if you partner, your family, anyone in your home, you're likely to be thrown out without any means of support.


Ẹ ò sì mọ ẹni tí ẹ lè fi ọ̀rọ̀ lọ̀, nítorí ọ̀títọ́ ibẹ̀ ni wí pé, kòkòro apa sójà ara máa ń fa ìdẹ́yẹsí débi wí pé tí olólùfẹ́ẹ̀ rẹ, ẹbíì rẹ, ẹnikẹ́ni nínu iléè rẹ, wọ́n lè lé ẹ síta láìsí àtìlẹyìn Kankan.


And this -- this is the face and story of HIV in Africa today.


Èyí -- eyí ni ojú àti ìtan kòkòro apa sójà ara ní ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ lónì.


But we're here to talk about possible solutions and some good news.


Ṣùgbọ́n a wá síbí láti wá sọ nípa àwọn ọ̀nà-àbáyọ àti àwọn ìròyin ayọ̀.


And I want to change the story a little bit.


Mo dè fẹ́ ṣe àyípadà ìtàn yìí díẹ̀ si.


Take the same mother, and the nurse, after she gives her her test, takes her to a room.


Ẹ mú ìyá yìí kan náà, àti nọ́ọ́sì náà, lẹ́yìn tó bá fún-un ní àyẹ̀wo rẹ̀, ó múu lọ sí yàrá kan.


The door opens and there's a room full of mothers, mothers with babies, and they're sitting, and they're talking, they're listening.


Ilẹ̀kùn náà ṣí yàrá náà sì kún fún àwọn ìyá, àwọn ìyá tí wọ́n lọ́mọ lọ́wọ́, tí wọ́n jókòó, tí wọ́n ń sọ́rọ̀, tí wọ́n ń tẹ́tí.


They're drinking tea, they're having sandwiches.


Wọ́n ń mu tíì, wọ́n ń jẹ búrẹ́dì.


"And she goes inside, and woman comes up to her and says, ""Welcome to mothers2mothers."


"Ó sì wọlé lọ, obìnrin kan sì dìde sí i ó sì wí pé, ""káábọ̀ sí ìya sí ìyá."


Have a seat.


Mú ìjókòó.


You're safe here.


Ààbó wà fún ọ níbí.


We're all HIV-positive.


Gbogbo wa la ní kòkòro apa sójà ara.


You're going to be okay.


Aráà rẹ yóò yá.


You're going to live.


Wàá gbáyé.


Your baby is going to be HIV-negative.


Ọmọọ̀ rẹ ò ní ní kòkòro apa sójà ara.


We view mothers as a community's single greatest resource.


A rí àwọn ìyá gẹ́gẹ́ bí èròjà kan ṣoṣo tó tóbi jù láwùjọ.


Mothers take care of the children, take care of the home.


Àwọn ìyá máa ń ṣe ìtọ́jú àwọn ọmọ, ṣe ìtọ́jú ilé.


So often the men are gone.


Lọ́pọ̀ ìgbà àwọn ọkùnrin ti lọ.


They're working, or they're not part of the household.


Wọ́n ń ṣiṣẹ́, tàbí wọ̀n ò sí lára ìdílé náà.


Our organization, mothers2mothers, enlists women with HIV as care providers.


Ilé-iṣẹ́ wa, ìyá sí ìyá, máa ń gba àwọn obìnrin tí wọ́n ní kòkòro apa sójà ara gẹ́gẹ́ bi elétò ìlera.


We bring mothers who have HIV, who've been through these PMTCT programs in the very facilities, to come back and work side by side with doctors and nurses as part of the health care team.


A máa ń mú àwọn ìyá tí wọ́n ní kòkòro apa sójà ara, tí wọ́n ti la èto PMTCT wọ̀nyí kọjá ní àyè yìí, láti padà wá ṣiṣẹ́ papọ̀ pẹ̀lú àwọn oníṣégùn-òyìnbó àti àwọn nọ́ọ́sì gẹ́gẹ́ bí ọ̀kan lára ikọ̀ òṣìṣẹ́ ìlera.


These mothers, we call them mentor mothers, are able to engage women who, just like themselves, pregnant with babies, have found out about being HIV-positive, who need support and education.


Àwọn ìyá wọ̀nyí, à ń pè wọ́n ní àwọn ìya olùbánidámọ́ràn, máa ń jírórò pẹ̀lú àwọn obìnrin tí, bí àwọn náà, wọ́n lóyún ọmọ, tí wọ́n ti mọ̀ wí pé àwọ́n ti ní kòkòro apa sójà ara, tí wọ́n nílò àtìlẹyìn àti ẹ̀kọ́.


And they support them around the diagnosis and educate them about how to take their medicines, how to take care of themselves, how to take care of their babies.


Wọ́n máa ń ṣe àtìlẹyìn fún wọn nípa àyẹ̀wò wọ́n sì máa ń kọ́ wọn lẹ́kọ̀ọ́ nípa bí wọn ó ṣe lo òògun wọn, bí wọn ó ṣe ṣe ìtọ́jú ara wọn, bí wọn ó ṣe tọ́jú àwọn ìkókó wọn.


Consider: if you needed surgery, you would want the best possible technical surgeon, right?


Rò ó wò: tí ẹ bá nílò iṣẹ́ abẹ, ẹ máa fẹ́ àgbà-ọ̀jẹ̀ nínu iṣẹ́ abẹ tó ṣe é ṣe jùlọ, àbí?


But if you wanted to understand what that surgery would do to your life, you'd like to engage someone, someone who's had the procedure.


Ṣùgbọ́n tí ẹ bá fẹ́ mọ ohun tí iṣẹ́ abẹ yẹn máa ṣe fún ayéè yín, ẹ máa nífẹ̀ láti jírórò pẹ̀lú ẹnìkan, ẹnìkan tó ti la irú ìgbésẹ̀ náà kọjá.


Patients are experts on their own experience, and they can share that experience with others.


Àgbà-ọ̀jẹ̀ ni àwọn aláìsàn nípa ìrírí wọn, wọ́n lè sọ ìrírí yẹn fún àwọn tókù.


This is the medical care that goes beyond just medicines.


Èyí ni ìtọ́jú ajẹmọ́ ìṣègùn tó kọjá òògùn lásán.


So the mothers who work for us, they come from the communities in which they work.


Àwọn ìyá tí wọ́n ń ṣiṣẹ́ fún wa, wọ́n wá láti àwọn agbègbè tí wọ́n ti ń ṣiṣẹ́.


They're hired -- they're paid as professional members of the health care teams, just like doctors and nurses.


A gbà wọ́n -- wọ́n ń gba owó gẹ́gẹ́ bi akọ́ṣẹ́mọṣẹ́ lára ikọ̀ àwọn onímọ̀ ìlera, bíi àwọn oníṣégùn-òyìnbó àti àwọn nọ́ọ́sì.


And we open bank accounts for them and they're paid directly into the accounts, because their money's protected; the men can't take it away from them.


A ṣí àpò-àṣùwọn ilé-ìfowópamọ́ fún wọn a dẹ̀ ń sanwó tààrà sínu àpò-àṣùwọn wọn, nítorí ààbó wà fún owó wọn; àwọn ọkùnrin ò lè gbà á lọ́wọ wọn.


They go through two to three weeks of rigorous curriculum-based education, training.


Wọ́n máa ń la ètò-ẹ̀kọ́ oní kọ̀ríkúlọ́ọ̀mù alágbára olósẹ̀ méjì tàbí mẹ́ta kọjá, ìdánilẹ́kọ̀ọ́.


Now, doctors and nurses -- they too get trained.


Ní báyìí, àwọn oníṣégùn-òyìnbó àti àwọn nọ́ọ́sì -- àwọn náà ń gba ìdánilẹ́kọ̀ọ́.


But so often, they only get trained once, so they're not aware of new medicines, new guidelines as they come out.


Ṣùgbọ́n lọ́pọ̀ ìgbà, ẹ̀kan ṣoṣo ni wọ́n máa ń gba ìkọ́ni, nítorí náà wọn ò nímọ̀ nípa òògùn tuntun, ìlànà ìtọ́sọ́nà tuntun bí wọ́n ṣe ń jáde.


Our mentor mothers get trained every single year and retrained.


Àwọn ìya olùbánidámọ̀ran wa máa ń gba ìkọ́ni lọ́dún kànkan àti àtúnkọ́.


And so doctors and nurses -- they look up to them as experts.


Nítorí náà àwọn oníṣégùn-òyìnbó àti àwọn nọ́ọ́sì -- wọ́n máa ń wọjú wọn gẹ́gẹ́ bi àgbà-ọ̀jẹ̀.


Imagine that: a woman, a former patient, being able to educate her doctor for the first time and educate the other patients that she's taking care of.


Ẹ Wòye pé: obìnrin kan, tó jẹ́ aláìsàn nígbà kan rí, tó lè kọ́ onímọ̀-ìṣègun rẹ̀ fún ìgbà àkọ́kọ́ tó sì lè kọ́ àwọn aláìsàn tókù tó ń ṣe ìtọ́jú wọn.


Our organization has three goals.


Ilé-iṣẹ́ wa ní àfojúsùn mẹ́ta.


The first, to prevent mother-to-child transmission.


Àkọ́kọ́, láti dèna àkóràn ìyá-sí-ọmọ.


The second: keep mothers healthy, keep mothers alive, keep the children alive -- no more orphans.


Ìkejì: kí ìyá wà lálààfíà, kí ìyá wà láyé, kí ọmọ náà wà lááyé -- kò sí ọmọ òrúkàn mọ́.


And the third, and maybe the most grand, is to find ways to empower women, enable them to fight the stigma and to live positive and productive lives with HIV.


Ìkẹ́ta, bóyá èyí tó ṣe pàtàkì jùlọ, ni láti wá ọ̀nà láti ró àwọn obìnrin lágbára, fún wọn ní ànfàní láti gbógun ti ìdẹ́yẹsí àti láti gbé ìgbe ayé rere ìgbeayé tí yóò so èso rere pẹ̀lu kòkòro apa sójà ara.


So how do we do it?


Báwo la ó ṣe ṣe é?


Well, maybe the most important engagement is the one-to-one, seeing patients one-to-one, educating them, supporting them, explaining how they can take care of themselves.


Bóyá ibánisòrọ̀ tó ṣe pàtàkì jù ni ìwọ-kan-èmi-kan, rírí àwọn aláìsàn ní ìwọ-kan-èmi-kan, kíkọ́ wọn lẹ́kọ̀ọ́, ṣíṣe àtìlẹyìn fún wọn, ṣí ṣálàyé bí wọn ó ṣe ṣe ìtọ́jú ara wọn.


We go beyond that; we try to bring in the husbands, the partners.


A máa ń tayọ ìyẹn; a máa ń gbìyànjú láti mú àwọn ọkọ wọlé, àwọn olólùfẹ́.


In Africa, it's very, very hard to engage men.


Ní ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀, ó le gidi gan láti jírórò pẹ̀lú àwọn ọkùnrin.


Men are not frequently part of pregnancy care.


Àwọn ọkùnrin kìí fi bẹ́ẹ̀ sí lára ìtọ́jú oyún.


But in Rwanda, in one country, they've got a policy that a woman can't come for care unless she brings the father of the baby with her -- that's the rule.


Ṣùgbọ́n ní orílẹ̀-ède Rwanda, ní orílẹ̀-èdè kan, wọ́n ti ní òfin pé obìnrin ò lè wá fún ìtọ́jú àyàfi tí ó bá mú bàba ọmọ wá pẹ̀lu rẹ̀ -- òfin yẹn nìyẹn.


And so the father and the mother, together, go through the counseling and the testing.


Nítorí náà bàbá àti ìyá, lápapọ̀, jọ máa ń la ìdánilẹ́kọ̀ọ́ àti àyẹ̀wò kọjá ni.


The father and the mother, together, they get the results.


Bàbá àti ìyá, lápapọ̀, jọ máa ń gba èsì ni.


And this is so important in breaking through the stigma.


Èyí sì ṣe pàtàkì láti rí ọ̀nà àbáyọ kúrò nínu ìdẹ́yẹsí.


Disclosure is so central to prevention.


Sísọ ọ́ jáde ṣe pàtàkì púpọ̀ fún ìdènà.


How do you have safer sex, how do you use a condom regularly if there hasn't been disclosure?


Báwo ni ẹ ṣe lè ní ìbálópọ̀ aláìléwu, báwo ni ẹ ṣe lè lo rọ́bà ìdáábòbò lóórè-kóórè tí kò bá sí sísọ?


Disclosure is so important to treatment, because again, people need the support of family members and friends to take their medicines regularly.


Sísọ ọ́ ṣe pàtàkì púpọ̀ fún ìtọ́jú, torí lẹ́ẹ̀kan síi, àwọn ènìyán nílò àtìlẹyìn àwọn ẹbí àti ọ̀rẹ́ láti lo òògun wọn lóórè-kóórè.


We also work in groups.


A tún máa ń ṣiṣẹ́ ní ìsòrí-sòrí.


Now the groups, it's not like me lecturing, but what happens is women, they come together -- under the support and guidance of our mentor mothers -- they come together, and they share their personal experiences.


Báyìí àwọn ìsọ̀rí náà, kìí ṣe pé mò ń ṣe ìdánilẹ́kọ̀ọ́, ṣùgbọ́n ǹkan tó ṣẹlẹ̀ ní wí pé àwọn obìnrin, wọ́n máa ń kórajọ -- lábẹ́ àtìlẹyìn àti ìtọ́sọ́nà àwọn ìyá olùbánidámọ̀ran wa -- wọ́n máa ń kórajọ, wọ́n sì máa ń sọ ìrírí wọn.


And it's through the sharing that people get tactics of how to take care of themselves, how to disclose how to take medicines.


Nípasẹ sísọ ìrírí náà ni àwọn ènìyàn ti má a ń rí ọgbọ́n bí wọ́n ṣe lè tọ́jú ara wọn, bí wọn ó ṣe sọ ọ́ bí wọn ó ṣe lo òògùn.


And then there's the community outreach, engaging women in their communities.


And then there's the community outreach, engaging women in their communities. Ìkéde agbègbé náà tún wà, ìjírórò pẹ̀lú àwọn obìnrin ní àwùjọ wọn.


If we can change the way households believe and think, we can change the way communities believe and think.


Tí a bá lè mú àyípada bá ìgbàgbọ́ àwọn ìdíle àti bí wọ́n ṣe ń ronú, a lè mú àyípadà bá ìgbàgbọ́ àwùjọ àti bí wọ́n ṣe ń ronú.


And if we can change enough communities, we can change national attitudes.


Tí a bá lè mú àyípadà bá àwùjọ tó pọ̀, a lè mú àyípadà bá ìhùwàsí orílẹ̀-èdè.


We can change national attitudes to women and national attitudes to HIV.


A lè mú àyípadà bá ìhà orílẹ̀-èdè sí àwọn obìnrin àti ìhà orílẹ̀-èdè sí kòkòro apa sójà ara.


The hardest barrier really is around stigma reduction.


Ìdíwọ́ tó lágbára jù lóòtọ́ sopọ̀ mọ́ àdínkù ìdẹ́yẹsí.


We have the medicines, we have the tests, but how do you reduce the stigma?


A ní àwọn òògùn, a ní àyẹ̀wò, ṣùgbọ́n báwo la ṣe lè mú àdínkù bá ìdẹ́yẹsí?


And it's important about disclosure.


Ó sì ṣe pàtàkì sí sísọ ọ́ jáde.


So, a couple years ago, one of the mentor mothers came back, and she told me a story.


Nítorí náà, ní bíi ọdún díẹ̀ sẹ́yìn, ọ̀kan nínú àwọn ìyá olùbánidámọ̀ran náà padà wá, ó dẹ̀ sọ ìtàn kan fún mi.


She had been asked by one of the clients to go to the home of the client, because the client wanted to tell the mother and her brothers and sisters about her HIV status, and she was afraid to go by herself.


Ọ̀kan nínú àwọn aláìsan rẹ̀ sọ fún-un wí pé kó lọ sí ilé òhun, nítorí aláìsàn náà fẹ́ sọ fún ìyá àti àwọn ọmọ ìya rẹ̀ lọ́kùnrin àti lóbìnrin nípa ipò kòkòro apa sójà ara rẹ̀, ẹ̀rú sì ń bà á láti lọ fúnra rẹ̀.


And so the mentor mother went along with.


Ni ìyá olùbánidámọ́ràn náà bá tẹ̀le lọ.


"And the patient walked into the house and said to her mother and siblings, ""I have something to tell you."


"Ni aláìsàn náà bá rìn wọnú ilé náà ó bá sọ fún ìya rẹ̀ àti àwọn ẹbí rẹ̀, ""Mo ní ǹkan láti sọ fún yín."


I'm HIV-positive.


Mo ti ní kòkòro apa sójà ara.


And everybody was quiet.


Gbogbo wọ́n dákẹ́.


"And then her oldest brother stood up and said, ""I too have something to tell you."


"Ni ẹ̀gbọn rẹ̀ àgbà lọ́kùnrin náà bá dìde ó ní, ""èmi náà ní ǹkan láti sọ fún yín."


Mo ní kòkòro apa sójà ara.


I've been afraid to tell everybody.


Ẹ̀rù ló ń bàmí láti sọ fún gbogbo yín.


And then this older sister stood up and said, I too am living with the virus, and I've been ashamed.


"Ni ẹ̀gbọn rẹ̀ àgbà lóbìnrin yìí bá dìde ó ní, ""Èmi náà ń gbé pẹ̀lu kòkòrò náà, ojú sì ti ń tìmí."


And then her younger brother stood up and said, I'm also positive.


"Ni àbúro rẹ̀ lọ́kùnrin náà bá dìde ó ní, ""Èmi náà ní i."


I thought you were going to throw me out of the family.


Mo lérò wí pé ẹ máa lémi kúrò nínú ẹbí ni.


And you see where this is going.


Ẹ rí ibi tí èyí ń lọ.


"The last sister stood up and said, ""I'm also positive."


"Obìnrin tó gbẹ́yìn dìde ó ní, ""èmi náà ní i."


I thought you were going to hate me.


Mo lérò wí pé ẹ máa kórìra mi ni.


And there they were, all of them together for the first time being able to share this experience for the first time and to support each other for the first time.


""" Àwọn wá rèé, gbogbo wọn lápapọ̀ fún ìgbà àkọ́kọ́ tí wọ́n lè sọ ìrírí yìí fún ìgbà àkọ́kọ́ àti láti ṣe àtilẹyìn fún ara wọn fún ìgbà àkọ́kọ́."


(Video) Female Narrator: Women come to us, and they are crying and scared.


(fọ́rán aláwòrán) Obìnrin Asọ̀tàn: Àwọn obìnrin máa ń wá sọ́dọ wa, wọ́n ń sukún ẹ̀rú sì ń bà wọ́n.


I tell them my story, that I am HIV-positive, but my child is HIV-negative.


Mo sọ ìtan tèmi fún wọn, pé mo ni kòkòro apa sójà ara, ṣùgbọ́n ọmọọ̀ mi ò ní.


"I tell them, ""You are going to make it, and you will raise a healthy baby."


"Mo sọ fún wọn, ""Ẹ máa yán-an yọ, ẹ ó sì re ọmọ tí ìléra rẹ̀ pé."


I am proof that there is hope.


""" Èrí ni mo jẹ́ pé ìrètí ń bẹ."


Mitchell Besser: Remember the images I showed you of how few doctors and nurses there are in Africa.


Mitchell Besser: Ẹ rantí àwọn àwòrán tí mo fi hàn yín nípa ìwọ̀nba awọn oníṣégùn-òyìnbó àti àwọn nọ́ọ́sì tí wọ́n wà ní ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀.


And it is a crisis in health care systems.


Wàhálà ló sì jẹ́ sí ètò ìlera.


Even as we have more tests and more drugs, we can't reach people; we don't have enough providers.


Kódà bí a ṣe ń ní àyẹ̀wò àti òògùn si, a ò léè dọ́dọ̀ àwọn ènìyàn; a ò ní àwọn onímò-ìlera tó tó.


So we talk in terms of what we call task-shifting.


À máa ń sọ̀rọ̀ nípa ǹkan tí à ń pè ní ìgbaṣẹ́ lọ́wọ́ ara ẹni.


Task-shifting is traditionally when you take health care services from one provider and have another provider do it.


ìgbaṣẹ́ lọ́wọ́ ara ẹni jẹ́ àṣà nígbà tí ẹ bá gba iṣẹ́ ìlera láti ọwọ́ onímọ̀-ìlera kan tí onímọ̀-ìlera mìíràn sì ṣe é.


Typically, it's a doctor giving a job to a nurse.


Bó ṣe rí, oníṣégùn-òyìnbó lo ń gbé iṣẹ́ fún nọ́ọ́sì.


And the issue in Africa is that there are fewer nurses, really than doctors, and so we need to find new paradigm for health care.


Wàhálà tó wà nílẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀ ni wí pé ìwọ̀nba àwọn nọ́ọ́sì ló wà, ju àwọn oníṣégùn-òyìnbó lọ, nítorí náà a nílò láti wá ètò tuntun fún ètò ìlera.


How do you build a better health care system?


Báwo ni ẹ ṣe lè pèse ètò ìlera gidi?


We've chosen to redefine the health care system as a doctor, a nurse and a mentor mother.


A ti pinnu láti ṣe àtúnṣe ètò ìlera gẹ́gẹ́ bi oníṣégùn-òyìnbó, nọ́ọ́sì àti ìya olùbánidámọ́ràn.


And so what nurses do is that they ask the mentor mothers to explain how to take the drugs, the side effects.


Nítorí náà ǹkan tí àwọn nọ́ọ́sì máa ń ṣe ni wí pé wọn máa ń sọ fún àwọn ìya olùbánidámọ́ràn pé kọ́ ṣàlàye bi wọn yóò ṣe lo òògùn, àti ewu rẹ̀.


They delegate education about infant feeding, family planning, safer sex, actions that nurses simple just don't have time for.


Wọ́n máa ń ṣe ìdánilẹ́kọ̀ọ́ nípa fífún ìkókó lóunjẹ, ìfètò-sẹ́bí, ìbálópọ̀ aláìléwu, àwọn iṣẹ́ tí àwọn nọ́ọ́sì ò ní àkókò fún.


So we go back to the prevention of mother to child transmission.


A padà síbi ìdèna àkóràn ìyá sí ọmọ.


The world is increasingly seeing these programs as the bridge to comprehensive maternal and child health.


Gbogbo àgbáyé ń rí àwọn ètò wọ̀nyí gẹ́gẹ́ bi afárá sí ẹ̀kúnrẹ́rẹ́ ìlera ìyá àti ọmọ.


And our organization helps women across that bridge.


Ilé-iṣẹ́ wa ń ran àwọn obìnrin lọ́wọ́ láti gun afárá yẹn.


The care doesn't stop when the baby's born -- we deal with the ongoing health of the mother and baby, ensuring that they live healthy, successful lives.


Ìtójú náà ò kín dúró nígbà tí wọ́n bá bí ọmọ náà -- a máa ń ṣiṣẹ́ pẹ̀lú ìtẹ̀síwájú ìlera ìyá àti ọmọ, láti ríi dájú pé wọ́n gbé ìgbe ayé àlàáfíà, ìgbeayé aláṣeyọrí.


Our organization works on three levels.


Ilé-iṣẹ́ wa ń ṣiṣẹ́ ní ìpele mẹ́ta.


The first, at the patient level -- mothers and babies keeping babies from getting HIV, keeping mothers healthy to raise them.


Àkọ́kọ́, ní ìpele aláìsàn -- àwọn ìya àti àwọn ọmọ dídáábòbo àwọn ọmọ kúrò níbi kíkó kòkòro apa sójà ara, mímú kí àwọn ìyá wà láláàfíà láti rè wọ́n.


The second, communities -- empowering women.


Ìkejì, àwọn àwùjọ -- ríró àwọn obìnrin lágbára.


They become leaders within their communities.


Wọ́n di adarí láàrín àwùjọ wọn.


They change the way communities think -- we need to change attitudes to HIV.


Wọ́n mú àyípadà bá bí àwọn àwùjọ ṣe ń ronú -- a nílò láti mú àyípadà bá ìhà kíkọ sí kòkòro apa sójà ara


We need to change attitudes to women in Africa.


A nílò láti mú àyípadà bá ìhà kíkọ sí àwọn obìnrin ní ilẹ̀ Adúláwọ̀.


We have to do that.


A ní láti ṣe ìyẹn.


And then rework the level of the health care systems, building stronger health care systems.


Ká wá ṣe àtúnṣe ìpele ètò ìlera, ìṣẹ̀dá ètò ìlera tó lágbára.


Our health care systems are broken.


Ètò ìlera wá ti túká.


They're not going to work the way they're currently designed.


Wọn ò ní ṣiṣẹ́ bí wọ́n ṣe ṣe àto wọn lọ́wọ́lọ́wọ́ yìí.


And so doctors and nurses who need to try to change people's behaviors don't have the skills, don't have the time -- our mentor mothers do.


Nítorí náà àwọn onímọ̀-ìlera àti àwọn nọ́ọ́sì tí wọ́n ní láti mú àyípadà bá ìwà àwọn ènìyàn ò ní ìmọ̀ọ́ṣe rẹ̀, wọn ò ní àsìko rẹ̀ -- àwọn ìyá olùbánidámọ̀ran wa níi.


And so in redefining the health care teams by bringing the mentor mothers in, we can do that.


Nítorí náà láti ṣe àtúnṣe àwọn ikọ̀ ètò ìlera pẹ̀lú mímú àwọn ìyá olùbánidámọ́ràn wọlé, a lè ṣe ìyen.


I started the program in Capetown, South Africa back in 2001.


Mo bẹ̀rẹ ètò náà ní Capetown, orílẹ̀-ède South Africa ní ọdún 2001.


It was at that point, just the spark of an idea.


Ní àyè yẹn ni, ògúná èrò kan lásán.


Referencing Steven Johnson's very lovely speech yesterday on where ideas come from, I was in the shower at the time -- I was alone.


Títọ́ka sí ọrọ̀ dídùn Steven Johnson lánà lóri ibi tí èró ti ń wá, mo wà nínú ilé-ìwẹ̀ ní àsìkò náà -- mo dá wà ni.


(Laughter) The program is now working in nine countries, we have 670 program sites, we're seeing about 230,000 women every month, we're employing 1,600 mentor mothers, and last year, they enrolled 300,000 HIV-positive pregnant women and mothers.


(Ẹ̀rín) Ètò náà ti wá ń ṣiṣẹ́ ní àwọn orílẹ̀-èdè mẹ́sàn-án, a ní ibùdó ètò ojì-din-lẹwá din ni ẹ̀ẹ́dẹ́gbẹ́rin (670), à ń rí àwọn obìnrin tó tó ẹgbẹ̀rún lọ́nà ojì-din-lẹwá-le-nigba (230,000) lóṣooṣù, à ń gba ẹgbẹ̀jọ (1,600) àwọn ìyá olùbánidámọ́ràn síṣẹ́, ní ọdún tó kọjá, wọ́n gba àwọn obìnrin olóyún àti àwọn ìyá tó ni kòkòro apa sójà ara bíi ẹgbẹ̀rún lọ́nà ọ̀ọ̀dúnrún (300,000).


That is 20 percent of the global HIV-positive pregnant women -- 20 percent of the world.


Ìyẹn jẹ́ ìda ogún àwọn aláboyún tó ní kòkòro apa sójà ara ní àgbáyé -- ìda ogún (20%) àgbáyé.


What's extraordinary is how simple the premise is.


Ǹkan tó kọjá òye ni bí ọ̀rọ̀ yìí ṣe rọrùn tó.


Mothers with HIV caring for mothers with HIV.


Àwọn ìyá tó ní kòkòro apa sójà ara tí wọ́n ń ṣe ìtọ́jú fún àwọn ìyá tí wọ́n ní kòkòro apa sójà ara.


Past patients taking care of present patients.


Àwọn aláìsàn nígbà kan rí tí wọ́n ń ṣe ìtọ́jú àwọn tó ń ṣáìsàn lọ́wọ́.


And empowerment through employment -- reducing stigma.


Àti ìrónilágbára nípasẹ ìgbanisíṣẹ́ -- mímú àdínkù bá ìdẹ́yẹsí.


(Video) Female Narrator: There is hope, hope that one day we shall win this fight against HIV and AIDS.


(fọ́rán aláwòrán) Obìnrin Asọ̀tàn: ìrètí wà, ìrètí pé lọ́jọ́ kan a ó borí ìjà yìí kojú kòkòro apa sójà ara àti ìsọdọ̀lẹ àjẹsára.


Each person must know their HIV status.


Èyàn kànkan gbọ́dọ̀ mọ ipo kòkòro apa sójà ara wọn.


Those who are HIV-negative must know how to stay negative.


Àwọn tí wọn ò ní kòkòro apa sójà ara gbọ́dọ̀ mọ bí wọn ò ṣe ní kó o.


Those who are HIV-infected must know how to take care of themselves.


Àwọn tí wọ́n ní kòkòro apa sójà ara gbọ́dọ̀ mọ bí wọn ó ṣe ṣe ìtọ́jú ara wọn.


HIV-positive pregnant women must get PMTCT services in order to have HIV-negative babies.


Àwọn aláboyún tí wọ́n ní kòkòro apa sójà ara gbọ́dọ̀ gba iṣẹ́ PMTCT láti lè ní àwọn ìkókó tí ò ní kòkòro apa sójà ara.


All of this is possible, if we each contribute to this fight.


Gbogbo èyí ṣe é ṣe, tí ẹnìkànkan wa bá dásí ìjà yìí.