NIGERIA : A COUNTRY UNITED, A PEOPLE ASSURED

“Nigeria! A country united, A people assured”. I read it out loud with enough confidence to make myself believe it. No one seems to be bothered by the sound I make, after all its 6pm on a Monday and I’m at a library in Lagos. I think about the slogan and this time I actually believe it. It is slightly accurate depending on the criteria for assurance. Taking the book in my arms I walk through the library as I flip through the pages. As Nigerians, we are united and we are most definitely assured. You can be assured that we will never have constant electricity, we will elect a new president next time probably with no feet instead of shoes, we will splurge on things that have no value, and politicians will lie, cheat and steal while majority of us live in poverty. The word “us” comes back to me. I wonder if I’m allowed to say that, if I’m qualified enough to speak on behalf of the millions of Nigerians living in outrageous poverty. I have shoes, a foreign education and a job that pays me N200.00 over minimum wage (my boss is generous). When I go home I am sure there is a pack of Indomie noodles waiting for me and possibly a visit from a lady-friend who thinks I’m funny and likes the fact that my tummy feels like a pillow. So I guess I’m not categorized among the “us”, for although I am broke, I am not poor. Let’s not forget about my parents, they have money, but as my elder brother puts it “I like to suffer” so I never ask them for allowance. Thinking about it I haven’t spoken to them in a while. The wandering thought leaves my mind as I stumble upon the book’s pictures of women from different tribes in Nigeria. All of a sudden pitch-blackness and the beeping sound of a UPS. NEPA or is it PHCN had struck again, and like the book’s slogan predicted, I was assured that was going to happen.

As I stood there in that big empty library, book in my hand, phone in my pocket and darkness all around me, the coward in me tried to rear its ugly head. I was alone and if anything happened no one would hear me scream. As I imagined myself getting stabbed with a rusty knife by a Boko Haramer for trying to seek education I remembered I was 6ft tall and weighed 110kg. My imaginary attackers were probably more scared of me than I was of them. I felt a bit reassured, plus the beeping of the UPS on the other side of the room was somewhat comforting. With the thought still in my mind I began to picture what my imaginary attacker would be like. He wouldn’t be attacking me because he had a crazed obsession with killing unsuspecting library goers, that’s for white people I thought. This is a Nigerian killing a fellow Nigerian in a library so he must have a reason. I’m not important enough to be assassinated; everyone knows my dad probably won’t pay ransom if I’m kidnapped so my attacker must have a better reason. If I was poor, unemployed, and plagued by life’s toughest circumstances with no hope in sight, I’d probably rob the rich-looking guy who is alone in the library. Is that why he is choosing me as his victim? Does he not know that appearances can be deceiving? Sure I have a shirt and a tie on but my wallet is actually quite empty. Is he going to kill me because I appear to be rich but instead I’m broke? Why is it so hard for him to believe that I’m broke? Shouldn’t he be outside the Palms robbing the rich folk? As my mind effortlessly played out these multiple scenarios in my head the uninterrupted beep of the UPS brought me back to earth. The long beeps means it has a few seconds before it dies. I brushed the thought away, my mind was focused on justifying if this imaginary man had the right to rob me or not. It is his natural instinct to do what is necessary to survive. Our society has refused to provide him with the means to do this so he is taking it by force. It was morally wrong, but without robbing me for that N500 in my wallet he probably wouldn’t have a meal to eat tonight. The lights came on. I couldn’t tell if it was the generator or PHCN but there was light. My eyes returned to the book in my hands as I continued my walk through the library.
The pictures were interesting but I couldn’t stop thinking about my poor attacker. I thought to myself “At what stage of poverty should an honest Nigerian put his foot down and take his daily bread by force?” On my way to the library I had seen all sorts of luxury. I had left my clients office at Lekki and here I was in a library at Surulere. It seemed like Lekki was just an illusion. The real Nigeria or at least part of it could be found outside these library walls. The woman frying yam with a baby tied round her back, the man in his thirties on the bridge that was selling Bubble gum. Bubble gum sha… At what stage in your life as an adult male Nigerian do you decide that the only way I can now survive is to hawk Bubble Gum on the bridge to these teenagers and my age-mates in their range-rovers and Toyotas. If society was equal and we all had the same opportunities Bubble gum man could probably be a CEO. It is possible that most of these range-rover drivers are actually very hard-working people who seized opportunities others could not see. It’s either that or they are part of the oil-percentage of Nigeria’s population. I tried to figure out where I belonged. Not too long ago I had found out that the Bricklayer I supervise and shout on makes roughly 3 times my salary. N2,500 a day for 26 days in a month. N65,000 a month. That was also more than the accountant made. It’s quite ironic, the lowest level staff in my company in actuality is more valuable than me or the accountant. I need a raise and I need it now. Sure I’m a corper but wasn’t I trained abroad, I thought that had some sort of value. If this was the oil business Chevron would give me a six-figure salary and a house in Pluto just to show Mobil that they treat their staff better. Instead I’m at a library searching for Islamic books because my client said he wants his building to look more “Hausa-like”. A ridiculous request, but it’s either I meet his absurd demands or get fired for losing the client.

I had reached the middle of the book, where the focus was on how united Nigeria is. It had all the essential historical facts; the amalgamation, Independence, Civil war etc. I was proud of myself for knowing most of these facts, but sad at the thought that in my little sister’s school, pictures of Tafawa Balewa and Lord Lugard are being replaced with pictures of Ben10 and Hannah Montana. No one cares about Nigerian history anymore. Majority of Nigerians who are educated abroad cannot tell you the name of our Vice President. I wondered if Boko-Haram would ever become a significant aspect of Nigerian History. Their actions are unjustifiable and their primary cause motivated by common illiteracy but looking from outside the box they are trying to make a stand for what they believe in. No one really cares if they’re led by Northern politicians, the CIA or by the ghost of Stella Obasanjo, what we do know is they are getting their silly points and views across to our leaders even if they have to blow people up to get their attention. Blowing people up might be a bit extreme but the only way to truly get people to listen to you or take you seriously is by action, not by words. I’m quite sure when politicians read the tabloids and see journalists writing stories about their corruption they sit back, sip some whisky and laugh. They are past the age and stage where we can hurt them with our words. Writing an article or setting yourself on fire isn’t going to solve the issue. Sure people will read it, rain out some curses on them, but that’s where it stops. So how do we get politicians and the infamous Kabal to stop looting Nigeria and actually do their jobs? I had watched an episode of a tv show recently that had the (near)perfect solution. It was based in Bulgaria. The government officials were corrupt and basically ruining the country with their greed. There was this man who decided to take matters into his own hands. He would send out a warning letter to the politician’s office asking him to stop whatever corruption he was involved in and publicly apologize within one week. If they refused to stop or apologize he would publicly assassinate them. He always had ingenious ways of doing so. Either by sniper rifle, car-bomb, kidnapping etc. I think the kidnapping method was the best. He would kidnap them and keep them in an underground classroom. He would threathen to kill them until they wrote down all their crimes on a blackboard 1000 times. He recorded all this and put up the vidoes for the public to watch. After doing this to about 9 prominent politicians things begun to change quickly in his country. This isn’t impossible to accomplish in Nigeria. A bit harsh, but most of our leaders deserve it. Anyway I’m sure “I am going to put a bullet in your head” is a stronger threat than “I’m going to write a story that exposes you”. Maybe it’s time the people we elect realize that they are supposed to serve the people, not the other way round. Look at the pension fraud, I don’t know the exact facts but I know one individual was looting the hard-earned money of retired people while they suffered. It takes a certain level of cowardice for a pensioner to not react to this piece of information. Every month of your life for the past 40 years you took part of you money and paid it to a company. By signed contract that company promised to give you that money with interest when you are old and gray and you can’t fend for yourself. Every month you inconvenienced yourself just because of that promise. Now you’re old and gray you do not see 1 Naira from it and you are suffering. Then you find out that there is one man in that company that took all your money and has been using it to build houses and splurge on is girlfriend while you stay in your broken-down apartment with barely any food to eat. You react to this information by saying “Don’t worry, God will punish him”. Unfortunately you have been terribly misinformed. The way a Nigerian pensioner will react to this is very different from how a Liberian or Jamaican pensioner will react. You can be assured that in the other two countries head will roll. In Nigeria though, you can rest assured that our President with new shoes will create a “Probing committee” to “probe” the man and “probe” the pension scheme. Even under this probe, the criminal is still living eating and sleeping better than you. For all the affected pensioners all I can say is, you might as well turn the other cheek.

As I sat there daydreaming about the revenge of the pensioner I had lost track of time. I felt a tap on my shoulder and I was so startled I nearly pushed a shelf down. Fortunately it wasn’t my imaginary attacker, but the librarian telling me the library was closing and I had to leave. How long had I been standing there? I looked at my watch and it was almost 8’o clock. I put the book in the shelf, ignoring the scowl on the librarian’s face for not returning it to the right shelf. I walked down the steps and out of the library. It was dark outside, and the aroma of fried yam and plantain filled the air; A sign that the yam lady was still hustling hard to make her daily target. I decided to help her achieve this goal and at the same time let my stomach-acid burn something else except my stomach lining. I had just N500 on me and I needed 300 to get from Surulere to Apapa. As I gazed upon her yams and fish tails sizzling in the scorching oil I couldn’t help but notice how her young daughter stared at every motion she made. Almost like she was studying her mother and anticipating the day she would get the chance to fry yam and plantain herself. It was wonderful how attentive she was but also sad that this beautiful little girl’s greatest dream at that moment in time appeared to be the day she would be able to fry plantain and yam. As i……..TO BE CONTINUED.

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