What Happened To The Nigerian Dream? (Pt. 4)
So far, most of what I have written is from the view of being in Yoruba land. Tomorrow morning, in the name of fairness, I head East to the Ibo-land for a different perspective.
Day 7
5am start, there’s no electricity. I manage to take a shower, brush my teeth and get dressed using the flashlight on my iPhone. It’s too dark to make breakfast, so I say my goodbyes, and head out with my young niece Tope, who will help me navigate the intricacies of Nigerian public transport.
Today, my adventure begins in earnest as I visit the oil rich east, I’m looking forward to seeing the place that was once called Biafra, home of the Saro-Wiwa family, and my eldest brother.
We manage to get a taxi from my mother’s place to the bus depot, and I get a first hand look at the very thing that has become synonymous with Nigeria — corruption.
It’s still dark, and we are stopped at a road block. An armed police officer sticks his hand through the driver’s window, and is given several banknotes. The officer doesn’t even look at the bribe, and just waves us through without saying a word. Even a morning handshake between two strangers would solicit a smile, word, or even a ‘hello’, but here, nothing…
I shake my head in silence, and gradually come to terms with how bad things are here. Nigeria is a lost nation, and I don’t believe there’s a chance in hell of it redeeming itself. My niece notices my disappointment, smiles, and informs me that it is now customary for university students to pay lecturers in order to pass their exams.
I hold Obasanjo, Jonathan, Buhari and other ex-presidents responsible for this mess. They have led by example, and corrupted the nation. I challenge them to prove me wrong by handing details of their personal accounts to an independent auditor for scrutiny. I’d like to see them explain how they’ve amassed so much wealth on a failing state’s pension.
The country has developed a staunch scavenger ethos, everything has a monetary value. People hang on to things in the hope that some day they could have a value — odd keys, door handles, old shoes, nails, rusty cutlery, all this just reminds me of scenes from post-apocalyptic films where people barter with tat. The desperation is of epidemic proportions, and a stark contrast to the lifestyle of many rich Nigerians abroad.
We arrive at a partially empty bus depot, and ask to book the front seats on a 7am bus, but are told they aren’t available. My niece suggests the attendant’s holding the seats for anyone willing to offer a bribe. I think nothing of it, but she checks the manifest and notices we are the first to book tickets on this particular bus! A quick word with the depot manager, explaining what has happened, produces the very seats we want.
Nigerians often make excuses to explain how deep this practice goes, and have given it a name — they call it the “Nigerian Way”, but I call it shaming of a once great nation.
Our epic nine-hour ride leaves late. The driver is playing non-stop gospel sermons and music. Most are too traditional for my liking, especially the part about watching pornography, Hollywood films, or using the Internet, apparently this means we’re possessed by the devil. Even more frightening is the suggestion that following anyone on Twitter, means we are disciples of a false prophet.
Just as I decide not to engage the driver in a exploratory chat about his beliefs, the pastor conducting the sermon says social media is an instrument of the devil, and the poor souls roaming the streets with mental health problems are possessed by Satan. I am now resolute that religion is the root of all evil.
Day Eight
The Eastern region of Nigeria is even more disenfrancised than the West, and I don’t blame them. They’re angry as hell, and don’t want direct rule from either Abuja or the North anymore. This part of the country is rich in oil, the very thing that has kept Nigeria afloat for decades, yet the benefits of black gold have not been shared with the East. Life here is even worse than the western parts of the country, and this is where tribal discrimination has hit hardest.
Let me explain... Nigeria is an amalgamation of different peoples, tribes, and religions. Before the nation was formed, Christian missionaries arrived by sea, and moved across the land all the way to the rainforest — they were stopped by malaria, and various other fevers. With Christianity came education, and the infrastructure to build a judiciary, legislature, etc, meanwhile the North got Islam from pilgrims that arrived via the desert, and were trained to be protectors of the nation, which is why most of the military leaders are muslim.
The East never really got a look in, and has been continuously raped and pillaged for its oil. They‘ve never been treated justly, and this is one of the things that led to the Biafran War.
Almost all the contracts to manage the vast oil reserves have been awarded to muslim northerners, ex-military, ex-politicians, and people close to the respective regimes.
A chat with a contractor who has worked on several state projects explained how things work. A contract is put out to tender, and several companies bid for the work. The winner is informed that all the necessary materials for the job must be supplied by a specific company, who in turn offer a generous backhander, but whichever way it is sliced, a politician gets money.
Politicking in the East is a little different from what I’ve experienced in other parts of the country. This morning, a political rally was held in a local school playground, where all the pupils were given a brand new school bag emblazoned with the logo and slogan of a local politician, and then the entire school was given the day off.
The East is an impoverished part of the country where a vast number of people live in mud brick houses without electricity, or access to running water. To these people a new school bag is a luxury, and from what I can see, it will easily buy political favours.
I feel so out of place here, it is a far cry from the country I knew.
Part 5
I have a little run-in with the local constabulary.