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Reflections On My Journey To And From Naija By Francis Kizito Obeya USA
I returned from Nigeria a few days ago. It was the first time in almost 3 years since I had left the country to go and seek out a better life and more opportunities for myself and those who wished me well. I had kept an open mind concerning the journey home; too careful to expect t he good since correspondences from acquaintances had already painted a bleak picture of poor roads, incessant power outages, robberies, and general economic hardship. On the other hand, I was careful not to be too pessimistic since I remain a faithful believer in that old African adage, “you cannot use another man’s mouth to taste soup.” I expected to find bad roads but not too bad, power failure but still manageable (I did miss NEPA while I was away, I must confess,) robberies but only isolated incidents. I expected unemployed people but I also figured that people who could afford cellphones and buy expensive recharge cards to keep such cellphones happy cannot be doing too badly. It was with an almost balanced mindset that I went home to Nigeria we hail thee.
At the airport, I mused at certain things about us Nigerians that will never change. One particular quality with which we have distinguished ourselves is the quality of outdoing the Romans when in Rome. Case in Point: at Dulles Airport, I watched as Nigerians meticulously followed all airport rules and instructions up to the point of not only queuing to get screened but even acting as proper gentlemen and ladies as they allowed the young and elderly to be processed before them. The story was not the same on The Amsterdam-Abuja route. As soon as the gates were thrown open, it was every man for himself and the security personnel had their hands full tr ying to process the disorderly mass that struggled to get through. The author tried to be philosophical by wondering if these travelers realized that there was really no need for the scramble since our respective seats had already been allocated. No one was going to be standing due to unavailability of seats and the aircraft was not going to take off until the last available passenger has been screened. I guess meaningless struggling has become our way of life.
On board the aircraft continued the rowdiness and rudeness as people struggled to put their oversized luggage in the overhead bins. It must have taken all the patience of the crew to endure the excesses and raucousness of those citizens from Africa’s most populated country. There was no inst ruction that was not flouted that day; seat belts were unfastened when they should be fastened, seats were reclined when they should be straight and people continued to yell on top of their voices as they engaged in conversations with friends and families. Such was the atmosphere under which we came to Naija that day.
I would decline to dwell on the happenings at the Nnamdi Azikiwe International airport. However, I must commend the efforts of the customs and Immigrations personnel as they tried to provide assistance to the new arrivals. Their professionalism and efficiency really reflected credit upon themselves and upon their profession. It was also consoling to note that there was still a part of our national sector that had yet to wither under the debilitating grips o f corruption and inefficiency. This is not to say that there did not exist isolated incidents of “wetin you bring,” “Oga, your boys are here,” “Oga, Anything for the boys” and “Happy Christmas, Oga.” I guess nothing short of an adequate salary scale, reliable pension scheme and a zero tolerance to bribery and corruption will see the end of the ‘Kola tradition’ aka egunje system or chwa chwa culture.
It was awesome to be home again. Among my people; a people who are open minded about life, who threw their arms open to welcome strangers; who are so eager to learn about other worlds around them and who nurse the hope that someday their world can be like these worlds about which they have heard so many stories (some true, some fables). It was good to feel truly free, t o walk about the town without fear of what your neighbors thought of you or if someone was already muttering the ‘N’ word under their breath. It felt good to listen to whatever sort of music one wanted to listen without being judged as backward or cool or simply behind the times. I reminisced on the million and one things Nigeria could have been for Africans and blacks everywhere but failed to be as I walked among my people.
Of all the towns I visited or passed through, it was as if the authorities responsible for overseeing them have jointly agreed to abandon the roads. Where roads were earlier paved, the asphalt had all eroded leaving cracks and gullies. Motor cars and okada bikes competed for the use of the few good roads (thank God I didn’t run over anyone.) I would have enquired about what the government is doing to repair the roads but I remembered that the funds for such projects must be enjoying slumber in some governor’s account in a foreign land where he himself dare not visit for fear of returning dressed as a woman. In Jos, the capital of Plateau state, when I broached the topic of the roads, a gentleman remarked: “I honestly wished Lawrence Onoja was still the governor.” That is the brand of the Nigerian democracy, when her citizens wish for military rulers. I was also amazed at the proliferation of vehicle stickers which immortalized the late head of state, General Sani Abacha. This quiet rebellion bears witness to the lack of confidence of the average Nigerian in the present regime.
Waste management was another minus in the scorecards of our government officials. In every town I visited, dirt in the form of paper materials, rags, plastic bags (the ubiquitous ‘pure water bags’ being the major culprit) and even human waste competed with humans for space. In most of these towns and cities, vehicle mechanics have defied the authorities by establishing their workshops in locations where the waste generated by them immensely contributes to making the town an eyesore. One wonders whatever became of the mechanic villages established in almost every town for the sake of controlling waste generated by mechanics. In the same vein, the writer wonders what became of sanitation weekends set aside for cleaning towns. I also pondered for a philosophical minute if, when local government chairmen travel abroad to stash their loots, they observe the way the streets are kept clean, waste baskets abound at every corner to help in the disposal of wastes and how effective municipal waste management is in looters’ refuges such as UK, Switzerland, Germany and even the US.
Unemployment continues to be a major problem as I ran into lots of friends for whom the wait continues. Acquaintances, long graduated from colleges continue to watch and pray in the hope that an opportunity will materialize out of the blues. For some, rather than trusting their fate in the hands of another, they have resorted to creating these opportunities for themselves and these are to be commended. I met some of the best brains from Nigeria’s prestigious universities riding commercial mot orcycles (okada,) hawking recharge cards, selling newspapers and even washing cars in the struggle to stay alive and not going down without a fight.
There were some positive notes as regards my return home after a few years absence. Personally, it was a joy to bump into some of my students. I was amazed at how they have grown and how much progress they have made towards improving their lives. A sizeable number of them were already in higher institutions and the others are on the verge of securing an admission into a university or a polytechnic. I pray for them often and wonder what the future holds for them after they graduate. I was also impressed by the attempt by the young generation to come into their own. It was a common sight to see young people listening to their o wn songs, speaking their own languages and thinking their own thoughts. Having lost faith in a generation that has squandered their future away, these young men and women continue to work towards keeping alive the hopes and dreams of the nation. Everyone was full of praises and admiration for Nigerian artistes who have gone to win fame and fortune outside the shores of the country. Everywhere, I went I was introduced to the music of the likes of Tuface, P squared, Eedris, Tony Tetuila and a host of others who have redefined Nigerian music in their own special way.
The cell phone culture was another feature in our landscape that was hard to ignore. About three years ago, this was an emerging technology that could be found only in major cities while I was in Naija, no w there was hardly any village one entered that a cell phone can’t be found . A welcome sign of progress and change from the old NITEL lines, people in remote areas can now be reached and the country is brought closer in the digital quest for a global village. I discovered the cost of this amazing technology however, to be a rip-off. The Nigerian has it rough when one analyzes how much one pays to maintain a cell phone. With a recharge card of N1000 (which is sold to you at N1500,) you will be lucky to get a talk time of 20 minutes. A young girl can spend the rest of her life hiding behind her cell phone in these United States and not pay a tenth of what Nigerians pay to the cell phone companies. On average, a fixed monthly rate of approximately N5000 is likely to guarantee a talk time of 600 minutes(during the weekday,) unlimited< SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes"> nights and weekend calls in the United States (yes, most calls are free on weekends.) I had the pleasure of meeting a few friends who worked for some of the cell phone service providers in Nigeria and tried to get a reason for the rip-off. I got stories about lack of infrastructure, community fees and a whole cocktail of what should be but isn’t. In the final analysis, I look forward to the day Nigerians will get good value for their money.
The journey back was a reverse. We watched as a passenger shamelessly exchanged hot words with a female immigrationsofficer ((something he dared not attempt in the US ;) underwent the rush to get screened before everyone else and successfully made it to schiphol airport. There we waited for some hours for our plane to start boarding, waited a few more minutes for the Nigerians to metamorphose into Romans (ahem Americans) and then endured the eight-hour long flight across the Atlantic into God’s own country- the USA. USA |