23 Jul 2009 |
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Sodom, Gomorrah and Nigeria: Observations of a Nigerian in the Diaspora Dr. Austin Yekpabo It was 1830 hours when the BA flight to London, en route to Abuja, Nigeria took off from Philadelphia. Embarking on my first trip to the country I still call my homeland, even after I have lived in America for more than twenty-five years, had been a long time coming; the last time I visited Nigeria was seventeen years ago, in 1992! As the aircraft took off, my thoughts drifted; I wasn’t so sure of what to expect in the land of my birth. As I was planning my trip, I tried to read up on the state of affairs in my country that once prided herself on being called “the giant of Africa”, an appellation that I thought was not deserved….just my sentiments. I stumbled on an Internet article which painted a very sordid picture of Nigeria – a picture of chaos, disarray, political bickering, roads filled with pot holes, lack of government infrastructures, and if and where any existed, they were in various states of disrepair. The article went so far as to describe the new capital, Abuja as a city where ‘me ruwas’ ruled in the daytime and the noise of electrical generators ruled the nights. For non Nigerian friends who may read this, me ruwas are the people that huck water on the streets. Much to my chagrin, I did not think that nearly 49 years after Nigeria’s independence that my beloved country would still not be able to provide basic amenities like water and electricity. I was going to have to see for myself, was how I tried to occupy my thoughts on the first leg of my trip to London. I settled into the flight by reading Lynne Truss’s book, “Eats, Shoots and Leaves,” (Miss Truss, if you ever read this, I was paying attention to the use of the apostrophe. Also, notice how I used the comma after Leavesbefore the quotation mark, just as the Americans do it!) Reading a book on how to punctuate, I must say, helped me take my mind off what I was expecting in Nigeria. Half way through the flight, I had had enough of how to apply apostrophes, semicolons and commas in sentences (No offense Miss Truss, and not to worry, I finished the book, and I think I have signed up as a vigilante – I will join the Sticklers!) I reached for a pocket-size bible that I take on trips; I usually only read it when a flight is unpleasant, or when I want to get closer to my creator. On this day, on this flight, I may have started to read my bible because I was scared of what I was going to find in Nigeria. I will come back to the bible verses that I read later. As I already mentioned, I did a lot of reading in preparation for my trip. On the Sunday before my Wednesday trip, I was a guest in the Manhattan apartment of a very influential socialite in the heart of New York City. At this social event, a particular conversation drifted to the topic of Nigeria and how it appeared that the United States president, Barrack Obama, had shunned Nigeria in the selection of the African countries he was going to visit. My mind was immediately transported to the recent G-20 summit to which Nigeria, the so called Giant of Africa, was not invited – the presence of South Africa, as the ONLY African country was justified. After all, Nigeria has squandered every opportunity of being a major economic power because of the endemic corruption and mismanagement of successive governments. This is a topic for another time. I must admit my discomfort as some of New York’s very powerful investors and financers started making derogatory remarks about my country. Of course, I put up a vigorous defense of my country and tried to disabuse their minds of the negative impressions they had of my country and of my people. “We have been wrongly portrayed by the Western media,” I explained. It appeared that all the people present at this social event, including our hostess, the socialite, who I shall refer to as Dame Sophie (I am protecting her identity in the hope that I get invited to future networking events at her home) all had personal experiences with ‘dubious’ Nigerians. Dame Sophie, who counts among her friends, all US presidents since John F. Kennedy, and several powerful people in the world, including the King of Saudi Arabia, recalled a business deal for which she helped arranged financing in Nigeria in the early ‘90s, and was duped of millions of dollars. “To this day, I haven’t forgiven those people and I refuse to do business with any Nigerian,” Dame Sophie said. “Not even I,” I said as I tried to make light of the situation, realizing that I was treading in dangerous territory. “I might change my mind someday, but for now, not even you, professor,” she stated. Dame Sophie continued, I guess to assure me that she holds me in high regard, “Professor, you know we have been friends for sometime, and I have come to know you as an honest man, but my views about doing business were shaped many years ago. 3 million dollars is a lot of money to lose,” she concluded. Soon after her comments that still resonate with me as I write this piece, Dame Sophie was called to take a phone call from Michael Bloomberg, the mayor of the city of New York, who could not come to the event. Before the night was over, several other attendees at this social event, which included ambassadors and other power brokers, voiced their opinions about Nigeria; most of it not positive. However, the consensus was that the image of Nigeria, damaged as it was, was redeemable. I left this event thinking that these perceptions had become their reality – rightly or wrongly, President Obama may have shunned Nigeria because of the perception that we are a nation of corrupt and incompetent leaders. Another conclusion I drew from the event at Dame Sophie’s gathering was that, if anyone could help Nigeria polish her image, it was Dame Sophie. This is a lady who can bring powerful people together and all she has to do is help to reshape the image of Nigeria, she has the perfect setting, she has the forum to do it, Dame Sophie is also a publisher of a magazine that is read by the very famous and influential people in New York. Who better to change public opinion than someone who has a story to tell? I hope that this article finds its way to the desk of the President of Nigeria and anyone that is charged with shaping the world’s opinion of Nigeria. Now back to my flight from Philadelphia to London. I flipped through my bible several times before settling on a passage from Genesis. How prophetic, or should I say poetic, that I picked the story of Lot and the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, the two cities in the time of Abraham that were destroyed because of their sinfulness. How was this story related to Nigeria I kept playing in my head? Is there any parallel between the people of Sodom and Gomorrah and Nigeria? I remembered that I read an article that highlighted the inept governments and bad leaders that we have had in Nigeria and I played back the conversations in Dame Sophia’s house and I was thinking, maybe Nigeria is the Sodom or Gomorrah of the 21st century. I was, like Abraham, going to search for a few good people when I arrived in Nigeria! As all these thoughts were going on in my head, I silent asked myself, “Who am I to think that I should look for a few good people in Nigeria?” “Am I any better because I have lived away from my home for 25 years?” “Didn’t the same bible from which I was reading say, remove the log in your eye before you can see someone else’s speck?” Just then, the BA pilot announced that the plane was ready to touchdown at Heathrow. “Time to start phase two of my journey,” I mumbled not knowing that the two Americans sitting next to me were able to detect the consternation in my voice. Of course, they both wanted to know what I was concerned about. “You should be happy to be going home,” the one said, while the other one reassured me that she had visited Nigeria many times and that she was impressed by the state of affairs. Not meaning to share and possibly ruin my thoughts about finding a few good people that would prevent Almighty God from destroying the country that I love, I decided not to engage these two well meaning people in any conversation. I uttered something unintelligible just to get them to leave me to my thoughts, which they did. “Enjoy your trip,” the one said; “Have an open mind,” the other retorted. To be polite, I said thank you to both of them. Upon arrival at the baggage claim area, I saw the governor of Osun State and his entourage also waiting to claim their bags; I had met the governor a few days earlier at a business roundtable that the City of Philadelphia organized. As he was being escorted by someone who I imagine was a protocol officer from the Nigerian consulate in London, my thoughts took me again to the story of Sodom. “This is a Nigerian leader,” I said to myself, “is he aware that ‘me ruwas’ rule the day while the noise of generators rule the nights in Nigeria?” “As an elected official, what is he doing to change the destiny of his people?” Again, as I have admitted, my thoughts tend to wander. I wasn’t going to think too much about a governor who, I am sure is doing his best to make his state great; I heard him say so at the roundtable. I was going to focus on the big picture of finding a few good people for whom God would spare Nigeria. I had a few hours layover in London before the second leg of my trip. Time flew by very quickly and before I knew it, it was time to board another BA flight to Abuja. I remembered that the last time that I traveled to Nigeria, I flew in a Nigeria Airway plane. The pilot was Nigerian, if my memory still serves me, his name was Captain Adolphus, and the stewardesses were all Nigerians. Unfortunately, that airline has ceased to exist – another sign of the times? The demise of everything Nigerian! Were those New York power brokers right after all? I wasn’t going to let what I read and heard shape my opinion of a country I hadn’t visited in seventeen years, I was going to see for myself. An airline does not a country make, I reassured myself. Upon touchdown in Abuja, I was reintroduced to the chaos I remembered Nigeria to be; no one wanted to stay in a queue to go through customs, even some customs’ officers were not obeying their own rules; a few of them took bags from fellow passengers and rushed them through the process. Was this what I was going to deal with, a total disregard for law and order? Don’t get me wrong, I am an optimist, I see the cup as half full and I have come home with an open mind as the fellow passenger on the flight to London had reminded me to have. In all fairness, even with the chaos, the customs’ check went quickly, and I was once again standing on Nigerian soil. I probably should have kissed the ground, but I was too happy to see my sister, my niece and my son, who had been waiting to pick me up. Less than 6 hours after my arrival, I wanted to see the much heralded capital city of Nigeria, Abuja. Over the years, I had read about the city that oil rich Nigeria had built from scratch, just like Brazil built Brasilia. I was hoping to see Traffic Lights, and NOT police men and women directing traffic at every intersection; roads not peppered with pot holes, and above all, clean streets, just like I remembered them in the time of Buhari and Idiagbon. I guess I was mistaken. Nigeria was worse now than it was when I left in 1984. Like people, aren’t countries supposed to learn from their past and make improvements? It soon became obvious that the ‘me ruwa’ and generator references in the story that I read were accurate. I was still suffering from jet lag and trying to sleep was a problem. I couldn’t tell if the difficulty I had sleeping was from the jet lag or from all the noise from the hundreds of generators that were on at the same time. It appeared that every house in the CITEC housing development has a generator and no one seemed concerned about pollution. At first I thought owning a generator was a status symbol, it soon became obvious that generators were a necessity, just like water, except that there was no water anywhere, unless someone was buying it. Less than 24 hours after my arrival, I had the privilege of visiting a high ranking government official: a member of the executive branch of government, except that his is not an elected position. Of course, soon after the usual niceties and him accusing me of abandoning my country for the ‘golden fleece’ in a foreign land, the conversation soon turned to the issue of security and the total lack of amenities in the country. Characteristic of Nigerians, I can say this because I am one and I know that being defensive is a part of our culture, this high ranking official quickly heaped the blame on everyone, including those to whom he referred as the common man. “Nigerians are ingrates, they are never satisfied and it doesn’t matter what government does, they complain,” he posited. When I pressed him on the issue of leadership, he went into a diatribe about the vacuum that has existed since the colonial times. “Nigeria hasn’t had a good leader since our fathers fought for our independence from the British,” he said with as much conviction as he could muster. Not wanting to be outdone in this conversation about leadership, I immediately reminded him that the leaders of Nigeria pre and post independence haven’t been nationalistic, but have continued to serve ethnic and parochial interests, including, of course, the many leaders to whom he referred. Turning the conversation to public service, my host reluctantly agreed with me that there was a dearth of committed people in this arena. Realizing that his defense was rather weak, he acquiesced on the issues of honesty and integrity in public service. “Why do people elect to serve the public if they really do not wish to improve the lives of the masses,” became a lingering question in my mind. Granted that my first twenty four hours have not helped my perception of Nigeria and Nigerians, I was determined to find the few good people that would prevent the destruction of the Sodom of the 21st Century, Nigeria. I wanted to make this my mission, find a few God fearing and honest people, not corrupted by greed, a vice that has consumed everyone in this land, a vice that was taught to us by General Gowon, our ‘beloved’ military head of state who handled our affairs during and following Nigeria’s civil war. His one single deed of increasing the salaries of civil servants as recommended by the Udoji Commission, led to the problems of urbanization; over reliance on oil as Nigeria’s sole economic activity; hyper inflation; the birth of mobilization fees in government contracts; ports’ congestion from the importation of cement (Can one forget Brigadier Adekunle and his effort to decongest our ports?) above all, the irreversible greed that has continued to plague even our youth to this day – greed that in turn gave birth to the ‘419’ for which Nigerians are known the world over. Is it fair to continue to put the blame of our dysfunctional society on The Udoji Commission salary increases of the mid 1970s? To answer this question, I decided to go to the ‘ordinary’ Nigerian. After a few days in Abuja where I had met and spoken to a few people about the cancer that has eaten itself into every fiber of the society, I decided to seek the answers to my dilemma in the religious community. Before going to church, I spoke via telephone with a catholic priest friend. In the conversation, this distinguished priest admitted to me that he was once forced to lie about his income to obtain proof of income tax. “You mean you, a catholic priest had to make up your income,” was my shocked response to his admission. “I had no choice. I was going to travel for needed medical care and as a priest, the government does not have regulations regarding the income of members of the clergy,” he tried to explain and rationalize. From his response, it became quite clear to me that while the government is blaming its people, the people are blaming the government. Could this be case of lack of accountability? I was somewhat hoping that a catholic priest, one that should be the conscience of the people should take responsibility for his actions, instead, he levied the blame on government. Continuing the conversation, he went into a tirade about corruption at all levels of government and in society, to which I added that the clergy was condoning the ills of society. My distinguished priest demanded to know what I meant. I gave several instances where the Catholic Church honored government officials and other members of society who were known to have pilfered government coffers and given large donations to the church – not different from a traditional ruler giving a chieftaincy title to a corrupt politician thus endorsing the conduct of stealing from the people. With my line of reasoning, it became clearer to my priest friend that ALL Nigerians were guilty of the sin of greed and corruption. To buttress my point, I called the attention of my priest friend to some known religious leaders with lavish lifestyles all in the name of a God of plenty, “we are a testimony to the greatness of God,” some of them have been known to proclaim! Having made my point to a prominent member of the clergy, I attended a church service hoping that the almighty God will shed light on my concerns. In church I sat next to a gentleman who appeared pious; he knelt down when he was supposed to, he prayed out loud, he made a show of how much he put in the collection box. When it appeared that I wasn’t going to put anything in the collection box, he nudged me very slightly with his elbow, and without uttering any words, gave me a look as if to imply that I wasn’t keeping with the biblical call to tithe. I was going to have a chat with him after service, I said to myself. When the service was over, and before I could find this ‘pious’ gentleman, my ten year old niece was calling my attention to an ice cream truck that had just pulled into the church premises. The ice cream truck was a needed distraction as I was not looking forward to a self righteous discussion with a total stranger. Little did I know that I was going to meet the same gentleman with his children at the Ice Cream truck. Not sure of how to introduce the subject of the collection box, I greeted him with a slight nod and then asked if he was getting any ice cream for himself. This sounded like a good ice breaker. My new found friend remembered that I had not put anything in the box but was buying ice cream for my niece. Seizing the opportunity, I told him that I had just arrived in the country and that I had not changed my money into Naira. “That, my friend, is not an excuse,” he said. I couldn’t tell if he was being judgmental. “You can put dollars or pounds into the box,” he continued. In a more conciliatory tone, he said, “That was me ten years ago. I had just returned home from Texas. You have a slight American accent,” he said in one breadth. I didn’t think that I sounded foreign. Not to belabor the point, I asked him to tell me about himself. “I returned home hoping to make a difference in my country. I had lived and worked in USA for an international organization,” he stated. “Since coming back, I have seen how the system corrupts everyone. I really wanted to make a change,” my friend kept repeating. Was this an admission that he had become corrupt, I wondered to myself. My ‘new friend’ who I shall call, Toyin, painted a very sordid picture of the state of affairs. Cronyism, bribery, nepotism rule Nigeria, was what I gathered from Toyin. “When I headed a contract committee, I was specifically instructed by the minister of the department to make certain contracts available to his friends. When I resisted, I was reassigned to a position with less visibility,” Toyin said. “At a time, I felt like my life was being threatened, not only by the senior officials but also by my colleagues who saw me as a Mr. ‘do-good’. “ Thinking aloud, I reminded Toyin that someone has to stand up for what is right. “Yes, what is right. But would you watch and see spineless people destroy your life? “I didn’t want to feel like I had failed, so I decided to remain in my country,” Toyin said in a tone that made me feel sorry for this man. Is this what I should expect should I decide to return to my country? As I played this thought over in my mind, I remembered the popular Fela Anikulapo Kuti’s song, “Suffering and Smiling”. My people have been so conditioned to endure ineptness, incompetence, broken promises, lack of basic amenities, and more than anything else, the total absence of leadership that all you see are people smiling with the hardships they endure daily. How can a society like ours join the world community in a global economy? With this in mind, I decided, after a few days of searching for the elusive good man, to take a trip to Kano. I remember last visiting the ancient city of Kano in 1988. I didn’t know what to expect, but I was shocked to see filthy streets when I entered from the Abuja/Kaduna/Zaria road. Was this city always this dirty, or was I now looking at Kano with fresh eyes? In the two days that I was there, I made a point of visiting some of the interesting sites that I used to know in Nassarawa, in No Man’s Land, and in Sabon Gari. The Doaula Hotel is still in existence. I stopped by the Central Hotel, which is undergoing renovation and a few other sites. Everywhere I went, I was welcomed by the cacophony of all the generators running at the same time – this was not different from the situation in Abuja; no electricity. Describing the pathetic situation, my host in Kano explained that the common man refers to the ownership of generators as, “I better pass my neighbor.” Meaning that if I own a generator, preferably a bigger generator than my neighbor’s , it was a status symbol! It then dawned on me that that was why the government official that I visited in Abuja had a very bigger generator than every one else on the street where he resided in Gwarimpa. Commenting further on the sorry state of electricity in Kano, my host stated that the ‘cabal’ that imported generators into the country, including powerful members of the government had a stake in the country NOT generating enough power to serve the people. “It serves their parochial interests if power is in short supply such that they can continue to make money importing generators,” he stated in frustration. Can’t they see that we are supporting the economies of other countries by importing generators? My host had a telling response, “when did the average Nigerian ever think of this country first? Where were you when someone had an American company ship its waste, toxic waste, to Nigeria just for money? That Nigerian and millions of others will mortgage this country to foreign interests for a few dollars.” Before my host could catch his breadth, I posed another question about culpability. “We are all guilty. Every single one of us,” he said. As if posing the same question to me, my host, who I shall call, Jason, concluded, “Which segment of the Nigerian society is not corrupt? Take our religious leaders, they live above their means, our teachers trade sex for grades with their students or out- rightly sell the grades, our politicians enter public service for their personal gains, our traditional rulers incite ethnic and religious division, name the segment of society, I will tell you how rotten it is.” What about our civil servants, as if making a distinction from other public servants, I added. “Our civil servants must be the most corrupt in the world,” Jason stated with such emphasis that I did not mean to push him any further. “We are not going to mention our police, those who are supposed to protect the masses, how corrupt they are. Some of them have been known to sponsor armed robbery,” Jason said. Did I need to go any further in search of any God fearing Nigerians after Jason’s analysis? I was determined to take my case to the two generations of Nigerians, the generation before mine, and the generation after mine, the Gen-Xers and Gen-Ys and the Millenias. I was determined to find righteous Nigerians on whose account God will not bestow on us what he did in Sodom and Gomorrah. So far, nothing has been scientific about my approach; I am not conducting a social experiment, instead, I am just reporting my observation of the Nigerian society. To make sure that I wasn’t groping in the dark, I decided to seek out certain people: a market woman, a university professor, and a journalist, a tradesman of any kind. My quest did not last long before I found the professionals. I have, as you have read, mentioned the lack of basic necessities, where they exist; they are in short supply. I had occasion to call a plumber to do some work for me. Needless to say that I soon found a way to engage him in the subject of honesty, or dishonesty, however; you want to look at it. My ‘new’ plumber friend was quick to tell me how the system was corrupt, “people don’t want to pay you for what you are worth,” he said. Do you do an honest job, was my next question. The plumber who I shall call Salim, emphatically said “yes.” I reminded him, without meaning to insinuate that he had been dishonest, that he had cut corners with the quality of the materials he used to execute the plumbing work. “Oga,” he said, “if I no use the kind material wey I use, I no go make anything for myself.” We talked about the cost of the materials and the labor cost. “You see, na so wey dey do am here for Nigeria. No body dey tell the truth,” Salim stated. Does that include you, I asked? “Me?, I dey try my best, Oga,” Salim said with a smile. Since I had returned to Abuja, I called a professional colleague at the University of Abuja. The professor, who had relocated to Nigeria from the United Kingdom, promptly returned my call. Our conversation couldn’t have been more timely; all the public universities are on strike. I didn’t have to direct the conversation, my ‘friend’ who I shall call Lanre immediately delved into the sorry state of public education in Nigeria. “The government has broken every promise it ever made to us, to provide needed facilities and infrastructure in our universities,” he lamented. “We produce ‘half-baked’ graduates and we expect them to compete with their counterparts from India and China?” As if to further drive the nail into the coffin, my distinguished friend, stated, “What is going on in Nigeria is pathetic, nothing works, everyone blames everyone else and the apathy is what gets me.” When I asked him about the lackadaisical manner in which the national assembly treated the strike, Lanre, without hesitation, blasted those who call themselves elected officials. “I can never understand why they run for public office. You would think that people run for office to make a difference in the lives of the people, but they are there to line their pockets with our ‘inheritance’.” What would you do differently if you were made minister of education today, I asked. “I will, first and foremost, ensure that we establish standards, get rid of the dead woods in the ministry and really make sure that we say and do what we mean,” was his response. Are you suggesting that everyone that has been the minister of education, didn’t have these same goals and aspirations, was my follow up question. “They may have had the same [goals and aspirations], however; they have not had the gravitas to accomplish them; they come into these positions to serve their greedy interests, to pay back political debt,” Lanre concluded. I knew that it was time to change the tone of the conversation, I had heard enough. Lanre and I shifted the conversation to the visit of the America president, Barack Obama, to Ghana, which was being aired live on CNN. “Obama has come to scold African leaders,” Lanre drew my attention to Obama’s address to the Ghanaian parliament. Trying to play the devil’s advocate, I refused to be dragged into Lanre’s sentiments. Do we need an American president to tell us what to do? I said, tongue-in-cheek. I think I drew Lanre’s ire. “You can’t possibly tell me that we don’t need someone to tell us how to shape our destiny, after nearly half a century of political independence, can you?” He followed by stating, “it’s about time someone did. I am glad that it is one of us, a black man of African descent.” Would it have mattered if it was a white man? “Of course, it would have. At least we know now that there is nothing ‘black’ about our problems, what it is, is a lack of leadership,” was his response. It was time to find my next subject for this loose experiment that my ‘innocent’ search for good people had become. Since my arrival, I had been consumed by my quest, so much so that I hadn’t really found time to smell the roses, as the saying goes. Before departing these shores, I was a soccer fanatic. I couldn’t wait to catch a match on television, even though I would have preferred to go to a stadium. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the Kano Pillars versus Insurance match, which ended in 2-0 in favor of the Pillars; this was a refreshing break from my intense search for a few righteous people. After the football match, I decided to visit a local market; I picked Wuse market – I picked this market because it was in another district, I reside in the Mbora District of Jabi, a market far from me just made sense. Again, I wanted to satisfy a want, a craving for ‘roasted corn’, something that I miss in USA. What better place to eat roasted corn than to buy it from one of the women by the roadside. Making my selection, I engaged the lady selling the roasted corn in a conversation. I started by reminding her that her claim of fresh corn was false advertising. “Oga, na as I buy be that. Some fit don dry small, but many still dey fresh,” the lady I will call Hassana stated. Without any further prompts from me, Hassana started talking about how hard it was to make a living in Nigeria. “All the people wey we put for government dey thief our money and the rest of us dey suffer.” As if she had not effectively made her point, Hassana pointed at the policemen directing traffic at Jabi-Airport Junction, “You see those policemen, dem don dey there since 6 O’clock this morning, and as I hear, government no dey pay them well.” Is that why you think they openly accept bribes, I asked Hassana. “If na you, and you know say dem big big oga dey thief the money, you no go take your share?” Hassana answered with a question of her own. I tried, albeit, unsuccessfully, to explain to her that two wrongs don’t make a right, she had turned her back and started serving her new customer. A visit to Nigeria would not be exciting without a trip to Lagos, the commercial nerve center of the country. In Abuja and Kano, everyone that I encountered either condoned the corruption in the country, or made excuses for those perpetrating this cancer. It was, therefore, refreshing when I met a senior official of a bank (bank’s name withheld) who I shall call Fola. Fola had been recommended to me by a friend in Philadelphia. Upon meeting Fola, it soon became clear that she truly understood the problems of Nigeria and the solutions. You might wonder how, in less than 2 hours of meeting that I can safely say that Fola is an honest Nigerian. Well, I can claim divine inspiration. I talked with Fola at length and the underlying problem was crystallized for me; she analyzed the Nigerian situation by saying: “ours is a situation that defies all sociological, anthropological, psychological and economic theories.” “No one can and should attempt to solve the Nigerian problem, even the very people that you want to lift out of suffering will gang up against you,” Fola surmised. With this explanation, it became clear to me that there was an undercurrent of something else in Nigeria: an inchoate fear of change, of the future, of systemic transformation. I left the opulent office of this banker feeling that this is one lady who would not use her position as a senior bank executive to enrich herself. Would God spare Nigeria because of one honest banker? My visit to Lagos was cut short by the sudden news of my mother’s death in Kano. I knew that I would have to return to Kano to make funeral arrangements for my beloved mother. To Kano I head. Getting out of Lagos took a tour de force. The roads were all in some state of disrepair, a situation for which everyone with whom I came in contact praised the governor of Lagos state. Said one taxi cab driver, “Fashola dey try well well. If other people try like am, Nigeria no go bad as e dey so.” “You need to travel Benin-Ore road naim you go know say Fashola don try for Lagos,” he volunteered. Since I was heading to Kano, I wasn’t going to take a chance with the Benin-Ore road as my taxi cab driver ‘friend’ seemed to be suggesting. Instead, I decided to travel through Ibadan, through Osun,Ekiti and Kogi. As you probably recall, Hassana had insinuated that the police were probably within their rights to demand and accept bribes. I had never seen such blatant disregard for the law by none others, than the people in law enforcement. I had been forewarned by my hostess in Lagos that I would be expected to bribe at every police check point. But I had not expected that policemen would openly demand money from travelers. Worthy of note was one encounter with one mobile police unit in Osun. As we pulled close to the two nattily clad men, the one hoisting his riffle said, “Oga wey ‘my money’?” This pair was telling me that whatever I had on me was theirs to take. Half jokingly, I told them that I didn’t have their money and that their employer, the Nigeria Police had their money. The one hoisting the rifle, who I shall call Bola commanded my son and me to pull to the side of the road. Beckoning to his colleague, Bola demanded our vehicle particulars. When it became clear to him that every paper that we showed him was correct, he asked his colleague to further scrutinize the papers. “Make sure say you find something wrong with the papers,” Bola told his colleague, who I shall call Frank. When Frank told Bola, obviously a corporal, that there was nothing wrong with the papers, he hollered, “I say find something. I no go let them go until I get something from them.” Eventually, Frank, trying not to appear to be taking sides with us, stated that the insurance papers, signed, were not stamped. What Nigeria law code had we violated I asked to know. “Oga, you wan tell us say you sabi law, huh?” At this time, Bola who was openly drinking what appeared to be hard liquor from a brandy bottle, insisted that we take Frank with us to headquarters. “I wan show una say I dey represent IG (I assume he was referring to the Inspector General of police). “Look my number well well,” his voice rang out. “I come from Sabogida- Ora in Edo state,” Bola told us as if that meant something special. I am a Nigerian I told him. Trying to make sense of the whole situation, I approached Frank, who was the more reasonable of the two, and mentioned that I was going to make arrangements for my mother’s funeral. This piece of information seemed to further infuriate Bola, “These people get money. Dem nor just want give us anything.” Are you aware of what damage your conduct does to the country, I managed to say without displaying any emotion. “What country?” Frank immediately responded. “Na you go come repair Nigeria? You nor know say na every man for himself? I beg settle us make you dey go your way,” reminding me that he was at work to make the most money for himself, his oga the corporal, and as I have since learned, even for the police chief hundreds of miles away. It is called, “Kill and divide,” my journalist friend who was not present at my ordeal, later told me - More about my journalist friend later. After nearly forty five minutes, Bola and Frank let us go when it became evident that we weren’t going to offer any bribe. I saw many other motorists shake Bola’s hand with folded naira notes while my son and I waited to prove our point that we had NOT committed any crime. Even if we did, the police should not play the role of the prosecutor and the judge on the highway! To this day, I am baffled by the arrogance and utter disregard for the law that I witnessed at one police check point. I have asked myself, many times since then, if our police take any lessons in ethics. I have also wondered if the IG and other government officials encounter such mistreatment on Nigeria’s highways. How can a country be so morally bankrupt? Still reverberating in my head is: why, why, why? Instead of heading to Kano, after my unpleasant ordeal at the hands of a policeman, too emotionally drained to continue, I made a stop in Abuja. I still can’t tell if the emotion that I felt was anger or exhilaration. At one point, I wanted to snatch the gun from Bola’s shoulder – here was a drunken buffoon who was a danger to society parading himself as a law enforcement agent. Recounting my story to my journalist friend, he tried to make light of my situation. “It can’t be that bad, I mean, Nigeria,” he stated. My journalist friend, who I shall call Paul, always saw journalism as a calling. I remember when he first turned down an admission to study law at the University of Lagos in the early 80s, instead he decided to head to Columbia University in USA to study journalism. Back then, Paul would talk about changing the country through the ‘pen’. I reminded him of the conversations we used to have of investigative journalists like Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward (the two journalists that exposed the Watergate scandal – the singular act that led to the resignation of an American president). “Those were good days,” Paul said. “My experience in Nigeria hasn’t quite been the same.” “This society is so corrupt that we put Satan himself to shame,” he continued. Paul listed instances where fellow journalists covered press conference because they had received ‘brown’ envelopes (a reference to envelopes containing money). Some of the news the public gets is slanted in favor of government officials, especially if the press conference is sponsored. I pressed Paul on this subject and he explained what ‘sponsorship’ meant. How could our journalists allow themselves to be so used by the system? “Well, my friend,” Paul continued, “if you want good coverage, you must attend some of these press conferences even though you know that someone or some government office is sponsoring them.” How can there be objectivity, I asked. “After a while, you become immune to the system. You go with the flow,” Paul ended. Paul assured me that he had never received a ‘brown’ envelope, but acknowledged that he had not exposed the ‘sponsorship’ practice, which meant that he condoned the practice. After what appeared to be a heated conversation, Paul invited me out for Isi-ewu; a delicacy that I have always enjoyed. The biblical verse that started this entire exercise of finding a few good people in Nigeria reads, “Now the men of Sodom were wicked and were sinning greatly against the Lord.” Continuing in Genesis Chapters 18 and 19, it was very obvious that there weren’t ten righteous people in this city and even with Abraham’s appeal, God destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah sparing Lot, his brother. When the time comes for God to rain burning Sulfur on Nigeria, would there be ten righteous people? In my musing, I recalled Fola, the banker. But that is just one person. Are there others? If there are, where are they hiding? Were they in the church that I attended or could I have found them in mosques across the country? I looked to my ten year old niece and said, do you think that God would spare Nigeria because of you? Staring at me with her big brown eyes, she innocently said, “sure, uncle.” I am sure that she has no idea of how dysfunctional this country is - If only she knows. On my part, I know that there is no outrage because we haven’t formed a critical mass – enough of us, angry, yearning for a change in the country, new leadership that will make accountability and responsibility the cornerstone - the kind of transcendental leadership that Nigeria needs in the 21st Century. Above all, a few righteous people! By the time this piece makes the papers, if it makes the papers, I would probably be back in USA, a country that I still do NOT call my home. Yet, the country of my birth, Nigeria, has not felt like home – a rather disillusioning feeling. Remembering Lynn Truss’ book, maybe I should have titled this piece, “I Ate, I shot and I left”, except that I ate, didn’t shoot (I sure felt like shooting), but had to leave. He who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day. That is if I return. I know that I will return. If for nothing else, for the nostalgia! · Dr. Austin Yekpabo is a professor of business in a university in Philadelphia. He also consults for Fortune 500 companies and governments in the areas of organizational and leadership development, systems’ and process improvements.
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