05 May 2006 |
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| I love New York. America itself never ceases to excite me. I grew up learning like every Nigerian child that it is "God's own country", the Biblical equivalent of the promised land where milk and honey flow on the streets, dreams can be stretched to their limits and man can soar to divine proportions. The mixed fortunes of Nigerian immigrants to the United States have since tempered this myth with large measures of reality. Only a fool will jump into an aircraft from Nigeria to America with the hope of picking up gold on the streets. It is a tough country. Even in Paradise, there are rules. Even the luckiest of men will have to struggle and toil before tasting the milk and honey that is promised. Still, there is something about America that sets it apart. It is not the allure of being the world's most powerful country. It is not the size of the country or its diversity. It is something about the character of the nation; its soul, its seeming indestructibility. America has fallen and risen so many times before the eyes of the world, it simply reconstructs the human essence in grander proportions with its death and life metonyms. The city of New York captures that essence in many ways that other American cities do not. This is why I love New York. Each time I am in this city, I can always feel its character. This time, I am on the 36th floor in a hotel somewhere in the middle of Manhattan. It is night but this city never sleeps. The buildings outside the window are all lit; beyond their translucent glass windows I can see busy desks where only earlier in the day, executives toiled for a living. In the morning, this lovely sight will disappear and the offices and their desks will be hidden again; the windows will become opaque. In the horizon, scattered lights stretch into infinity in all possible directions. The Central Park which had been visible from a distance before sunset has been covered by the shield of darkness. On the ground below, there is traffic, the occasional honking of horns; in one avenue there is even a slow build up of traffic. Human forms looking like tiny specks can be seen moving on the streets. There is quiet, dead quiet up here. The sky is visible outside my window and also in the distance, but from every direction my side of New York looks like something put together by an artist, a wondrous design, a living tribute to the human imagination with the contrasts of tall buildings, and small men. New York through the day presents many faces, each unique and touching in its own way. I feel at every hour that I am in a city that works: a city that is driven by human energy and spirit. Its architecture and design, its iconic yellow cabs, the diversity on its streets, the friendliness of its people, the eternally rhythmic flow of human shapes, and to an African eye, the sense of organisation, the calmness, the orderliness cannot but strike a note of difference. Familiarity does not negate this difference. I had been reluctant to take long walks across the city's avenues and streets. But encouraged to do so, I put my legs to service only to discover how it can be so relaxing walking on the streets of New York. You go from one avenue to the other, from one block to the next, you criss-cross the streets, time passes slowly, you don't even realise this. There are so many people but you don't feel that you are in a congested space. This is a city that has learnt to showcase its potentials. It is a city of exhibitionists. There is always something on display in the widows or the walls, with hints of history. There are tall buildings but you don't feel that something is about to drop on your head. The city is home to about 8. 1 million people; in the larger Metropolitan Area, the population rises to about 22 million. Last year alone, about 41 million people visited the city. Something is always happening here. New York is perhaps the most famous film set in the world; it is the city of artists, with its various spaces captured for eternity in movies, paintings and photography. It is the most densely populated city in North America and America's most important city. In September 2001, terrorists shook the city to its foundations when they crashed two commercial airplanes into the World Trade Centre. But rather than destroy the city, that singular event brought out the resilience of its people: from fire-fighters to ordinary men and women, from artists and policemen to thinkers, the story of New York a few years later is one of triumph. The people have succeeded in managing their fears. Life goes on. Ground Zero is another historical moment, on that site a memorial Freedom Towers (1, 776 ft tall) is being erected, to be completed in 2010. And yet if you were to depend on the New York of the films, the image you are likely to get is not the romanticism of my descriptions but that of a violent, unsafe city whose streets and ethnic neighbourhoods have been taken over by drug peddlers, prostitutes, and petty crooks: a Hellish city where drugs and guns pose a threat to law and order, where human life means nothing. The films (Good Fellas, The French Connection etc) and the television series, (Law and Order etc) reflected a persona of New York that was once true. "When I first visited New York", says Mr. Emeka Izeze of The Guardian, 'it was five times noisier than Lagos, five times dirtier than Lagos, five times riskier to live in than Lagos, at least five people were gunned down every minute in New York then. But now, it is a different city. It has suddenly become a safe city; its streets are clean." This is true. In 1990, the New York Police Department recorded 2, 245 homicides, by last year this had dropped to 540 cases of homicide, making New York one of the safest cities in the United States. It is this transformation that should be underlined, along with the comparison with the city of Lagos, and lessons that may be possibly learnt by a developing country. A Lagosian visiting New York is bound to compare the two cities, no doubt. Lagos, like New York is a busy city, it is the most densely populated city in the whole of Africa and one of the major cities in the world. Like Lagos, New York used to be the capital of the United States (1788 -1790) and it remains the financial and economic capital of the country. We are not comparing apples and oranges. Every city offers infinite possibilities for renewal. Cities in general are important not as mere abstract spaces but as containers of human values and experience. They are referents for human growth and development. They tell us about man's level of exertion. They tell us about the character of man. They define human relationships. They paint pictures of human habitat. Through their interconnections, they draw a map of man in a global space. The city of New York teaches a strong lesson about how cities can grow through purposeful leadership; the city of Lagos advertises the damage that can result from neglect. To build a city, the people who live in it must love it. You can see the love in the eyes of ordinary men and women; there is a strong aura of affection on the streets of New York. When I look out and cast a glance towards Lagos, the city where I live, I am pained because I am not too sure that anybody loves Lagos, not even the so-called indigenes who readily become proprietorial only when there is politics to be played. Those of us who live in Lagos treat the city as if it were a prostitute. We go there for our selfish purposes, no strong attachments, any trace of emotion is contrived, the focus is on the pleasure that we can derive, the gains we can extract. And so everyone uses Lagos. Nobody cares for it. Nobody tenders it. Nobody is making any sustainable effort to transform it. And so what we are left with is a city of neglect. The glory of our city is in the past, not in the present. People talk of the Lagos of the 50s and sixties, the one with wide boulevards, gardens and functional infrastructure; today, we live in a city of filth, pollution, and complete chaos. Lagos has been classified among the dirtiest cities in the world. Its skyline is an assault on the art of architecture. There are plans to transform its pot-hole ridden roads, its neighbourhoods that have been infested with area boys and ethnic militants, and to reconstruct its identity to turn it into a destination for tourism. But what is wrong with Lagos is in its soul and the attitude of its people. The devil is in vision and urban planning. New York is such an easy city because those who planned and renewed it had started by revolutionising their thinking about the shape of cities. They have produced a city of spontaneous order and natural diversity, which in addition functions as an economic laboratory where ideas and opportunities abound. The city sprawls into suburbia but it interconnects. Urban planners in Nigeria must consider the idea of building cities that connect organically and serve the purpose of those who live within them. Not even Abuja passes this test. And Lagos is one city that inflicts punishment on its inhabitants. Every morning, more than half of the city's population travels in only one direction: Victoria Island because that is the only place where the city's main economic energy is concentrated. Whenever it rains, the city grinds to a halt because there is no drainage and no city-friendly transportation system. The gap between the rich and the poor is so visible, it promotes violence. The budget of New York city is perhaps bigger than that of Nigeria, but let no one insist that the difference is in resources. You don't necessarily need big money to renew a city. The difference is at the levels of leadership, ideas and commitment... Earlier in the day, I had tried to run across the traffic on 6th Avenue. You can take a Lagosian out of Lagos, but you can't take Lagos out of him... I look out of the window and try to feel the coolness of the weather at midnight. And I long for the humidity of the land of my birth..
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