Culture and politics in Nigeria

By 

Edwin Madunagu

Everywhere you go in Nigeria, there is politics. In organisations and institutions of the civil society, in schools, colleges and university campuses, in state apparatuses, in cities as well as remotest villages, in the family, in religious movements, there is politics. About a year ago, I went to Imo State to see a comrade of mine. I stumbled on a village meeting which, I was told, had been called to settle a land problem. But for the three hours I was in attendance, the meeting was discussing what I met it discussing: politics. From there I went to Oturkpo to pay a condolence visit to a family which had just lost a prominent member to paid assassins. I met the family discussing politics and left them two hours later still discussing politics. When I returned to Calabar a relation of mine came to report his "disobedient" son to me. But for the two hours he spent with me he was discussing politics. As I saw him off, I reminded him of his mission. He promised to come back.

The other day I asked a younger member of our household, who is not particularly theoretical in her attitude to life, why the price of garri, the staple food in this part of the country, had gone up so much. She said she did not know. But the way she answered the question suggested to me that she knew "something" but that this "something" would likely be regarded by me as "rumours", the production and dissemination of which is a thriving industry here. She knew, however that rumours irritate me especially when offered without qualification. When I sensed her Pontius Pilate attitude, I changed my tactics: I asked her to tell me the rumours about the price of garri. Having being thus re-assured, she told me that the young men and women in the central and northern parts of the state who used to farm had abandoned their farms to seek employment with local governments. When I asked her what these people could possibly be employed by local governments to do, she said they were employed to collect taxes and levies, clean council premises and act as bodyguards and "fronts" for council officials. She then added this parting information: the people who had abandoned the farms, causing the price of garri to rise, had been employed as campaigners, election-riggers and thugs for candidates during the last local government elections, and had been promised employment. These deserters from the farm, now "general staff" of local government councils, regard themselves as politicians and political office holders, reaping the "dividends of democracy". My investigation shows that every house in low-income quarters of Calabar has at least one of such "general staff".

Now, the paradox: Although there is too much politics in Nigeria, political power is exercised by a very small fraction of the population  even when we include, in the ranks of political power wielders, the array of enforcers, agents, election-riggers, thugs, contractors and consultants who are employed in the exercise of political power. What we then have is a situation characterised, on the one hand, by too much politics and on the other hand, by severely restricted circles of political power wielders and very little or no, popular control of political power. What we see are discontinuities between the various spheres and levels of politics; in particular between the decisive levels of political power and other levels of politics which do not affect what happens at the decisive levels.

Cross River State, as I said earlier, leads the country in what you may call "rumour-mongering". But our rumour-mongering is not the destructive type. Our rumours do not break bones; they make you laugh even at yourself. We are also experts in grumbling, especially about the relationship between the state and the people. We grumble about state neglect, betrayal, deception, corruption, delinquency, inefficiency, insensitivity, alienation and criminality. In private discussions and most pubic events, in churches, in schools, in markets, in buses, on motor-bike, taxis  wherever two or more people gather denunciations of politicians and public officers go on continuously. Judging by the way these people are cursed everyday and everywhere, I am sure their places in hell are assured. Everyone is involved in this business of grumbling and rumour-mongering: young and old, men and women, rich and poor, educated, not so educated and illiterate, public workers, privately employed, self employed and the unemployed, men and women of God and practical unbelievers, house-owners and tenants, criminals and crime victims, etc. But this seemingly booming industry has no transforming potentials in the social and political sense. It rarely leads to organised protests or other forms of collective political action. It does not lead to individual acts of heroism. The reason is that our peoples' attitudes to oppressive and exploitative institutions and individuals are deeply ambiguous, to use the expression of Gavin Williams in his essay: Nigeria: a political economy (1976).

The powerful, the wealthy and the "successful" are continuously criticised, abused and cursed; but they are also envied. It is easy for a "successful" man, denounced yesterday in a mass gathering, to recruit thugs from that same gathering to deal with the more vocal "rebels". Almost everyone complains and swears that church leaders exploit the misery, ignorance and fears of their followers and live on their sweat; but I can testify that people borrow money to make Sunday offerings which they swear are usually "eaten" by the men and women of God. About two years ago, four university professors were among the crowd of born-again Christian crusaders that I saw from my office windows dancing along Goldie Street under a heavy downpour. Less than two kilometers away, at that particular time, the academic staff of the university was holding a crucial meeting. These professors are among those who regularly discuss the need for revolution with me. I am sure some of my relations here who have denounced me as "Oyibo Calabar", for refusing to attend village and ethnic meetings and church festivals, would, if I am in trouble today, rally round their "brother".

Almost in all Nigerian cultures, "success" is not only admired but worshipped. And "success" is measured almost entirely in material terms. After using my volkswagen beetle car for 20 years, I got a new car last October. Everyone who saw the car, including my co-workers and professional colleagues, congratulated me. A few added some prayers. A male university student shouted in ecstasy: "Oga, that car de walka o", meaning that the car can speed. His female partner expressed the confidence that one day I would buy a "v-boot". My protest that I bought my first car in 1974 did not impress them; they were also not deterred their congratulatory mission by my boasting that I was using two cars in 1975, one belonging to me and the other belonging to my fiancee who had no house and therefore no garage to park a car. I went home that day a depressed man. But a shocker awaited me. My son had suddenly returned from school before the end of school term. Instead of explaining to me why he had come home, he congratulated me on my new car. I ignored his congratulations and asked why he had come home. Equally ignoring my question, he assured me that the car was "very beautiful".

Small children in my neighbourhood have a name for me: "beetle sir", a reference to the car which, to them, was my main identity. They shout this enthusiastically along an entire lane whenever I drive past. On seeing me the morning after my acquisition of the new car, the children seemed to be confused: they did not know whether to continue to call me "beetle sir" or acknowledge my new car. After some hesitation, during which I deliberately slowed down, the children shouted "beetle sir" - to my inner gratitude. Nowadays, they shout louder in apparent recognition for my new car. Neither my friends, nor my comrades and colleagues, nor the young people in my household, nor the small children in my neighbourhood, nor indeed the vast numbers of people, known and unknown, who besiege me everyday "to obtain", have asked me how I was able to acquire the new car. My unsolicited explanation that the car was literally forced on me was boring to my listeners, and I dropped it.