Why I love my country
By
TO the eternal shame of cynics and mischief-makers, the faith and love which some of us have for the great experimental concept publicly known as Nigeria, but privately called Looters' Territory, continues to grow in leaps and bounds, even if we get frightened by the day as the politicians get ready for the 2003 general elections. Even a doubting Thomas would agree that the signs of fight-to-finish are too infinitesimal to be ignored! As we all know, Nigeria always pulls through, whatever happens, no matter the rain or sunshine which the faithful deviousness of our leaders unleashes on us.
With this profound knowledge therefore, it was no shock to any of us when erstwhile dictator and latter-day Sharia advocate General Muhammadu Buhari announced his presidential intentions, in an atmosphere dominated by strong anti-Obasanjo elements, and sentiments. Buhari is the, well, northern response to the challenge posed by the fiasco that was June 12. Or so it seems. In the cloudy atmosphere that followed the annulment of June 12 and emergence of Abacha the Great, the north could not really proudly lay claim to its birthright of governing Nigeria. For, the country laid prostrate, gasping for change and breath which another northern face could not provide. Obasanjo came to the rescue. The first and second emergence of President Obasanjo was indeed an aberration in the political equation of leadership in the country. Buhari must rise, and has arisen to restore the lost glory of northern leadership. I love my country!
In my country, anything and everything is possible. And this is one of the beauties of living in Nigeria. A fire-spitting dictator who once swore to emasculate the Press now returns in the garb of a democrat. In addition to his impeccable credentials as a dictator, an unrepentant one, he parades one of the most extreme statements which any past Nigerian leader has been credited with - implementation of sharia even if its mode of implementation negates the very soul of Nigeria. Now, this great guy of the 53 suitcases fame, wants to come to non-sharia people to vote for him to be their President, and stand the risk of having their arms and legs cut off. I love my country!
Each time I drive through the streets of Lagos, I never stop to love my country. Drivers drive with great respect for other drivers, obey all traffic rules and generally make driving a pleasure. At a typical jammed up spot, all drivers show patience and restraint as longsuffering traffic wardens and policemen do all they can to restore sanity to men and women fit only for the jungle. Some of these drivers are dressed in suit and tie, a portrait of 'gentility': but watch them for a minute and you would thank God that the hood does not make the monk! As for the ubiquitous commercial bus drivers, they are the greatest specimen of cordial and orderly human beings that God never made. In London, for instance, driving is a bore with all the hopeless and dull traffic rules in place. Can you imagine a policeman giving one a ticket for exceeding the speed limit in Lagos? That would be the day! How else can a Lagos, or a Nigerian driver for that matter 'deliver' if he decides to obey some funny rules about speed limit? How else can a bus driver show his skill to hapless passengers if he does not over speed and switch from one lane to another with reckless abandon? I love my country!
In the midst of the chaotic order on a Lagos road, some over-zealous policemen appear, led by blaring sirens to clear the way for an important official of State. The so-called official sits inside an air-conditioned car, pretending to read a document that would transform the world. We, the mere mortals then join his convoy to get out of the mess, ignoring the risk of being shot at by his orderly. I love my country!
At the airport, some fellows make me yearn for when I would become a big man. A big man is not bound by the rules of his society, his environment. His car drives into the area marked "No entry" to cars. As he drives in, security officials jump to attention to salute the great man whose greatness is re-emphasised by the impunity with which he obeys the unwritten rules of being a big man in Nigeria. While lesser mortals queue to get to the gangway, policemen lead him directly into the cockpit. He swaggers as we all wait, while the plane is ready to take off. He casually and politely greets all the crewmen who have been waiting for the big shot to board the plane. As the plane takes off, the pilot greets the big shot first and grudgingly says hello to the rest of us. Where else in the world can this big expression of freedom happen? I love my country!
In England and America, the tax men and women are extremely nosey. Every pound that one makes, whether one is a millionaire or a poverty-stricken rat, is taxed. But in my loveable and great country, there are so many tax-free millions. In fact, the very rich do not pay tax here. Who would dare confront a big shot about paying taxes? Pay taxes to who? To himself? To his fellow big shots in power whose duty it is to 'chop' all the taxes paid into the common pool? I love my country!
In my country, in some states that cannot boast of any drainage system, sporting activities are given priority. For example, a poverty-stricken state that cannot pay salaries to its workers for months, can afford to host a sports' fiesta for which millions of naira are spent to build a new stadium. This same state can spend millions buying fireworks to light up the city during the closing ceremony of the festival while the other parts of the town are in total darkness. At the end of the festival, the very serious-looking Governor, popularly elected, fritters money away on some outstanding athletes who cannot even compete with some wimps from a miserable republic like Benin! That night it rains and cars practically swim through floods in the same city! Some envious rascals then argue that the money spent on hosting the festival could have created enough drainage for the entire city. I love my country!
My country deserves to be loved with all my heart! Here, when the politicians pontificate on who should rule Nigeria, they leave out certain persons who do not come from the correct ethnic group. To aspire to the highest office, leadership potential are secondary to ones state of origin. It was Wole Soyinka, that man who thinks everything is drama, who started this stuff about loving the country, when he went into a recording studio to commend the Green Revolution magic of the hare-brained government of the Second Republic. At that time, a great Minister cleverly opined that Nigerians were not hungry because people were not yet eating from the garbage can. Muhammadu Buhari, our next President insha Allah crated that same Minister in London after the second republic was sacked for corruption. By some twist of fate General Buhari is interested again in sacking the regime of President Obasanjo, this time through the ballot box, ably supported by the ammunition of Sharia. I love Nigeria!
At Abuja, a mighty stadium is being built. From newspaper reports, this is the most beautiful and expensive waste of public funds which any government has embarked upon since Nigeria was foisted on us. Certainly, the proceeds from this edifice will be used to sustain the life and spirit of Abuja in the years to come. The same government goes cap in hand begging for debt relief, from creditors who know that more stadia would simply be built as soon as the air of debt relief is pumped into the fringes of Nigeria. These creditors indeed know that white elephant projects are our strongest points for Treasury Looting, as we can see from Ajaokuta, Aladja, and the Jos Steel Rolling mill. Even if we do nothing else in this country to turn around our fortunes, I would still love Nigeria, a country where everything is possible, and common sense is very expensive in the market where our leaders do their shopping.
July 2002