Tolani Opere is a member of the choir in my church. I cornered her in our study room, and we got chatting.
I deliberately teased her out on Nigeria and like a thunderbolt she prized open a closed chapter on her mind with ferocious interest.
Tolani adjusted her glasses and began: “You see, in 1989 I won the war against Nigeria. It had been a long war of real emotional anguish, tears, and broken dreams. The war deflated the balloon of my hope in Nigeria and, sad to say, black Africa. Each day, I woke up to confront the reality of being a black man in a forgotten continent of squalor and waste. Each day, it dawned on me that looter-rulers in black Africa had no vision. They had no plan to create opportunities for their fellow citizens. Each day, I had to fight the demon of tyranny and the psychological effect of being perceived as a third-class citizen in my own country.”
She went to the kitchen and grabbed a cup of coffee and continued: “Before making it out of Nigeria, I was a believer in Afro-centrism. The sentiment that Africa was the cradle of civilisation was part of my daily mantra. The idea that Africa is a great continent made me proud. Until 1989… That was the year of my deliverance. The year I escaped from the oasis of darkness to a bright, shining light. I guess some might demur at the betrayal of my place of birth, but the sad and touching truth is that I owe Nigeria nothing. Rather, that country still owes me a great deal and still refuses to settle. Cynical, unpatriotic, pessimistic, and pathologically unbelieving: these are my shield against Nigeria.”
Tolani eyeballs were now tinged with a bit of sadness as she mournfully said that “Living abroad has thrown up the plethora of abnormalities which dehumanise us as a race. Daily, we cheerfully absorb the cruelty of living without electricity. Helpless and pulverised Nigerians had to queue for days to get petrol to move them around. We exist and subsist in a vast ocean of chaos. The perilous sight of sun-drenched humanity in Oshodi and CMS bus stops as they squeeze into death contraption called Molue always invoked moral revulsion. In Nigeria, dreams are destroyed, aspirations are withered, and opportunities remained stubbornly elusive in a country that is supposed to be a beacon of hope to the black race.
“All the tools of mayhem, murderous madness and speedy deaths dot our cities. Uniformed men and women constitute real and present danger to poor Nigerians. They slap, beat, kick, and even kill for paltry N20 with no hope of justice. All the joy of having a taste of what life and living should be are daily eroded by a lecherous, parasitic vermin class of oligarchy who feed shamelessly on the petro-fortune of commonwealth of Nigerians.
“Such cascades of images where the only economic growth is poverty and nothing functioned, but the institutions of corruption and the rise of urban armed robbery, kidnapping, and banditry are enough to cause dismay in the most hardened optimist.
A cat is said to have nine lives. In Nigeria, a poor man has eighteen, empty lives. In retrospect, I still wondered how I managed to cope in a continent that had slipped from third world to the poverty capital of the world. Until 1989, I lived with loathsome dirt, animalistic brutality, pained planlessness and deep pessimism. I woke up each day with complete mesmerism that one day good thing might come out of Nigeria. As a starry-eyed young dreamer, I regarded Nigeria as a great country.
“At least that was the ever-present propaganda on the dry lips of our looter-rulers – ‘this our great nation.’ It took me years to debrief myself from the monumental myth of Nigeria’s greatness. Yes, in the deep recess of the average Nigerian’s subconscious, Nigeria is seen as a great country. That myth starts to crumble when one realises that, in brute practical terms, Nigeria has nothing to show the world for her wonderful greatness. The vigour with which so many optimists called Nigeria a great country still baffles. In fact, Nigeria is worse than all other black Africans quarantined together.
“We exhibit the continent’s worse traits. Corruption, we own the copyright while others merely plagiarise. To growth, we prefer stagnation. Nigeria, the greatness figment, not withstanding, has had six coups in her 61 years of retrogressive existence.
“Great Nigeria with all her fabled wealth and brains is now the new colonial outpost for rapacious Chinese. Government aside, Chinese are now the second employers of labour in great Nigeria!!! In a moment of greedy epiphany, our rulers have sold the future of Nigeria to foreigners under the guise of foreign assistance.
“The Chinese are the clearest danger confronting the destinies of most black African nations. They are drawn to black Africa by the twin evils of greed and corruption of our looter-rulers. The Chinese have not hidden their new imperial ambition for the entire African continent. Great Nigeria is the only country on earth that actively encourages her brightest and best to look for greener pastures elsewhere. The only country on earth where government officials will brazenly aggrandise public money and yet receive national award for moving Nigeria forward!”
Tolani gave me a winsome look and said: “I must say that the fear I had when I made that giant leap in 1989 had turned out to be the best decision of my life. My finest moment! Being out of that rat hole called Nigeria has unlocked a positive Pandora box of untapped, latent skills and potentials I never knew I had. My escape from Nigeria has made me rediscover the meaning of hope and optimism. For the past 32 years, I felt the absence of tyranny, chaos, poverty, and man’s wickedness. The forces of adversity and regimented existence that punctuated my old life in Lagos have all given way to opportunity and well-ordered life of peace and quiet in a rich, salubrious borough of London. Life abroad has given me security of life and limbs. I drive around the streets of London in my gleaming 4×4 Lexus with a soft, modulated, and jazzy voice of Pamela Williams serenading my satisfied soul. The fear of being wasted by ubiquitous, red-eyed monsters we called armed robbers and armed Fulani herdsmen are gone forever.
“The fear of being torn, limb by limb by Nigerian police personnel at checkpoints does not give me any jitters. It had been 32 years since I divorced myself from poverty, diseases, cruelty, greed, corruption, and sudden death. With British passport in my kitty, I can now give a winsome smile and travel the world. My children have far more life chances of realising all their potentials, dreams, and ambitions than most kids in Nigeria. No wonder, your looter-rulers send their kids here to study abroad. Who wants his children to be victims of wasted generation who will eventually ship into area boys under the tutelage of Olu Omo?
“I pop my vitamins in the morning. I run hot bath after work every evening to the burning, vanilla smell of Body Shop candles. Do you blame me? Daily my heart is full of gratitude to a country that reinvented and gave me my destiny back! I am a proud British!”
Wiping her tears, she finally lamented and said: “Nigeria, like any other poorly managed, badly planned black African country, is a place where life torments you from birth to death. The only way to break free is to follow my carbon footprint and get out fast. Rather than slip into prostitution, I will encourage every Titilayo, Bola, and Ndidi to take the plunge and embrace a plan B. People need to take hard decision and forget the idea of redemption through Nigerian democracy. I will say it again, tell those back home to take the risk and get out. With luck, the war against that country called Nigeria may be won.”
This piece was first published in January 2009. Twelve years after its publication, all the fatalities that had wobbled Nigeria’s aspiration to greatness are still there and getting worse.
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