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“But they were ready before you!” Snapped my father angrily,
early on March, 6, 1957.

I had innocently asked: “But Dad, why did the Gold Coast get
independence before us?” There are two tiny sovereign nations, Benin and Togo,
hanging like strips of spaghetti on the map between Ghana and Nigeria. Yet,
Nigerians feel their real neighbours are Ghana. A bonding factor of colonial
experience in the way we relate to other nationals is pervasive. So, we compare
and measure ourselves with Ghana all the time – in politics and economics,
football and highlife music, education and fashion, cocoa and now oil. Luckily,
it has been healthy rivalry tinged with mutual respect, unlike the state of
affairs with our brothers to the east. Nigeria and Cameroon nearly went to war
over the Bakassi peninsula, even though ethnographically, we are closer to
Cameroon than to Ghana.

I sometimes ask what matrix or criteria are used in measuring
the Ghana-Nigeria competition, but all I hear is a savage rebuke: “Go to Ghana
and see!” Clearly, we live in a comparative world. Physics, biology, geography
and many more subjects have their comparative modules. Every life process is
compared with the other. Yet, in most cases, there is no linearity, no
parameter applied in arriving at judgmental conclusions. Our world subsists on
subjectivity, parochialism, unnecessary competition and naked prejudice.

Meeting the Queen

James Robertson replaced John Macpherson at the Marina as the
ruler of Nigeria, and had the honour of welcoming Queen Elizabeth II to Lagos.
I’ve never seen a human with a head as massive as the new governor-general’s.
He looked like an ox, and I almost ran away in horror the day he visited our
school.

Queen Elizabeth II stepped out to be confronted by the
regimental band of the Nigerian Army that could not have looked smarter and
more professional. They smashed out God Save the Queen, before advancing
through a series of Prussian martial tunes on to the lilting Blue Bells of
Scotland and the melodious Old Calabar. It was a sunny day. A broad Union Jack,
one of the most beautiful flags in the world, fluttered gracefully in the sea
breeze of Lagos. The impressive Royal Yacht Britannia bobbed and bubbled on
anchor in the murky waters of Lagos harbour.

Elizabeth’s visit in 1956 was not the first by a royal to
Nigeria. Her uncle, Edward, the Prince of Wales, was here for a week in April,
1925. I heard stories about him from my parents that he was handsome. They did
not tell me about the king’s huge appetite for married women. There was genuine
fear in England that he was going to turn Buckingham Palace into a brothel.
Eventually, Edward VIII abdicated in 1936 after just one year on the throne,
when the British government objected to his marrying Wallis Simpson, an American
divorcee. She had two living ex-husbands! My mother thought it was great and
gallant for a king to leave his throne in order to marry the woman he loved. My
father just shrugged and withheld his opinion. I asked to know what a
“divorcee” was, but got slapped down by my parents.

What didn’t we see in the way of automobiles during the Queen’s
visit – Rolls-Royce, Bentley, Armstrong-Siddeley, Austin Princess and Daimler!
A Roll-Royce epitomises everything that imperial splendour and authority
represents – silence, reverence, dignity, austerity and quality. But of all the
cars I saw in colonial Nigeria, none impressed me more than the Humber Super
Snipe.

I’ve not seen one again since 1953. A shame the British car
industry doesn’t exist anymore! In her farewell speech, the embryonic Nigerian
Army was re-christened the Queens’s Own Nigeria Regiment by Elizabeth herself.
They were terrific when it came to ceremonial occasions; the soldiers all the
same height – slim, very dark, with slightly bowed legs. Each soldier looked
like the twin of the subaltern next to him. The regiment, in heavily-starched
Bermuda shorts, marched in step like mechanised toys. Not a single Nigerian
soldier at ceremonial parades in those days had a pot belly balanced on K-legs.

“Regiment,” which insinuates command subsidiarity or a component
of a larger unit, attracted criticism in Nigeria. The army of an independent
Nigeria was not going to be something like the Scottish or Welsh Regiment
within the UK armed forces. So, a change was effected to the Royal Nigeria Army
(RNA) under the last British commander, Major-General Welby-Everard.

I hear it said now and again that the most efficient black
soldier is the one commanded by a white officer? True or false, this naïve
belief could have contributed to the downfall of Nkrumah and Abubakar Tafawa
Balewa. One cardinal error the two men made was to retain their British chiefs
of staff, well into independence.

Despite open warnings from Tawia Adamafio in Ghana and Azikiwe
in Nigeria,

Major-Generals Alexander and Welby-Everard remained in charge of
the Ghana and Nigeria armies until 1961 and 1965 respectively. The two Britons
could not have done a good job. Once they left, the armies rebelled!

Champion of the world

“They said that Bassey has knocked him down! The commentator
said the man has got up! I’m not sure what they’re saying now. Eh-hem, now they
said the man is bleeding from the nose. I think the referee is stopping the
fight!” We didn’t wait for a confirmation, screaming, hugging one another, jumping
about like kangaroos. It had been a live commentary of the live commentary on
the night of June 24, 1957 at Uyo.

Our small, robust radio set was never loud enough. Someone, a
second commentator, had to stick an ear close enough to it for better audio,
and then translate the actual commentary to the rest of us. Over 50 people
crowded around this unreliable radio set on that night at the hall of the TTC,
the Teacher’s Training College.

Nigeria’s Hogan Bassey was fighting Cherif Hamia, the French
Algerian for the Featherweight Championship of the World in Paris. Tears still
well into my eyes today when I recall the Daily Times front-page headline of
the next morning that simply read, “Hogan Bassey, Champion of the World!” The
1950s were the golden period for black people in international sports. To my
generation of Nigerians, sports remain the ethos around which our lives are
built. When, in 1958, I returned from the interview for admission into Umuahia
Government College, my father was waiting anxiously, pacing about like a caged
lion on the platform at Aba Railway Station.

“So, how did it go? What questions did they ask you?” I told him
there were three white men:

the principal, Mr. Wareham; Mr. Wilson and Mr. Garrod. After
they confirmed my name, place and date of birth, Mr. Wareham began seriously,
that he had heard I played cricket, and did I know cricket was played at
Umuahia College? Would I continue to play if admitted? It was like a crown
counsel cross-examining a criminal. I answered the questions timidly, but in
the affirmative. The three men looked at each other, and then asked me to call
the next candidate. It had been such a brief encounter I thought something had
gone wrong, and these white men didn’t want to waste their time with me. On the
short train ride from Umuahia to Aba, I sat somewhat dejected.

“Ahhh,” concluded my father, “then you’ve passed!” How? It was
in 1952, when my father was at University College, London and he sent two
cricket bats, a ball and some linseed oil to condition the bats, through the
district officer of Owerri, Mr. Mann to my brother and me. It resulted from a
letter my mother wrote to him that we used the branches of coconut trees for a
bat, and old tennis balls to play cricket. My brother got into Umuahia in 1954 and
was regular in the first team by 1958. The news about a younger brother, still
in primary school, who could use a cricket bat, had filtered into the school.

I kept a scrap book in which sports clippings from the Daily
Times, the West African Pilot, the overseas Daily Mirror and Illustrated London
News were stuck. There is no doubt in my mind over who qualifies to be the most
celebrated Nigerian footballer of all time – Teslim Balogun! He was, simply,
Thunder Balogun to everyone and for a striker to bear such a frightening name
speaks volumes of his exploits, and how goal-keepers must have suffered.

Three important landmark records made the 1950s memorable for me: that West
Indian side with Frank Worrell, Everton Weekes and Clyde Walcott beat England
in a cricket test series, winning at Lords, the cricket citadel; Brazil won the
football Jules Rimet trophy ( the FIFA World Cup) in 1958. There were black
players in their team – Pele, Didi, Djalma Santos and Garrincha. In the same
year, the West Indian, Garry Sobers set a world batting record of 365 not out
against Pakistan. It was a wonderful decade!

I
read each line of Ayo Obe’s article in last Sunday’s edition of NEXT with
alarm. That’s no melodrama. Literally, every line increased my alarm. What
exactly was she saying? Why exactly was she saying this? What exactly was the
significance?

Even
with the gratuitous ridiculing of the word youth (‘yoot’, she called it), there
was a brittle condescension for the whole idea of young people demanding that
their voices be heard and that their interests be protected in this
dispensation.

The
article evidently sought to deconstruct the youth movement – starting from an
attack on the whole premise of a youth bulge. Ms. Obe spent a good part of the
article making it clear what little regard she has for the globally-recognised
reality that the youth population is now the biggest demographic.

In
doing this, she set up a false contrast between the demands of youth
campaigners and women campaigners. Yet the argument fell flat – because, at the
end of the day you went away wondering what exactly was said, and what its
purport was.

I
say this because, at the end of the treatise, I still had no sense of what was
being said – all I was left with was one statement that was clear, one clear
knowledge gap (youth is defined 18 – 35, not 18 – 24, in our context) and a
bucket full of innuendo. The suggestions, however, were both disingenuous and
dangerous – as was the one definite statement that she made.

The
statement: that the present band of
youth activists and campaigners for youth involvement in elections and
governance feel “entitled”.

Wow.

I
am almost speechless. Almost speechless, because, more than any cadre of youth
activists in nations across the world, ours has been one of the most reserved.
This has been a season where youth groups have gone out of their way to
denounce student-activist-style engagement, have insisted on denouncing
violence in any form, opened up channels of communication, deepened
partnerships with other stakeholders, and built durable networks across. In
addition, many youth campaigns have gone out of their way to note that their
interests and issues are identical to those of the larger population.

Even
better, this cadre of young activists has been ready to invest money, sweat and
time. On the streets, they have campaigned under the sun and under the rain; to
raise money, they have worked hard without public appeal or sometimes funding;
and they have managed to build socially-sustainable platforms – especially
technological – that are responsible models of social investment.

So,
what exactly is the cause for disrespect?

Considering
that Ms. Obe is herself a near-legend in terms of activism, and one of those
that loudly demanded their entitlement under military regimes and made the
country uncomfortable for those who didn’t accede to their driven interest, it
is important to ask Ms. Obe what exactly about the success of this movement she
is upset with: the fact that it exists or the fact that it is successful?

Or
the fact (gasp) that it seems to have left a generation of activists behind –
abandoning old tools and resources and building entirely new systems of
activism and engagement?

I
have heard plenty of the ‘oh this is the elite youth speaking’ argument and can
only shake my head. And what exactly is the problem with educated and connected
youth making their voices heard? Is an engaged and aware elite youth population
not eminently more desirable than an ignorant and disengaged one?

If
young people on Twitter, Facebook and Blackberries are actively interested in
the state of their nation, is the fact of their numerical minority enough to
discredit their importance?

The
reality is that nothing is to be gained in this rather curious attempt to
belittle the campaign for the young to be heard and be relevant. And,
unfortunately, like the kinds of Malcolm Gladwell who have taken it upon
themselves to battle social media relevance because they simply don’t
understand it, anyone who seeks to ridicule or undermine the emerging power of
youth in any area of Nigerian life – from brand marketing to governance – is
wasting time.

But,
above all, the most relevant question is this: why would you want to waste your
time fighting the spectre of an enlightened and empowered youth population
willing to change their country? Pray tell, what really is the redeeming
quality in that fruitless battle?

Click here to read Ayo Obe’s original piece.

Over the past few
days, the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) has appeared
to be working very hard to deliver elections that will not disappoint
Nigerians as terribly as the cancelled elections of April 2.

For one, there has
been a series of engagements with the media and civil society
organisations over the past week, seeking to explain the events that
led to the cancellation, the challenges to the process that remain with
logistics, vendors and personnel, and the commission has admirably
worked on a transparent process that can lead to a broad-based network
of support on Saturday.

Yesterday, the
commission showed its command of the situation by announcing the
postponement of the scheduled legislative elections in 13.76 per cent
of 109 senatorial districts and 13.33 per cent of 360 federal
constituencies, In Ebonyi North, Ekiti North and South, Sokoto North
and others, elections have been postponed to April 26.

The challenge,
after the last cancellation, isn’t just free and fair elections – the
challenges now are functional elections that don’t end up doing
themselves in by a paucity of project management efficiency.

A few questions
have been identified by many sections of the media and civil society
that bear repeating as we move into tomorrow.

One is the pesky
matter of INEC’s saboteur-vendors: it is worrying that INEC did not
immediately identify the printer vendors concerned, while it went ahead
to lavishly blame same. Government agencies have a duty towards
transparency especially one so sensitive. Who is this vendor and what
are the steps taken to ensure that the vendor does not get away with
this? Is there a reason why this information has not been made public?
Accountability, after all, must follow transparency.

But beyond that is
the all-important issue of the Voter Register. Considering the fact
that many names have been omitted from the accredited list of voters,
what measures have been put in place to rectify this problem in the
polling units across the country – and avoid creating a situation where
legitimate voters are unable to vote? How, also, would independent
observers be able to verify voters?

Then there are
ballot papers that came deformed in many parts. This included omitted
candidates and omitted party logos. Has INEC provided a roadmap to
engaging this problem? If it has, what exactly has been done to assure
Nigerians before the elections – as this is clearly an invitation to
contentious post-election litigation?

Communication is
also another issue. INEC – despite its engagement with civil society
groups – has been unable to evolve a system to make use of voters’
contact details, especially phones to be able to communicate with
Nigerians efficiently or for that matter with polling officials. Is it
impossible for this to have been corrected in the past week?

Tied to
communication, we wonder if INEC has worked out a collaboration with
telecom regulators to ensure that, as services like ReVoDa the
Ushahidi-based ReclaimNaija.net involved in citizen reporting are
mobile-phone based, telecoms providers are able to ensure stable
service to help prevent and pre-empt rigging and violence. A failure to
do this at this time shows that INEC has yet to take advantage of the
immense human and other resources that it has ready access to.

It is also a shame
that youth corps members’ welfare is still an issue – including
non-payment or inadequate payment of allowances and, in cases, a
complete inability to see that the welfare and conduct of these young
people is directly related to polling unit transparency.

And what about
security? There has been no sophisticated system, as far as we can see,
to ensure security different from elections before this. Flooding the
streets with police officers – many of whom are already beholden to the
ruling parties in their states – is not enough. While security belongs
with the police, it is not too much to expect that INEC build a synergy
with the force to ensure that snatching of ballot boxes, intimidation
of youth corps officials and other ways of promoting insecurity are
avoided and engaged.

These are answers that INEC is yet to provide effectively while it
continues to assure of its capacity to run these elections tomorrow and
over the next few weeks. We are very uncomfortable with this reality,
but there is almost nothing that can be done but to trust that Mr. Jega
understands the challenges ahead of him and the consequence of failure.
The stakes are now too high for INEC – another failure will be
unacceptable.

For many citizens
planning to vote the Jonathan/Sambo ticket in the presidential
elections, the issue is not about what the ticket has to offer or due
to any sterling performance. The issue is not whether the ticket is
particularly inclined (or even desirous) of fighting corruption. They
will not be voting for Goodluck Jonathan because he has any clear
vision of how to rebuild infrastructure, revive ailing industries or
restructure the country. They will be voting for one reason: it is the
time of the south. They argue, correctly, that the north has produced
more leaders than other regions without much impact. For these people,
no matter how bereft of ideas and colourless Mr. Jonathan and his dour
deputy may be, they will vote him because it is ‘our turn’. These
people are right. The north has produced more leaders and has been in
power longer than other regions. The governments of Shehu Shagari
(1979-1983), Ibrahim Babangida (1985-1993), Sani Abacha (1993-1998) and
Umaru Yar’adua (2007-2010) are best forgotten. To those not familiar
with the idiosyncrasies of the region, the ‘north’ is one huge mass of
people who have dominated the political space, especially the
presidency, to the near exclusion of other zones. To them, the death of
late Yar’adua and the subsequent ascension of then vice president
Jonathan to the presidency was a ‘divine’ coup and poetic justice of
sorts. The idea of willingly relinquishing the presidency so soon, to
another northerner, is an anathema. No one should question their
rationale or judgement. It is one of the beauties of democracy that
people can vote for any, every, and no reason.

However, beneath
the ‘it is our turn’ justification lies the barely hidden desire to
castrate the north politically. In this calculation, if Mr. Jonathan
wins the election and quits (very unlikely) in 2015, it will then be
the turn of the southeast to produce the next president. This is the
grand vision to politically emasculate the north. But the question is,
which north?

Are they referring
to the north of Ibrahim Babangida, Aliyu Gusau, Atiku Abubakar, Adamu
Ciroma, Barnabas Gemade, Solomon Lar, Bello Mohammed Halliru, Samaila
Sambawa, the Sarakis, Ibrahim Mantu, David Mark, Ahmed Makarfi, Jerry
Gana, Sarki Tafida, Jonathan Zwingina, Mukhtari Shagari etc? By
‘north’, are they referring to the emirs, chiefs and traditional
institutions or the retired military generals and other elite in the
region? If the answers to these posers are yes, then they have missed
the mark.

There is another
north. There is a north that has nothing to do with the usurpation of
political and economic opportunities to the exclusion of other
Nigerians. There is a north that is poor, hungry, illiterate and devoid
of hope. There is a north that is as much a victim as the south of the
corruption and arrogance of these narrow clique of northerners that is
often presented as representing the entire region.

For this north, the various administrations headed by northerners
have not resulted in better lives, education or improved opportunities.
This north does not send its children to school in the United Kingdom,
United States and other locations while local schools are
systematically ruined. This north does not fly to Europe or America
every fortnight for medical checkups or shopping sprees in Dubai. This
north does not keep bank accounts in London, New York, Dubai, South
Africa, Jordan, Beijing and Hong Kong; they own no bank accounts at
all. This north does not allocate all the best positions in the country
to its children, qualified or not. There is a north that simply wants
change. And that is the north coming out to speak. So when we see
millions of people trooping to catch a glimpse of Muhammadu Buhari, the
presidential candidate of the Congress for Progressive Change, it is
not because they have anything against Mr. Jonathan. The problem they
have is the emissaries he has sent to woo their votes — the same people
that have systematically impoverished the region and the country.

Northern elite despise Buhari vehemently because they know he will
destroy their power base and end their corruption and nepotism. For
those voting Mr Jonathan just to defeat ‘northern domination’, the
twist is that a Jonathan presidency would actually further enrich and
empower these reviled northern vultures because Mr Jonathan needs them
(or thinks he does). The ultimate irony is that the real key to
eliminating the power base of this corrupt and arrogant northern
political class lies with electing a northerner.

Are you there,
Prof? Well done, eku election o, e pele o, eku ise o, as we tell people
that are working very hard and sweating from all unimaginable parts of
their bodies. I really don’t feel like saying much today, I just want
to encourage you and tell you it is well. When situations stink to the
high heavens in Nigeria, like horse poopoo, we crack our fingers, stare
each other in the face and say, “It is well”.

That much I can
tell you, my dear professor: it is well. Don’t be discouraged. I cannot
imagine how you are handling this knotty situation right now, because I
know how I’ve been praying against anger since last Saturday. You
cannot imagine how many expletives I have released in the middle of
conversations. But, it is well.

I specially want to
commend your efforts so far. We seem to forget that not very many
people volunteer to carry away a decaying corpse so that the community
can breathe some fresh air. But once you do, you must not complain
about the smell or even attempt to wiggle your nose in disgust. So,
welcome sir, to our square filled with political decay. Ah, one more
reminder before I move on — your job is like that of a night soil man
on duty; he never gets discouraged no matter how much his bucket
stinks. You get the picture…or smell?

We well-meaning
Nigerians are grateful because we know the elephant you are carrying on
your head is unusually heavy, so you must not look back. We may have
said some hurtful words to you when Goodluck Jonathan gave you bags and
bags of billions of naira, but we were only trying to warn you to shine
your eyes. We screamed and stamped our feet on stones in protest yet
the president loaded you up like a dice. As if he knew you guys were
going to use the money the way a two-year-old uses tissue paper. Nobody
can blame the president now for not giving you all you requested, so
you have to perform, Prof.

Before I continue,
let me quickly give a shout out to President Jonathan, for being the
first president who can’t be blamed for causing an ongoing election
quagmire. Okay, Prof, let me stop rambling and cut to the chase. What
is this rumour I am hearing about you contemplating resignation? It
better not be true o, because you don’t cut a king’s hair halfway and
say you want to go and use the toilet. Mba! This bone that is caught in
our national throat must be removed, because you gave us warranty and
guarantee when you were given the billions.

We Nigerians are
tired of buying cars without engines, with our hard-earned money, and
when such cars don’t work we are forced to go buy engines separately.
This time around, this car must work or else nobody is going anywhere
o. Don’t be offended by my words, Prof; you yourself know that we
ordered pounded yam and your people are trying to give us ikpakpa
beans. And you want to leave us? Who will clean up this mess?

We Nigerians know
you are not a magician; you have said so many times. But if you have to
take a quick course on how to be an INEC magician, there is still
enough money left with INEC to pay for it, sir. Because this process
must be seen to a reasonable conclusion and we don’t want any other
midwife to birth this overdue baby for us. And don’t think for a minute
that we are blaming you one bit. We aren’t fools. We know you couldn’t
have ‘flopped’ up (readers you can add your own choice word there, my
editors would have deleted my original pick) all by yourself. We know
there are little foxes spoiling the vine all over the country.

It is because of
these heartless and rudderless little foxes in INEC that we would like
you to tarry a little longer. After you have managed to salvage what is
left of our elections, call a closed door meeting of all your staff.
The commissioners, to the cleaners, should be locked up in a room while
you hold a pump-action and say, “Na who among una fall my hand? If
nobody speaks up now, we are not going anywhere anytime soon to go
spend the money you made from sabotaging my efforts”. If nobody
answers, well, you know how they do in the movies: shoot the ceiling
and let some cement and sand and asbestos rain. I am sure many will
confess how they lied to you blatantly.

Okay, Prof, that might be a bit too gangster. That was my anger
sneaking up on me again. Since the president has asked us to shun
violence during this period, I will beg you to take a deep breath and
find us a solution fast. But no sinners that ruined last Saturday must
go unpunished though. I have to go now. The president said we should
pray and I need to alert your fellow Prof, Dora, to book a million and
one novena Masses for tomorrow. Don’t forget to vote tomorrow, folks!

Which is the lesser
evil? Incompetence or corruption? When I recently posed this question
to a small group of friends, there was no unanimous answer. Of course,
there were many who chose to toe the nuanced path by insisting that
corruption and incompetence are comfortable bed fellows and so cannot
be divorced from one another. While this is likely spot on, it does not
always hold true. It is very possible to have integrity and still not
score highly on competence. An obvious case in point is the recent INEC
logistics fiasco.

INEC certainly
deserves commendation for being committed to ensuring a free and fair
process; even postponing the elections to ensure that this goal is
achieved. However, while we commend them, the lessons learnt should not
be allowed to get lost in translation. The understanding this year was
that INEC’s resolve and commitment towards ensuring free and fair
elections would deliver the goods. Alas, we now know that the real
world is not that simple.

Just after the
controversial April 2007 elections, former president, Olusegun
Obasanjo, sat down with Al Jazeera’s senior Africa correspondent,
Andrew Simmons, in an exclusive interview where, among others, he
defended the veracity of the 2007 elections. Of course, his defense had
little credibility but his commentary had a few gems that, in light of
our recent experience, should have been given more credit.

When asked by Mr.
Simmons why the elections were so blatantly unfair and why so many
people were not able to vote, Mr. Obasanjo responded that, of course,
he wanted everybody to vote but that they couldn’t because of problems
with logistics. At the time, many Nigerians (especially those who
watched the interview online) laughed his comments off and for good
reason, since we all know with a certain degree of confidence that the
elections were flawed mostly because they were rigged. However, in
truth, they were flawed not only because they were rigged but also
because of faulty logistics. There is a reason why corruption is not a
synonym for incompetence. The absence of one does not automatically
solve the other. Four years later, we have attempted to solve the
corruption problem with the appointment of Attahiru Jega but the
logistics problem is still with us in its full electoral glory.

From our recent
experience, it is safe to conclude that being a man or woman of upright
convictions is not all it takes to be a good leader. You might mean
well, but can you execute effectively in an uncertain terrain such as
Nigeria? This is not a question to be scoffed at but one that should be
included in whatever interview questionnaire is drafted for Nigerian
leaders in all spheres of the polity.

I am tempted to
say, though, that graduating from having to deal with problems of
corruption to problems of incompetence represents, in some way, a step
forward in our political evolution. Like many have noted since the
postponement, in the past, the lack of election materials would have
led to forged results. At least, now, they have led to delayed
elections. This is progress. Or is it?

In addition, it is
becoming clearer that as Nigeria evolves politically, we might
increasingly begin to need to make a choice between several kinds of
leaders:

Leaders who are competent yet corrupt.

Leaders who are not corrupt but yet are incompetent.

Leaders who are both incompetent and corrupt.

Leaders who are not corrupt and who are also competent.

Though the last leader is the obvious ideal, he or she is often so
elusive that we might often have to make do with one of the first three.

Our nation was,
last Tuesday, shocked by the alleged rape of a 23-year-old female
National Youth Service Corps member by a traditional ruler in Osun
State. The young woman, according to her petition to the police and the
management of the NYSC, got close to the king after she offered to
provide computer appreciation skills to some students in the town where
she is carrying out her national assignment.

The king reportedly took
her to one of his private houses in the state capital, after offering
to take her to her residence, and forced himself on her after
threatening to kill her if she didn’t yield to his demands. The police
and the management of the NYSC have launched an investigation into
this. But the king isn’t talking, yet. It is, therefore, hard to get
his rendition of the shoddy events that occurred between him and the
young woman.

Nevertheless, we feel strongly for this young woman and
salute her courage in coming out to narrate her experience. One of the
hardest things for survivors of rape to do — and a lacuna that rapists
always tend to rely on and exploit — is dealing with the shame that
could trail the confession of being violated. Women’s rights activists
and security officials have indeed been encouraging people — male and
female — who might have been violated, to come out and shame their
abusers. This is a good development and should be taken to heart,
especially in a conservative society such as ours.

The other thing
working for rapists is the difficulty in securing judgment by
survivors. The scale is tipped in favour of the defence in such
instances, partly because the bar is high. Unless she has a good lawyer
and well-prepared medical report, the youth corps member in this latest
episode might find it hard to get her alleged violator punished. It is
hard to get figures on the frequency of rape in our country, and that
is not because the rate is low.

Plus, she is up
against a traditional ruler and chances are that the local authority
might close in to protect the man. The fact that the police is yet to
announce its findings — assuming it has really questioned the king as
it claims it is doing — is a worrying sign. It is also possible that
officials of the state government are too busy to have noticed the news
— or are waiting for the police report before they move against the
king. But it will be hard to sweep this under the king’s crown.

Equally worrying
is the routine harassment of youth corps members. These young
graduates, devoting one year of their lives to the service of their
country, often find themselves adrift, neglected and sometimes abused
by the system that should be their protector. Several have been killed
and maimed in the course of the service. It is quite plausible to
expect that many more would have been subjected to bodily violations as
well — and rarely have any of their attackers been sanctioned by the
authorities.

The NYSC needs to do more to secure the lives and limbs of the young
men and women in its care. Mere platitudes, as is the practice when
corps members are assaulted, will no longer do. If the management of
the scheme needs stronger legislation, then they should make such a
case before the National Assembly. It is also evident that Nigeria
needs a more robust system of dealing with rapists. Law enforcement
agencies must be on board in the fight against this physical and
emotional defilement, and the National Assembly, when it is
reconstituted, needs to provide the nation with stronger legislation to
protect rape survivors. The next rape victim could be anyone’s male or
female ward or relative.

For a certified
glutton, it is somewhat contradictory that I should have the ability to
happily live off three foods: I don’t have to eat red meat or bread. I
rarely ever eat chicken. If I were kidnapped at Ikot Ekpene and carried
off to some undisclosed location, like a friend of mine was, my captors
would only have to feed me small creamy yellow Yoruba bananas,
baby-gourd shaped avocadoes (with a little kosher salt) and gourmet
chocolate (with pepper, please). Some brown rice crackers would go well
with the avocado. I’m not at all fussy. Stewed stockfish is a new
passion for me. It took me over 35 years to befriend that terrifying
smell that lingers on your lips and fingers. Or to get used to the
strain stockfish puts on your teeth; the way the fish fills the space
between them until they feel like they are being pushed out of their
roots. This does not mean that I now like the smell of stockfish, only
that I have turned my attention to that graceful collapse of the
stockfish when it is left sitting in hot soup for a couple of hours. I
eat it out of the pot, so no one will ask me for some.

The idea of
cinnamon could only have come out of God’s mind. Fried plantain, in the
words of Amma Ogan’s father, is the food of the gods. A combination of
fried plantain and cinnamon is a sin. I love fresh cinnamon sticks, and
there is nothing like the big sweet warm woody spicy aroma of fresh
cinnamon. Like pepper, it goes in almost everything that I cook: in my
morning coffee with honey, used as a two-day-long marinade for chicken,
generously sprinkled over boiling meat, added to a lazy pot of plain
basmati rice with turmeric fennel and bay leaf…devoured just plain
like that. A seasoning for fresh catfish simmered in palm oil, and a
delicate highlight in porridge made with potatoes and cabbage.

My favourite
cooking oil is coconut oil, never mind those naysayers who say it will
give you a cardiac arrest. I have a clandestine source in a West
African country where you go, sit under wise coconut trees and watch
the locals process the freshest, most incredible smelling coconut oil
under the sun. The aroma of coconut oil poured into a hot pan is a
revelation, a little cinnamon added and, yet again, one is sinning. My
stews, against my proffered advice to others, have become a dogmatic
affair. They must always be cooked in an oven. Cooking them is a
longwinded affair that frustrates those waiting to eat, but at the end,
it is so smooth on the palate that you can just drink it like soup.

Okra soup is my
ultimate comfort food, cut in large chunks and cooked briskly with hot
fragrant peppers, onions, shinenose fish belly and freshly harvested
ugwu. The face of my food must unfailingly have colour; palm oil red or
turmeric or brown, or green, never without specks of fennel or thyme or
pepper or something.

Blandness in food
equals queasiness. Garlic, ginger and onions are fundamental to most of
the meals I prepare. I cannot go one whole week without eating hot
peppers or else I become depressed. There is an exception to my love of
colour; fufu, with its excruciatingly beautiful, smooth texture. It is
a good thing that I don’t often stumble on fufu that doesn’t smell. I
would be as big as a house. Any ‘swallow’ that can be microwaved like
fufu can, in my opinion, deserves a national award.

Chocolate, and hot freshly fried puff puffs wrapped in the smell of
old newsprint, are my two greatest weaknesses. I can in fact resist
chocolate but never ever puff puffs. The near-perfect dessert is
chocolate mousse served with dashes of Tabasco. Our very own Milo mixed
with peppermint tea, Darifree, honey and a quarter teaspoon of hot
Cameroonian pepper is my beloved twist on a Starbucks beverage. I cook
every day; many days, six different meals. Every day, I resolve to
continue to cook my family fresh hot meals, and every day, I regret the
decision. If I could have any meal of my choosing right now, it would
be some sticky rice or ofada rice served with stewed smoked catfish and
a hot steaming moin moin with a whole egg in it. It is indisputable
that I love food.