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When you drive
around in your tinted air-conditioned car, I admonish you, my gentle
reader, to cast a quick glance at the young man with vacant eyes
wandering aimlessly under the baking heat. Try to imagine how you would
feel if you were in his shoes; how you spent seven years rather than
the expected four to earn a degree in Mass Communication due to strikes
by university teachers and the callous indifference of the authorities;
how you survived dangerous cults on campus; how Jihadists slaughtered
some of your colleagues in Jos during your NYSC year and how you
managed to escape only by the skin of your teeth.

This is the third
year since you completed national service. Some of the feared cultists
you used to know on campus have swaggered into posh, well-paying jobs
because their parents are Who-is-Who. You once contemplated armed
robbery, but then quickly asked the Lord to forgive you for even the
thought. Your baby sister has left college because your aged parents
could no longer afford to pay her fees. She is contemplating crossing
the Sahara into Italy as have nearly half the beautiful women of our
ancient Bini Kingdom. You are at your wit’s end — humiliated, bitter
and angry.

Unemployment is,
admittedly, a world-wide problem. A few weeks ago thousands of young
Spanish people marched through the streets of Madrid protesting the
lack of jobs. The spectre of youth unemployment continues to haunt
Europe, North America and the OECD countries. Indeed, youth
unemployment in the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) countries was a
major factor in the recent upheavals in Tunisia and Egypt that saw the
overthrow of corrupt tyrants. The root of the problem lies in the
global financial meltdown, dwindling growth, changing technologies and
competitive pressures from China and India. There is also the
inescapable fact of governmental incompetence.

We have to start
from the premise that access to decent and productive employment is a
fundamental human right. The duty of government is to create a sound
macroeconomic and institutional environment that ensures rapid
job-creation for the teeming millions of youths.

Economic science
makes it clear that growth is a necessary condition to ensuring
job-creation. But it is not a sufficient condition. Last year the World
Bank released its report on Growth and Employment in Nigeria that
showed that our economy was largely characterised by the phenomenon of
“jobless growth”. This is simply to say that some of the key sectors
accounting for quantitative growth in output – telecoms, energy and
banking – are capital-intensive rather than labour-intensive sectors.
Which is to say that their capacity to generate jobs is rather weak.

What we need is a
comprehensive employment policy with a clear roadmap and a rigorous
implementation strategy. The welfare of nations does not occur by
accident. It is the outcome of leadership and public policy. In 1945,
for example, when Clement Atlee and the Labour Party came to power,
they set out a clear strategy to achieve full employment and provide
universal access of all citizens to health, shelter and education.

Key to transforming
the economy and ensuring jobs is a development strategy based on
agriculture-led industrialisation. From Post-war Japan to South Korea,
Thailand and India, it is clear that an agrarian transformation is the
sine qua non to long-term sustainable development. Some 70% of our
people are engaged in rural agriculture, much of it of the smallholder
variety. The Green Revolution in Asia was anchored on boosting
productivity of the small farmer as the key to agrarian transformation.

Over the coming
years, the global demand for food will rise astronomically. We in
Nigeria still have abundant farmlands. We need to develop the farm
sector through deployment of appropriate technologies. Linked to this
is the creation of agro-allied industries that would enhance the value
chain of our products for domestic and foreign markets.

Linked to this is
the need to focus on SMEs and integration of the informal sector into
the mainstream of the modern economy. We need a set of incentives that
encourage entrepreneurship as an option to our youths. Critical support
by government will be needed in terms of access to credit, critical
about markets, training and skills development.

Ultimately, we have
to reform the education sector based on the principle of literacy and
education as a fundamental human right. Cuba was able to achieve 99%
literacy within the space of a decade. We can do the same. We have to
reform the school system while ensuring that our young people have
respect for the dignity of labour and the use of their own hands.

Science, technology
and engineering must be given pride of place in the curriculum. We can
also borrow a leaf from the German apprentice system that requires all
technical students to spend time in industry as part of the learning
process. This country needs at least 100 technical and vocational
training schools that will train builders, electricians and plumbers
who can become productively self-employed.

Next to power and infrastructure, job-creation is the most critical challenge we face.

I am an open source
software advocate. I was therefore very interested to learn that
Professor Attahiru Jega’s Direct Data Capture (DDC) machine – a fancy
name for a basic tools collection – is an open source database
programme, which runs on an Ubuntu Linux system configured on quite
ordinary PC hardware.

The System
Architect of INEC’s OpenVR, Nyimbi Odero, is a Kenyan who has lived and
worked in Nigeria for many years; all the other members of his
volunteer project team appear to be Nigerians. I know all this because
it was easy to find out. I simply asked a member of the registration
team to click on the About menu item on the registration screen to
enable me read its contents. Open source software philosophy permits me
to do so.

The database
contains the following fields: Surname, First Name, Other Names, Date
of Birth, an indication of whether the birth date given is approximate,
Gender, Address, Occupation, Phone Number, and national ID.
Additionally, a fingerprint reader used to capture prints from all ten
fingers, the results embedded into the database for each individual
record, as is a small-sized snapshot taken from the camera attached to
the PC.

I did not see that
the DDC setup contained any active network components, that is to say
what was recorded was not being transmitted to a central machine in a
remote location, nor did I see that it was equipped with a GPS device
to track the machine’s changes in physical location, or to record the
location of registration of each voter.

The first thing to
determine, when conducting a registration is the eligibility of the
intended registrant. I hadn’t heard or read that the Electoral
Commission had asked anyone to come to the registration centres with
proof of age.

It’s usually clear
to see whether a person is an adult or under aged, but it is not as
easy to tell that a woman is Kenyan and not Nigerian. I saw that
Professor Jega had taken care of the adult test; he will ask and trust
he will be supplied with the truth, hence the question about date of
birth.

I was disappointed
to see that Jega had made no attempt at all to ascertain the more
difficult question about nationality, and place of birth. There is the
National ID field in the database record, yes, but it doesn’t count
because a great many Nigerians have not been issued with one, and many
who have do not walk around with knowledge of its number. This failure
to properly determine eligibility opens the door for ineligible persons
to register.

Despite that lapse,
the process was simple and straightforward: A queue position-number
given; fingerprints and photograph taken; questions answered; a
registration slip containing a unique identifier and photo printed;
slip laminated and transformed into a voter’s card. And then,
curiously, card details entered into a very large Manual Voters
Register (MVR) along with the registrant’s thumbprint.

Considering how
simple the DDC hardware and software setup it seems a huge waste of
money that INEC opted to purchase laptops whereas the same results can
be achieved using much cheaper netbooks. The laptop in use was a Zinox,
made in Nigeria version, definitely brand new.

Above all I was on
the lookout for any clues that would indicate that a secure and trusted
electoral system has been put in place; one in which it is possible, in
the event of a dispute about election results, to verify them again and
again.

In the context of
our recent history, a trusted system should make the bizarre so-called
re-run elections unnecessary. The About screen contained the
reassuring, if sexist, slogan “One Man One Vote and One Vote Only” but
there was not much else to suggest that such a system is now in place.
The very useful Linux machines, which can aid such a process, appear
thus far to be seriously under-utilised.

I have wondered
given that the machines are not networked, what the fingerprint capture
aims to achieve. Perhaps fingerprint verification will be a preliminary
part of the voting process; that would be a good thing. It could also
be that the captured data will be consolidated post-registration so as
to detect multiple registrants, but considering that scores of
thousands of DDCs are involved, that is a less than optimal approach
likely to prove tricky.

The MVR also
suggests a disturbing lack of confidence in the technology. And as with
the last census where teams were sent out to gather data, I have also
wondered whether safeguards were put in place to ensure that all of the
captured data made it back to the Commission’s offices, and that
unauthorised copies were not made.

I do realise that
Jega has worked very hard and is under some serious time constraints.
Nonetheless, there is one thing I can urge him not to overlook. It’s
been reported that the voters register is to be posted on the
Commission’s website for verification. That will be helpful provided
that the information is only accessible via a query to the consolidated
database. To verify, one should simply enter his voter ID and the
system shall return his name and place of registration.

But INEC should be wary of placing such large-scale sensitive
information in the hands of our domestic criminals notorious for online
fraud, and unknown foreign enemies.

When I was a young
man in Cairo, we voiced our political views in whispers, if at all, and
only to friends we could trust. We lived in an atmosphere of fear and
repression. As far back as I can remember, I felt outrage as I
witnessed the misery of Egyptians struggling to put food on the table,
keep a roof over their heads and get medical care.

Half a century
later, the freedoms of the Egyptian people remain largely denied.
Egypt, the land of the Library of Alexandria, of a culture that
contributed groundbreaking advances in mathematics, medicine and
science, has fallen far behind. More than 40 percent of our people live
on less than $2 per day. Nearly 30 percent are illiterate, and Egypt is
on the list of failed states.

Under the three
decades of Hosni Mubarak’s rule, Egyptian society has lived under a
draconian “emergency law” that strips people of their most basic
rights, including freedom of association and of assembly, and has
imprisoned tens of thousands of political dissidents. While this
Orwellian regime has been valued by some of Egypt’s Western allies as
“stable,” providing, among other assets, a convenient location for
rendition, it has been in reality a ticking bomb and a vehicle for
radicalism.

But one aspect of
Egyptian society has changed in recent years. Young Egyptians, gazing
through the windows of the Internet, have gained a keener sense than
many of their elders of the freedoms and opportunities they lack. They
have found in social media a way to interact and share ideas,
bypassing, in virtual space, the restrictions placed on physical
freedom of assembly.

The world has
witnessed their courage and determination in recent weeks, but
democracy is not a cause that first occurred to them on January 25.
Propelled by a passionate belief in democratic ideals and the yearning
for a better future, they have long been mobilising and laying the
groundwork for change that they view as inevitable.

The tipping point
came with the Tunisian revolution, which sent a powerful psychological
message: “Yes, we can.” These young leaders are the future of Egypt.
They are too intelligent, too aware of what is at stake, too weary of
promises long unfulfilled, to settle for anything less than the
departure of the old regime. I am humbled by their bravery and resolve.

Many, particularly
in the West, have bought the Mubarak regime’s fiction that a democratic
Egypt will turn into chaos or a religious state, abrogate the fragile
peace with Israel and become hostile to the West. But the people of
Egypt – the grandmothers in veils who have dared to share Tahrir Square
with army tanks, the jubilant young people who have risked their lives
for their first taste of these new freedoms – are not so easily fooled.

The United States
and its allies have spent the better part of the last decade, at a cost
of hundreds of billions of dollars and countless lives, fighting wars
to establish democracy in Iraq and Afghanistan. Now that the youth of
Cairo, armed with nothing but Facebook and the power of their
convictions, have drawn millions into the street to demand a true
Egyptian democracy, it would be absurd to continue to tacitly endorse
the rule of a regime that has lost its own people’s trust.

What needs to
happen instead is a peaceful and orderly transition of power, to
channel the revolutionary fervour into concrete steps for a new Egypt
based on freedom and social justice. The new leaders will have to
guarantee the rights of all Egyptians. They will need to dissolve the
current parliament, no longer remotely representative of the people.
They will also need to abolish the constitution, which has become an
instrument of repression, and replace it with a provisional
Constitution, a three-person presidential council and a transitional
government of national unity.

The presidential
council should include a representative of the military, embodying the
sharing of power needed to ensure continuity and stability during this
critical transition. The job of the presidential council and the
interim government during this period should be to set in motion the
process that will turn Egypt into a free and democratic society. This
includes drafting a democratic constitution to be put to a referendum,
and preparing for free and fair presidential and parliamentary
elections within one year.

We are at the dawn
of a new Egypt. A free and democratic society, at peace with itself and
with its neighbours, will be a bulwark of stability in the Middle East
and a worthy partner in the international community. The rebirth of
Egypt represents the hope of a new era in which Arab society, Muslim
culture and the Middle East are no longer viewed through the lens of
war and radicalism, but as contributors to the forward march of
humanity, modernised by advanced science and technology, enriched by
our diversity of art and culture and united by shared universal values.

We have nothing to fear but the shadow of a repressive past.

Mohamed El Baradei is a Nobel Peace laureate and former director general of the International Atomic Energy Agency

© 2011 The New York Times

So, on Saturday, the wind finally blew Algeria’s way.

Bordered by
Tunisia, where it all started, the so-called People’s Democratic
Republic of Algeria found itself shutting down Internet providers and
deleting Facebook accounts across the country as thousands of
protesters were arrested following street demonstrations.

No doubt taking
their cue from the people of Egypt and Tunisia, the citizens took to
the streets in the capital Algiers, demanding that the president –
Abdelaziz Bouteflika, who has been in office since 1999 – leave office;
this despite the fact that the government had initially banned the
gathering and warned citizens against joining the protest.

The conditions
that led to this final action are strikingly identical to those in
other parts of North Africa where protests have threatened the status
quo since the new year began: long-standing governance by state of
emergency, and a ban on public protest in Algiers. In response, an
estimated 26,000 riot police were set up to battle the demonstrators.
There were reports of 400 people detained, others stopped from coming
into cities, state-sponsored officials harassing journalists, and
plastic bullets and tear gas being used to disperse those arrested
during the five-kilometre-long march to 1 May Square in the capital’s
centre.

The Algerian
government decided to wage a concerted battle against the Internet, and
in a move to handicap the organisers and shut down their ability to
communicate with the rest of the world the authorities closed down
online access and stifled the demonstrators’ ability to organise
through Facebook.

Evidently,
something is happening across North Africa that the governments
couldn’t have imagined – a people pushed to the wall and pressed to the
ground have finally risen up to say enough of oppression and a
government that has continually refused to acquiesce to the wishes of
the citizens.

This is despite
the fact that these are a people who have been scarred by conflict
through their experience with the extremist Islamic insurgency in the
1990s that left hundreds of thousands dead. Indeed, Algeria has been a
hotbed of political crises, defined by the decade long battle for power
that lasted from 1992 to 2002.

But it was bound
to happen. An oil rich nation, Algeria has the eighth largest reserves
of natural gas in the world, yet the majority of the population –
especially its young people suffer from mass unemployment, a housing
crisis, debilitating poverty, all underpinned by political corruption.

The demands of the
protesters are for an end to the government of Bouteflika and its
19-year state of emergency. Mounting grievances over the spiralling
cost of food and unemployment finally exploded in the riots that began
early this month, no doubt encouraged by public protests in Tunisia
that forced its president Zine El Abidine Ben Ali to flee on January 14.

The Algerian
government tried to respond by reducing the prices of oil, sugar and
other basic necessities, and promising continued subsidies. Still the
people remain angry and in the past two weeks, almost 10 martyrs have
set themselves on fire.

This happens to be
the second time this year that ordinary Algerians are taking their
destinies into their hands. In January, at least five people were
killed and 1000 arrested as citizens took to the streets. Now the
February 12 Revolution – and the overflowing police cells – make an
eloquent statement: when a people decide that they have had it, there
are not enough army tankers to hold back the momentum.

Without a doubt,
what is happening is a people-power uprising that comes from years and
years of sitting down and taking it. As one of the protest leaders
noted, “Algerians want their voices to be heard too. They want
democratic change.” Right now, the rally has been disbanded and a
surface calm has returned to the country’s capital, but as another
protest leader told the media, in an ominous sign to dictators all over
the continent: “The fear is now gone,” he said.

Algeria’s
president should pay attention to these words. If not, he will soon
find out what Mr. Mubarak did too little too late – that the change
this time, is inevitable. Resistance is futile.

The music filled the bus and the driver tapped his chubby fingers to the rhythm.

“Pop pop pop pop pop pop pop pop something/Pop pop pop pop pop pop pop pop something/We dey pop champagne, pop champagne…”

He cradled the
steering wheel to his huge belly, his fat cheeks eternally seeming on
the verge of breaking into a smile. You could see how hard he had tried
to groom himself; the long nails chipped in parts; the dark oily hair
cut in the style called Gallas, tribute to the former Arsenal player
who made it so famous.

He seemed a bit too
old for relaxers and shady hairstyles, but the twinkle in his eye said
that perhaps he knew that, but so what? His check-shirt hugged his gut
so tight the buttons appeared ready to pop at the next big meal of
amala and ewedu washed down with the inevitable Gulder. Oh, yes, he
looked like a man who enjoyed his food with some brew.

But he was not a
big talker, preferring to limit his vocal efforts to singing the chorus
of the Dr. Sid/D’Banj song. When an angry driver overtook our bus,
hurling insults at him for no apparent reason, he didn’t even shout
back. He gazed placidly at the fellow through his window, and placing
an index finger to the side of his head, he turned it sharply, like a
screw. At Ogudu, he stopped to pick up an odd couple; a smallish fellow
in the garish colours of the LASTMA uniform and a much taller man. It
was soon clear that he knew them both. On spying the shorter guy, he
began to protest after they entered: “Oh no, no!”, shaking his head
like one who had committed an irredeemable blunder.

“Egbon,” he said,
addressing the tall chap and pointedly ignoring the uniformed fellow,
“I seriously thought you were alone. Seriously. I don’t usually carry
these wicked people.”

Goliath chuckled.

“Because of me,” he said, settling down, “Carry am today, I beg.”

The LASTMA official
pursed his lips, predicting dire consequences for errant drivers who
didn’t know how to show respect for authority. The driver made a face
and laughed. Suddenly, a bike man cut into our lane from the blind side
and went speeding past without a care.

“The people who drive okada are crazy,” he said quietly, “Every single one of them.”

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you an oxymoron: a danfo driver with no stress.

Sitting beside him
up front, I again wondered what it was about fat men that makes you
feel comfortable in their company. They seemed more able to absorb
life’s pressures, to hide their neuroses under all those layers of
flesh. I remembered Caesar saying to Anthony: “Let me have men about me
that are fat; sleek-headed men and such as sleep o’ nights,” and I
thought, the Roman general would have loved this bus driver.

I got down at Ojota
feeling quite mellow, as if I had indeed popped some champagne, and I
began to see Lagosians differently. At the criminally built steps of
the overhead bridge at Ojota, an elderly lady with a tall load
stumbled, and a dashing young woman in an Afro and elegant shoes
stepped forward: “Mama, let me help you with the load,” she said. The
elderly woman refused, but the smile on her wrinkled face was priceless.

At the other end of the bridge, I ran into a schoolboy helping a blind man negotiate the bustle, and they were both laughing.

“Can they not see too?” asked the blind man every time someone
brushed past him. And their laughter would resume. I looked around me.
Everyone seemed to be in a good mood, all the Lagos madness gone. It
looked like my danfo driver’s attitude was catching. Yeah, pop the
champagne jare. Eko o ni baje.