Nigeria Content Online

Recently
I travelled through a state capital and found in the middle of the
city, a huge wide billboard, which towered high above with the image of
one person sprawled across it. It was the picture of the state governor
so thickly decked in traditional attire, complete with a walking stick.
He looked more like a character out of a Nollywood movie, smiling down
at onlookers in that I have arrived manner of Nigerian big men, with a
bold inscription “Imagine another four years” taking up the remaining
space on the board.

Four years of what I asked myself?

I took a look
around me, at the people who daily walked past this giant billboard,
who without options look up at the smiling face on the billboard as
they walk past, the people whose imaginations the governor is so bent
on tickling.

The people didn’t
seem to be smiling back. Not the little girl of school age with a bowl
of pure water on her head who was timing the flow of traffic in order
to cross over to the other side of the road in good time to appeal to
the people getting off the bus:

Not the young lady
holding out a long strip of yellow, green and blue cards from under an
umbrella few yards away beckoning me to recharge my phone. All I could
see was a struggling young girl trying to pinch out a living, her
beauty concealed by years of sitting out at the mercy of the elements:

Not the lady
traffic warden who was having a tough time directing the traffic. Her
face showed tiredness, her shoes too. Her yellow uniform was now
tending towards pale. She was cursing and showing her five fingers to
the bus drivers who showed her theirs too as they sped away, coughing
out thick black smoke, like chimneys:

Not the two boys,
no more than thirteen who were exchanging punches right under the
billboard of the smiling governor. All that clawing and bickering meant
some issue of survival had led to the fight.

I looked back at the huge billboard and I asked my self again, another four years of what?

Perhaps if the
governor had spent the last four years doing his best to translate the
billions accruing to the state into schools to take the children off
the streets; into jobs that ensured their parents wouldn’t have to send
them out to the streets; into traffic lights to ease the work of the
lady warden; into well tarred roads that wouldn’t create such herd of
noisy smoky cars and impatient uncultured drivers. Perhaps if the
governor had done all this already, the next four years wouldn’t have
been so difficult to imagine.

But he didn’t. He
spends more time in Abuja than in the state capital. He goes off to the
ends of the earth, flying first class with a large delegation, which
includes his girlfriends, chasing what he calls foreign investment.
When he is around, he speeds past in his noisy convoy. When the workers
ask for more pay, he complains about dwindling fortunes and the global
economic melt down.

And while we
seemingly recline and resign to fate, with the opposition joining him
in Government House to drink sparkling wine in fine glasses, he doesn’t
leave us alone in peace. He follows us around, right to the streets to
rob pepper into the festering injury, to mock us and tickle our
imagination, requesting of us the use for his own benefit the very last
article we own, our thought.

“Imagine another four years!” I refuse to imagine sir.

These are the kind
of billboards, such damning symbols of government, erected from our
common wealth that I believe Wole Soyinka once called on us to throw
food morsels at every morning religiously before going out to find a
living. Perhaps it is apt to resound that call today. A call to act out
our denouncement of non performing governments, to voice out our
frustrations which we’ve held up for too long in our hearts, to reject
the perpetuation of our misery, to say no to another four years: to say
enough is enough.

We have today, a
window of opportunity to decide what happens in the next four years.
Maurice Iwu who superintended the last electoral hoax that gave us the
likes of the governor on the billboard has been removed. The electoral
reforms or at least some of what is left of the Uwais panel report
seems to be heading into our law books and most importantly the new
President Goodluck Jonathan has promised on more than one occasion to
organise an election in which votes will count and will be counted. Its
now up to us to take the right decisions the very first of which is to
ensure we are registered to vote. INEC says it’s an ongoing process at
every Local Government office nationwide.

Let’s equip ourselves to rephrase the line on the billboard. Let’s
ask the governor and his like across the country “Imagine life outside
Government House”. Yes we can.

When last week I was confronted with a litany of deaths – the
death of a brother-in-law, the death of a friend 12 days after his wedding, the
death of a poet-friend Esiaba Irobi, and then the death of a president – I
thought of the myth of how death entered the world and became “homeless.” Amos
Tutuola’s version of the myth in The Palm-wine Drinkard tells us that the
palm-wine drinkard went to Death’s house, captured and brought him to the
world, an assignment he had to carry out in order to get information from an
old man (also identified as a “god”) concerning the whereabouts of his dead
tapster.

If one were as adventurous as Tutuola’s palm-wine drinkard, one
would have set out for “Dead’s town” in search of these dead Nigerians,
especially the poet, Esiaba Irobi, whose friendship and professional
interaction one had enjoyed over many years. Searching for a dead poet in
“Dead’s town” may appear the craziest of all expeditions but perhaps it would
help one to be cured of the fear of being called upon suddenly to remove the
garment of flesh and move into another realm of intelligence.

Searching for the dead, one must acknowledge, is indeed part of
the traditional Igbo performance at funerals. Usually, it is the peers of the
deceased, or more specifically members of the deceased’s age-group, that lead
the search team to locations such as the marketplace, the village square, or
the stream. These are considered the most likely places where the spirits of
the dead also visit to conduct their business.

The ritual performance of looking for the dead relative or
friend is merely a way of demonstrating to the dead how much they are missed.
Certainly those looking for their deceased relatives in the market place,
chanting “Iwe, Iwe di anyi n’obi,” would break into a run if they should catch
a glimpse of the spiritual or physical forms of those they are searching for
buying and selling.

I should think that it is in our hearts that we have to search
for and talk with our dead relatives and friends, to deal with the
“homelessness” of death, instead of running away from “him” like the old man
who set the palm-wine drunkard on the difficult task of binding and bringing
death to him.

Culturally, not many people would want to discuss their own
impending deaths, or their desire to interact with the dead. We normally
postpone such thoughts, or banish them from our minds entirely. Many of us
believe that it is better for our death to just happen. There is no need to
think about it or prepare for it.

Tell members of your family that you will die next year and some
break into tears, others filled with rage scold you and warn you to stop
thinking such an “evil” thought. Some may also try to exorcise the devil that
is making such “evil” suggestions to you, introducing the power of logos: “I
reject it in Jesus’ name!” Such expressions of anger and fear are perfectly in
line with the discovery by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross (in her On Death and Dying)
that individuals facing death (their relatives inclusive) normally exhibit five
phases of reconciliation with their circumstances, in the following order:

(1) The stage of DENIAL and ISOLATION, as demonstrated in the
expression “No, it cannot be true,” or “it cannot be me!” (2) The stage of
ANGER, as manifested in “Why me?” responses; (3) The stage of BARGAINING, in
which we try to see if death could be postponed, at least on the basis of good
behaviour, or for some unfinished business; (4) The stage of DEPRESSION, for
instance for impending losses; and (5) The stage of ACCEPTANCE, the stage of
resignation, often expressed in “I cannot fight it any longer” or when the
dying person calls a friend or relative to whisper, “This body is no longer
mine; I have to go.” The search for a dead friend or peer, as performed in
traditional Igbo funerals, is perhaps a manifestation of that human resistance
to the reality of death and dying. We, as searchers, are angry that such a
death should occur, angry that we should be the ones affected and not other
people.

Along with John Donne the poet we proclaim, “Death, thou shall
die,” as part of the expression of anger and depression. It appears we find it
difficult to reconcile with our reality that we must move on. I suspect that if
I should meet the deceased that I am searching for, he would likely laugh and
point out to me that he is free now, and that the real tragedy is that of my
forgetting that I would, one day, and at any time, continue the journey out of
the flesh.

Death, indeed, is a lonely business. One dies alone, even in the
midst of a multitude.

One goes with nothing, not even one’s skin. One does not even
remember one’s name, I guess. So, that means that one does not even go with
one’s name. Esiaba has just beaten me to it. Someday, it will be my turn and I
will go alone.

Nigeria’s
preparation for the FIFA World Cup has never been anything to rave
about. From beginning to end it was characterised by lapses, which for
the most part were avoidable.

The Nigeria Football Federation (NFF), the
country’s football governing body, which normally ought to drive the
process to ensure that Nigeria puts up a decent showing at the global
tournament, somehow manages to make simple things like appointing a
coach for the squad and organising friendly matches to enable the
technical crew assess the form and fitness of players, look incredibly
difficult.

While the build-up to our three previous
appearances in 1994, 1998 and 2002 were chaotic to say the least, they
appear hi-tech and extremely organised compared to what we are
witnessing now with regard to our preparations for this year’s World
Cup in South Africa, which begins in exactly one month’s time.

The 2002 edition of the Mundial, which is on
record as being the shoddiest in terms of organisation, has come out
smelling like roses. When then Eagles coach Amodu Shuaibu was fired
with five months to the tournament and Adegboye Onigbinde was handed
the reins and Nigerians despaired, the leadership of the NFF (then NFA)
managed to arrange a number of friendly matches before the squad
departed for the tournament, which was held in Korea/Japan.

A similar scenario plays out today. By a quirk of
fate Amodu, who returned as coach of the squad in 2008 following the
exit of German Bert Vogts, was relieved of his appointment after
guiding the team to qualify for the World Cup. Former Sweden coach,
Lars Lagerback was appointed in his stead.

The process that threw up the Swede was
exasperatingly convoluting to the football faithful who wanted the
process speeded up to afford the new coach time to shake up the squad,
which many Nigerians agree appeared listless during both the qualifiers
for the World Cup and the 2010 Nation Cup in Angola in January.

As it turns out, we are paying for that delay. The
time wasted in naming the new coach and the seeming inability of the
leadership of the football federation to arrange even one quality
friendly match for the Eagles mean that with thirty days to the World
Cup, Nigerians do not believe that their national team can square up to
their opponents.

And they can hardly be blamed. While Nigeria’s
group opponents, Argentina, Greece and South Korea, named their
provisional squads weeks ago, Nigeria’s tentative squad for the
tournament was released only last night.

How Lagerback arrived at the list will continue to
exercise the imagination of football fans who know that unlike other
coaches going to the World Cup, the Swede has not had any personal or
professional interaction with the players since he took on the job in
late February.

Now, that this list is out and the major football
leagues where our players ply their trade in Europe have either ended
or will end this weekend, Lagerback needs to force the issue of
friendly matches with the NFF. He must extract a commitment from them
to keep faith with already proposed friendly games with Saudi Arabia,
North Korea and Colombia to enable him get a feel of his squad or watch
them get battered in South Africa.

I guard my person (all my body parts i.e. bare arms, breasts,
buttocks etc) very jealously when inside public transportation. Of course there
are those that simply delight in violating me. These come in the form of
elbows, (person beside you!), knees (attack from the rear!), the thighs and the
knobbly knees of the chap beside you can also do some damage. Mr. Macho
requires space for the sacs to breathe (so he spreads his legs as far as the
east is from the west and every other person can take a jump!).

People simply don’t get (comprehension is a vague reality in
their world) that invasion of my personal space cannot be tolerated. I
understand perfectly the peculiarity of sharing a bus with total strangers for
certain distances; the ritual they want to enact with me is what I take
objection to.

The soft swell of my breasts, abdomen and my backside get the
very points of the joints of fellow commuters. In this battle to keep my orbs
safe the trickiest is guarding the chest area; this often entails a tango or a
waltz of the upper arms in conjunction with a twist here and there.

God was very creative when making people and so He made them
small, big, medium and then various in-betweens. The combination of these souls
when commuting comes in varied forms. The more ample companions usually take up
more of the allotted space than the not so generous in proportion.

The most humorous of the sagas is that the little person on the
row gets shoved, squashed and vigorously sandwiched between the others. Even
when the little person has gone the whole hog in shifting, he or she still gets
moved by the greater mass that must be accommodated! In all, commuting and
moving about in public transportation is another survival skill that’s to be
perfected and honed in the great City of Excellence.

It makes for interesting
tales and incidents whilst going about the activities of seeking your daily
bread. The tales of passenger-to-passenger, passenger-to-conductor,
LASTMA-to-driver encounters are a telling for another day.

Last week, I saw a
curious thing. It was seven in the morning and most people were
standing patiently getting ready for work. Our morning mooning was
disturbed by a loud shout. From a building along the road six men ran
out racing in different directions.

There was little to
draw attention to five of the men. They appeared as well dressed as
most of us-if indeed slightly better. It was the sixth man who drew our
attention and curiosity. He was running just as hard as the other five.
He appeared to be using all the muscles in his body. We could clearly
see this because he was naked.

Last week, I ran
into a disturbing thing. It was barely seven in the morning and I was
standing on the road wondering if I would again be late for work. My
morning musings was disturbed by a loud cry.

From a building
across the road six men rushed out running in different directions.
Five of them were running away and the last was chasing. It was the
last who drew our attention. We were mildly amused about the fact that
he was naked. We were greatly disturbed that his cry-which had drawn
our attention-had been the words “Thief! Thief!”

Last week, I ran
into a shameful thing. I was standing on the road wondering how long I
would have to wait for a bus when a cry of anger broke me from my
reverie. From a building close to me, six men ran out in different
directions. The first five were fully clothed. The last man clearly
wasn’t. Three of them raced in my direction with the naked man in
pursuit. He screamed the words “Thief. Thief” as he raced after them.

For some funny
reason no one seemed to react. I watched in stunned silence as the
thieves ran by me. I didn’t do anything. They were there. I could see
them. I could touch them. I could have easily tacked one of them. And
yet I failed to do something. For some funny reason, I was stunned into
inaction by the urgency of the situation that required action. I, and
about 60 other waiting people along the road.

Last week, I ran
into a brave thing. A man had been having his bath when an incessant
knock on the door forced him to address the unnamed visitors in nothing
but a towel. There were five of them waiting for him. Holding a bag
that seemed to hold the tools of the trade, they announced that they
were PHCN officers.

By the time, the
towel clad man realised that this was not true; they had forced their
way into his home and pulled out knives. He was slashed in his arm and
hacked across his forehead with a machete. While he stood there in
bloodied shock he was asked to lie down and put his hands behind his
back. He didn’t. He instead charged at two of them and ran through the
open door leaving his towel behind. He resisted and because of that, he
probably lived.

Last week, I ran
into an inspirational thing. Five thieves were foiled by a man who
refused to be robbed at 7 in the morning. Sensing their mission had
failed, they fled in different directions. Their mission might have
been over but those of their victim had only begun. With nothing on but
his bare skin brightly streaked with blood, he raced after them.

His face was
covered in blood and he probably had difficulty seeing. There were
blood prints following his every step. He was hardly the tallest of
men, easily dwarfed by the thieves. He had no shoes on. He had no
clothes. He had little to spur him on except the injustice of his
morning events. Few might have stayed to weep about their troubles.
This man didn’t. He ran. By God, he ran.

Last week, I
witnessed a familiar thing. A thief was once again caught on the
streets. He wasn’t arrested by policemen but by the man whom he had
tried to rob. With nothing on except his skin and honour, a naked and
bleeding man ran after a thief for almost a kilometre before tackling
and pushing him into the gutter. It was only then that people rushed to
his assistance.

Last week, I witnessed the painful picture of the present. I
witnessed the ugliness of the country brought sharply to painful light
at 7 on a Tuesday morning. But within the vista of gloom and apparent
despair, a naked man, running the length of a mile, brought to fore the
vision of hope and the promise of a better future. It is a vision that
I look forward to living.

Here is a thought, President Goodluck Jonathan: deliver on your promises.

Implement electoral reform and give us an efficient and functional power sector so that our economy can grow.

It is true that
the death of former president, Umaru Yar’Adua is likely to add to the
troubles currently bedeviling the ruling People’s Democratic Party
(PDP) to which you belong. But that should not worry you. Their
so-called gentleman’s agreement on rotational presidency is on the line
and squabbling is sure to follow any attempt to junket this inane
accord. Your refusal to rule yourself out of the race for office in
2011 is not likely to help matters.

As an incumbent
president in a country like Nigeria, where the constitution has vested
enormous power in your hands, you are almost omnipotent. The
appointment of the umpire for the 2011 elections, for example, rests
with you. So too do some other key appointments, such as that of vice
president and Justices of the Supreme Court, the final arbiters of any
dispute in our land including election petitions.

When we add to the
mix the fact that you are from the Niger Delta – the region that
generates most of Nigeria’s wealth but which has never produced any
president for the country – and that people of this region see your
ascendancy as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that cannot be
squandered, you will begin to understand why you are holding all the
aces.

You are in a
position to take on those in your ruling party who insist that they
want to adhere to a rotational system that has no place in a democratic
society, if you choose to.

My advice will be to not bother.

You should not
spend the limited time you have in office engaged in politicking. The
surest way you can remain in office is by delivering on the promises
you have made thus far to Nigerians.

Reform our
electoral processes so that our votes begin to count. Ensure that we
begin to utilise the vast resources we have – from gas and coal to
solar – to power our homes and workplaces and you will have nothing to
worry about.

The death of the
former president means the country is emerging from the twilight zone
it entered. It has removed the uncertainty that was hanging over your
presidency and should allow all those politicians who have been hedging
their bets to do that which they do best, quickly switch allegiance and
line up behind you, the man in power. So, your presidency, which
started on a shaky note, has a more solid foundation. All that is left
is to deliver to Nigerians.

Do not get
distracted. There are those who will want you to waste precious time
writing notes to your ministers, so they can be get contracts. Others
will want to lobby you for plump appointments into various government
agencies. Another bunch will try to convince you that you must find
money and dole it out to them so they can begin campaigning for your
election in 2011. They will not care how you lay your hands on the
funds, whether legitimately or illegitimately.

Politicians will try to convince you that you need to make less than kosher deals for your survival.

But all that will be hogwash as long as you fulfill you promises.

A robust electoral system will mean you cannot be rigged out of office if Nigerians decide you are their man and vote for you.

Please remember
that just as being from a certain region in itself should not be an
automatic ticket into the highest political office in the land,
incumbency too should not automatically lead to a mandate. How you
perform in office over the next one year should be the determinant of
whether you are fit to run for office and if, indeed, Nigerians will
elect you. If you want to remain our president beyond 2011, you should
begin, today, to earn those votes.

The quest to streamline the political space has returned to the front burner. Seven former governors stole quietly into the National Assembly last week to make a case for the reduction of the number of parties in the country, which now stands at 64.
Abdullahi Adamu, Victor Attah, Adamu Aliero, Peter Odili, Chris Ngige, Achike Udenwa and Abubakar Audu met separately with the senate president, David Mark, and the speaker of the House of Representatives, Dimeji Bankole, during which they canvassed for a two-party system.
The former state executives say the multi-party system that currently obtains in the country, does not give room for the emergence of healthy competition among political actors. They exploited the ongoing review of the 1999 Constitution and the 2006 Electoral Act by the federal legislature to make known their views.
Incidentally, they came two days before the clause on the political parties was to be considered by the members of the lower legislative chamber, but for the demise of former president, Umaru Yar’Adua.

One cannot say with certainty whether this agitation was selfishly motivated or not. For the first time, these former governors, most of whom left office nearly three years ago, came under one umbrella to canvass a position on issues of national interest. It is just possible that in these “last days” preceding the general elections, the former governors are seeking relevance so as not to completely lose out.
A closer look at these once powerful emperors in their respective states shows they had no option, but to engage in this new political move. Some of them are today jobless. Check out the list.
Of the lot, it is only Mr. Adamu that has a political job as the secretary of the PDP Board of Trustees. Even so, he has not been finding it easy. In March, the Sarkin Yakin Keffi, who is eyeing a seat in the senate, was harassed by opponents who took him to court over public funds he allegedly pocketed while in office.
But it is necessary to ignore these messengers, whatever their motive is, and concentrate on the message. Truly, the multi-party system makes the political space more open for participation of the citizens, the desired result cannot be said to have been obtained.
Rather than being institutional components of liberal democracy and competitive electoral process, it does appear the political parties have become avenues for some “smart” Nigerians to line up their pockets with public funds. Today, some, if not, all of the 55 parties are not people-oriented. Indeed, most are merely in the portfolios of their leaders.

Removing the party from the person

Let’s look at the beginning. Up to the First Republic, Nigerian political parties were regional and ethnic political parties. Regrettably too, they were formed around charismatic personalities who were also largely idolized.

For instance, the NCNC was built around Nnamdi Azikiwe, AG (Obafemi Awolowo), NPC ( Ahmadu Bello); NEPU (Aminu Kano); UMBC (Joseph Tarka) and others.

In the 2nd Republic, the situation was not radically different. The UPN was clearly a reincarnation of AG and dominated the Yoruba race, where Mr Awolowo hailed; NPP was peopled more by the Igbos, Mr Azikiwe’s ethic group; while the National Party for Nigeria, reincarnation of NPC, was dominated by the North.

The PRP was seen as a reincarnation of NEPU while GNPP and NAP (which was later registered in 1983) were built around Waziri Ibrahim and Tunji Braithwaite, respectively.

In the aborted third republic, though many political association emerged through yet deregulation process of party formation, the then Babangida military administration, determined to eliminate ethnic influence in the parties, decreed two parties into existence – National Republican Convention (NRC) and Social Democratic Party (SDP) “a little to the left, and a little to the right.” The country returned to the deregulation of the process of establishing parties at the beginning of the current Fourth Republic, which led to multi-party system. Attempts to regulate the number of political parties in the country were nullified in 2002 by the Supreme Court, which in its judgement asked that qualified parties should be registered.

Facing the PDP

Following the judgement, more parties were registered. This year alone, many have joined the crowd thereby frustrating the desire of many that two or three stronger parties would evolve to dominate the political process as in the US and UK. As it is, only the PDP pretends to have a national spread among the existing parties.This, therefore, is an opportunity to initiate a serious and durable political party re-engineering by adopting a two party system.

The hint dropped by the Speaker, Dimeji Bankole, while receiving the former governors, that the House may prune the number of parties, is a welcome development. The chamber should, therefore, look in the direction of the two-party system.The system, it is believed will eliminate ethnic pluralism associated with the 1st and 2nd Republics, introduce genuinely national, ideological-based and issue-driven parties as well as provide strong, credible and virile opposition, which is a necessary component of democracy. Above all, it may just be a catalyst for credible elections like that of the June 12, 1993 presidential elections that was adjudged the best so far in the country.