Fiddling while Abia burns
The people of Abia State are living in a
perpetual, some would say primal, state of fear – and that is no
exaggeration. Observers will tell you that the security situation in
the state is grave. A recent report by this paper shows that citizens
have no faith that they are safe, even in the most basic way.
This is after all the state where armed bandits
now give victims notice before an onslaught. In June, when robbers went
into First Bank and Fidelity Bank right in the centre of Aba, they had
written to inform the banks of their intention.
And they kept their word.
It’s the stuff of urban legend, and it would have
been funny if it weren’t so tragic. What kind of spectacular failure
would our security services have to be that they cannot even prevent a
crime about which they have been pre-informed? There can only be two
options: either the forces are working in tandem with the crooks, or
they are just incapable of responding to the threats to life and
property.
Morbid as it sounds, we can only hope that the
former is the case. It is surely better to imagine that our lives can
be protected; that the government responsible for our well being has
the capacity to keep us safe and simply chooses not to do.
But to imagine that there is no minimum ability to
safeguard life and property; in essence that we live in a society where
anything goes, we shudder to imagine the consequences.
The new trend of course is kidnapping in the east,
of which Aba has now become the capital, starting from 2009. The
stories are truly fear inspiring. Residents speak of criminals using
sledgehammers to break through the wall of houses. It gives a whole new
meaning to brazen.
Anarchy, lawlessness: these are not words one
expects to associate with any political grouping in any civilized
society, much less a supposedly functioning democracy, but people who
live their lives and run their business in the area find that these are
the only words that capture the essence of their daily realities.
Beyond mere formality, little evidence exists in much of this region to
show that government still functions. And it’s been downhill for
everything.
Aba used to be famous as one of the country’s
commercial nerve centres. Compared to its reputation however, it has
now become a ghost town, and this goes beyond the fact that nightlife
has all but disappeared. Businesses are closing up on a regular basis,
and it goes without saying that no one is in a hurry to invest in the
area. Those who still have businesses standing complain about a drastic
drop in sales. Indeed, Aba used to be the place where customers buy in
bulk and bring to Lagos and other urban centres to sell. No more.
“Things have somersaulted in this town”, says Uche
Awa, the Chairman of the Nigerian Bar Association, Aba branch, all of
this leading to even more jobless youths lining the streets of a city
already bursting at the seams with the unemployed.
There are no empty words of faith or hope to offer
the people of Aba and other parts of the state. Their government –
including the governor, the police, and the president who is in charge
of the police force – seems to have abandoned them to their fate.
But of course, on hand to give much-needed
re-assurance to a panicked people is a senior police officer who calmly
tells us it is all in our minds. Ebere Onyeagoro, Area Commander of the
Aba Area Police Command, thinks the whole situation is greatly
exaggerated and the people of Aba just like a bit of drama. “The thing
is not so high,” he says. “The only thing is the people are blowing it
out of proportion. In those days there was more of it but now it is
only once in a while.” This is despite the fact that even corporate
organisations including Lever Brothers, Nigerian Breweries, Aba Textile
Mills and, most recently, Dana Motors have had to, yes, flee the area.
Well, at least – unlike the Imo State governor – he didn’t blame it on the Stock Exchange.
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