Things work quite well around here; no need to sneer about it. Yes, they work, in their peculiar ways.
We have this country of many tribes with a population of about a hundred and twenty million; or maybe a hundred and forty, nobody really knows. Our borders are porous, or, let’s just say we let everything and everyone in, unofficially of course, if you know the right people to motivate with some cash.
And we don’t care because we are the giant of Africa and we want to play big brother to the impoverished citizens of these dwarf nations around us; these pseudo-nations who keep their docile but prodigal presidents comfortable for decades. We want them to come if they are in distress.
The longest presidential reign here was that head of state who fought the civil war to keep us all together. The general ruled by decree for about nine years, till he flew out of the country for a conference and heard the news of his removal.
We are not like those places where a father rules from his thirties till his death and then hands over to his son. Our dictators here fuck you up nicely; they would put on a smile that would make you disbelieve the evils they do in secret.
Multinationals threatened that prominent one among them, who loved dark goggles, because he hanged a popular activist; Western media said Abacha presided over a repressive regime. Repressive regime. Do you have any idea what that means?
In one of the nations to our west, some people fought butt-naked for General Butt Naked, doped children clutched their AK-47, ready to shoot, happy to kill. You would think the crude black ones are the soot-black ones and the chocolate-dark ones with tongue-twisting names. Many books have been written about those conflicts, about blood diamonds, about refugees and crazy fighters with their machetes, about victims of propaganda and their mutilated victims. We don’t do the crude stuff here because we’ve been able to master the management of chaos.
You can’t expect a military man to rule like a farmer. They have to use their powers of persuasion. I don’t want us to start that unnecessary debate about ethical persuasion. As far as I’m concerned, persuasion is persuasion; I’m militant about that view.
Now let’s get to the miraculous part. I’m not talking about the-blind-shall-see or the-lame-shall-walk kind of miracles people read about in the Bible. Not like the Lord giving you a new car, or the Lord making you the ruler through many guns.
I’m talking about receiving an email from the lawyer of a dead billionaire oil magnate or a Nigerian Prince, telling you about how you could inherit billions of dollars left behind by the dead, just by offering a little help, something as simple as clicking a link or sending an affordable amount. Don’t you love that kind of miracle? You can’t get that in Togo, or Congo.
You have to be here to understand. Just give it a try, please take that flight.
You could come in like a diplomat, or like a VIP, like a special one; you could be of the ones who need their space. You wouldn’t need to go past the crowded arrival terminal. An air-conditioned car would be waiting beside the exit of your air-conditioned passageway. I’m sure you would then be heading for your air-conditioned seaside hotel room in some secluded residential estate.
But believe me, that is boring. That is like looking for Europe and America in Africa.
If you are really serious about knowing this place, get in through the crowded arrival terminal like most people do. Enjoy the privilege of your interaction with obsequious customs officers and police officers at the airport; just be nice with dollars and pounds or whatever foreign currency you have with you. Don’t be a fool to think being nice is cheap here.
Walk past the hundreds of seemingly idle, noisy people waiting for you outside.
They are not idle. They are waiting to offer you a cab, to ask if you need to change your dollars, or is it pounds, or euros; whichever one you want to change, they can change it for you.
I can help you carry your bag, sir. You will hear that, but it is not free help we are talking about here. Call it fee help. Those bags are heavy, and this is Africa, or do you want to carry them yourself?
You won’t want to carry anything in this heat. Even if you are from the Caribbean, Texas, or the Sahara desert. You are not the stingy type, are you? You can’t spare a thousand naira to get some help? It’s a thousand, dude. I’m not saying dude in the rude sense. It just bothers me that one roasted corn is two hundred naira and fifty naira. Let someone carry your bag if it is heavy!
The problem is that you have met a lot of people from this place before your first visit, and you have heard stories. You fed your fears, and they were well fed. It is good that you are finally considering seeing things for yourself.
You told me you would like to get to the confluence town by road. Nice idea! Great one! The roads could be clumsy for someone like you; here, we are not scared by the stunt driving on our narrow, pot-hole-riddled roads. You, too, should let go of your fears. I thought you’d seen enough of the stunts in Hollywood films. Come on, live a little.
The drivers know the route well, they know when to slow down; they know that very big pothole that would shake up the car or bus, they know that crowded market beside the highway, they know that bridge without railings; they know where not to wait without seeing “NO WAITING”, and they know when “NO WAITING” signs are nothing but the bark of a toothless dog.
As soon as you see a newspaper stand or a man by the roadside waving newspapers at you, stop and buy one or two. You would know a lot about this place by reading our newspapers.
You would read about politicians, their promises, their lies, their plans to go for another term, and their crossings from one party to another. You would read about our squabbling tribal groups and battered women asserting themselves. You would read about terrorists and militants insisting that you should not see them in the old light. Things are different now. They’ve had a change of heart.
You could read about that man of God in Armani suits who insists he lives by faith. There is a private jet, a fleet of expensive cars, a large church auditorium, and a fat bank account. Didn’t you read his name in Forbes? It’s all thanks to living by faith, he would tell you.
You would see his picture, his rosy cheeks, a proud look; my God is not a poor god. You would shake your head and wonder what this has to do with divine provision and living by faith and payment of tithes. What is faith when you talk sleek and you know your crowd will pay you for it?
You would not see many of the big-brand billboards here. You would see a few, but you would see more of preachers. They would have that pose; do you remember the Christ the Redeemer statue in Rio de Janeiro?
Preachers here sell hope to a people running out of hope! Just raise our hopes, preacher. The ones captured in the web of the preacher’s word would argue with you and probably hate you. It is pointless. This is the work of god. If anybody is talking about exploitation, he can’t possibly be a committed member of our church.
You could need the newspaper to fan yourself at some point. If you are taking public transport, don’t expect an air-conditioned one.
It is always hot here, so wear something light and nice. Rains are typically heavy, and sometimes it gets cold, but it doesn’t mean you would be cold as in winter.
We fight many battles in good weather. No snow, no days without warmth, you won’t ever need to wear layers of clothes. Yes, I’m sure. I’ve never seen water hyacinth in the desert. At least not in the one I’ve passed on my way to Europe through the waters of the Mediterranean. I remember that failed journey.
Now, don’t think of our narrow roads as signs of stunted development. London roads are narrow too, when compared to New York roads. Okay, I’ve not been there, but I’ve seen it in the movies. We have wider roads, too; it gets wider in expressways near cities, and most of our towns have dual lanes.
The driver could be stopped a couple of times at checkpoints manned by frowning gun-clutching army officers. It could also be scruffy-looking, hungry-looking police officers; they would have their guns, too.
We are not at war in the sense that you know war. We are at war in the ways Yoruba mythology understands war, something like the behind-the-scenes conflict of power, like the stuff of Harry Potter; something you can understand if you try.
We have an elected government now. We have an elected President, never mind his talk, and his walk, and the ways of law enforcement.
That is why it is called law enforcement, isn’t it? There has to be some force in it to live up to its name, isn’t it? We have what we call a home-grown democracy. We are not like the US. We are close to India, even though we are still far. We can’t be European. We definitely don’t want to be Zimbabwe.
Be prepared for anything as you journey. We are hardly ever in a hurry here. If a truck falls and blocks a major road, we would be patient with the obstruction. We may not know the number to call; even if we know, the towing vehicle could be hours away, it may be in a city during one of those frequent fuel scarcities, or even worse, the driver might have gone to some village for a week-long burial ceremony of a relative.
I know you must have been wondering what our governments do here. Believe me, you are not the only one. We became an independent nation in 1960, and we have been wondering since then.
The road you have to pass could be flooded, a six-hour journey could become a day’s trip, the vehicle taking you on your journey might break down because the driver bought a fake spare part or filled his tank with adulterated fuel.
The vehicle might have a flat tyre, and the driver may not even have an extra one. You could be delayed again and again at each checkpoint if your driver makes a big deal of five hundred naira he could have casually slipped into the ready hand of a police officer or a soldier in the manner of a drug peddler in a busy street doing an exchange with a known customer.
The good book says, Ask and it shall be given. The police and soldiers simply ask, a gift has been opening doors from ancient times; don’t make it seem as if we are the weird ones who started it.
Give careful attention to the signboards and the giant buildings; there are so many churches and mosques here, and they would make you wonder where the crooks come from. Aren’t religious folks supposed to be more law-abiding?
If something unforeseen happens (and we get that a lot), if you get stuck in some roadside village where all you see are mud houses built in the days of your grandfather’s father, just call an okadaman. Okadas are everywhere. Okadas are easy to find.
Ask the rider to take you to the nearest hotel.
Don’t set your sights too high. ‘International hotel’ or whatever grand names you see on the signboard could turn out disappointing. You could guess what to expect from the signboards, even though some of the ones with beautiful signboards are still horrible. You can never be sure unless you are taken to one of those five-star hotels in the cities. You could only hope for any familiar decency in the city.
You may be the first tourist, foreigner, in the history of the hotel. They would try their best, but they are not expecting someone from the developed world, so their best is not your best.
The taps could be dry, even the ones in the toilet and the ones in the bathroom; the hotel could be very dark at night. There is a generator, but it may have no fuel. What if it had fuel and is switched on, and it happens to be beside your room? Those things could be noisy. What about the discomfort from their exhaust fumes?
Prepare for mosquitoes, don’t miss your antimalarial medications. Take the heat in your room. Don’t walk out at night for fresh air. What if a snake bites you or a scorpion stings you? These are serious issues here.
This is very important if you have to lodge in a roadside settlement along your way. The nearest hospital could be about two hours away; indeed, it could be called a state specialist hospital, you don’t want to experiment with your life to find out what it really is, the grand name notwithstanding.
Be careful, especially if you are white. You are free to be careless if your family can negotiate calmly with kidnappers and pay the millions they would ask. If no one in your family values your life, the abductors won’t either.
There is no question of not paying.
Do you know that people stopped going to the mosques with their valuable shoes a long time ago? According to the book, you can’t go in with your shoes. But then you can’t be sure of ever seeing them again when you come out. There was a former head of state whose Paul Smith shoes were stolen outside the mosque!
You would be curious, this I know. You would ponder and wonder how things ever work here. Multinationals are making millions, the richest black man on earth lives here, no one seems to be trying too hard to change things; even that Telecoms Company from South Africa gets to repatriate all its profits.
That afro-beat star sang about suffering and smiling. There is life here. Most people live on less than a dollar per day, you would think. But we don’t spend dollars here, not even Liberian dollars. Zimbabwean dollars would be good if, at some point, you need to help yourself in a nearby bush and need something to wipe your ass.
We spend hope here.
We don’t do depression like those countries with a lot of dollars. Petrodollars work here, but it is not our currency. There are so many things that could be overwhelming if you dwell too much on them. We don’t think too much here; it’s a blessing and it’s a curse. Even if you are mentally deranged to the point of being potentially a danger to yourself and to society, we will let you roam freely. If you are well-dressed, we will treat you as a normal member of society; we don’t see any danger in potential.
Try to go to church every Sunday and see how people dance. You would smile as you wonder – from the little you know – where the joy is. The joke is on you.
We have the potentials, and there is joy in potentials; this is the miracle.
Feyisayo Anjorin is a screenwriter, songwriter, singer, and short story writer whose writings have appeared in Temz Review, Litro, Lolwe, African Writer, Bella Naija, Kalahari Review, and Bakwa Magazine. He writes from Akure Nigeria.
