THE BIGGER PICTURE What the heck was wrong with these Nigerians? I seriously didn’t understand them one bit? They fled their country like there was a great pandemic or something seriously wrong with their homeland, with misconceived perceptions in their minds thinking the streets of England were paved with gold and you could pluck money from trees over here. I just couldn’t understand them, I loved their country, my God, I loved Nigeria, I was English, and despite my love for my own motherland and how patriotic I was, I don’t mince words when I say Nigeria is one of the greatest places I’ve ever been to in the world. I couldn’t care less what world governing bodies or organizations like W.H.O or the UN said about Nigeria: most corrupt country in the world, country with the highest, mother and child mortality rate, one of the twenty most dangerous places to live in the world, and what have you, If I decided to list the number of statistics, facts and figures about this country, the list would be endless; well it wasn’t as if the stats were not right or that Nigeria didn’t really have its problems: unemployment, an unending corrupt government, plenty of health issues, high crime rate, and what have you but the bad picture many people painted of this country was really out of proportions. Nigeria was beautiful and serene despite all these. It was a great nation with great people and wasn’t unbelievably bad, at least not like one of my friends thought. I remember that day we had sat to discuss topical issues like we did from time to time and I had asked him to list just 10 countries in Africa, he couldn’t! To compound issues he was a black American and to further irritate me that day, he had said why bother about his so called roots, for all he cared and knew, they still lived in huts and brick houses, with their means of transportation been camels, horses, or at best bicycles, they had no electricity, had to grind seeds or pepper with stones on rocks, still used cutlasses and hoes to farm, drank water from streams or springs and walked around half naked, I had watched him say all these with my mouth agape in utter disbelief, though I was angry, I had told him he needed to revisit any country in Africa and suggested Nigeria as a good destination to which he had scoffed and said I must be joking unless I wanted him to get kidnapped or killed by. I was angry within me; I just couldn’t believe my ears. There were places where things still existed like that but my oh my, that to me was a little fraction, a minute fraction, the few places things were life still existed in the “pre-historic” or medieval way my friend described like that was in my opinion due to the cultural beliefs and traditions of some of the tribes or places in Nigeria and they loved their life this way, not because of whatever reason you could put it to like saying they were bush people. I knew for a fact that in cities in Nigeria like Lagos or their capital Abuja, some Nigerians drove luxury cars, lived in luxury houses and lived a luxurious stylish lifestyle as equal to any of those of the most advanced country in the world, if not better in some places. I looked at one of the Nigerians that was about to be deported, his countenance was so saddening that if someone in hell saw him, tears would drip from their eyes and they would practically forget the torment they were going through as the bible portrayed hell to be, he looked like a man who was going through the lowest ebb of depression, he was bereft of any emotion except sadness like I had never seen before, his sadness clung to the air like a skunk’s fart, I could even feel the weight of it, it rested on my soul crushing my spirits like a little boy trying to carry all the weight of the world on his shoulders. I couldn’t believe my eyes and the reason for his sadness was just confounding and astonishing, what was he sad about? That he was been deported, or that he wasn’t going to enjoy his live long dream of living in the Queen’s country. What did he have to regret or worry about? There were a thousand and one reasons why I would literally exchange places with him. In his country, he didn’t have to worry about been stopped severally by policemen to be issued speeding or parking tickets, he could hit a pedestrian on the road and as long as the pedestrian was fine, could move on with his normal life, no incessant disturbance by the IRS or whoever was responsible for monitoring tax payment in their country, he could have a party in his house and blast so much loud music that all the street would shake and yet would not be disturbed by the police for violating public peace or exceeding noise limits permissible, hell, he could even block a street and pitch a tent right there on the street all in the name of a child naming ceremony, obituary, weeding or what have you, he could drink and after a few hours yet drive without been stopped by the police to get arrested for been under the influence or to take a breathalyzer test, gunshots fired into the air didn’t need to be reported by a citizen afraid for his dear life, in Nigeria it was simply a rich man firing his weapon into the air to warn armed robbers not to come near his house if they didn’t want to see the end of the barrel, or by a vigilante or local security guard to warn criminals not to toy with the neighborhood they were guarding or get shot down. He could even spank his erring child or correct his wayward child with a little caning and he wouldn’t get a visit by the police for manhandling his child and get arrested or fined. All these things made us great agreed, and I never had issues with how we maintained law and order, in fact I believed England was the greatest place to be on earth, we lived civilized lives, and their freedom or laxity with which they handled things didn’t like make things any better so to say for them, it didn’t mean they could take the laws into their hands and go unpunished, but they were free. Their country was blessed, their lives were not complicated. I know I’m not the only one to have ever thought that our laws were well a tad bit too stringent and that sometimes we could break a few laws without the hard hands of the law gripping us; a good instance was when it came to our children would do something annoying or damn right outrageous and talking to them would never be enough especially when they start raising their voices on you for trying to make them see the error of their ways and at that moment you’d just feel a bit of helplessness and feel like you weren’t in control of your own kids again and maybe wished you could shrug them or punish them just to correct them. We lived our lives under watch, there was nothing like privacy or freedom, our movements were monitored by surveillance cameras on every nook and cranny, you had to watch everything you did because there were so many laws that you could so easily break, our lives were organized, planned, controlled; there was no freedom compared to what they had and enjoyed. I knew so much about Nigeria because I had been there before and I loved the country for everything. Things were bad but their people were great and I believe the bad eggs among them did not wish to be like that but rather were either victim of circumstances or out rightly bad natured from birth and of which I believed the percentage of the latter was few. I had spent a year in Lagos, their commercial nerve centre and I had enjoyed every bit of my stay right from when I landed at their airport. The porter who had taken my load had been all smiles, he had smiled an effervescent cheek to cheek grin at me and had given me a very warm handshake when I had extended my hand to him, he had carried my loads with so much enthusiasm and when I gave him a tip for his hard work, he had rained prayers on me, he hadn’t acted that way because that was the first time he was seeing a white man; there were several whites like me at the airport and from the number of my fellow countrymen and other nationals I saw during my stay in the country, I knew it wasn’t just “bush man” happiness at seeing a white man, but it was just his nature, what was more of a marvel to me was that after spending a year in Nigeria and had wanted to depart, the wildest of coincidences had happened and he had been the same porter to carry my loads yet again and to my utter disbelief he had remembered my name! The warm reception hadn’t just stopped there, the chauffeur who had driven me down to my hotel that night had shown the same exuberance, in his half-salient English he had buzzed unendily with talk about himself, his family and life in Lagos, he had talked so excitedly and I had found myself intrigued about how much he knew about my country telling me about Margaret Thatcher who he always pronounced as “Maga Tasha” telling me about how in Nigeria she was popular for been an Iron Lady, told me about British colonialism of Nigeria, how Nigeria had fought for its independence through it nation’s greats , great historic moments in their country till date and as we passed by every street he had pointed at prominent statues and buildings telling me a little history about each as we drove by, I had been amazed by the kind of cars I saw on the road in the traffic we crawled through on my way to the hotel I was to stay. I had seen a Porsche, a Bentley, in fact I saw lots of amazing cars I never thought I would see, Lagos was a beautiful city at night with amazing sky scrapers and gorgeous edifices lining the streets. The hotel I had stayed in was great; an hotel that could compete favourably with other hotels worldwide, I wondered in my mind if this was all just preferential treatment I had gotten from the porter and driver or if that was how they naturally were, a year on and I knew better. I had been invited by the body in charge of the immigration matters in their country as an expert in immigration services to help with issues they had pertaining to border control and how they could fashion better ways to stem the issue of illegal immigration, disease control, trans border issues e.t.c. Initially a visit that was supposed to be six months had turned into a year because I had so much loved Nigeria. I remember when I had followed the Comptroller General of the Nigerian Immigration services to his home town in Benue, it had been a moment I would never forget, I had been received like a monarch, a king, little children had chased our car as it entered his village, I remember them shouting “Oyinbo Oyoyo” all the way till when the car stopped. I was later made to understand they were saying: White man welcome. All the townspeople had come out to greet me, they had sang songs in their native language to welcome me, even the King had left the comfort of his palace just to welcome me, I’d never felt honoured all my life, it was just unbelievable, the Comptroller General had told me that was how they were naturally exuberant, he had told me that was how they welcomed visitors in general and welcomed back sons of the soils who had grown to become successful men. In all sincerity, my one week there was the best of my life, in the morning, wives of various chiefs and the several wives of their king would each bring various meals I found extremely delicious to eat. In the evening they would make a big camp fire and the children would run around playing, the men would drink palm wine and tell different tales of great hunting trips and adventures in their youth to the young men who would listen with rapt attention and admiration, the Comptroller General serving as my translator. It was surprising how a man of such power and who commanded so much authority was relatively at ease here in his community, it was believed every one deserved respect irrespective of post or status. The women always cooked large meals and the community would eat as a whole at night. The unity, freedom and tranquility with which these people lived was unbelievable. Darn the mosquitoes and unclean drinking or bathing water, I loved this people, the king even on a weekly basis would gather his people to know their problems and how he could govern them with better, it was on this occasion I had suggested helping them with clean drinking water, electricity, schools etc. to which they gladly appreciated my help but turned it down, many of them expressed content with how they lived and said the people of the city could live their lives that way but they wanted their bond and unity to continue and not be disrupted by things like phones which would pre occupy their children and make them lazy or TV sets that would take away the place of folk lore or communal camaraderie, or even electricity that would make life easy, they believed in hard work. I was surprised how much they knew about these things but how they preferred living the “backward” way, I saw nothing backward in how they lived; this was one loving community who embraced the natural way of life. I remember my departure had been with aplomb and celebration, I even got a chieftaincy title. I had thoroughly enjoyed my stay, not just there but the whole nation, Nigerians were loving, free, open, they had rich tradition one could easily see in every sphere of their life, from their wedding ceremonies, to “child naming”, to attitude towards elders and way of life, a vast array of amazing delicacies, languages, cultures, dressing, natural resources; for crying out loud why would one want to leave this country. I looked at the deportee again, his name was Gbadebo as I deduced from the deportation list in my hands, a tear dripped from his eyes, I wondered why he was crying. A tear dripped from my eyes, after a year of staying in this beloved country, my lifelong dream had come to an end, I was going back to my homeland, I looked at the immigrations officer looking back at me with something of a puzzlement in his eyes, maybe it was pity, pity that I was returning back to Nigeria, a place of woes, sorrow and endless headache gotten from a million worries about how to eat, drink, clothe, survive, struggle. Nigeria was a battle ground, and you had to be the fittest to survive or maybe not. Our politicians gloated on our national cake so to say, the rich got richer, the poor got poorer, like we often say in Nigeria, monkey dey work, baboon dey chop, meaning some did the struggling, others reaped the fruit of the labour. They ended up taking millions and billions of naira into their accounts scattered all over the world, money they were supposed to use to develop the county, to develop beloved Nigeria, why couldn’t Nigeria be like England, or other advanced countries in the world, we liked wallowing in our suffering, we seemingly enjoyed the way we lived; the daily suffering. A Nigerian man’s mentality was such that due to the irregular electricity situation in the country, whenever light was restored, we would shout “UP NEPA” as if we were shouting Happy New Year!, then there would be a scurry to charge phones, laptops etc. before the power was taken again. Fela one of Nigeria’s greatest music exports globally had said it all in one of his songs: Nigerian’s suffer suffer, suffering and smiling. I loathed my country, what reason did I have to love it? Everything about my country was negative, I had been born in the slums of Lagos and that same area had remained the way it was twenty-five years after; no change. Despite my humble beginnings I had managed to acquire a University degree but it had mattered little, despite graduating with a second class upper, I had remained unemployed three years after. The white man’s certificate was preferred by companies, but why shouldn’t it? Their quality and standard of education was better than ours, they didn’t embark on strikes or haggles with their government except when it came to very trivial issues to me. And that was often not the case with the advanced countries, but the developing or under-developed countries, we were like a plague, our notoriety known far and wide, criminals, corrupt-cold hearted evil minded people, we had global recognition for things like that, that’s why as a Nigerian, getting a visa to advanced countries in the world was a serious issue, we were subjected to double checks, double inquiry for the reason behind our coming to their countries, but that had never deterred us as Nigerians in our pursuit to bring home the golden fleece, we were ready to go to any length, and do anything in our power to reach the dream land, I as a person had been so determined to reach England that I had gathered all I had in this world, sold it and embarked on a death defying trip. A hundred of us had gone on this journey, only twelve of us made it, our route was across the Sahara desert up till we got to morocco then crossed the strait of Gibraltar till we entered Europe and found our way to England. I remember how many times I’d just look at the map of Africa and say it’s just this small distance, I’d survive it and reach the queen’s country one day; misconceived perceptions I had had, like someone who had drunk and the wine had gotten into his head and he had started singing “ I believe I can fly” and then trying to actually fly, I did embark on the trip, but till date, memories of the journey still haunt me the way a Nigerian child fears “ojuju” the unseen imagined ghost in the dark our parents so often used to scare us whenever we were been naughty : “ojuju” is coming”, they’d say and that child would immediately start screaming and shivering and would run away to hide from the “ojuju” that would never come. The Sahara had been ruthless, its scorching sun punishing us during the day as if punishing us for departing our mother land, the sub zero cold at night, mocking us with its chill, many had died from the heat, from thirst, from the cold, from various diseases and other surprises the Sahara had in stock for us like snake bites; I remember one of the girls who had died from a snake bite, the torment she had gone through, her death had been slow and painful, she had been very beautiful and despite the heat and cold she had remained still very beautiful, but the bite, just one bite and she had wilted, her smooth skin had crimpled, and this angel turned into a mess in a few minutes, I remember how I had shivered with fear watching as life had gradually ebbed out of her, even if I like the others felt like going back, we had gotten too far, given up to much, to give up like this, personally, what I had experienced here was nothing compared to growing up in Nigeria was, I remember a tweet that became so famous it trended on twitter : “on judgment day, I would just raise up a Nigerian flag to show God that I’ve been to hell”; ironical that God would even listen to that but it was the truth, Nigeria was hell, and I wasn’t going back, our government would say we should stay, stay and make the country better whilst they sent their children abroad to study, even when the education system here is in tatters. They’d use words of some musicians like Sunny Ade or Sound Sultan who had sang songs saying: “there’s no place like home”, to try to convince us to stay and make the Country a better place, if that didn’t sell, they’d use the famous American quote: “do not think what America can do for you, think what you can do for America”; they want us to continue struggling while they continued enjoying, criminals. We ended up getting lost lots of time, this had been a trip for the strong hearted not feeble minded, after months of trudging the Sahara barely alive, we made it to the Strait of Gibraltar, all the sorrows and pain dissipated, the white man’s continent was just lying right ahead of us, but things are easier said or perceived than done, we got lost at sea countless times and our craft after withstanding many storms and the perils of the ocean eventually capsized, the twelve of us who finally made it, found ourselves on the shores of Europe, the trip had been horrid, all for what? To reach greener pastures? I couldn’t care less; the pastures of Europe were indeed very very green. I made my way to England thanks to some help we got from refugees like us who had once taken this similar trips themselves and were now successful and helped their fellow brothers to live the better life. I loved England, I loved everything about the whole country, little work was rewarded with great pay, and in such little time, money like I had never made before I made in few months, they had good infrastructure, roads, water, electricity; England was heaven. I remember the first time I called home to tell them I had successfully made it abroad, the way my parents had rejoiced, you would have never imagined that they had ever voiced vehemently against me embarking on this trip, and when I started sending them pounds, I became a role model to my young ones, I remember whenever I called them and it was a video chat, how they would all gather around and enthusiastically ask me to buy this and buy that, to send them “ oyinbo” things, my siblings would ask for game stations, clothes gadget, I was no longer the black sheep of the family, coming to England gave me acceptance. I remember how when I started calling some of my friends and told them: I’ve arrived “ jand” (slang for England in Nigeria) or that I don reach Yankee o, how they would hail me and say I’m now the big bro, and that I’m now the boss. I got respect, admiration just because I was in a white man’s land now, before I knew what was happening, my Facebook page started getting lots of friend requests, my inbox started getting flooded with messages from both friends and people I never knew, each giving a long story just to crown it with them asking me to assist them financially, to send them “bills” or to let them see “green” too. Suddenly a nobody like me in Nigeria was now a somebody, even my girl friend who had deserted me because I couldn’t get a job or because I couldn’t meet her needs, now wanted me back so badly, England had changed my status quo, I now had enough money to spend, was living “the life”. It wasn’t just about the money or change in status quo, England was organized, everything had order, peace and tranquility reigned supreme, no fears about you getting robbed and the criminal escaping, one could sleep soundly without having to leave one eye open like we did in Nigeria because of the numerous dangers we lived in, you had rights that no one would dare trample on, everything was just bliss and serene, the police was indeed your friend, not your enemy. I would miss Nigeria though, the Friday partying partying, the numerous “faaji” (enjoyment) that Nigeria offered, my friends who had always been there for me; there was just this quality about Nigeria that makes you miss it, but I still preferred here, the Queen’s country, to going back, that was until the long hand of the law had caught up with me and now I was been deported. It was quite funny that despite the fact that been deported was a disgrace of sorts, in Nigeria my arrival would be received like I was a king, I was no longer a nobody, now I would be referred to as the guy who has been to “jand” before, or who has gone to “yankee”( another word for overseas or abroad or more popularly America or England in Nigeria). I now had so much money in such a short period of time, and more of it was waiting for me back home thanks to the pounds I sent home to Nigeria from time to time. I smiled, at least that was something to smile about, coming to England had blessed me in ways staying all my years in Nigeria had never done and would probably have never did. He smiled, I didn’t know if it was a smile borne from the fact that he was embracing finally going home, or if was the kind of pseudo smile people give when they resign to their fate, one man’s food was another man’s poison, I loved been a Briton, I loved my country despite all the misgivings I had about it, but Nigeria wasn’t a bad place, it was light years better than what’s been painted and I would never have minded living there, in my little time there, I had come across various whites like myself who had spoken about Nigeria in glowing terms, many of them had lived there for as long as twenty years, they loved the culture, the tradition of the Nigerian people, many had even helped in bringing Nigeria to the world, adopting their cultures, their idol worshipping, their way of life, many whites had lived there most of their lives and died there. What was it those whites saw, that this young man before me didn’t see. I shook my head once again. I looked at the white man who had been looking at me from time to time, I wished I was in his shoes, I watched as he shook his head one more time, I shrugged my shoulders, Nigeria was my motherland and I loved Nigeria in its own special ways, but I wouldn’t think twice about coming here again, or even living here permanently, I wouldn’t mind taking that death defying trip once again. We exchanged glances, pity on one’s face, sorrow on another’s, Farewell Nigerian, if only you saw the bigger picture, I thought to myself. Farewell white man, I know you’re thinking why we Nigerians come here rather than stay in our countries, must be disgusting to him, he could never understand, if only he saw the bigger picture. I thought to myself.
Posted on: Sat, 30 Nov 2013 10:44:41 +0000
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