God, Abeg!
On Being Nigerian
*Meaning: an intense cry for help.
To be Nigerian these days is to constantly beg God for help with something. It is to say God please (or its equivalent in your native language) numerous times a day because of one overwhelming or confusing situation or another.
From trying your best to stay alive as you go about your daily business to attempting to circumvent instituitionalized madness, you almost always have this prayer on your lips. It is part of our local parlance.
Jesu shaanu. Chineke biko. Abasi mbok. Oghene biko.
Nigeria is a hard place to live and as a Nigerian living in Nigeria, you most times find yourself praying about things that should not be thoughts, let alone prayer points. You are tired most of the time because it seems someone is constantly gunning for your life, sanity or both. More points if you live in Lagos, where I lived until fairly recently.
You know you cannot afford to be average so you go the extra mile and even when the mile markers are moved overnight, you keep it moving, praying all the way. To stop is to give up and that’s a slow death.
Being Nigerian is having to find a way to survive in spite of, constantly wondering how life would be if things were different, easier maybe. You find yourself always thinking about how well you could do if you did not have to scale any hurdles to have the semblance of an actual life, the basic things. It is to live with caution and not even dare to hope because the carpet can be pulled out from under your feet in the twinkling of an eye.
To be Nigerian is to embrace the principle of at least. You learn to compare and contrast your absurd realities and take solace in the fact that you could be in a worse position but you are not. At least, I get paid — even if it’s meagre or not regular. It is to feel sorry for your neighbour, who you’re not in a particularly better situation than, forgetting that you’re suffering as well. It is to accept the barest minimum with gratitude, as if to dare demand for more would be a heinous crime.
“It is tiring. To think of all the hurdles I have to face simply because of where I was born. It’s a daunting, daily task of finding ways to protect your joy.” — Mo*
Some weeks ago, most of the nation was plunged into darkness as a result of a strike action by the employees of the power authority due to poor working conditions and delayed payment of some of their benefits. Sadly, they are not the only group to be affected by such, amongst other issues. The Academic Staff Union of Universities (ASUU) has been on strike for over six months now. That means students have been at home, unable to continue their studies. That’s what being Nigerian means — having so many unanswered questions. You quickly learn to avoid the news, best you can.
It’s Independence Day tomorrow (October 1st) and all week, we have seen different takes about the state of the nation, like we see every year. I asked a few people what being Nigerian means to them and compiled their responses.
’Seni*: being Nigerian feels like a competition for me, like I am in a race with millions of people trying to escape the same thing. I feel like I always have to do a hundred times more to be as good as people who don’t live here. It also gives me some form of courage, like I can adapt to anything. It is a rough place to be and it brings out a side of me that I don’t really like.
To Rotimi,* a 29-year old man, living in Lagos, being a Nigerian is pure stress. He says it’s like being stuck in a burning house where some people are on fire but he is not. “The heat is touching me in a way that I’m not one of those not on fire but I’m not comfortable either.”
Jane* says it means nothing and everything — having a place to call my own and being ashamed of that place and what it does to people. It is having a place to try my best and still be disappointed. “Being Nigerian means having hope; the tiniest bit that keeps you believing even when it does not seem feasible” she says.
Osas*: For me, being Nigerian means community, home, love and peace. It means that I am not scared that anywhere I go to within my community, I’ll be turned back. It means that that community is never going to turn me back at all times when I need a shoulder to lean on or somebody to just be there when I feel like talking about mundane things in my head. It means love from people who are related to me in ways that I can’t imagine. It’s basically just community for me and that’s what’s so important to me about being Nigerian.
Kunle*: the first thing that comes to mind is culture, values and good food. It also means having the will to go on and finding happiness in the midst of turmoil. Maybe that’s because I don’t know how to be anything else. Above all, it means the hope that keeps us going and that’s the beauty of it all.
Top to bottom, the country is rife with neglect. Every where you turn, there is a sign of something dreadfully wrong with the system. You want to ask, “where do we go from here?” but you know there will be no answers and you begin wonder if it’s really that difficult to run a country, seeing that others are doing it. Sometime, it seems better to identify from afar but not all of us can.
Basically, to be Nigerian right now is to hope against all hope that things will get better and hang in there the best you can. So yeah, Jesu shaanu.
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