By Taju Tijani
Remi poured the Jamaican rum in a glass. He sipped a bit and gave Larry a cynical look. Ife Omotosho requested for his favourite mango juice from the fridge. Larry Omotosho clung to his cup of coffee and his “Design Your Life” book. Lola, Larry’s daughter, could sense a serious discussion brewing like a boiling soup of okro. She fled to her room upstairs. Ife switched off the television which had been on Aljazeera which Larry watched with keen interest almost daily. The living room was quiet.
“Before you go into a journey of no return, let me warn you about relocation to NIgeria. Nigeria has been fascinating to you for some time. Yes, I hold no grudge against you for the choices you are making. However, I am your wife, and I cannot open my eyes and allow a fly to enter. You remember that Uncle Segun went back three years ago. He had to run back to the UK when he saw shege in Nigeria. Also, brothers Dayo, Rotimi, Ayo, Akin, Joseph and Mofe. These people were certain of their visions. They saw Nigeria as a land of rest and restoration after years in the wilderness of freezing Europe…but pabo ni gbogbo wahala won jasi,” Ife went into a lengthy opening speech.
Larry was shaking his legs furiously and feigning sleep. He digested his wife’s wise counsel in his heart. He did not look at his wife. “Are you sleeping?” Ife could not understand why Larry closed his eyes. He nodded his head towards his wife as if to say that he was not sleeping. “Ok, o je masun. Oro to serious lanso o,” the wife cajoled. Ife excused herself and made for the kitchen. She brought back some roasted chicken for Remi.
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“Ore, you may disagree with your wife’s position on your relocation. She may have painted a gloomy picture of Naija but there are elements of caution and truth in her words. She spoke of those who had shipwrecked on that voyage of relocation. She mentioned some names which I am familiar with. She may be biased because we have other people who went and made a success of their relocation. Probably your wife knows your strengths and weaknesses and feels that Nigeria will wear you down and kill your passion. I am just saying. We are different,” Remi said, looking at his friend.
“Look, I have just returned after over four weeks in Nija. The bureaucracy there nearly finished me. I wanted to do the National Identification Number (NIN). I had this notification from Airtel, my network provider. I received messages that my local number will be blocked because my NIN details were not right. I made enquiries and was advised to go to the NIN office. I left for the NIN office around 7.00am. When I got there, I met over 60 people. I was given a paper to write my name and was given a number. I was 64 as at 7.15am,” Remi said, recounting his frustration in the NIN office.
“Larry, remember that we get everything with ease here. You hardly meet the huge and frustrating bureaucracy in the UK. You get everything online and on time and with minimal sweat. In Nija, the mucous in your right will flow into your left to get anything done. When my house in Nija was burgled, I wanted to report it to the Police. My cousins laughed. I was advised that I will be complicating matters if I involved the Police. I was shocked. They reckoned that the Police would not do anything. So, I changed the locks and fixed a stronger deterrent around my house,” Remi continued.
Ife nodded her head in agreement. Her body language was one of support for Remi’s hard talk on Naija. “Abio, a kuku le ri oto oro nile kama so,” Ife said. “Mama Lola, guess what? Mi ori ina lo for three weeks. PHCN did not give light for a solid three weeks. I had to rely on generators for such long periods. The nightly noise of the generator nearly killed me. I still sweat throughout the night. All day, I had to rely on my phone to listen to the news and know what’s going on. Is that a country?” Remi said, shaking his head.
“Ah, Uncle Remi, you are talking of the lack of power infrastructure. How about the roads? The last time when I travelled to Ibadan I saw hell. My cousin, Shola, came over to drive me to the University of Ibadan to see a friend. We met a battery of roadblocks on the way. We were in a clean and decent car. However, we were stopped by an officer of the Road Safety Corp. He asked for C caution, fire extinguisher, spare tyre, water, jack, torch light. My cousin provided all. I watched with amusement all the drama going on. Then unable to find fault with my cousin, he asked for one last item. Guess what is it? A razor blade!!! Blade ke? Curiously, I got down and asked the officer if the last request was a joke. The officer bluntly maintained that carrying a razor blade was mandatory for all motorists in Nigeria,” Ife said, kissing her mouth in disgust.
“Mama Lola, nothing can shock me about our madness. I have studied Nigeria inside out. We are mad people. And we are shameless in our madness. We are greedy people. And we are shameless in the pursuit of our greed. Nigeria is a suffocating country. Nigerians are not citizens. They are all subject to authoritarian rules. We are ruled by uniforms – The Police, Army, Navy, Air Force, Road Safety, VIOs, Traffic Management Officers, Revenue Collection Officers and others. All of them wield a bit of power when in uniform. Majority of Nigerians must obey and submit their right to these people. They are the creation of corruption and for corruption. Let me break it down for you. Have you noticed that any contact with the Nigerian bureaucracy involves four things. The first is FRUSTRATION. The second is OPPRESSION. The third is IMPUNITY. The fourth is CORRUPTION. If the Police, the Road Safety officer and any other uniformed men and women frustrate you, oppress you and throw impunity on your office, all they want is your money. But because they cannot ask you for money first, they will go through frustrating you, oppressing you and impugning on your right until you pay up. That is the way Nigeria is designed from the bottom up oo,” Remi said, sipping his Jamaican rum.
“E ma do lohun. Ko ti ye dada. E bami salaiye fun dada”, Ife said, encouraging Remi to continue in his dissection of the Nigerian paradox. “Instead of you enjoying your pension age here, you want to return to Nigeria, a lawless country where everybody wants to Japa. Is there a curse somewhere? Nonsense! You want to replace a life of ease and orderliness for a life of chaotic mayhem. From sunup to sundown, we are mad in Nigeria. I will die here. I am not going to Nigeria with you,” Ife said with disdain.
“We are saying all these because we love you. Nija will drain you mentally, physically, emotionally and wear you down. As ara ilu oyinbo, you will learn how to live a pretentious lifestyle. People will come to you to make demands on you. Family and friends will come with ideas to fleece you of your money. Everybody wants your money. The health care system is nothing. Who will care for you sef? Don’t you see your politicians running abroad for treatment? And sending their spoilt children to Charterhouse and Oxford? You better shine your eyes, open your ears and loan yourself brain,” Ife continued. READ ALSO:
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Larry was like a statue. He said nothing. He did not betray his inner anger. He respected their counsel.
He understood from the point of reality that what was being said about Naija was largely true. He responded and spoke for twenty minutes to counter their arguments. Unknown to them he had a secret plan. Larry cannot bail out without a solid Plan B. His phone rang. He looked at the caller. It was the mechanic. Mechanic is Joke. She was Larry’s secret girlfriend in Nigeria. She had been waiting for his call. That was the reason he was going back. Joke was the bone hooking Larry at the jugular. He could hear the voice of his baby in the background.
“Ah mechanic, I will call you back. I am in a meeting,” Larry announced, as he laid down his phone.
…To be continued.
