Which Way Nigerians?
In a few hours, I will don my sackcloth, my October 1 uniform, like I have done for the past few years. The Nigerians who see me will recognize the map of Nigeria when they see me.
I doubt there is anything I will write about the state of
Nigeria and the type of rulers we have that any Nigerian reading this has not
heard before. I have blog posts that address some of these issues, including
some that I wrote on a day like today. In 1984, Sonny Okosun, released a song, “Which
Way Nigeria?” In 2025, the question is still relevant. In the song, Okosun
says, “Many years after independence, we still find it hard to start. How long
shall we be patient till we reach the Promise Land?” More than 40 years later,
everything about that song still rings true. So, what is there for me to write
about?
Amid the many urgent things that I have to do, and the many critical
assignments that I am behind on, I am compelled to pause my morning to write
about Nigeria, about Nigerians, and to Nigerians, because my writing is a form
of bearing witness. I don’t know who will read what I write, or when they will
read it, but I must give testimony for the future, that not all of us accepted
the chaos, and that some of us spoke to it from our little corners. Let it be
known that the suffering was real, that the rulers were self-serving oppressors,
that the people were complicit, and that some of us objected and resisted.
Sonny Okosun asked, “Which
way Nigeria?” I am asking, “Which way, Nigerians?” I have given up on reasoning
with the oppressors who have imposed themselves as our government. I cannot
appeal to them, because they cannot be reasoned with. Oppressors will do what
oppressors do until the people stop them. I have written about how we got the
rulers we deserved, because the people in power cannot get there without significant
support from the people who live among us, who worship with us in the same
religious spaces, our village brothers and sisters, who sell us off for paltry
gain. When someone chooses to sell their present and future for a pittance, what
can I say to them to make them see their foolishness? It will be like wrestling
with a pig in the garbage dump. I have no words for them. They won’t even read
blogs like mine.
However, today, I want to appeal to two sets of people: the
perpetual optimist and the silent observers. I know I can reason with you. You think
you are good people. You think your approach is the best. But you are making
things worse for us. You may not know what you are doing is harmful, but after
reading this, I hope you will understand better and change your ways.
Dear perpetual optimist, the make lemonade out of lemons
gang, this is for you. You see things going awry and focus on how to profit
from chaos. You go to a house of mourning and insist that everyone smile and
laugh. The average income earners cannot afford to buy new cars, and you
respond that people need to change their circle of friends. The banks’ ATMs no
longer dispense cash, and people have to pay exorbitant fees to POS merchants,
but you see an opportunity to join the business and the exploitation of your
people. The roads are death traps, and for you, the solution is for everyone to
travel by air. People complain that eggs are now expensive. You say, “Must you
eat eggs?” You see it as an opportunity to make a delicacy out of cockroaches. Someone
died, but at least they died in the hospital. A family was kidnapped, but at
least the kidnapper only killed two out of four children. A community has been
raided for the umpteenth time, and the terrorists killed people, but at least the
landscape is beautiful and can be good for tourism. You tell us to be
comfortable in our chains, to make our prison cells home. You advise us to
marry our rapists. You demonize our righteous anger and frustrate our efforts
to demand justice.
How much lemonade will you drink before you purge? Who will
buy your plentiful lemonade when people are impoverished and dying? Whoever got
freedom by submitting to slavery? Anger is a necessary and healthy emotion. We
need to be angry at injustice and wickedness. We need collective anger, lots of
anger, which we can harness to galvanize us to resist oppression. We are not
angry enough, and your persistent optimism is watering down our anger and
silencing those of us who are righteously angry. You need to know that the
oppressors do not see you as you see yourself. When they invite you to the
table to eat with them, you are on the menu. They will not remember your
motivational speeches and positivity when they are ready for you. They will
consume you, like the devourers that they are. You should be angry.
Dear silent observer. Have you heard the saying, “Siddon Look
na dog name?” Legend has it that Nnamdi Azikiwe’s father named a dog Siddon
Look. Well-trained dogs can just sit and observe everything happening around
them. You tell them to sit, and they sit. But Siddon Look is for the dog's
owner and not for everybody. I have never seen or heard of a dog sitting quietly
when its people are attacked, unless it is blind, deaf, and mute. In
threatening situations, dogs either fight or run. So, how do you do it? What
motivates you to witness cruelty and injustice, and say nothing and do nothing?
In case you did not know, your silence makes you complicit.
When you choose silence in the face of cruelty and injustice, you have taken
sides and chosen the side of cruelty and injustice. Archbishop Desmond Tutu of
South Africa once said, “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you
have chosen the side of the oppressor. If an elephant has its foot on the tail
of a mouse, and you say that you are neutral, the mouse will not appreciate
your neutrality.” Your silence validates the actions of the oppressors around
you. You become the evidence that they are not doing anything wrong. After all,
if they were wrong, why would you smile at them without rebuking them? Why
would you officiate their “Thanksgiving” service, sing for them, and dance with
them? Why would you laugh at their jokes, give them fist bumps, and reminisce
on the good old days you shared together?
As I write this, I am thinking of the small silences in WhatsApp groups and social media, when people are bullied and you stay silent, because “e no concern you.” I am thinking about the huge, deafening silences that accompany the misogyny, ethnic bigotry, tribalism, and xenophobia around us. I am thinking about the deadly silences that accompanied the gruesome murder of Deborah Samuel Yakubu in May 2022. I am thinking of the chilling silences about Leah Sharibu and Dadiyata (Abubakar Idris). Recently, I saw a horrible video on social media, where a thug was beating up someone in a crowd of bystanders who watched the violence. When I see people fraternizing with the Lagos State governor, I remember that the Lagos General Hospital elevator implicated in the death of Dr Vwaere Diaso has not been fixed, and the victims of the EndSARS massacres have not received justice. Your silence will not insulate you from the oppressors. E no concern you today, but it will surely concern you in the future, if we don’t do something about it.
Which way, Nigerians? Which way, perpetual optimist? Which
way, silent observer? Are you on the side of justice, or are you with the
oppressor? Is this how it will be? Will we surrender without a fight?
I have not finished writing this. There is still so much on
my mind that I need to convert into words. But for now, I must get on with my
day. Which way, Nigerians? What will it be for us?
I have come back to add some more thoughts.
You may ask, "What should we do, then?" Am I asking for us to be in a constant state of anger and despair, to have no joy? Definitely not. I am asking that we resist oppression. Resistance comes from hope. Resistance signifies a belief in the possibility of a better future, and joy is a form of resistance. This joy that I recommend is not escapism. It doesn't minimize the evils of the oppressors. Instead, it is liberatory and restorative. It says to the oppressor, "We are more than you," "You won't have the last laugh," "Light is coming!"
I want us to resist. Our resistance will not look the same. We will play different roles - writers, teachers, singers, artists, preachers, organizers, funders, healers, therapists, legal advocates, care-givers, film makers, poets, archivists, researchers, mobilizers, networkers, strategists, project managers, tech support, journalists, etc. Some of us will be frontline activists, organizing marches, protests, boycotts, and the likes. Some of us will be social media activists, using hashtags and other digital means to resist. Some of us will be everyday resisters, performing micro acts of activism, like, refusing to stand up or shake some people's hands, and boycotting without making a statement. Some of us will be undercover. Some of us will strategically go on exile to galvanize for the future. So far we are resisting.
Prayer is another form of resistance. When we pray for God's kingdom to come, to deliver us from evil, we are asking for liberation and restoration, which is what resistance is about. Prayer changes things, prayer changes us.
The day started for me with thoughts of darkness, but as it ends, I am reminded of light. We resist because we sense a crack that gives us a glimpse of light. "The peoplewho walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in the land of the shadow of death, upon them a light has shined" (Isaiah 9:2).
Light has come!
Light is coming!
Light will come!
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