The Orisirisi Of Being A Nigerian

By  Oluwakemi Omowaire

I’ve since stopped trying to think too much about Nigeria and her many problems. It’s not a good exercise anyways. It leaves me with this headache that is not exactly migraine but is something like it.

To be honest, I’ve never really been able to think any of Nigeria’s problems through to a conclusion. The thoughts often get tangled and knotted, leaving my mind sour and hanging.

Every time you look out, you’ll find another national issue taking a wrong turn, consequently crashing your little hope for the country. As Nigerians though, we’ve always learned to adjust to different things. It doesn’t really matter if what we need to adjust to is a good thing or a bad thing, we just know to adjust. Our adjustment quotient is pretty high.

Since our leaders already believe that they have the right to impose things on us, to juggle us this way and that way, as though we are water to be poured wherever they want; we too have since learned to easily adjust to whatever discomfort or anomaly.

 Sobbing up silent lumps of pain, writing long articles, grieving for whatever basic amenities we’ve been deprived of, and listening to Fela’s many songs about our jeko-jeko government hasn’t exactly helped or solved our problems.

A country where state governors make a big fuss over attempts to tar a road, they’ll invite traditional rulers, media houses to watch them commission tiny roads. Isn’t that ridiculous? I wonder how they think. Why they think such projects is an extraordinary gift to the people rather than seeing it as their duty.

I was at the salon the other day, getting my hair stretched; a lady was on the phone telling someone in-between laughter… “Yes o… I got my UK visa. Nor vex babes, I was still going to tell you.”

 A yellow chic that was getting her hair braided beside me turned to look at the one on the phone, she turned to look at her a few more times as if waiting for her to end her call so she could tell her something suddenly urgent on her mind. She shook her head again and again. More like a “I pity you” kind of head shaking.

 It turned out my guess was right anyways, because immediately the lady ended her call, our yellow chic turned to her to say “My dear, don’t waste your time. Don’t go to London o.”

The other lady who had been on the phone too turned to look at her, as if she needed to be sure the words was meant for her.

“Why not?” The UK visa girl asked, laughing.

“There’s no money there. No job. The frustration out there is high.”

“Ehn ehn? Is that so?”

“Yes, I’m being real with you. Don’t be deceived, most people out there are suffering. I was in England last summer; none of my folks out there could spare their 20pounds for a little treat.”

The UK visa girl was quiet. She looked on at yellow chic as if she’s one bad news messenger who ought to get shot.

“Well, you can’t make a general conclusion based on that. Based on your own family. I have people out there too who are doing well.” She said stubbornly. Managing a smile, as if believing in her own exceptionality, how things would be different for her when she gets there, and her possible ability to swim where even the sharks cannot.

“Well, you can go see and also live the life for yourself o. Yellow chic said. Turning again to look at the lady with the London dream, examining her as though she was an obstinate budget which ought to balance but wouldn’t.

I looked at the yellow chic from the mirror myself, wondering why she thinks her pep talk at a salon would change the mind of someone with a London dream just like that.

“Even two of my friends are returning to Nigeria later this year. They told me there’s no point hanging on to emptiness. Because the more years to stay back, the more you’re trapped, the more it becomes difficult to come back home.” Yellow chic added, still hoping to make the lady see reasons why travelling is not a brilliant idea.

“Sister, sebi you said your friends have lived in London and have spent some years there abi? Ehn ehn… let me go too o. Let me go. Choo….” “So are you saying staying in this country is better? What suffering can you possibly go through in the UK that will be close to the one we are suffering here?” “Please forget that yeye talk o. Don’t even go there. Do you know how much I spent to process my visa?” “You are funny to think your story can make sense to me. I’m sorry o.”

The conversation attracted two other contributors, so they went on and on. I won’t bore you with the rest of their gist.

These days, Nigerian folks give testimonies in church, of how they got visas to the UK or to America by divine favour. Bursting with gladness as they share their testimonies, some will weep on the altar into the microphone, tears of joy. Many Nigerians see visas to such foreign lands as a mercy. As a glint of hope that their life’s ambition would finally find a release.

The last time I visited Accra, I was surprised when my Ghanaian cab driver told me that a Nigerian friend of his who had recently moved to Ghana was yet to secure a job for himself because he was yet to get a ‘work permit.’ Orisirisi! I thought to myself. So Nigerians need work permit to work in Ghana? Wow!

For many Nigerians, an escape into any country at all is so much relief; an answered prayer. Nigerians, you can’t but salute the stubbornness of their hopes when it comes to migrating to foreign lands.

I still remember tuning in to BBA channels a few times last year to watch Big Brother Africa. I remember a scene where sweats were pouring off some other African housemates while they complained that the population of Nigerians in other Africa countries is bad for the game. They seemed to think this influence the voting system in favour of Nigerian housemates, because Nigerians are many everywhere outside their own country. I watched them; hoping Big Brother didn’t hear them. And I said to myself, ‘yes we Nigerians get around a lot, because there are too many of us and not enough space to contain us. I said to myself in an attempt to justify our failure as a nation, and as if to pretend not to know the real reasons why Nigerians escape out of their own country. Education, security, survival…. are part of the long list.

Even back then as kids, my friends and I, we had several questions for God. Blaming Him, and wondering why fate had mistakenly made us Nigerians, wickedly allotting us to a place that is below our true destiny. Lol!

It’s hard to categorically say you are excited about anything in this country. Yes, it is not the head of Lagos’ NSCDC alone that cannot categorically say… Even we cannot seem to be able to predict anything. You cannot categorically predict if NEPA will bring light, you cannot predict whether Super Eagles will beat France, you cannot predict the eventual return of the Chibok girls, You cannot predict how many hours your trip on Lagos-Ibadan highway will take, our university folks cannot predict how long a semester will be, you cannot predict if you’ll get a deadly or a friendly look when you pull out your green passport and hand it over to a passport control official on foreign soil, but too often you get the former.

I know it’s not enough to complain all the time because the Nigerian system is yet without a beautiful rhythm. Abi? Well, I know nothing in view marks the beginning of the end of our many troubles as a nation yet.

When I hear “Let’s pray for Nigeria” in church these days, I still say my prayers, but I say it with little faith and no enthusiasm. Sometimes with no faith at all. Don’t be quick to judge me though, I’m a good citizen and I’ve even held special personal prayer vigils for Nigeria in the past. And seriously I am not joking. It’s just that these days, our leaders have grown bigger than the law, the never ending celebration of corruption and individuals with stinking characters, terrible decline of our educational system, jobless statistics et al; with all of these, I often feel like someone is trying to submerge my hope for this country. Like someone is holding its head pressed down under water with no chance to catch some breath.

I try. I still try to hold on to my hope for my country. I try to hug it, but I feel burning spikes and pains in the embrace.

But with the few Nigerians doing great things home and abroad, I only hope that the rest of us can try , and learn from them. And decide not to leave our destiny in the hands of our greedy, selfish leaders. And also learn from them, that to achieve greatness, it’s not so much our sorry state of a nation that matters, more than the strength of our determination and our personal will. Trust me, we can push through. And we will, even in the midst of all these many depressing orisirisi.

Oluwakemi Omowaire is a psychologist, a writer and also a  creative artist. She has a published novel on rape titled ‘Dead Roses and she is presently working on her second novel “When Every Thing Good Comes”.

This article was culled from Omojuwa.com