NIGERIA - MJoTA · 2020. 3. 20. · Nigerians. Dame Sophie, whose powerful friends have included...

Seeking righteousness in the landof my birthIn June 2009 I flew out of Philadelphia, which is myhome, to visit my country, the land of my birth, theland of my ancestors, Nigeria. I have lived in theUnited States for over 25 years, and have not visit-ed Nigeria, not seen my mother, in 17 years.

As the aircraft took off, my thoughts drifted; I wasnot sure of what to expect. As I was planning mytrip, I had read current affairs in my country thatonce prided herself on being called “the giant ofAfrica”, an appellation that I thought was notdeserved. I stumbled on an internet article whichpainted a sordid picture of Nigeria – a picture ofchaos, disarray, political bickering, roads filled withpot holes, lack of government infrastructures, and ifand where any existed, they were in various statesof disrepair. The article went so far as to describethe new capital, Abuja as a city where ‘me ruwas’ruled in the daytime and the noise of electrical gen-erators ruled the nights. Me ruwas are the peoplethat huck water on the streets. I am appalled thatnearly 49 years after Nigeria’s independence mybeloved country can still not be able to provide basicamenities like water and electricity. I was going tohave to see for myself, was how I tried to occupy mythoughts on the first leg of my trip to London.

I settled into the flight by reading a book on how topunctuate, which I must say, helped me take mymind off what I was expecting in Nigeria. Halfwaythrough the flight, I had had enough of how to applyapostrophes, semicolons and commas in sentences.I reached for a pocket-size Bible that I take on trips;I usually only read it when a flight is unpleasant, or

173 Volume 3, Number 7 2009 Medical Journal of Therapeutics Africa

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Yekpabo AA. Nigeria. Seeking righteousness in the land of my birth. MJoTA 2009:3(7):173-183.

Delegation from Osun State, bottom picture, right hand group, and Philadelphia hosts led by StanleyStraughter, far left, are addressed by the Osun State Governor’s wife in Philadelphia Council Chambers.Bottom right picture, the Governor’s wife distributes gifts. Philadelphia sent a delegation to Osun State ledby Mr Straughter early in 2009. All uncredited photos by MJoTA Publisher.

Scenes from Philadelphia. Above, rail to New Yorkand Washington DC. Below, University ofPennsylvania.

when I want to get closer to my creator. On this day,on this flight, I started to read because I was scaredof what I was going to find in Nigeria.

On the Sunday before my Wednesday trip, I was aguest in the Manhattan apartment of a powerfulsocialite in the heart of New York City. At this socialevent, a conversation drifted to the topic of Nigeriaand the United States president, Barrack Obama,had apparently shunned Nigeria in the selection ofthe African countries he was going to visit. My mindwas immediately transported to the recent G-20summit to which Nigeria, the so-called Giant ofAfrica, was not invited, the only African countryinvited was South Africa. Nigeria has squanderedevery opportunity of being a major economic powerbecause of endemic corruption and mismanagementof successive governments.

My discomfort grew as some of New York’s powerfulinvestors and financers made derogatory remarksabout my country. I vigorously defended my countryto disabuse their minds of the negative impressionsthey had of my country and of my people, “We havebeen wrongly portrayed by the Western media,” Iexplained.

I soon understood that all present at this social

event, including our hostess, the socialite DameSophie (I am giving her an assumed name in thehope that I get invited to future networking eventsat her home) had personal experiences with dubiousNigerians. Dame Sophie, whose powerful friendshave included heads of state plus all United Statespresidents since John F Kennedy, recalled a businessdeal for which she helped arranged financing inNigeria in the early 1990s, and was duped of millionsof dollars. “To this day, I haven’t forgiven those peo-ple and I refuse to do business with any Nigerian,”Dame Sophie said.

“Not even me?” I said.

“I might change my mind someday, but for now, noteven you, Professor,” Dame Sophie continued,“Professor, you know we have been friends forsometime, and I have come to know you as an hon-est man, but my views about doing business wereshaped many years ago. USD3million is a lot ofmoney to lose.”

Soon after her comments, Dame Sophie was calledto take a phone call from Mr Michael Bloomberg, themayor of New York City.

Before the night was over, several other attendees at

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Dr Yekpabo (second from left), the Governor of Edo State, Comrade Adams Oshiomhole (far right in khaki)at a New Jersey convention of Nigerians from Edo State with state government officials.

this social event, which included power brokers andambassadors, voiced their opinions about Nigeria;most of it not positive. What I found interesting wasthat the consensus was that the image of Nigeria,damaged as it was, was redeemable.

I left the event thinking that these perceptions hadbecome their reality – rightly or wrongly. PresidentObama may have shunned Nigeria because of theperception that we are a nation of corrupt andincompetent leaders. I also concluded that, if any-one could help Nigeria polish her image, it wasDame Sophie. This is a lady who can bring powerfulpeople together and all she has to do is help toreshape the image of Nigeria, she has the perfectsetting, she has the forum to do it, Dame Sophie isalso a publisher of a magazine that is read by thefamous and influential people in New York. Who bet-ter to change public opinion than someone who hasa story to tell?

I hope that this article finds its way to the desk ofthe President of Nigeria and anyone that is chargedwith shaping the world’s opinion of Nigeria.

On my flight from Philadelphia to London, I flippedthrough my Bible several times before settling on apassage from Genesis. I picked the story of Lot andthe destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, the 2 citiesin the time of Abraham that were destroyed becauseof their sinfulness. How was this story related toNigeria I kept playing in my head?

I remembered that I read an article that highlightedthe inept governments and bad leaders that we havehad in Nigeria and I played back the conversationsin Dame Sophia’s house and I was thinking, maybeNigeria is the Sodom or Gomorrah of the 21st cen-tury. I was, like Abraham, going to search for a fewgood people when I arrived in Nigeria! As all thesethoughts were going on in my head, I silent askedmyself, “Who am I to think that I should look for afew good people in Nigeria?”

Just then, the pilot announced that the plane wasready to touchdown at Heathrow. “Time to startphase 2 of my journey,” I mumbled.

The 2 Americans sitting next to me heard.

“You should be happy to be going home,” one said,while the other reassured me that she had visitedNigeria many times and that she was impressed bythe state of affairs. Not meaning to share and pos-sibly ruin my thoughts about finding a few goodpeople that would prevent Almighty God fromdestroying the country that I love, I decided not toengage these well meaning people in conversation.I uttered something unintelligible to get them toleave me to my thoughts, which they did. “Enjoyyour trip,” the one said; “Have an open mind,” the

other said. I said thank you to both of them.

When I arrived at the baggage claim area, I saw thegovernor of Osun State and his entourage waiting toclaim their bags; I had met the governor a few daysearlier at a business roundtable that the City ofPhiladelphia organized. As he was escorted by a pro-tocol officer from the Nigerian consulate in London,my thoughts took me again to the story of Sodom.“This is a Nigerian leader,” I said to myself, “is heaware that ‘me ruwas’ rule the day while the noiseof generators rule the nights in Nigeria? As an elect-ed official, what is he doing to change the destiny ofhis people?” However, I wasn’t going to think toomuch about a governor who I am sure is doing hisbest to make his state great; I heard him say so atthe roundtable. I was going to focus on the big pic-ture of finding a few good people for whom Godwould spare Nigeria.

After a few hours layover in London before the sec-ond leg of my trip, it was time to board a BritishAirways flight to Abuja. I remembered that the lasttime that I traveled to Nigeria, I flew in a NigeriaAirway plane. The pilot was Nigerian, if my memorystill serves me, his name was Captain Adolphus, andthe stewardesses were all Nigerians. That airline hasceased to exist – another sign of the times? Thedemise of everything Nigerian! Were those New Yorkpower brokers right after all? I wasn’t going to letwhat I read and heard shape my opinion of a coun-try I had not visited in 17 years, I was going to seefor myself. An airline does not a country make, Ireassured myself.

Upon touchdown in Abuja, I was reintroduced to thechaos I remembered; no one wanted to stay in aqueue to go through customs, even some customs’officers were not obeying their own rules; a few tookbags from fellow passengers and rushed themthrough the process. Was this what I was going todeal with, a total disregard for law and order?

In all fairness, even with the chaos, the customs’check went quickly, and I was once again standingon Nigerian soil. I probably should have kissed theground, but I was too happy to see my sister, myniece and my son, who had been waiting to pick meup.

Less than 6 hours after my arrival, I wanted to seethe capital city of Nigeria, Abuja. Over the years, Ihad read about the city that oil-rich Nigeria had builtfrom scratch, just like Brazil built Brasilia.

I was hoping to see traffic lights, not police men andwomen directing traffic at every intersection, roadspeppered with pot holes, and clean streets, just likeI remembered them in the time of Buhari andIdiagbon. No. Nigeria was worse now than when Ileft in 1984. Like people, aren’t countries supposed


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to learn from their past and make improvements? Itsoon became obvious that the ‘me ruwa’ and gener-ator references in the story that I read were accu-rate. I was still jet lagged and sleeping was a prob-lem. I couldn’t tell if the difficulty I had sleeping wasfrom the jet lag or from all the noise from the hun-dreds of generators that were on at the same time.

It appeared that every house in the CITEC housingdevelopment has a generator and no one seemedconcerned about pollution. At first I thought owninga generator was a status symbol, it soon becameobvious that generators were a necessity, just likewater, except that there was no water anywhere,unless someone was buying it.

Less than 24 hours after my arrival, I had the privi-lege of visiting a high ranking government official: amember of the executive branch of government,except that he was not elected.

Soon after the usual niceties and him accusing meof abandoning my country for the ‘golden fleece’ ina foreign land, the conversation turned to the issueof security and the total lack of amenities in thecountry. Characteristic of Nigerians, I can say thisbecause I am one and I know that being defensiveis part of our culture, this high ranking officialheaped the blame on everyone, including those towhom he referred as the common man. “Nigeriansare ingrates, they are never satisfied and it doesn’tmatter what government does, they complain.”When I pressed him on the issue of leadership, hetalked about the vacuum that has existed since thecolonial times, “Nigeria hasn’t had a good leadersince our fathers fought for our independence fromthe British.” I reminded him that the leaders ofNigeria before and after independence haven’t beennationalistic, but have continued to serve ethnic andparochial interests, including the many leaders towhom he referred. Turning the conversation to pub-lic service, my host agreed with me that there was adearth of committed people in this arena. He acqui-esced on the issues of honesty and integrity in pub-lic service. “Why do people elect to serve the publicif they have no interest in improving the lives of themasses,” became a lingering question in my mind.

After first 24 hours, I was determined to find the fewgood people that would prevent the destruction ofthe Sodom of the 21st Century, Nigeria. I wanted tomake this my mission, find a few God-fearing andhonest people, not corrupted by greed, a vice thathas consumed everyone in this land, a vice that wastaught to us by General Gowon, our military head ofstate who handled our affairs during and followingNigeria’s civil war. His one single deed of increasingthe salaries of civil servants as recommended by theUdoji Commission led to the problems of urbaniza-

tion; overreliance on oil as Nigeria’s sole economicactivity; hyperinflation; the birth of mobilization feesin government contracts; ports’ congestion from theimportation of cement - I cannot forget BrigadierAdekunle and his effort to decongest our ports -above all, the irreversible greed that has continuedto plague even our youth to this day – greed that inturn gave birth to the ‘419’ for which Nigerians areknown the world over. Is it fair to continue to put theblame of our dysfunctional society on The UdojiCommission salary increases of the mid 1970s? Toanswer this question, I decided to go to the ‘ordi-nary’ Nigerian.

After a few days in Abuja after meeting and speak-ing to a few people about the cancer that has eatenitself into every fiber of the society, I decided to seekthe answers to my dilemma in the religious commu-nity. Before going to church, I spoke via telephonewith a friend who is a Roman Catholic priest. Thepriest admitted to me that he was once forced to lieabout his income to obtain proof of income tax. “Ihad no choice,” he said, “I was going to travel forneeded medical care and as a priest, the govern-ment does not have regulations regarding theincome of members of the clergy.”

From his response, I understood that while the gov-ernment is blaming its people, the people are blam-ing the government. Could this be case of lack ofaccountability? I was somewhat hoping that a manof God, one that should be the conscience of thepeople, should take responsibility for his actions, notblame the government.

The priest railed against corruption at all levels ofgovernment and in society. My response was that


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Philadelphia delegation led by Stanley Straughter,visits Osun State, Nigeria. Photo courtesy ofStanley L Straughter.

the clergy was condoning the ills of society. I gaveseveral instances where the Roman Catholic Churchhonored government officials and other members ofsociety who were known to have pilfered govern-ment coffers and given large donations to thechurch – not different from a traditional ruler givinga chieftaincy title to a corrupt politician thus endors-ing the conduct of stealing from the people. With myline of reasoning, it became clearer to the priest thatALL Nigerians were guilty of the sin of greed andcorruption. To buttress my point, I called his atten-tion to some known religious leaders with lavish

lifestyles all in the name of a God of plenty, “we area testimony to the greatness of God,” some of themhave been known to proclaim! Having made mypoint to a prominent member of the clergy, I attend-ed a church service hoping that the almighty Godwill shed light on my concerns.

In church I sat next to a gentleman who knelt downwhen he was supposed to, he prayed out loud, hemade a show of how much he put in the collectionbox. When he saw that I wasn’t going to put any-thing in the collection box, he nudged me with hiselbow, and without uttering any words, gave me a


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Panelists discussing democ-racy in Nigeria 10 years afterthe end of the militaryregime. The conference washeld in New York, and wasfollowed the next day by agathering of NigerianYoruba. Far left, and centerleft, the representative sentby the Governor of Lagos.

look I was going to have a chat with him after serv-ice, I said to myself. When the service was over, andbefore I could find him, my 10-year old niece wascalling my attention to an icecream truck that hadjust pulled into the church premises.

At the icecream truck, there he was, with his chil-dren. I greeted him with a slight nod and asked if hewas getting any icecream for himself. He told methat I had not put anything in the box but was buy-ing ice cream for my niece. I told him that I had justarrived in the country and had not changed mymoney into Naira. “That, my friend, is not anexcuse,” he said, “You can put dollars or pounds intothe box. That was me 10 years ago. I had justreturned home from Texas. You have a slightAmerican accent,” he said in one breath.

I asked him to tell me about himself. “I returnedhome hoping to make a difference in my country. Ihad lived and worked in USA for an internationalorganization,” he stated. “Since coming back, I haveseen how the system corrupts everyone. I reallywanted to make a change,” he kept repeating. Wasthis an admission that he had become corrupt, Iwondered to myself.

He painted a sordid picture of the state of affairs.Cronyism, bribery, nepotism rule Nigeria, heexplained, “When I headed a contract committee, Iwas specifically instructed by the minister of thedepartment to make certain contracts available tohis friends. When I resisted, I was reassigned to aposition with less visibility. At a time, I felt like mylife was being threatened, not only by the seniorofficials but also by my colleagues who saw me as aMr. ‘do-good’.” I told him that someone has to standup for what is right. “Yes, what is right. But wouldyou watch and see spineless people destroy yourlife? I didn’t want to feel like I had failed, so I decid-ed to remain in my country.”

Is this what I should expect should I decide to returnto my country? As I played this thought over in mymind, I remembered the popular Fela AnikulapoKuti’s song, Suffering and Smiling. My people havebeen so conditioned to endure ineptness, incompe-tence, broken promises, lack of basic amenities, andmore than anything else, the total absence of lead-ership that all you see are people smiling with thehardships they endure daily. How can a society likeours join the world community in a global economy?With this in mind, I decided, after a few days ofsearching for the elusive good man, to take a trip toKano.

I remember last visiting the ancient city of Kano in1988. I didn’t know what to expect, but I wasshocked to see filthy streets when I entered fromthe Abuja-Kaduna-Zaria road. Was this city always

this dirty, or was I now looking at Kano with fresheyes? In the 2 days that I was there, I made a pointof visiting some of the interesting sites that I usedto know in Nassarawa, in No Man’s Land, and inSabon Gari. The Doaula Hotel is still in existence. Istopped by the Central Hotel, which is undergoingrenovation and a few other sites. Everywhere Iwent, I was welcomed by the cacophony of all thegenerators running at the same time – this was notdifferent from the situation in Abuja; no electricity.Describing the pathetic situation, my host in Kanoexplained that the common man refers to the own-ership of generators as, “I better pass my neighbor.”Meaning that if I own a generator, preferably a big-ger generator than my neighbor’s, it was a statussymbol! It then dawned on me that that was whythe government official that I visited in Abuja had abigger generator than every one else on his streetin Gwarimpa.

Commenting further on the intermittent power inKano, my host stated that the ‘cabal’ that importedgenerators into the country, including powerfulmembers of the government had a stake in thecountry not generating enough power to serve thepeople. “It serves their parochial interests if poweris in short supply such that they can continue tomake money importing generators,” he stated infrustration. Can’t they see that we are supportingthe economies of other countries by importing gen-erators?

My host had a telling response, “when did the aver-age Nigerian ever think of this country first? Wherewere you when someone had an American companyship its waste, toxic waste, to Nigeria just formoney? That Nigerian and millions of others willmortgage this country to foreign interests for a fewdollars.” Before my host could catch his breadth, Iposed another question about culpability. “We are allguilty. Every single one of us,” he said. As if posingthe same question to me, my host concluded,“Which segment of the Nigerian society is not cor-rupt? Take our religious leaders, they live abovetheir means, our teachers trade sex for grades withtheir students or out-rightly sell the grades, ourpoliticians enter public service for their personalgains, our traditional rulers incite ethnic and reli-gious division, name the segment of society, I willtell you how rotten it is.”

What about our civil servants, as if making a dis-tinction from other public servants, I added.

My host replied emphatically, “Our civil servantsmust be the most corrupt in the world. We are notgoing to mention our police, those who are sup-posed to protect the masses, how corrupt they are.Some of them have been known to sponsor armed


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robbery.”

Did I need to go any further in search of any Godfearing Nigerians after my host’s analysis? I wasdetermined to take my case to the generation beforemine, and the generation after mine, the Gen-Xersand Gen-Ys and the Millenias. I was determined tofind righteous Nigerians. I also decided to seek outcertain people: a market woman, a university pro-fessor, and a journalist, a tradesman of any kind.

Nigeria has few or lacks necessities in industrializedcountries. I needed a plumber to do some work forme. I soon found a way to engage him in the sub-ject of honesty. The plumber was quick to tell mehow the system was corrupt, “people don’t want topay you for what you are worth,” he said. Do you doan honest job, was my next question. The plumberemphatically said “yes.” I told him that he had cutcorners with the quality of the materials he used toexecute the plumbing work. “Oga,” he said, “if I nouse the kind material wey I use, I no go make any-thing for myself.” We talked about the cost of thematerials and the labor cost. “You see, na so weydey do am here for Nigeria. No body dey tell thetruth,” he said. Does that include you, I asked?“Me?, I dey try my best, Oga,” he said with a smile.

Next I called a faculty member at the University ofAbuja. He had relocated to Nigeria from the UnitedKingdom. Our conversation was timely; all the pub-lic universities are on strike. I didn’t have to directthe conversation, he immediately delved into thesorry state of public education in Nigeria. “The gov-ernment has broken every promise it ever made tous, to provide needed facilities and infrastructure inour universities,” he lamented. “We produce ‘half-baked’ graduates and we expect them to competewith their counterparts from India and China? Whatis going on in Nigeria is pathetic, nothing works,everyone blames everyone else and the apathy iswhat gets me.” When I asked him about the lack-adaisical manner in which the national assemblytreated the strike, he blasted those elected officials.“I can never understand why they run for publicoffice. You would think that people run for office tomake a difference in the lives of the people, but theyare there to line their pockets with our ‘inheritance’.”What would you do differently if you were mademinister of education today, I asked. “I will, first andforemost, ensure that we establish standards, getrid of the dead woods in the ministry and reallymake sure that we say and do what we mean,” washis response. Are you suggesting that everyone thathas been the minister of education, didn’t havethese same goals and aspirations, was my follow upquestion. “They may have had the same [goals andaspirations], however; they have not had the gravi-tas to accomplish them; they come into these posi-

tions to serve their greedy interests, to pay backpolitical debt,” he said. We shifted the conversationto the visit of the America president, Barack Obama,to Ghana, which was being aired live on CNN.“Obama has come to scold African leaders,” he drewmy attention to Obama’s address to the Ghanaianparliament. Do we need an American president totell us what to do? I said, drawing his ire. “You can’tpossibly tell me that we don’t need someone to tellus how to shape our destiny, after nearly half a cen-tury of political independence, can you?”

He replied, “it’s about time someone did. I am gladthat it is one of us, a black man of African descent.”

Would it have mattered if it was a white man?

“Of course, it would have. At least we know nowthat there is nothing ‘black’ about our problems,what it is, is a lack of leadership,” was his response.

Since my arrival, I had been consumed by my quest,so much so that I hadn’t really found time to enjoymy native land. I have always loved soccer, and Iwas lucky enough to catch a match on television. Ienjoyed the Kano Pillars versus Insurance match,which ended in 2 to 0 in favor of the Pillars; arefreshing break from my intense search for a fewrighteous people. After the football match, I decidedto visit a local market; I picked Wuse market – Ipicked this market because it was in another district,I reside in the Mbora District of Jabi, a market farfrom me just made sense. Again, I wanted to satis-fy a want, a craving for ‘roasted corn’, somethingthat I miss in the United States. What better placeto eat roasted corn than to buy it from a woman bythe roadside. Making my selection, I engaged thelady selling the roasted corn in a conversation.

I started by reminding her that her claim of freshcorn was false advertising.

“Oga, na as I buy be that. Some fit don dry small,but many still dey fresh,” the lady replied. Withoutany further prompts from me, she told me abouthow hard it was to make a living in Nigeria. “All thepeople wey we put for government dey thief ourmoney and the rest of us dey suffer.”

As if she had not effectively made her point, shepointed at the policemen directing traffic at Jabi-Airport Junction, “You see those policemen, demdon dey there since 6 o’clock this morning, and as Ihear, government no dey pay them well.”

Is that why you think they openly accept bribes, Iasked her.

“If na you, and you know say dem big big oga deythief the money, you no go take your share?” Sheanswered with a question of her own. I tried toexplain to her that 2 wrongs don’t make a right, shehad turned away to serve a new customer.


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Volume 3, Number 7 2009 Medical Journal of Therapeutics Africa

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Yoruba gala in New York City. Abovepictures, the Governor of LagosState sent a representative toreceive an award on his behalf. Inthese pictures, the representative islistening to reports of the achieve-ments of the Governor, these includealleviating traffic jams and makingroad repairs.

A visit to Nigeria would not be exciting without a tripto Lagos, the commercial nerve center of the coun-try. In Abuja and Kano, everyone that I encounteredeither condoned the corruption in the country, ormade excuses for those perpetrating this cancer. Itwas, therefore, refreshing when I met a senior offi-cial of a bank. She had been recommended to me bya friend in Philadelphia. Upon meeting her, I realizedthat she truly understood the problems of Nigeriaand the solutions. You might wonder how, in lessthan 2 hours of meeting that I can safely say thatshe is an honest Nigerian. Well, I can claim divineinspiration. I talked with her at length and theunderlying problem was crystallized for me; sheanalyzed the Nigerian situation thus: “ours is a situ-ation that defies all sociological, anthropological,psychological and economic theories. No one canand should attempt to solve the Nigerian problem,

even the very people that you want to lift out of suf-fering will gang up against you.”

With this explanation, I realized that there was anundercurrent of something else in Nigeria: aninchoate fear of change, of the future, of systemictransformation. I left the opulent office feeling thatthis is one lady who would not use her position as asenior bank executive to enrich herself. Would Godspare Nigeria because of one honest banker?

My visit to Lagos was cut short by the sudden newsof my mother’s death in Kano. I knew that I wouldhave to return to Kano to make funeral arrange-ments for my beloved mother. To Kano I head.

Getting out of Lagos was arduous. The roads thatwere filled with holes, but a lot were being fixed, asituation for which everyone with whom I came incontact praised Lagos State Governor Fashola. Saidone taxi cab driver, “Fashola dey try well well. If


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Lagos scenes. Above left, generator store; right, car shell that was converted into an operational, sleekmotorcar within a month; below left, food seller, right, Lagos furniture store after a heavy rain. Photos onthese and following pages were taken together by Osagie Edoro-Ighalo and Susanna J Dodgson in Lagos.

other people try like am, Nigeria no go bad as e deyso. You need to travel Benin-Ore road naim you goknow say Fashola don try for Lagos.” Since I washeading to Kano, I wasn’t going to take a chancewith the Benin-Ore road as my taxi cab driver ‘friend’seemed to be suggesting. Instead, I decided to trav-el through Ibadan, through Osun, Ekiti and Kogi.

Hassana had insinuated that the police were proba-bly within their rights to demand and accept bribes.I had never seen such blatant disregard for the lawthan by the people in law enforcement. I had beenforewarned by my hostess in Lagos that I would beexpected to bribe at every police check point. But Ihad not expected that policemen would openlydemand money from travelers. Worthy of note wasan encounter with a mobile police unit in Osun. Aswe pulled close to the 2 nattily clad men, the onehoisting his rifle said, “Oga wey ‘my money’?” Thispair was telling me that whatever I had on me wastheirs to take.

I told them that I didn’t have their money and thattheir employer, the Nigeria Police had their money.The one hoisting the rifle, a corporal, commandedmy son and me to pull to the side of the road.Beckoning to his colleague, he demanded our vehi-cle particulars. When it became clear to him thatevery paper that we showed him was correct, heasked his colleague to further scrutinize the papers.

“Make sure say you find something wrong with thepapers,” the corporal told his colleague. The col-league insisted there was nothing wrong with thepapers, to which the corporal hollered, “I say findsomething. I no go let them go until I get somethingfrom them.” The colleague finally stated that theinsurance papers, signed, were not stamped.

What Nigeria law code had we violated I asked,“Oga, you wan tell us say you sabi law, huh?”

Then the corporal, who was openly drinking from abrandy bottle, insisted that we take his colleaguewith us to headquarters. “I wan show una say I dey

represent IG (I assume he was referring to theInspector General of police). “Look my number wellwell,” he shouted. “I come from Sabogida- Ora inEdo state,” he told us. I am Nigerian I told him.

I address his colleague, telling him that I was goingto make arrangements for my mother’s funeral.

This piece of information further infuriated the cor-poral, “These people get money. Dem nor just wantgive us anything.”

Are you aware of what damage your conduct doesto the country, I managed to say without displayingany emotion.

“What country?” Frank immediately responded. “Nayou go come repair Nigeria? You nor know say naevery man for himself? I beg settle us make you deygo your way,” reminding me that he was at work tomake the most money for himself, his oga the cor-poral, and as I have since learned, even for thepolice chief hundreds of miles away.

It is called, “Kill and divide,” my journalist friend whowas not present at my ordeal, later told me.

After nearly 45 minutes, the policemen let us gowhen it became evident that we weren’t going tooffer any bribe. I saw many other motorists shakeBola’s hand with folded naira notes while my sonand I waited to prove our point that we had notcommitted any crime. Even if we did, the policeshould not play the role of the prosecutor and thejudge on the highway!

To this day, I am baffled by the arrogance and utterdisregard for the law that I witnessed at one policecheck point. I have also wondered if the IG andother government officials encounter such mistreat-ment on Nigeria’s highways. How can a country beso morally bankrupt? Still reverberating in my headis: why, why, why?

Instead of heading to Kano, after my unpleasantordeal at the hands of a policeman, too emotionallydrained to continue, I made a stop in Abuja. At onepoint, I wanted to snatch the gun from the corpo-ral’s shoulder – here was a drunken buffoon whowas a danger to society parading himself as a lawenforcement agent.

Recounting my story to my journalist friend, he triedto make light of my situation. “It can’t be that bad,I mean, Nigeria,” he stated.

My journalist friend always saw journalism as a call-ing. I remember when he first turned down anadmission to study law at the University of Lagos inthe early 80s to head to the United States toColumbia University to study journalism. Back then,he talked about changing the country through the‘pen’. I reminded him of the conversations we usedto have of investigative journalists like those who


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exposed the Watergate scandal which brought downthe United States President Nixon.

“Those were good days,” he said, “My experience inNigeria hasn’t quite been the same. This society isso corrupt that we put Satan himself to shame.” Helisted instances where journalists covered press con-ference because they had received ‘brown’envelopes (envelopes containing money).

Some of the news the public gets is slanted in favorof government officials, especially if the press con-ference is sponsored. I pressed him on this subjectand he explained what ‘sponsorship’ meant. Howcould our journalists allow themselves to be so usedby the system?

“Well, my friend,” he told me, “if you want good cov-erage, you must attend some of these press confer-ences even though you know that someone or somegovernment office is sponsoring them.”

How can there be objectivity, I asked.

“After a while, you become immune to the system.You go with the flow,” he said. He assured me thathe had never received a ‘brown’ envelope, butacknowledged that he had not exposed the ‘spon-sorship’ practice, which meant that he condoned thepractice. After what appeared to be a heated con-versation, Paul invited me out for Isi-ewu; a delica-cy that I have always enjoyed.

The Biblical verse that started this entire exercise offinding a few good people in Nigeria reads, “Now themen of Sodom were wicked and were sinning great-ly against the Lord.”

Continuing in Genesis Chapters 18 and 19, it wasobvious that the city lacked 10 righteous people, andeven with Abraham’s appeal, God destroyed Sodom

and Gomorrah sparing Lot, his brother.

When the time comes for God to rain burning sulfuron Nigeria, would there be 10 righteous people? Inmy musing, I recalled the banker. Are there others?If there are, where are they hiding? Were they in thechurch that I attended or could I have found themin mosques across the country?

I looked at my 10-year old niece and asked her, “Doyou think that God would spare Nigeria because ofyou?” Staring at me with her big brown eyes, sheinnocently said, “Sure, uncle.” I am sure that she hasno idea of how dysfunctional this country is. On mypart, I know that there is no outrage because wehaven’t formed a critical mass – enough of us,angry, yearning for a change in the country, newleadership that will make accountability and respon-sibility the cornerstone - the kind of transcendentalleadership that Nigeria needs in the 21st Century.Above all, a few righteous people!

Nigeria, the country of my birth, the country of myancestors, the country of my past did not feel likehome, did not feel like the country of my future. Iknow that I will return. I have to bury my mother, soblessed I was to see her during my visit, and thatshe died when I was in Nigeria.

My heart is in Nigeria, and I know that when the fewgood men and women unite, Nigeria will be a goodplace for everyone.

By Austin Yekpabo BEng, MBA, PhDDr Austin Yekpabo teaches business in a universityin Philadelphia. He also consults for Fortune 500companies and governments in the areas of organi-zational and leadership development, systems’ andprocess improvements, [email protected].


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