A Brutally Honest Account of my Life in Nigeria

Nigeria has to be lived to be believed. It’s no good getting one’s feet wet by dipping it sheepishly into the ocean that is our great country, then running off the minute the water gets too cold or too hot, like many of my friends do who visit Nigeria on holiday and enjoy the food, clubs, parties, family and weddings on offer, then rush back to England before Nigeria gets under their skin and they can’t wash it off anymore.

I’m talking about how I immersed myself into the country head over heels until, thoroughly soaked through and dripping wet with Nigeria clinging to my clothes, I returned to England a full 14 months after first arriving in Abuja, blinking under the lights of Heathrow airport and feeling once more the icy cold of December in London. I got used to seeing white people everywhere again and remembered Nigeria only in flashes of hazy, Technicolor brilliance.

Stories of Injustices Abound

I had to go back to England and after two weeks, return to Nigeria again before I could put into perspective what it means to become a Nigerian.  And it’s no longer all happy stories of self-discovery in the Motherland and chin-chin and smiling Fulanis. It’s a collage of sweaty nights, mosquitoes, noisy traffic where horns blare each and every second and paying N400 for a DVD that others in the know pay N100 for. It’s a mixture of the freedom of not having to pay to park everywhere you go, sweet, gorgeous treats like Choco-milo and Fura da Nono and the immediate fascination you encounter simply because you’re British, all mixed with the agony of reading about a man imprisoned for three years for stealing a goat whilst the man responsible for stealing N32 billion worth of pensioner’s money got away with a N750,000 fine. 

 Former Pension boss John Yusufu, who stole N27 billion from Nigeria's Pension Fund 

Or hearing about a pregnant woman who died in front of watching nurses who refused to help because the woman’s husband didn’t have enough money to pay for her treatment. Or a colleague telling me how she got into a taxi, was harassed by the men inside who snatched her handbag and pushed her out of the moving vehicle. Or the gas explosion near my house caused by the same gas canisters used for cooking that friends of mine use. Or the parents who lost all their five children in a fire as neighbours struggled to help because the fire service were not available. Or the dozens of dead bodies found floating in a river one day, and the lack of forensics or police might meant that no one knows who they were or how or why they died.

The daily injustices, unnecessary deaths and unfair suffering those around me endure that is in stark contrast with the 20 houses and millions of naira worth of cars owned by just one person is enough to make me want to grab my red passport and board the next flight back to civilisation. But yet I stay.

Nigeria for me was a challenge, a lesson in survival, a desire to see what all my education and work experience will get me in my own country, and a longing to live in a society where I’m not a second-class citizen simply because of the colour of my skin.

My Eyes Are Open

But there are times when I've hated the very people I was a few months ago delighted to be among. It’s only in Nigeria that I’ve seen the pure wickedness one man can have for another, and the ravenous greed that drives men to steal money allocated for schools, which forces young students to take their lessons under a tree, defecate in the open and sit six to a bench in the pursuit of an education that in the end will get them nowhere unless they have a relative in high places that can give them a job when they graduate.

Nigeria has opened my eyes to the worst of humanity, and sometimes I’m appalled to call it my country. But as it is for other Nigerians, the national pride and hope for better sits alongside my repulsion at what my fellow countrymen are capable of.

The young men hawking dried fish, newspapers, puppies (yes puppies), milk and mops in traffic for hours under the hot sun has become an everyday sight now; I barely bat an eyelid. Recently though, I saw a boy whose entire jaw was jutting out of his mouth so that his face was unnaturally elongated downwards...he was weaving in and out of traffic begging along with his chaperone. Another time I saw a little girl, naked except for her underwear, with a huge tumour on her back. I was so angry my eyes turned red. Angry that we the motorists had to be subjected to the sight of such deformity, angry that there was nothing for her to do but beg, angry that her ‘chaperone’ left her to walk about in the sun almost naked, and angry that such a horrible thing was happening.

All this and worse Nigerians have to see and yet somehow continue our day. I constantly have to ask, to no one in particular, "Why do they let this happen?" and I'm met with shrugged shoulders and shaking heads.

'Runs' Girls and an Ode to a Dog 

Then there is the issue of young girls selling their bodies to the highest bidder, sometimes for as little as a BlackBerry phone, other times for houses, millions and cars given to them by their wealthy benefactors. And you know what? I don’t blame them. Even if they had the brains, if they don’t know the right people they will never get far. So why not use their bodies to get what they want? Virtue is affordable only to the rich, or those from stable societies where you can make it based on merit. But when you grew up dirt poor in a village where you ate only once a day, and you come to Abuja and there are hardly any jobs available, and men are willing to sleep with you in return for wealth, only the best among us would reject that offer.

And, I remember once watching as a dog with dirty, patchy, white fur walked alone around a rubbish dump, no owner, no home, nothing. It had sad eyes and as I watched, for reasons inexplicable to me, I fell in love with it and wanted to take it home. A dog! Not the tiny, long-haired urchins I see every day, but the dog? I watched it for about ten minutes until it ran off, and my heart went out to it and I pitied it and I wrote an ode to it in my mind; wondering where it slept, what it ate, where it was born. Afterwards, I reviewed my behaviour and laughed. Nigeria was getting into my head.

Here everything I’d learnt about fair-play, honesty, humility and politeness had to be thrown out of the window. In Nigeria, up is down and down is up as far as universal standards of behaviour is concerned. If you want something, pretend you don’t otherwise you pay more for it. And you have to be mean to your subordinates so they respect you, because the minute they see you’re nice they disrespect you mercilessly. And never discuss your upcoming successes, because there are many ready to put a spanner in the works. And I’m ashamed to admit it; I’ve also learnt to lie. Because in this upside down society, lies open doors and the truth gets you in trouble.

Nigeria, dear readers, has brought out the villain in me I never even knew was in there.

I’ve also noticed, and it has now begun to exasperate me, how many hours and column inches is devoted to deconstructing ‘The Problem of Nigeria’, where brilliant minds express eloquent ideals and ideas about how to fix the country. Everybody and their mama has a solution for Nigeria, yet here we are. So why do it? All that talk, and trust me, it’s a daily occupation with Nigerians, gets us nowhere.

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly 

I wanted to experience everything in this country. So I rode on a motorcycle (Okada), which is a mode of transport for many who can’t afford taxis, much to the dismay of my friends. No matter how you do it, it remains undignified for a lady to mount a bike, and dismounting it was equally ungraceful. I also rode in a Keke-Napep, visited crowded markets (and I was overcharged every time) and walked through the ramshackle villages in the outskirts of Abuja.

I’ve also stayed in expensive rooms in Transcorp Hilton and Sheraton (smarting at the cost of the privilege and annoyed by the unbridled fawning of hotel staff towards foreigners and the wealthy) and grand houses in Asokoro and visited shockingly extravagant homes in Maitama where each and every piece of furniture was imported from Dubai or America and there were flatscreen TVs in every room including the kitchen. I’ve eaten at expensive restaurants and local Mama Puts. I’ve seen the good, the bad and the ugly, and there is a lot of ugly, and my conclusion is that Nigeria is not for the faint-hearted. It is better experienced the way white people experience it: through the windows of air-conditioned SUVs as it speeds from the airport to a nice hotel, never seeing the dirty underbelly and believing the lies your hosts tell you about how the country is improving.

Like the lies the Nigerian President Goodluck Jonathan told CNN’s Christianne Amanpour during his infamous interview, especially the one about electricity improving.

CNN's Christianne Amanpour interviewing Nigerian President Goodluck Jonathan

It might be improving, but at a snail's pace inconsistent with the billions the country makes in oil. I find many things I enjoy in Nigeria, including the delicious variety of food and treats which suits me fine as I'm a foodie with a sweet tooth, the gregarious humour of the people I meet and work with everyday and the indomitable human spirit to be found in every Nigerian that says, despite the injustices, I will smile. Still, I will rise.

I've met truly delightful people, and many others who are just tainted by their environment who I feel would soar to great heights in countries like the UK where their attributes will be valued.

But Nigerians are also the most patient, most forgiving, most industrious, most animated, most greedy, most wicked, most generous, most desperate and most exasperating people I have ever met. I now have a healthy love-hate relationship with them and with the country. But I wouldn’t swap my experiences here for anything in the world.

Like my brother-in-law told me when I went back to London, “You left England a girl and returned a woman.”

My Updated View of Fulanis Since Being in Nigeria

I had my predictions, presumptions and presuppositions about Fulani people before I came to Nigeria. Now that I’m here, I’m still looking from the outside in, like a long lost daughter peering through the window at her family eating dinner inside; they unaware of her desire to join them, she not knowing if entering their world would be a good idea. Would they let her in? Or shoo her away because despite her affiliation, she is forever changed?

But there are a few things I thought about Fulanis whilst in England that now I’m in Abuja I see was wrong or not quite the whole story:

WOMEN’S EDUCATION

Pre-Nigeria: I thought that very few Fulani women were educated up to Masters Level, educated abroad, had PhDs or held any high offices in business or other reputable professions.

Post-Nigeria: I’ve seen, met and read about many educated, professional Fulani women; from psychiatrists to editors and most things in between and  with international qualifications, mainly from Arab (majority-Islamic) countries. But these women are the fortunate ones that were born into the upper and political classes.

There are also many local schools specialising in the education of Nomadic Fulani children in Northern Nigeria. From what I saw, all were in deplorable conditions and lacked adequate furnishings or school materials, and the little Fulani children where crowded into tiny rooms. Also, the families of many nomadic Fulani girls refuse to send them to school or allow them to progress past secondary education.

 A (dilapidated) nomadic school in Northern Nigeria

I read a lot of Nigerian newspapers and watch a lot of Nigerian news, and noticed that the Fulani men featured wrote and spoke at a standard far above the average Nigerian (I hope you won’t mistake this for ethnic bias!), and I can say this with authority being a sub-editor for a newspaper here, that the general writing standard in Nigeria, even for editors is shockingly poor, except for the very few bright sparks and many of those were Fulanis.

RESPECT FOR CHRISTIANITY

Pre-Nigeria: Fulanis are fiercely Islamic and disliked Christians, Fulani Christians and converts.

Post-Nigeria: Its true that most Fulanis are devoutly Muslim, but the fact that they originally adhered to traditional religions was noticeable because of the ways a few local Fulani men dressed (in tight, effeminate clothing) unlike other muslims.

Another surprising thing is hearing from the mouths of a couple of high-profile Fulanis about their admiration for the Bible, Jesus and Mary. It seemed that the older and more educated some of them became, the more they were able to appreciate the wisdom in the Bible without allowing it to conflict with their Muslim faith. I dare say that some upper-class Fulanis even admire Christianity and would have explored the faith at a deeper level if not for the societal taboos inherent in questioning Islam and looking too closely at Christianity.

CHILD HERDERS

Pre-Nigeria: Fulani cow herders were almost always grown men.

Post-Nigeria: Fulani herders are usually young children and teenagers and even young girls too grazed cows.

TRIBAL FIGHTING

Pre-Nigeria: The Fulanis were guarded, shy and soft-spoken people who herded mostly in isolation from other tribes

Post-Nigeria: There have been many reports since I’ve been in Nigeria of Fulani herdsmen clashing with neighbouring tribes because of grazing grounds issues. Recently in Benue State, some Idoma youths killed five Fulani men and their cows because the cattle were destroying their crops.  Similar clashes occurred in Jos but this time the Fulanis were the agitators. This unrest between Fulanis and neighbouring tribes was something I was unaware of before I came to Nigeria.

The remains of a Fulani settlement after the Benue State clash

UNCONVENTIONAL FULANIS

Pre-Nigeria: Fulanis were strictly muslim and reserved and avoided scandal or mixing with other tribes.

Post-Nigeria: I should have known that that was a naive view to have. I’ve since been regaled by stories of unusual (to me) Fulani behaviour including the brilliant Fulani university lecturer in his 60s who had never been married and never wanted to marry. Although he was generous, renovating an entire wing of the university with his own money, he stated that he was more successful because he was single. 

Or stories of young Fulani men in Anambra State that hung out in bars, drank beer and spoke pidgin English and Igbo with the best of them. Imagine! And of Fulani women who were less than virtuous and did secret, nefarious deeds behind closed doors, both in Nigeria and in places like Dubai. That one tripped me the most. I always thought our women were bastions of morality (in Nigeria anyway, as I'm aware of ‘loose’ Fulani women in Francophone West African countries).

The moral of the story is that no matter how many books or documentaries you hear about a place, people or thing and how much you think you know, nothing beats first-hand information or seeing the thing for yourself.