How Adichie Fell Off Her Pedestal

Throughout the history of my blog, I've always revered Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. And In a recent post in which I praised her writing and excitedly looked forward to reading her latest book Americanah, I also spoke about my reticence about meeting her face to face. I’d heard her speak live twice but each time I always left (or hid) rather than meet with her or have her sign my books. This was because I didn't want my image of her – an image in which she is a gloriously brilliant and noble genius devoid of any human failings or flaws – to be ruined. 

I didn't want the real Adichie to disappoint me.

But this past week, I've read many things that have knocked Adichie off the pedestal she occupied in my mind, and the truth is, I saw it coming.

In a recent interview she did with American blogger Aaron Aden, Adichie came off as intelligent, measured, forthright and accomplished, but also condescending and egotistical. She described Elnathan John, a Nigerian writer who had attended one of her writing workshops (and who, by the way, has has THE best ‘About Me’ Blogger Intro I have ever read) in a manner that belittles him and exalts her. Here’s the offending part of the interview:

AB: I would love to ask you about the Caine Prize. I find it interesting that so many Nigerians are on the short list this year—that it’s four Nigerians out of five . . . 

CA: Umm, why is that a problem? Watch it. 

AB: Well, none of them are you! 

CA: Elnathan was one of my boys in my workshop. But what’s all this over-privileging of the Caine Prize, anyway? I don’t want to talk about the Caine Prize, really. I suppose it’s a good thing, but for me it’s not the arbiter of the best fiction in Africa. It’s never been. I know that Chinelo is on the short list, too. But I haven’t even read the stories—I’m just not very interested. I don’t go the Caine Prize to look for the best in African fiction. 

AB: Where do you go? 

CA: I go to my mailbox, where my workshop people send me their stories. I could give you a list of ten—mostly in Nigeria—writers who I think are very good. They’re not on the Caine Prize short list. 

This condescension irked Elnathan, who wrote a passive-aggressive retort to Adichie in his blog. Nigeria’s literary community were also irked, and took to newspapers, blogs and Twitter to vent. I only heard about the beef via a Twitter link to a story written by Sylvia Ofili in response to Adichie's comment that the best in African writing where found in her mailbox. 

Nigerian writer Elnathan John and Chimamanda Adichie

The reverence, accolades and praise she has been showered with since her debut novel Purple Hisbiscus seems to have elevated Adichie’s sense of self to a level where she now looks down from on high on the rest of us. Many reader comments in response to the Elnathan Caine Prize Beef have also confirmed my fears, as many of those who have met her state that Adichie is cold, distant and smiles with her lips but not her eyes during meet and greets. One girl recalled how, after she met Adichie in London following a talk, the writer scolded her for wearing a weave.

It is sad, but not surprising, to see that brilliance has been marred by humanity. But isn't that always the way? I never expected her to be perfect, that was why I preferred to admire her from afar. I never wanted to see this unpleasant side of her. I caught glimpses of her personality from the female characters she writes about, from Ifemelu to Kainene to Ujunwa, who are almost always quietly acidic and saturnine. This characteristic reminds me of a couple of friends I have, who are also brilliant, accomplished and loyal friends, so it didn't bother me. But I think she crossed the line by belittling Elnathan, who also stated in his blog that she emailed him scolding him for tweeting against her natural hair, and refused to speak to him afterwards despite his apologies. Adichie had also scolded a Nigerian magazine for referring to her as 'The Glamour Girl of Nigerian Writing', stating that it was an inappropriate description because she was past 30. Fair point. Yet she called a man above 30 ‘one of her boys.’

So Adichie has now come off the pedestal I had put her on. But it’s OK. I still love her writing, and Americanah was sublime. I loved the acerbic commentary on what it means to be Black in America, but not only to be African-American, but American African. I loved the dissection of liberal America both white, Black and other, loved the way the book weaves in the British Black experience too and the breezy but hard-hitting blog posts. The books says EVERYTHING I've felt, thought, said and experienced about race and Nigerian life and wealth, and much more that rang true, and the love story wasn't too bad either. 

Americanah felt so familiar. And unlike most people who read it that are either American, British or Nigerian but cannot always identify with all three cultures, I can identify with it all. I understood and recognised the American idiosyncrasies as well as the British nuances and the Nigerian ways, even the subtle and overt privileges of being an 'Americanah' (a Nigerian with experiences of living abroad). 

The best part for me was when Ifemelu described the initial shock of having to go into a capsule-like enclosure whilst entering and exiting a Nigerian bank. I laughed out loud whilst reading it, because I felt the exact same way when I had to do that for the first time, it was like "What the hell? What's going on here? How do I get out? Get me out!" 

If Americanah was a person, we would hit it off instantly and be best friends for life, because I so get it. Adichie writes very well. She says she spends a lot of time to construct the best sentences, and it shows. How’s this for a truth so well told:

“What I've noticed since been [in England] is that many English people are in awe of America but also deeply resent it,” Obinze added. “It’s the resentment of a parent whose child has become far more beautiful and with a far more interesting life.”

The best review of Americanah I've read is by Katherine Schulz (read it here) which does well to express Adichie's success in the ambition and scope of her book, as well as the fact that she captures and perceives race in America and Britain so well because she is an outsider.

Adichie is still, for me, the best writer of our generation that Nigeria has produced. I will not cut my nose to spite my face by denigrating her completely due to my new-found dislike for her personality as expressed in an interview and other exchanges. And although these are but minute insights into her character and in no way account for the totality of her as a person, it is enough for me to shake my head and lament on the damage our egos can cause. The praise she receives is justified, I just hope that in future she will speak and deal with her fans with more diplomacy, humility and wisdom. 

I, for one, now have an empty pedestal in my mind. And it shall henceforth remain empty because no human being can ever be above reproach.

Chimamanda Adichie, Natural Hair & Me

I have a crush on Chimamanda Ngozie Adichie. Never has a writer so captured my heart, mind and spirit like this Nigerian author, whose words represent all I want to be said and all I wish to say. Yet twice I have ran away from meeting her, shaking her hand and telling her how much I enjoy, appreciate, love and admire her body of work; from Purple Hibiscus, Half of a Yellow Sun, The Thing Around Your Neck and her latest novel, Americanah.

I was at the London Southbank Centre in 2009 where she read excerpts from the then unreleased The Thing Around Your Neck in her powerful, regal tones, uncorrupted by a fake foreign accent. She was by far the most intriguing of the ladies reading from their works up on that stage, and I will be eternally disappointed that I was unable to make it to her reading of Americanah at the same venue a few weeks ago.

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

The way she captures the Nigerian identity today, the nuances and pretences and false beliefs and hopes of our parents, ourselves and our society, of how strong-minded, globally connected and aspiring Nigerians grapple with embracing our broken motherland despite the allure of the US, which represents both greener pastures and a lesson in self-awareness that leaves us straddling between two cultures, neither of which fully satisfy.

Her heroines are epic: saturnine, brooding, melancholy, passive aggressive, intensely cerebral women who quietly bear the pressure they're under, until the day they snap and walk away from what is supposedly every Nigerian woman's dream: the good but uniquely flawed man, the dream job/opportunity that eats away at your soul, the chance to live or stay in America but betray yourself.

She is the voice of the upwardly mobile Nigerian today, just like Chinua Achebe (their names will forever be linked in reviews and editorials) was the voice of his generation. The late great said of her:

“We do not usually associate wisdom with beginners, but here is a new writer endowed with the gift of ancient storytellers. [She] knows what is at stake, and what to do about it. She is fearless.”

He is spot on. It must be so fulfilling for Adichie to have someone so worthyunderstand her work so well. Her poise – one interviewer described her as ‘contained’- is obvious and her sense of self is empowering.

Yet I ran away from meeting her. The first time was after the book reading at London Southbank Centre, where I left afterwards instead of lingering behind to shake the hand of the woman ‘endowed with the gift of ancient storytellers.’ Then during another event at an arts venue near Clapham Junction station a year or so later where she did a book signing afterwards (I have a recording of her talk on my phone) I’d taken my copies of her books for her to sign, but I could not face her. A friend had to take it to her for her to sign for me, whilst I literally ran away to a corner of the auditorium and hid. I'm not entirely sure why.

My friends tried to physically pull me to where she was but I refused to see her. So she signed it, plus, Plus! she spelt my name right. A name that is usually spelt with two Ls but mine is with one L, and many don’t know that, but she did. That confirmed to me that we were kindred spirits. Just like Achebe ‘got’ her, she got me, and I get her.

Adichie with her second book, Half of a Yellow Sun which won the 2007 Orange Prize for Fiction

Adichie is one of the very few people I will pay money to go see. Music is not my thing, but books are, and her books are my favourite. She is to me what Beyonce or Michael Jackson is to music lovers. It would be Adichie's poster I would have on my wall and it would be her concerts I would go to and it would be her CDs I would know all the words too. I love to see genius; that honest, unbridled, natural and seemingly effortless ability, humanity and humility certain great people have. So imagine my joy when that person is a female Nigerian young enough to be my contemporary, with similar experiences of traversing both the Western and African continents? I positively reverberated with excitement when I learnt more about her. 

As a fellow writer and commentator on race and belonging, her works and her words in the many interviews I’ve read of hers are what mine would be. Her thoughts on the poor reading culture in Nigeria and her efforts to open a library and literary centres around Nigeria are my thoughts and desires. Her view on ‘The Dangers of the Single Story,’ which she spoke about so eloquently during the now well-known TED Talks is exactly how I feel about the media when it gives only one view of a place or a people, and the ripple effect of not knowing the full story.

I used her words as part of my Masters dissertation, mostly because it matched my subject of study and also because I loved what she said and how she said it. Listen for yourself here.

Then there is a subject she espouses on at length in much of her writing, especially in her latest book Americanah: her love for natural hair, something I too feel very strongly about. 

Adichie and her natural hair

But my natural hair journey did not begin with any strong notion of expressing my Africanness by eschewing the false notion of beauty that meant having straight long hair sewn into mine (I’ve never sewn a weave into my hair in my life) or the fallacy of relaxing my hair straight by burning away its natural curls. But six years ago I decided against spending £60 every month to 'fix' my hair and spending six hours in a chair getting it fixed, so I simply stopped relaxing it and waited for my own hair to grow long enough so I could cut off the relaxed ends.

Thankfully my hair is easy to comb out, but the early stages of having a boyish short cut was challenging until it grew long enough to style, although sadly it never grew as long as it once was. Now in Nigeria I get compliments by women who wish they could ‘go natural’ but can’t because of their receding hairline resulting from too many tight braids or because their natural hair is too tough. Now I love my hair; it’s cheaper to manage and takes little time to do up in the morning. It’s how God created it and its texture is just the way He wanted it to be. Fulani women are usually less likely than other Nigerian women to wear weaves anyway, because their hair is usually longer and softer with finer curls, and also because they mostly cover it up and are not under pressure to show it off in different styles. This in itself is a shame, i.e. the women with the loveliest hair are the ones that cover it up.

There’s a saying that ‘If there’s something that makes you unique, don’t change it just so you blend in.’ My natural hair is unique in a sea of Brazilian weaves, hair extensions and relaxed hair. Although I’ve worn wigs and had braids, mostly during the harsh winters in the UK or just for a change, because there is something incredibly feminine about having long hair skimming your shoulders. But my natural hair reigns supreme.

And of course Adichie understands the importance of Black women freeing themselves from the pressure of wearing synthetic or another woman’s hair, which they deem more beautiful than their own. She said:

“As you can see, I have natural, negro hair, free from relaxers and things... From when I was three years old I already had the idea that straight hair was beautiful and my hair was ugly. But then when I went to America, I suddenly found out I was Black! Suddenly I started thinking, why do I want my hair to look like a white girls’ hair? This is absurd.”

Then she said:

"My hair is in tiny cornrows; I have a big ponytail on the top of my head. I quite like it. It is natural. I am a bit of a fundamentalist when it comes to black women's hair. Hair is hair – yet also it's about larger questions: self-acceptance, insecurity and what the world tells you is beautiful. For many black women, the idea of wearing their hair naturally is unbearable."

In Americanah, Adichie describes her main character Ifemelu getting her hair relaxed:

“She left the salon almost mournfully; while the hairdresser had flat-ironed the ends, the smell of burning, of something organic dying which should not have died, had made her feel a sense of loss.”

I was also happy to hear that Adichie is now married to a fellow Igbo doctor based in America. I’m a traditionalist, so no matter how great a woman’s achievements are and no matter how much I admire them, I always feel sad for them if they are unmarried and childless. Like Condoleeza Rice, the former US Secretary of state who got her PhD aged 26, is an accomplished pianist and speaks English, Russian, French, Spanish and German fluently, but is childless and single. Or Oprah Winfrey, who I adore and was bereaved when her show ended, and loved her even more after watching a documentary about the OWLAG school for girls she opened in South Africa. Yet I feel she is incomplete for never having married or raised her own kids. Although in her case (and probably Rice’s too) she might not have achieved so much if she were a housewife.

But marriage seems to have added nothing to Adichie: she was whole since writing Half of a Yellow Sun. After reading her first novel Purple Hibiscus, I could see the writer emerging, but by Yellow Sun Adichie had arrived. And she remains in a state of ‘arrival’ and will continue to be a fully fledged, composed and confident writer.

Her powerful prose, the fact that she writes about the reality of straddling multiple cultures, the way she views whites in the West without sentiment or ass-kissing and her rendering of fully-formed characters who see and question life like real people do is right up my street.

After The Thing Around Your Neck, I waited for more. Then forgot that I was waiting. Then I heard the news last week that her latest novel will be out in a couple of weeks (Where was I?? I’ve dropped the ball on my Adichie-watch. In the UK I googled her endlessly and had read every bit of her online writing and interviews up until a certain point) and I was elated.

The premise of Americanah, of two high-school sweethearts in Nigeria finding themselves in different continents, one in US the other in UK and their resulting experiences of race, employment, relationships abroad, identity etc has gotten me so excited. I can’t wait to read it.

Adichie's new book: Americanah

But one thing Adichie said encapsulated my feelings, but in the opposite way to how she meant it:

“I like America but it’s not mine and it never will be. I don’t really have a life there. I travel and I speak and I sit in my study trying to write, but in Nigeria I have a life. I go out, I have friends, I feel emotionally invested in what’s happening.”

This. This is how I feel, but about the UK. I like Nigeria but it’s not mine. Alas, dear Adichie, this is where we disagree. Where Nigeria is home for you and the West is a sojourn, I feel the opposite. But we’re still related you and I. We still share an understanding of the world and an appreciation of the important things that make us African women in a globalised world. I love your audacity to write about what’s real to you, not what will bring you money. You speak for all of us and say it with maturity and knowing and humour and power.

Long may your pen continue to write. We may have lost Achebe, the father of African writing but we still have you, a daughter of today’s Africa who we can claim for ourselves. Write and write until you can write no more, because for every word you write there are many like me who devour them with relish.

Perhaps one day I will overcome my innate Fulani shyness and come face to face with you. I might cry, I might laugh, I might stare at you motionless and remain mute, coming off as aloof when inside I’m dancing. But whether I meet you in person or not, I will continue to meet you in your books.

Americanah here I come!

UPDATE

I've now read Americanah, and it is all I expected and so much more. I absolutely loved it! My review will be up soon once I've had time to fully digest it and formulate a worthy articulation of its brilliance and particular resonance with me on so many levels.

7 Reasons Why Nigerian Sites Have Bad Grammar

I visit a lot of Nigerian-produced news and entertainment sites, blogs and forums, and unfortunately a lot of the writing there leaves a lot to be desired. It's disappointing when a fascinating subject is ruined by bad grammar, the hyper-zealous use of a thesaurus or grand, convoluted sentences when simpler phrasing would do.

I wish I could 'red-pen' websites...

As an avid wordsmith who has studied the art of writing, sentences like Yes, i understand; 90's CD's and DVD's or Am in love irks me. (If you see nothing wrong with these sentences, then I envy the ease of your daily reading experience!)

And the habit of writers to use twelve words when three would do is also bothersome, so that a sentence like:

"Little five-year-old Ayo Azeez's mother had left his biological father after irreconcilable misunderstanding which led to their separation. The boy then became gravely ill and was immediately rushed to a nearby hospital but he gave up even before any medication could be administered on him."

Should be edited to:

"Five year old Ayo Azeez's mother had separated from his father before he fell ill. He was then rushed to a nearby hospital but died before receiving treatment."  

It sure does

Here are 7 reasons why I believe many Nigerians employ verbose, unprofessional English:

1. Sub-standard University Education

All Nigerians that can afford it go to university because education is a matter of pride and necessity. But the education many receive is often of low quality due to the lack of government funding and rampant teacher strikes caused by the non-payment of salaries, which turns a three-year degree into a six-year interrupted struggle. Inconsistent electricity also interrupts the use of computers and other technologies vital for a thorough education. Eventually poor students become poor teachers and the cycle is unbroken.

2. Journalism is an Unpopular Degree

Law, accounting and medical degrees are popular choices for Nigerians, but journalism is not. This is due to the little attention paid to literature and the lower pay journalists expect. The country's children are not encouraged to pursue a writing career and the majority of the country's journalists today began their careers in a completely different profession.

In my case, my father was a broadcast journalist and I read all the books on our bookshelf (my mother was once an avid reader though she no longer cares for books). My favourite was Enid Blyton's The Adventures of the Wishing Chair and I wanted to be a children's writer before deciding on journalism. I was neither encouraged nor discouraged to pursue it, and growing up I'd never heard of any Nigerian print journalists.

3. Poor Reading Culture

It is a sad fact that Nigerians don't value reading. Things Fall Apart by Nigerian Chinua Achebe is the most famous book written by an African, yet the ratio of Americans to Nigerians who have read it is probably 3:1. The more one reads, the better their grammar, and Nigerian writer Chimamanda Adichie set up The Farafina Trust to encourage reading and creative writing stating that::

"...If my novel had been first published in Nigeria...I would not have had an editor or publicity or marketing. The newspapers would have taken scant notice... [and] I would expect only family and friends to buy the novel because we are a country of people who do not regard and do not read literature. Many Nigerians say...we are too poor to read. Literature is, after all, a middle-class preserve and... reading has been put aside for the pursuit of basic survival."

Nigerians should encourage their children to read

4. Bribery

Institutional bribery means that the least intelligent but wealthy students often get the best grades above the intelligent but poorer students, so that those that get the writing jobs in the end are unqualified having only bought their grades.

5. Nepotism

To get a good job in Nigeria, who you know gets you further than ability or education. Many under-qualified people become 'Features Editor' or 'Reporter' because their aunt or brother-in-law is the Editor or Publisher. So someone with friends in high places, a degree in Forestry and a disregard for proper sentence structures can have their work published in the country's most popular publications.

6. English as a Second Language

English is the official language but all Nigerians have a different mother-tongue and many are only familiar with pidgin-English. This means that the level of acceptable spoken and written English in many arenas is lower than in western establishments, and the errors prevalent in using imperfect grammar is ignored or not even noted.

7. The 'More is Best' Thinking

Nigerians are often extroverts and this follows into their writing where the 'posher' the words sound, the better the writer is regarded. I remember reading a letter from my grandfather to my mother and being perplexed by the formal tone, along the lines of  "it is with the utmost trepidation that I hasten to..."

This contrasts with Western writing where simplicity and succinctness rule, and industry standards mean that British articles have a particular flow unlike Nigerian articles. Of course there are Nigerians trained in universal journalistic principles from the country's best universities, and quality publications like Thisday are thankfully well written, but Nigerians desecrating the English language abound all over the web.

Some of the websites I visit leave me shaking my head in disbelief or giggling at the unintentional humour of the more ambitious sentences.

6 Nigerians That Make Me Proud

Every time I see or hear a Nigerian name in the mainstream media, my ears perk up. There are numerous 'Naija' professionals out there setting high standards in their professions, and below are six brilliant men and women representing Nigeria powerfully on the world stage:

1. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie - The Brilliant Writer

I am an eternal fan. Her poignant, searingly honest writing is awe-inspiring. I own, have read and always recommend all three of her books: Purple Hibiscus, Half of a Yellow Sun and The Thing Around Your Neck, because her succinct style and 'alive' characters make me smile and look back to the book cover, just to see her name again in all its Igbo glory emblazoned on the front. Yes, she really is one of us.

I attended an event in London for the release of her last book, and I along with the audience listened in admiration as she read excerpts from The Thing Around Your Neck in her measured, majestic tone: no forced American flourishes or unnecessary embellishments, just the words from her book spoken in a polished Nigerian accent.


Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

 Adichie has won many literary awards for her work, her books have sold millions and she is constantly compared to Chinua Achebe. Yet to me, her most important achievement is in capturing the beautiful, the atrocious, the ordinary, the peculiar, the traditional and the historical of Nigerians in the diaspora. She is chronicling our stories and giving voice to our best and our worst, and for that I am thankful.

2. Chiwetel Ejiofor - The Thoughtful Actor

This British-Nigerian actor has appeared in a host of blockbusters including Love Actually, Four Brothers, American Gangster and 2012.

But it is in the small British film Dirty Pretty Things that his quiet confidence and intensity shine through. Playing a noble Nigerian doctor who fled his country to drive taxis and work in a hotel reception in London, his portrayal of an illegal immigrant struggling to do the right thing was a masterclass in subtle emoting.

Chiwetel Ejiofor

His general gracefulness and reluctance to 'live large' is admirable. Perhaps he owes his stoic demeanour to a history of tragedy (his parents fled to Britain from the Biafran war, but on a trip back to Nigeria as a boy he was sitting in the back of a car that crashed killing his father.) Whatever the case, Ejiofor is a class act that makes me proud to be Nigerian.

3. David Olusoga - The BBC Producer

This is most of what I know about this producer is from the website Faber & Faber:

"David Olusoga is an Anglo-Nigerian historian and producer. Working across radio and television, his programmes have explored the themes of colonialism, slavery and scientific racism. He has travelled extensively in Africa, and has been drawn to Namibia and its troubled history for several years. He currently works as a producer for the BBC."

It was after watching a fascinating documentary on BBC Four called Abraham Lincoln: Saint or Sinner that I saw 'David Olusoga' named as the producer. I hurriedly googled it. We might appear in front of the screen, but to produce a programme was another impressive story.

So although I don't know more about him or even what he looks like, his name alone testifies to his achievement as a Nigerian bringing his historical research to the screen.

4. Precious Williams - The Triumphant Journalist

At four months old, this journalist was given away by her rich Igbo mother to a white woman to be raised in an all-white area of Sussex. Williams' subsequent feelings of abandonment, ignorance about her Africaness and confusion about where she belonged (the white family who loved her or the Black mother who looks like her but ignores her?) is documented in her memoir Precious: A True Story.

 Precious Williams

Her story is all the more poignant in light of recent legislation by the British government to allow colour-blind adoption, which would particularly benefit Black kids who are last to be adopted because of a shortage of Black adoptees. Although placing minority children with loving white parents seems decent, Williams has spoken out against it because of her traumatic experience.

Her book was touching and provocative, and her achievements despite it all (she went to Oxford and is now a successful journalist) inspiring. It also made me question our Nigerian culture's high esteem of a Western career even to our detriment, and our desire for our children to 'speak with a posh accent,' both of which were reasons behind Williams' mother's decision to give her away.

5. Seun Osewa - Nairaland Founder 


His website Nairaland is a favourite destination of mine where I go to keep up with what's going on in Nigeria and the diaspora. It's where I learnt that Nigerians, whether Hausa, Yoruba or Igbo; are hilarious, religious, respectful of elders and the institution of marriage, greatly value education and our culture, and, although very critical of certain aspects, are always proud of their country.

I've learnt a lot about relationships, shared my thoughts and reactions with other posters in real time whilst watching the 2010 World Cup, cried with others following the murder of a regular poster and marvelled at the ridiculousness of some of the news that come out of our country. e.g. Woman gives birth to snake.

This online community of millions has been made possible by the genius of website developer Osewa. So for all that Nairaland means to me and many of Nigerians all over the world every day, Thank You.

6. Aliko Dangote - Controversial Billionaire

He is not just a wealthy Nigerian worth $13.8 billion, he made it into Forbes' List as the Richest Black man in the world. Dangote is the only Northern Nigerian on my list and I remember being proud when he was featured on BBC's An African Journey with Jonathan Dimbleby where the presenter flew on Dangote's private jet and was pleasantly surprised at the efficiency of Dangote's factories.

Aliko Dangote

Although he has benefited from having friends in very high political places and his success isn't without controversy, I was personally impressed when he stated:

"[Nigerians] can be even bigger than me, you just have to believe that yes, there is a future in this country of ours. I don't believe we have even started doing anything in Nigeria because the opportunities are so enormous. If you give me $5 billion today, I will invest everything here in Nigeria."

Here's a man representing us in global business and who speaks of reinvesting into Nigeria as opposed to taking his money elsewhere. Sannu da aiki Alhaji Dangote!

4 Reasons Why I am Jealous of South Africa

Even though Nigeria is the most populous country in Africa (160 million people) so that every 1 in 4 Black person in the world is a Nigerian; even though it has the most industrious people who possess a fabulous sense of humour and a perpetual optimism about life, and even though the world's richest Black man is Nigerian, I'm still jealous of the West's interest in all things South Africa.

1. MANDELA
There's an almost Messiah-like reverence for the political prisoner turned apartheid-abolitionist, Nobel Peace Prize winner and Former SA President Nelson Mandela, so that every celebrity worth their salt has taken a picture with him. Numerous books and films have been produced to celebrate his achievements (from Invictus to the recent Winnie starring Jeniffer Hudson and Terrence Howard) and his status as respected elder-statesman of the world is unrivaled.

Nelson Mandela: The world's best loved African leader

Nigeria has yet to produce such a highly-regarded leader. Not once. We have respected authors like Chinua Achebe and Wole Soyinka, but in recent times our politicians have been better known for what they do wrong than what they've done right.

2. FOOTBALL WORLD CUP
Then there was the 2010 World Cup. The first ever to be held in Africa was of course in SA. Now this makes sense because in terms of the country's advancements in technology and infrastructure, it is by far the most suitable and best prepared country in Sub-Saharan Africa to hold such a prestigious event. Even SA's ability to have continuous electricity trumps Nigeria's NEPA failures. But I was jealous that South Africa was yet again feted by the worldwide community for this impressive feat. I wish it were Nigeria. But alas, even our footballers, once our pride and joy (and former Olympic Gold medal winners!) failed us.

3. MEDIA
Around the world numerous books have been written (Cry, The Beloved Country) multiple documentaries (Rough Aunties), popular films (Cry Freedom, Sarafina, District 9) plays, column inches and charities have been dedicated to South Africa. Although Nigeria gave the world Fela Kuti and our writers like Chimamanda Adichie continue to excite the literary world, our country doesn't elicit the same level of fascination, romance and interest as South Africa does.

Fela Kuti: Nigeria's best known musician

And out of the seven Black men that have won the Nobel Peace Prize, three were South African.

4. TOURISM
There's also the general beauty and tourist-friendly appeal of cities like Cape Town and Johannesburg which attract visitors. With world-class accommodation, picturesque beaches, beautiful vistas and natural amenities to enjoy I'm not surprised. But I am jealous. I wish Nigeria's tourist industry was equally well-developed. We have the potential: beautiful beaches, the best cuisine, great history and beautiful areas in Abuja and Lagos. But we lack the security to ensure visitors' safety, and the development and promotion of some of these areas let us down, as does the air and land travel difficulties (bad roads, shambolic airports)

Abuja, Nigeria

South Africa is as well known for its high crime rates, in fact more well known than Nigeria's, yet the country still manages to be the foremost African destination for tourists, film-makers and travellers. Some will say the large white minority help to keep the country developed and affluent and draw people in, and there's some truth in that.

But Nigeria has the potential to be the first all-Black giant of commerce and advancement in Africa. We have the funds (oil money), an eager labour-force, the skills and the resources. Greed and lack of foresight has stunted our growth in the areas of good government and tourism so far, but I still believe we can do it. One day...

Until then, I will continue to view South Africa's high profile success with envy and think: "If only that was Nigeria!"