I dream.

In March 1995, I arrived in Amman, Jordan and began a 4 and a half year sojourn. As a student in Amman and with about a dozen of us in the same University, it was the start of long lasting friendships, independence and a whole new life.

Amman was a dusty, stone hewn city. I remember my amazement that the very first donkey I saw was in Amman. Yes. It was still a mode of transportation in the city. My friend Yagana always had a laugh at the number of Volkswagen beetles she could count during every car ride. They had no mobile phones. The prevailing architecture was beautiful stone buildings which needed no artificial cooling systems because they stayed cool during the blazing 35 degrees summer but relied on radiators for the freezing winter. I remember the coming of Safeway with utmost amazement. How some people stared at us like we had sprung out of a coal pit.

Thinking back, some of these should have scared this group of young girls who were away from home for the first time. Our naivety made it all fun. And we were close. Some closer than others, but close still.

Fast forward 3 years. The advent of mobile phones. Glass and steel buildings sprung up. HardRock Cafe came (gasp!). The usual plethora of fast food joints. The cafes and local eateries spruced up. Our fave Cafe (sigh) continued to work it's magic with their amazing hot chocolate and cheese cake.

The first E-Class cab we saw, we thought we were hallucinating. Intricate road networks. WiFi was no longer a dream.

I was in love with this little city which seemed more like home than Lagos and Abuja. With practically no natural resources, a kingdom was built on tourism and aid. I was in love with King Hussein. A man, a King who inspired so much love in his people. He had vision.  From when the royal family lived in tents. From the times of turmoil during his Grandfather's reign. His own ascension at a young age. I would sit and just watch his speeches. The fact that he was a Hashemite, hence a direct descendant of the Prophet Muhammad (SAW) only increased this love.

I remember how I cried when he was diagnosed with inoperable cancer and he flew his jet back home for some of the journey. I remember vividly him praying Salatul at the foot of the plane and the huge sadness I felt when he died.

All this I remember even though it's been 14yrs since I left Amman. My friend who was with me there flew Jordanian Airlines from Lagos to Dubai recently. She told me how she cried seeing the new airport and how far they had come. Of course the tears were largely due to comparing the positive changes with our own country.

In recent years, going to my town, Minna, fills me with sadness. There is an underlying helplessness that is in the air. A few weeks ago, I visited and was marginally excited when I saw solar powered lights and new road extensions leading off the one main road we have. There was a huge billboard announcing the coming of Shoprite. I was shocked. Then brought back to earth when I was told they are no longer coming. They have other viable cities/towns to go to. Of course, a major discouraging factor is the absolute mess of a road that leads to Minna from Abuja. Its the sole reason why I've gone a full year without visiting.

Kaduna, which I visit often, reminds me of Minna in some ways. A lot of it stays the same way. Except for the mansions that spring up almost over night on every street. That amazes me to no end. There are still no street lights in most parts of Kaduna but that seems to work for those who work best under the cover of darkness.

While writing this, I've been trying to think of which of our leaders, in recent past, has inspired a percentage of the love and admiration I felt for King Hussein. None comes to mind. To sit with people who have access to the powers-that-be is to give up all hope. No one thinks of tomorrow. None of them think of leaving a legacy. Absolutely none of them care what becomes of this Country so far they have enough money to ensure their great grand children don't need to work. I keep remembering an article I read Nigeria: Pressure, Pain and Sperectomy http://shimoshi1.wordpress.com/2013/10/22/nigeria-pressure-pain-and-sperectomy/
which described quite aptly what I feel. They say to be alive is to have hope. I don't feel hopeful and haven't felt so in a long while. I hardly follow the news anymore. When I see a news link, I do not click. The headline is enough for me. Why? Because I need to hold on to my sanity. One moment you will be reading about tens dead, more homeless and hopeless and the very next page you will read about a new hare brained scheme designed to siphon billions. I have had enough.

I choose to remember the better times, pray for change that we can handle, do what I can but I absolutely can not lose my mind over the absolute horror that this Country is turning into.

In the end, I still love the idea of NIGERIA but the reality of it keeps my head bowed.

Entitled North(erner)

In recent years, I have lost the strength to argue when issues of Nigeria are being discussed. Why? I'm simply tired. Tired and disheartened. Whenever one gets even an iota of hope, all you need is a conversation with a certain group of people. To hear of and see the waste of our resources by those "up there" is enough to make one lose all hope in humanity.


Have you ever woken up, gone the whole day with no meal because you couldn't afford it, absolutely none and no respite on the horizon? Have you ever come across one who has no food to eat, no WATER to drink? I haven't but heard stories directly from those who have. There is a lot of suffering in this Country called Nigeria. So much gut wrenching suffering. I have not travelled this Country of ours much so I might not have the right to make this statement but I say it nonetheless; the kind of Poverty in the North is unsurpassed. Unsurpassed and accelerating at an alarming rate. Unfortunately, there is no end in sight because we are just notches on a long tug rope contest started by our former Northern leaders and being ably sustained by our current crop of ogas at the top. As I see it, a lot of the problems of the North are directly related to two things: A lack of formal education and a ridiculous sense of entitlement.

Recently, I was back home for a turbaning ceremony which brought a lot of the extended family together. It broke me to see cousins I used to play with in secondary school looking like shadows of themselves. Everyone had a story of hardship or suffering to share, discontent to air and of course the obligatory gossip and bitterness. Watching them and listening, tears kept coming to my eyes. Almost all of them had dropped out after secondary school. Some never even finished. Was it the cost? No. A general lack of interest which was apparent since childhood. The thinking of

a:  If I have a relative who can "dash" me money then I'm good because I'm his responsibility. What he does for his wife and children, he MUST do for me. Right. The height of entitlement.
b:  Marriage is the only worthy goal. I will live off the man because I then become his sole                                     responsibility.

What they often fail to realise is that in most cases, you get what you deserve, what you have positioned yourself for. While its true that not everyone is born lucky, sometimes, you have to make your break. Reach higher. We have a vicious circle in the North with so many going uneducated, because their parent's parents used to hide them in huge water urns so that the local authorities could not send them to school so of grew up with no formal education, no hand skills, no livelihood except for a penchant to sit out in front of their houses and talk. Most of them in turn could not afford to educate their children which has been passed down. I really don't think anyone reading this and not from the North can say the percentage of their extended family without jobs, livelihood AND a formal education exceeds 60-70%. Where I come from, its the norm, not the exception. Those who were forced to go pass through secondary school unable to articulate a simple proper sentence in English. Infact, even their thinking in their native language lacks strength. I remember a few years ago, I had a cousin staying with me. She had been under the care of my Mum for years with so much effort being put into educating her but it was always a battle. I was appalled when she, an SS2 student then, couldn't do Primary 1 child's  homework simply because she couldn't read the instruction. A one line instruction. She at least will be made to get into a higher institution, thereby granting her some level of freedom in future.

Already, I'm tired of this rant. It solves nothing, changes nothing. While our leaders still think that education a people can cause them to reach above themselves and revolt, the common Northern man shall continue to suffer, be downtrodden, for both faults of his and those beyond him. The wheels keep turning, the poverty keeps being passed on. Backwardness reaches new heights. One day, the leaders shall also cry for what they failed to do.

I leave you with a little story; On thursday morning, I was on the highway when the car developed a fault of sorts. car started spluttering and slowly came to a stop. Driver barely managed to get off most of the main road before it died. As this was happening, a man, probably in his late 40s or early 50s had been walking on the pavement. He passed us, stopped, then turned round. He stood watching us, on my side of the car while the driver managed to coax the car completely off the road. I sat in the car, using the phone, trying to get some help. After a couple of minutes of me being on the phone, he went  round to the drivers side and started asking for money! I absolutely lost it. I told him off, maybe too strongly, but I di. Asked if he had anything wrong with him, he said no. Asked if he could see I had a problem. He said yes. Goodness! Suffice to say, he left after offering a load of apologies.

Did I mention he was a Hausa man? No? There you have it.