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.