The Rude Awakening: Nigerian Millennials Take Their Country by Storm.

By Cliff Edogun

Letters of disillusionment with Nigerian politics and government from students I’d taught at Nigerian universities in the 1980’s inspired this book of fiction. They’d complained of how the virtues of government they’d learned in class were being defamed by successive Nigerian governments. Public services dysfunction, infrastructure decay, chronic official corruption, clamped down free speech, perennial election rigging, and state-sponsored lawlessness had all ruined their dreams for a better life, while many within their ranks had simply surrendered to the lucre of official financial embezzlement. What options, they ask, are they left with?

The rising expectations from Africa’s colonial liberation in the 1960s never materialized for the vast majority. In Nigeria, that dream quickly extinguished after the rigging of that nation’s first general elections in 1959. The seam of nations that the British had cobbled together into the Nigerian state soon began to crack under the divisive issues of tribe, religion, region, and class. In 1967, an unprincipled civil war tore the country apart and affirmed the long-held view that the center in Nigeria could no longer hold under the circumstance. Yet, history was never linear. The digitally sophisticated young people around the world are increasingly demonstrating the capacity to organize and mobilize while entrenched oligarchies have become increasingly vulnerable. This book captures this imaginative historicity and relives the dream of change that is possible. However, this story does not stress youth organization purely for its own sake. Rather, organization must drive mobilization through innovative democratic ideals that’d complement Nigeria’s pluralist ideal of justice for all. For a nation as resourceful, this book portrays the hope that its talented youths would seize this moment in the sun to demonstrate the unique industrious nature of the Nigerian spirit. To the Nigerian youth is this book dedicated.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546267621

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

L ANRE AND BASSEY woke up early on this cloudless Monday morning feeling refreshed and humbly accomplished for good reasons. After two years of hapless search for jobs, they were finally invited to report at the National Directorate of Employment in Lagos to be interviewed for government positions that were not specified but had the legitimacy of the state wrapped around them to make them attractive. Two years earlier, they had graduated with honors from a Nigerian premier university where Lanre studied electrical engineering and Bassey read chemistry. Though their invitations had no specific description of the nature of the jobs they were going to interview for, it didn’t matter now; civil service jobs were usually not specified and once employed, you get buried in a bloated bureaucracy where academic specialties were of no priority.

Lanre had long dreamed of fixing his country’s severely broken electric power sector, often boasting he was destined to correct that legendary power crisis. Bassey wanted no more than become a secondary school science teacher, but with Nigeria in such scrappy economic condition, any guaranteed civil service monthly paychecks would suffice for now.

On his way to shower at 5:30 am that morning, Lanre grabbed his cell to connect with Bassey. At two tries, it was all busy signals and he wondered why Bassey’s phone was busy that early in the day. It must be the network, Lanre blurted in the usual dismissive reaction towards the widespread failed public services: telephone, water supply, electricity, mail, housing, public transport, motor traffic, police, customs, the airways, politicians, political parties, banking, business, education, the court system, traditional authorities, ad infinitum.

As he waded into the shower, Lanre had another theory about the busy signals from Bassey’s end. He remembered that for several days, Bassey’s neighborhood had suffered prolonged power failures, and in such total darkness, it was impossible to power any electrical device, not to mention the associated collateral damage from the suffocating heat and the nervous breakdown caused by noisy power generators.

Bassey was fortunate to have found a 65-square foot squatter space in Mafoluku, a gritty slum within the steaming Lagos metropolis. Like several ill-defined, poorly housed subdivisions in this Black Africa’s largest city, Mafoloku was sketched out on the fly without official sanction by the city’s town planning bureau. These squatter subdivisions rose up indiscriminately over the years when well-connected native landlords legged local council permits to construct squalid living shelters for the teeming provincials arriving the city of Lagos daily to settle. The local real estate market suddenly boomed as demand far exceeded supply, with little spaces renting out at prices the new arrivals could barely afford. Besides inflated rent, these living spaces were also poorly wired for electricity and scarcely supplied with running water.

Lanre had just stepped unto the street toward the bus stop when his cell rang at 7:05 a.m. It was Bassey. Where are you, man? Bassey queried. Lanre, delighted that he was finally connected with his friend, replied, "Ah, I tried to reach you when I woke up at 5:30 this morning but your phone was busy. What’s up man? Do you have a new Iyawo who keeps you busy talking as early as 5:30 these days, mused Lanre? What are you talking about? asked Bassey. By 5:30 this morning, I was already in the bus headed for the interview in Lagos Island. You know how terrible the go-slow can be at my end. I didn’t want to take any chances. The interview is scheduled for 10 a.m., and it is absolutely necessary to be there on time. Even now as I am talking to you at 7:12 a.m., we have been stuck in traffic at Ojota for the past half an hour," Bassey added in frustration.

Hearing that Bassey had left home when he was just wading into the shower at his shared bunker in uppity Festac Town, Lanre felt some guilt that he was only just going to take the bus. The distance between Festac Town and Lagos Island is no more than thirty kilometers but on a typical morning rush hour in the overcrowded Lagos metropolis, that distance could take more than two hours. Lanre had gone down this road for years and he knew fully well that nothing was predictable when it came to Lagos transportation network. On this particular day, luck ran out on him. This was such a day when, for no particular reason, the two-hour bus route turned into a five-hour journey.

By exactly 8:30 a.m., Lanre’s ramshackle molue bus had gotten stuck at a spot for close to half an hour in a drowning traffic jam at the infamous Mile-2 Bus Stop along the Badagry Expressway. Just as he knew his life depended on this once-in-a-life-time government job interview, Lanre quickly went into a frantic brainstorming mode. After filtering through a few options, he finally settled on an idea he believed would work. He would get off his immobilized bus, flag down a roving okada motorcycle that was always able to maneuver through the dense human and auto clutter along the Badagry Expressway. He would command the motorcyclist to drive up-front and catch up with the first bus on the line heading towards Lagos Island. The length of the traffic backed-up buses, cars and taxicabs could be seen stretching for miles.

Lanre decided wisely. His plan worked. By 9:30 a.m. he was out of the traffic den and close to the interview site. He tried reaching his friend who was probably already at the site waiting anxiously and hoping Lanre would not miss the call at 10 a.m. But Lanre’s enthusiasm and strength were already sapped from the traffic ordeal. The freshness and agility with which he started out that morning had turned into the anxiety, exasperation, despair and helplessness that one often gets from the typical daily Naija grind.

The National Directorate of Employment is a huge squarely shaped colonial brick marble structure. It is made up of four large office buildings with a courtyard linking all four. By the time Lanre joined Bassey at 9:52 a.m., the courtyard was already filled with some two hundred young unemployed high school and university graduates. With hollowed faces, and very few smiles, it was evident that these fellows have had a rough year finding jobs anywhere. Quite a few had been jobless for upwards of three years in a dependent import-oriented economy in which the ruling national government had put all of its eggs into the capital-intensive oil industry basket that had very few employment opportunities. And for decades, Nigeria had remained clueless about how to invest its increased oil revenues to diversify the national economy and absorb the growing population of jobless young school leavers. Instead, the government became the country’s primary employer and grew the civil service into a bloated inefficient bureaucracy.

The female applicants at this interview appeared more buoyant and enthusiastic, judging from the mix of trendy fashion on display: shinny golden shoes, western-cut skirts and gowns, expensive hairdos, jewels that would sell for bundles, and make-ups you’d expect Hollywood actresses to wear on Oscar night. For Naija ladies, it was always a gamble with Nigerian life. In the prevailing Naija social environment, the possibility was never farfetched that the male bosses who often conduct these interviews could be tempted to make their interview choices on the basis of such jaw-dropping, eye-watering fashionable displays rather than on merit and occupational fit.

By exactly 10 a.m., all the applicants had gathered at the Directorate’s courtyard, with many carrying various sizes of folders containing their credentials. Some were already fully acquainted either from their old university days or just from the usual casual meet-greet-and-get-acquainted social behavior common among young people. The air was full of the typical Naija small jokes that exude false laughs, but there was a real sense from their looks that their lives depended on this rare government job interview.

An hour passed and no official had yet acknowledged their presence, nor had instructions been given on how the day would proceed. Inspite of the initial enthusiasm at such events, many of these unemployed graduates were well aware of the crass aloofness of government officials. Indeed, Nigerians with high government positions were often known to be rude, lacking in diplomatic finesse, and crude in communicative style.

As the hour passed into another hour with no word concerning the interview, anxiety, loud hisses, and restless movements began among the crowd. The tropical heat was already scorching at this time of day and for the females with heavy layers of make-ups, the anxiety was already taking its toll. Many began drifting apart to find comfort under a few big trees with shades to spare.

Then came some noisy speculation about how this day might end. An ebullient and effusively sociable applicant who called himself Osita loudly told the subdued crowd that they were all engaged in a fruitless exercise. Look, let me tell you something, he said, we were invited here just for the official record. They’ve already made their selections and their favorite candidates have probably started working. Then he added, "You know, this is Naija."

You could see several concurring with their facial expressions and nodding affirmatively to Osita’s prognosis. Yes-O, said another who gave his name as Ighodaro and who saw an opening to empty his grievances about his other recent government interview experience. They called me for interview at the NNPC last month and we waited for more than three hours, related Ighodaro. "One officer eventually came to tell us that the oga kpata-kpata was held up in go-slow. He told us to go home and promised to reschedule our interview for another day. Did you hear from them again? asked Osita, who quickly cut in to suggest that would never happen. For where? exclaimed Ighodaro. It’s over six months now; I never hear from them," lamented the weary-looking Ighodaro, whose wide-open round eyes never seem to blink.

Osita, sensing that he was finding acceptance among this cynic of an audience, stood on some raised platform in the courtyard and continued to expand on his theory that the choices had already been made. "In this Naija, it’s who you know, it’s who you have slept in bed with, it’s the oga from your clan, you know; merit is for the dogs; it’s all the connection that guarantees you any government job in this Nigeria. He continued, There are students who got their degrees two or three years ago; they are still walking the streets with no jobs. Is there nothing we can do to change this situation? How come we just let them walk over us like we are foot-mats? We young people make up more than two-thirds of the population, yet we have no political power; we have no voice. Our student leaders have all been bought over by the political parties. When will all this end?" asked Osita rhetorically, as he seemed to be reminding his listeners how Nigerians in general were often fond of expressing only sighs of resignation and helplessness, but never getting down to taking any concrete action. Ending several generations of nepotism, tribalism, regionalism, religious bigotry, and corruption was never considered the transformational responsibility that any individual felt willing to undertake. That responsibility was often reserved for God, or someone else that God would mercifully appoint to save Nigeria.

Osita had hardly finished speaking about the corruption of the system when someone behind him interrupted. Look, my friend, I am Yinka. Let me tell you, if they give you too, you go chop. This is Nigeria. It’s you chop, I chop; there is nothing you can do about it. You see, continued Yinka, there is nothing wrong with Nigeria. After all, even America is corrupt. England-O, the same. We just need a few good leaders who will lead us to that Promised Land.

Osita looked up and down in evident disgust as he listened to the usual double-talk often heard from Nigerians who speak before they think. Hear this guy talking about America and England, said Osita. Have you been there? Do you know what goes on in those countries? Are you admitting your country is flawed because we don’t have a few good leaders? I don’t see any sense in what you’ve just said, Osita added.

Yinka tensed up and was about to fire back when suddenly the huge doors leading to one of the Directorate buildings opened. Three casual looking male officials appeared, followed by what looked like two top officials and two security guards. They were carrying several file folders, an indication that the interview was about to commence. The time was 12:55 p.m.

The thinned-out crowd suddenly came alive as many who had sought shelter under surrounding shady trees surged forward in a not too subtle rush to take positions close to these officials. The youngest looking among the officials beckoned with both arms for quiet and without even the slightest acknowledgement of their lateness or any official apology for the more than two-and-a-half-hour delay, he began to read out names of applicants who were told to enter into the building behind them. At the end of calling the names of four females and two males, the official stopped for some minutes as he and his colleagues put their heads together to deliberate. Meanwhile, you could have heard a pin drop as the crowd of the unemployed froze in silence. Necks were stretched out and ears were positioned just to make sure they heard when the next set of names would be called. Well, after the officials ended their consultation, the name caller among them closed his file and announced he was going to leave briefly to return to call more names. Thereafter, the officials turned and walked right back into the building while the security guards kept the door. And for the other hundreds of jobless graduates whose names were yet to be called, leaving the Directorate’s door open, followed by the promise the official made to return, kept their hope fairly alive.

So, they thought. Some half an hour later, another official did return, got the wearied applicants surging and rushing back again to listen, and in a voice laced with bemoaning authority and indifference, called out another four names, one male and three females. The official went back into the building with the new winners and returned at 1:30 p.m. only to announce to the other highly tensed candidates that the day’s interview was over. They would be notified within the next thirty days about when and where the next interview would be held.

That, of course, was too much for them to bear. The crowd, as if prompted by some remote control, yelled out NO! NO! NO! in utter outrage. The doors to the building were quickly shut as some applicants refused to leave while others who knew better began to disperse.

For Osita, this was the evidence he needed to bolster his earlier fairly well received claim that the country’s government was always the cradle of crass unfairness, corruption, and unbridled nepotism. He quickly sought out Yinka of the ‘you chop, I chop’ infamy who’d earlier contradicted what many in the crowd felt was the accurate assessment of government secrecy and corruption. A shouting argument quickly ensued between these two and it was hard to comprehend who was saying what, for neither Yinka nor Osita yielded to the other to speak without being interrupted. The lingering crowd, rather than find their way home, saw a rousing confrontation and stood on the sidelines to see if the ensuing agitation would result in physical blows.

Of course, that would be unusual for university graduates, althouth you could not rule out such an incident in any crazy Naija context. Finally, Osita relented briefly to let Yinka continue in his convoluted argument. May be, said Yinka, they can only employ ten people now. You know, government cannot employ every body. Even private companies have limits. Let’s just go home and wait for them to call the rest of us next time.

You could see Osita seething with anger and fury and ready to pounce on Yinka’s incredulous explanation. Yinka, called Osita, first of all, you are mixing apples with grapes in this discussion. The issue here is government’s lack of transparency. They have lost credibility in all they do. They take us as fools who cannot read between the lines or cannot tell a goat from a sheep. Mister, I don’t know if any private company worth its name will invite over one hundred applicants for an interview and end up calling only ten without explaining why that was done. If I am not mistaken, when you get a letter to come for an interview, you expect to be interviewed, isn’t that so fellows? asked Osita, as he turned his agitated face to the captive audience. Yeah, they responded in one deafening voice.

Osita, thereupon, felt he needed to carpet Yinka once and for all now that the crowd seemed swayed by his argument. Yinka, said Osita, you don’t get the point; you don’t understand and it is your kind of talk that gives our leaders the impunity to treat us like second class citizens. Yinka was about to cut in and counter when Osita powerfully waved him down and said, Don’t interrupt me, my friend, I’m not finished. ‘You chop, I chop,’ what does that mean by the way? Osita asked. Do you think all Nigerians will stoop that low? Does it ever occur to you that Nigerians with integrity are willing to stick to their principles, regardless of the easy money? asked Osita.

Show me one such Nigerian! countered Yinka, who looked floored from the crowd’s negative reaction toward his stance, but who suddenly found an opening he felt the crowd would definitely relate to. From the president of Nigeria down to the office cleaner, said Yinka, "easy money and its fraudulent accumulation is the dynamo that moves our lives. In Nigeria, ‘money na hand, back na ground.’ You are saying all this now and getting all the laughs. Tomorrow, if they give you, you will also take, said Yinka. Forget that, man, answered Osita. I will rather go farm in my village than partake in their blood money. You see, there are many ways to skin a rat," Osita added.

Ighodaro, who recounted earlier how he had waited for hours at an NNPC interview that never happened, finally joined the fray. Yinka’s ‘money na hand, back na ground’ adage gave him an opening to take Yinks’s side. Na true Yinka dey talk-o, Ighodaro cut in. "The Nigerian girls of today, hmm, if you no get money, no way ma brother! You no go even see their druss, not to talk of their deep side. If you come Benin, na so-so gray hair men with big, big cars dey drive into our campus to carry away all the fine girls. Nah latest fashion these girls dey wear every day, lamented Ighodaro. Nigeria don change-o, my brother. So, man wey no get money, him life nah ye-ye be that-o. Na wah-o!" he said to a crowd that’d burst into wild laughter and evidently enthused by Ighodaro’s nuanced local rhetorical humor.

For a while, Osita kept scratching his head after Ighodaro spoke, wondering where this guy was coming from and how he would respond to his story that had jazzed up the crowd in agreeable laughter. Mr. Ighodaro, said Osita, how is this your story related to the two failed interviews you have experienced? Without hesitation and still wrapped in his winding narrative that was still warming up the crowd, Ighodaro responded, "In Edo State, na only big-big men with big cars wey de carry the beautiful girls; that is why when they graduate, these big-big men will contact their big friends in government to employ their girlfriends. Nah dat wey just happen before our eyes today. Ah bi, no be Naija you be? You from Ghana? Amid loud chuckles and nodding heads, Ighodaro continued, Man wey no get money, na suffer suffer be’im life-o. Saam! Our ancestors got their wives by how many antelopes they kill bring home. But today wey women plenty like san-san, e come become money-money. I hear say for London and America, university girls and boys marry themselves, not because of money-o. Na only for Naija wey be wahala. God, I beg, if I come this world again, create me as woman."

At that, all the gathered folks cheered and applauded, then started chanting Ighodaro! Ighodaro! Ighodaro! Their job interview today may have gone sour or may have been rigged, but the privilege of being entertained by Ighodaro had certainly outweighed the indignity they’d just suffered from their government.

For the moment then, Ighodaro’s humor and folksy demeanor had tempered much of their retributive anger towards their government as many in the crowd began settling down for more of the folksy humor spewing out of Ighodaro. However, not to be outflanked or be seen as insensitive to the issue at hand, a female finally spoke up. Introducing her name as Anita, she lambasted, in so many words, the tendency of young Nigerians to seek after quick money without working for it. How many so-called Nigerian rich people, most of whom are politicians, actually go out there and sweat for the money they flout around? Anita asked. Since oil was discovered, she said, our politicians and their cohorts found an easy source of money to play around with. No more farming, no more technical training, no more anything. Remember the groundnut pyramids, the rubber plantations, the palm oil groves and the cocoa farms? These were the sources of our wealth before oil came along, but instead of modernizing their production techniques and diversifying their manufacturing potentials, we abandoned them because we were obtaining oil money without much sweat. All they do now is simply outsource our lives to foreign experts to come and exploit and extract our oil for peanuts. Then, we accept whatever share they say is our due while our leaders could care less about how the actual value of our resources has been manipulated.

As Anita reviewed Nigeria’s political economy, many were seen nodding in complete agreement, for these same topics had been hammered by their professors in their political economy classes. Anita appeared fired up and did not want to yield to anyone. These minerals, she continued, can be produced by our own scientists, many of who trained alongside the white consultants that our governments employ at inflated costs. But, because our political leaders are poorly educated, inadequate, and insecure, especially in their global ignorance, they are often at a loss about how to organize our scientists to modernize as many great nations have done. For them, putting their fellow countrymen in charge of producing these resources will expose their tactics of milking our national wealth for their personal gain. Instead, our brilliant scientists are squeezed into government ministries to waste away and eventually partake in the same lucre, Anita said. She then lamented how anyone expected Nigeria to become great if its young people cannot even unite around an issue concerning them. She condemned Yinka’s simplistic and corruptive ‘you chop, I chop’ life style that has come to define and destroy the integrity of the nation’s political leadership.

Anita must have been storing a mountain of grievances as she began arguing in a searching reproach of Nigerian rich men who often fail to provide for the long-term welfare of their children and grandchildren. Said Anita, Look at the so-called Nigerian rich people. When they die, whatever money they’d had seem to die with them. The businesses they operated while alive mysteriously disappear and they’d leave behind no will showing how their children and grandchildren would be taken care of. As for me-o, my first priority will be the legacy I’d leave behind for my children and grandchildren. We all should be shooting for that same goal, concluded Anita.

Soon after Anita had finished speaking, Bassey, who with Lanre, had been standing coy through the entire drama, walked gingerly towards her as though they were old acquaintances. In a rare display of manly courage, Bassey bent over to this eloquent young unemployed university graduate to whisper an unsolicited ‘well done’ commendation to her: Hi, quivered Bassey, my name is Bassey. I’m with you all the way. I think I have met you before, but I can’t remember where now, said Bassey, as he uttered the usual well-worn line of boy-girl approach. Anita turned to Bassey with a deceiving smile to put him at ease, thanked him quite friendly and said, Oh, I attended Abuja National University; is that where you also attended? No-ooo, drawled Bassey in a tone that seemed either to downgrade Abuja University or suggest that Abuja University was not in the big league. Anita looked surprised and probably felt insulted by the nuance in Bassey’s response. Then said Bassey, I am a graduate of the premier University of Ibadan, you know, where I studied Chemistry. I plan to further my education abroad to become a chemical scientist, he said, intending to fabricate a dream to make an impression on a woman he suddenly found attractive and captivating. That is very nice, said Anita. I hope you will return home after becoming a chemical scientist and set up a practice instead of taking up idle government job like others before you, she said. No, no, no, no, said Bassey, who suddenly overcame his penchant for listening than talking, I want to come back to start my own business in the drug industry. Our hospitals and clinics lack drugs for a host of diseases and it is my plan to fill that gap, boasted Bassey. Well, said Anita, All I can say is good luck to you and hope to see you again after you become a chemical scientist, as she gathered herself and her purse to join her friends who were finally leaving the premises of the National Directorate of Employment. As she was leaving, she gently touched Bassey’s shoulder, bid him good-bye, and wished him luck.

In fact, if nothing else happened for Bassey that day, his brief encounter with Anita was all he needed to cancel out the rude shock from the National Directorate of employment. For once in a long time, Bassey could be seen wearing a new smile and getting more agreeable on almost any issue with Lanre. Lanre knew the cause of his friend’s new mood and was quick to tease him constantly about it all.

The day was already well spent and hunger was setting in. So, they stepped unto the main boulevard and entered into one card-boarded buka where they ordered two plates of the popular local dish of eba and ewedu, including a combination of stockfish and cow legs, a mixed meal of protein, carbohydrate and vegetables. Now, that’s some heavy meal by any standard, and quite fitting for a day that produced no results except for Bassey’s Anita encounter. The meal obviously invigorated these two friends as they walked out of the buka suffocated from its unventilated interior and blasted by the extremely peppered dish. Lanre and Bassey whistled gently to temper the pepper’s intensity while streams of sweat trailed down their faces.

Stepping out unto the boulevard, Lanre was now ready to banter with his mostly stoic friend. Now, Bassey is a temperamentally measured young man and discrete to a fault. When he does express an opinion, he would have dwelt on all its merits and demerits before utterance. He rarely raised his voice but would do so when a rule he considered sacrosanct is violated. Lanre has always found refuge and comfort in Bassey’s demeanor, for Lanre is the kind who’d express a thousand opinions on any one subject. When Lanre is thus verbally engaged, Bassey would stay aloof but attentive, thus assuring Lanre that though his friend may not be talking, he was, at least, listening, an arrangement that suited Lanre well. It is this attraction of the opposites that would define the bond between these two close friends for years to come.

As they came to a major crossroad where sleek cars of all model brands were streaming by, one particular Mercedes car model caught Lanre’s eyes. The traffic eventually came to a complete halt, so that this fantasy car on Lanre’s mind was idling right besides where they stood. Then Lanre wryly quipped, "I will definitely drive this bobo one day, lagbara-Olorun. If I’m not able to get it here in Nigeria, when I go abroad, I will bring one home in a container. Bassey just pretended not to have heard his friend. Lanre continued, Money go come one day, Bassey. Don’t you worry. When dat money come, then you won’t live in that jaga-jaga Mafoloku ever again because we go be partners in a big company. Bassey cleared his throat, looked deep into his friend’s eyes and responded ruefully, Lanre, first of all, na who dash monkey banana? Why don’t you get serious for once?" In response, Lanre began trailling off on his many self-improvement plans he often recites but never settling down to implement.

The events at the National Directorate of Employment was still very fresh in Bassey’s mind and, mindful that Lanre could continue mouthing his preposterous dreams endlessly, he sought to change the subject. Lanre, he asked, how come only ten applicants were called out of some two hundred candidates who came for the interview? Was that how our government really works? Lanre shook his head in disgust, then began offering his theory: "I think those ten lucky applicants must be closely related to some big men in the government. As for the ladies sha, your guess is as good as mine. I just know that our girls are ever ready to surrender to the highest bidder. No be Nigeria invent sugar daddy? When we were in school, didn’t you see those gray-haired big men picking up the most beautiful girls on campus with their fancy cars? It’s terrible-o! Then Bassey jumped in and asked, Did you hear that Osita guy? Man, he’d be a good lawyer. No, replied Lanre, I think he will be a good politician, a radical one for that matter, not the corrupt ones ruling us at the moment. He can quickly read minds. That’s the kind of a guy who will lead a revolution against this yama-yama system we call government in Nigeria."

Bassey nodded hesitantly when he heard the word ‘revolution.’ Every body, said Bassey, "is talking about revolution as if na drinking water. It’s more than that, you know! Well, said Lanre, revolutions begin somewhere and the Osita guy sounded resolute although he may not have any plans besides just talking. I can bet you that when such resolute and informed guy runs for political office he may not even win because Naijas will not be familiar with his truth-telling politics. There you go, agreed Bassey. You are very correct on that one. Nigerian politicians do not tell the truth and the people will not acknowledge the ones who do even if God sends Angel Gabriel to alert them." They both laughed heartily, grabbing themselves by the arms to signal that the point was well made.

Bassey still wanted to return to the issue of government behavior since the behavior of individuals in society tend to reflect the behavior of their government. My question again is this, said Bassey as he brought their walk to a halt. Why should a government elected by the people also willfully act against its peoples’ interest by causing them misery? A very good question, replied Lanre, who was glad for the chance to finally bring his politics-detesting friend into the loop.

What we have here, stressed Lanre, is the Nigerian political spell afflicting the government and its people to act contrary to acceptable norms. This juju spell is like a dragon with many claws, or like a tree with many branches, and unless the head of the dragon or the trunk of the tree was confronted head-on and cut off, the claws and the branches will continue to grow and display the evil intent in them. Bassey stretched forth his neck and seemed finally wedded to a brilliant explanation of the cataclysmic nature of Nigerian politics. He placed his hand on his head, thought for a moment, and began to rattle, metaphorically, what he believed were the many claws of the dragon. Lanre, he called with a stern face, you mean the many claws or branches like tribalism, nepotism, embezzlement, religious intolerance, double-talk, corruption, and lawlessness, including the ubiquitous ‘you chop I chop’ subculture that legitimizes the spoils of office by undeserved political, military and bureaucratic elites. There you go, nodded Lanre, who looked relieved from offering further explanations. But then, Bassey was still scratching his head in deep thought. He circled his feet around and then asked, But who and what in our society constitute the head of the dragon and the trunk of the branches? Lanre glanced at his friend with a side look and answered, The head of the dragon or the trunk of the branches is the nation’s flawed electoral system through which ruling national governments rig their candidates into power. Once in power, they remain in power and soon become unaccountable and less liable to work for the public good as they focus instead on accumulating illegal riches for their private gain.

The two friends looked themselves in the eye and nodded with the satisfaction that, at least, an intractable puzzle seemed to have been figured out for now. Though the day had not gone exactly the way they had hoped, it nonetheless opened up new lessons about resolve and revealed a new window of optimism about the resilience of the Nigerian Youth, even in the worst of times. As is usual with them, Lanre and Bassey grabbed their hands in an intimate handshake, then transitioned into a hefty bear hug before parting and promising to get in touch.

CHAPTER TWO

T HE MUCH-ANTICIPATED GENERAL elections fever had begun heating up across the land as political parties fanned out in their rambunctious vote seeking rallies with the issue of mass youth unemployment taking the center stage. The parties, in turn, began scrambling on how best to attract and motivate marginalized and unemployed young people to participate in their rallies where food, free drinks, and all-day musical entertainments would be free and plentiful. Though unemployed and underemployed university and high school graduates have been through these deliberate pacifications before and ended up not having any tangible post-election reforms, the lure of free food, free drinks, and all-day musical entertainment often gave them no choice but to flood the various party youth wings simply for the kick.

The ruling Development Party of Nigeria (DPN), with its huge financial and network advantages, was often the party most able to recruit and organize a thriving youth wing and assemble large crowds of young people of voting and non-voting age within its campaign apparatus, an advantage that often hampered the Opposition parties’ attempts to woo young voters to their campaign. And in this election cycle, as it was in the past, there’d be no real contest between the Opposition parties and the ruling Development Party of Nigeria (DPN) over rallying huge crowds of unemployed young people to their campaign rallies.

And, so it was, that the ruling national party’s Youth campaign came to Lagos, the mega-city that is home to a vast underclass of slum dwellers and hordes of unemployed and underemployed graduates who’d migrated to the big city with the hope of living the good life. For several days, a barrage of radio and television broadcasts had trumpeted the ruling DPN party youth rally that’d be held at the National Stadium, thus bringing the campaign and the big crowds to the home turf of Bassey and Lanre. As unemployed university graduates, they wondered what this event might portend for them. Would the ruling party finally lay out a master plan for employing university graduates?

But the ruling Development Party of Nigeria, an autocratic status quo party that’d been in power for decades, had never really embraced a diversified economy that’d employ the hordes of youths roaming the streets without much means of livelihood. Its Muslim-oriented conservatism had largely shunned western approaches to education and development, and for years after independence, had made the government the largest single employer in a purely import-driven economy. Besides the oil industry and the government, domestic economic activities were not geared towards engaging or providing employment for school graduates. Rather, domestic economic activities had largely relied on the import-substitution variety that employed only a few while employment openings in government were often filled on the basis of who you know and your birth right, rather than on merit.

Such profile of the ruling national party often made Bassey skeptical of politicians who promise milk and honey but end up making that same milk and honey unaffordable and out of reach to the average Naija. Therefore, from the outset, he was not particularly sold on the much-advertised national ruling party rally, but he knew Lanre would persuade him to attend if only to be present as witnesses to the government’s usual policy blah-blah! As a political activist, Lanre was always ready and willing to listen to any politician’s speech so he could rate them according to their measure of injustice and inhumanity to man. Lanre was also the political activist who constantly mused about a socialist utopia where everyone produces according to their ability, and where what is produced is shared by all. Since Nigeria did not fit into such a utopian rule of justice, Bassey often sniffed at his friend’s grandiosity by reminding him that no such society exists on the planet earth. Thus, at their frequent meetings to chat and compare notes, they’d spar over the approaching elections, the much advertized youth rally that’d soon roll into their home turf, and the expected feelings of despair and disgust if the ruling national party was returned to power.

All this election stuff, said Bassey, makes me sick to my stomach. We probably already know who the winners will be. By hook or by crook, I can assure you that the DPN will win again. So why all the waste of time and money with these rallies? It’s a shame, my brother, said Lanre. If we can just become a socialist state, all this problem of unemployment among the youth and the hunger that is killing our people will never happen. You know, socialism stresses equality and the state usually operates an elaborate organization of youths for national service. Just as Lanre was about to continue on his socialist journey, Bassey cut him short and said, Lanre, you have to come down from your socialist mountain, my friend. Equality in socialism is propaganda and, as a social activist, you should know that better than anyone else. The truth is, continued Bassey, "there is an elite leadership class in socialist societies which imposes its political will on the rest of an unaffiliated population. If socialism or communism was so good, why did China and the former Soviet Union retreat from their experiments? With all these Naija contradictions, how do you ever expect socialism to succeed in this God-forsaken country of ours?" Somehow, Lanre found credence in Bassey’s prognosis, but in his relentless and dogmatic romanticism, he still believed that the socialist principles of equality and social justice would suit the Nigerian condition best.

On the politics of youth unemployment and empowerment in the ongoing campaign, Lanre reopened the recent awful experience they and others encountered at the failed National Directorate of Employment job interview. He cited, for emphasis, the assertiveness and courage of Osita who seemed to know the inner workings of the Naija bureaucracy, especially his prediction that the interview was futile since favorites had already been pre-selected on the basis of who knows whom. Since that memorable interview fracas, Lanre and Bassey had drawn closer in their conviction that the Naija system of doing anything was suspect. Nothing ever worked right and no one was ever held accountable for the innumerable failures. Year in, year out, the same politicians they’d heard about in their pre-teen years were still in charge, were still being re-elected to power, and were still being encouraged and empowered by an illiterate and intimidated voting public. As Lanre and Bassey walked down that memory lane, they remembered Yinka too, the one offender who boldly reflected the nefarious you Chop-I-chop mentality.

For Bassey, no one stole the show that day better than Anita, the lone female speaker who shamed all for revisiting the Naija penchant for doing very little to invest in their children and grand children’s future after they die. That woman, recalled Bassey, "is my kind