ONE NIGERIA?

I sit here and I wonder, is the hope for one Nigeria, a realistic one? Is this a hope that is one day likely to actualize? Or are we in fact deceiving ourselves when we tell ourselves that the future is bright, that this new generation will bring change to our nation, and we will move on as one. Well I don’t have a straightforward answer, neither do I have a prescription that will ensure that our hopes will one day be not only hopes but reality. I do not know much fact because I was not around for the events that shaped our nation. I do not know what to believe, for much of what has been written has been tainted by bitterness, anger and hopelessness. These feelings are not foreign to any Nigerian, even to me who does not know much, who has not seen much, who has not heard much and who has certainly not experienced much. But I know how I feel, I know what I see going on today, I know what my parents have told me, I know what the people around me feel, the people of my land, the people of a land I am not so sure I should claim as mine. And as I sit here and write, I feel torn inside. I feel bitter and angry and I don’t know to whom these feelings are directed. I don’t know to whom they should be. I don’t know if I should have these feelings. I don’t know what to do with these feelings. I wish somebody would take these feelings away from me. I want to move on. More importantly, I want a reason to move on, and I want to know that moving on is what I should do.

It all started when I acknowledged these feelings. I began to ask myself why I had them. I realized that it is a fundamental problem that I, a Nigerian Igbo girl of nineteen years should be feeling like this. Perhaps I should blame my mother for telling me tales of the Biafran war. Tales that drove my nine year old sister and indeed myself to tears. Perhaps I should blame myself for being unable to close my heart to these feelings. Perhaps I should blame no one and label it as past. Perhaps I should put it in a box and tuck it away somewhere hidden. But no, I do not believe I should tuck it away and bury it. That will not make the problem go away. That will not make the fingers stop pointing or the bitterness disappear.

I have heard it said many times that Nigeria is not a workable unit. I have heard tales of how we were yoked together by the British and warring tribes were forced to become a nation. A nation is supposed to be defined by unity. A nation should share common hopes, common aspirations. But around me, I do not see unity. I do not know if I should blame the harbingers of such tales of Nigeria’s unworkability as a nation. Perhaps they should shut up and embrace optimism and give hope to a new generation. Regardless of who is to blame, I do not see unity. I see Igbo parents telling their children not to even think of marrying a Hausa person. I see Yoruba mothers forbidding their sons from joining with ‘those Igbo witches’ in marriage and sadly I cannot say that I haven’t heard this said to me before. In fact I have almost been convinced that this is the way things should be. It has been pre-ordained by some unseen power (unseen to me at least) that we should all stick to our tribes. But where does this end I wonder, as within the Igbo tribe even, certain places are forbidden. ‘Don’t bring home someone from that village, they are notorious wife beaters!’ or ‘People from that village are extremely fetish!’ The reasons never seem to end. They all have the same common message, a message that I have now gathered the audacity to question its foundations. I question the foundations, not because I cannot see a difference in culture or religion when I look from one Igbo man to another or from a Hausa man to a Yoruba man. This is not why I question the foundations. I question them because I have chosen not to look for a difference.

Thinking deeper on this issue, I wonder if this is not on par with the bitter reality of racism encountered by Nigerians and other black people in the western world. Living in London, I often struggle to distance myself from the stereotypical image of a black person. I notice how people surreptitiously cross to the other side of the road in haste when they see a black person wearing a hoodie, an article of clothing that has now become deeply associated with the prevalent gang culture in present day London. I myself am guilty of this. I thought nothing of this behaviour until I was on the receiving end of the cruel stick of prejudice. I was coming back from the gym at night, wearing a hoodie. I saw a little child look at me and I smiled at her thinking how cute she was. And then I saw the child’s mother grip her hand tighter and quicken her pace. I felt mildly amused at the thought that somebody could be scared of me. I felt ridiculously annoyed that somebody should judge me because I am black and choose to wear a hoodie occasionally. I felt no sense of relief when I realized that there is no escape from this because this is on par with what goes on in our nation, Nigeria, a nation that is supposed to be defined by unity. But we have become a nation that has refused to embrace unity but has chosen to draw lines amongst ourselves. These lines are so deeply etched that sometimes I find myself wanting to act one way, but realizing that this will mean crossing lines, and hence having to step back.

I want the freedom to step where I want without thinking of any lines I might be crossing. I want freedom not to care what state or village my friends come from. I want to know that it makes no difference. When the time comes, I want freedom to love who I choose to love, and not who comes from the right village. This seems like a straightforward desire but these ‘lines’, these ‘chains’ that hold me back have become so ingrained in me because of the society I have been brought up in. The stories I have heard have made me think that maybe the lines were drawn for a reason that should remain valid. But then I have experienced nothing to make me believe that this should be so.

I do not have a prescription to suddenly make these issues go away. I do not have a solution to alleviate the problems that are ingrained in our nation. However, I want to ask you all, ‘What is gained by remaining at war with our neighbors?’ I want you to think of this. Think of what is gained economically, personally and in every other way. You will probably realize that the answer is ‘nothing’. Unfortunately this answer does nothing but to compound the conundrum and leaves me even further from hope of a nearby resolution.