I Met the President
I am very pleased and feel greatly honoured to have met the president. I have achieved one of the greatest dreams of some Africans, at least if you are not the president, it is an honour to get to meet him and talk with him even if it is just for a few minutes even at a public function. But in my own case, I did not only chat with him for longer than an hour, we met privately and I had all the time to say what I needed to say to him.
Imagine me! Small me! From the backwoods of Woliwo, a suburb of Onitsha. An area of more than 500,000 inhabitants without basic social amenities. Of the over twenty five years that I lived in that area, the tap has not run up to a total of six months. the roads are broken and have remained untarred for the entire period I lived there. Upper Iweka, the only road in the area with macadam, has undergone decades of being tarred, untarred, and tarred again by the forces of erosion rather than government intervention. It is within this locality that the popular Ochanja market is located. The house in which I grew up, stands four other multi-storey buildings away from the market itself. But the entire compound is part of the ever-bustling Ochanja market.
Weekdays are hellish. There is hardly any lull in the ever present commotion of voices in variegated verbal exchanges, automobiles both heavy and light, hawkers of different shapes as well as children (used to be us) trying unsuccessfully to match the zenith of the din. Obviously not an environment for an aspiring academic though I did not know where I was headed at the time. But it was very impossible to read in such milieu: you either join the fray or imaginatively stuff your ears and sleep it off. Looking forward to Sundays which are more serene and peaceful relatively, does not help matters because Monday, Tuesday and their fellow tormentors would most likely take their vengeance almost immediately perhaps as punishment for your daring to indulge the peace that Sundays offer.
Don't talk about electricity in this area! Candles and lanterns could go on a protest march in this area of Onitsha, for the billions of their kind that have met their waterloo in the homes of the peoples of Woliwo. As for gas connection, you and my adult self know that my country prefers to flare its voluminous reserve to piping them to the houses of the citizens: methinks, as a burnt offering to Marmon who enables the leaders to continue plundering the nation's wealth without any backlash from the victims.
The open sewers that crisscross Woliwo, the mosquitoes and flies they breed as well as the heavy stench that they foment have become so typical that they are largely unnoticed by the inhabitants. Food items are spread along their whole length with the hawkers perched carelessly on the jutting walls of the fly-infested, mouldy-looking sewers taking a rest from disturbing the flies that are so intent on getting to their wares before the first real buyers. Hygiene is a distant word ... perhaps yet to obtain its visa to enter the country let alone come to Woliwo.
Do not let us talk about the schools we went to and the glaring absence of everything from chalk and its board to teachers themselves. Do we even want to remember the dilapidation of the school structures - no conveniences, no playing space, no classrooms? And what did we even eat? Our parents are magicians. Getting us to school, clothing us, feeding us, and then surviving to see us become independent could only be described as miracle. How did it happen? The odds were against them. The hospitals are always better for earlier childbirths and visits in terms of service, charges, drug administration, et cetera. And yet, here we are.
One nagging thought I have always had growing up is that I must leave Woliwo. Though as a child, there were parts of Onitsha I thanked God I was not living in. The first is Okpoko. I thought that apart from Okpoko, every other place is better. As I got through the entire town, I then felt I should go to any other city except Onitsha because of the childish belief that other cities of my country would offer better environment and living conditions than my city of birth.
Growing up has taught me a lot. Of the thirty six state capitals in my country, I have been to thirty two and when one adds the nation's capital, and other cities that are not capitals, I can boldly claim that I have seen most of the country. And one thing that is certain is that there is a Woliwo or worse across parts of the country including Abuja. Lagos has Ajegunle, Iwaya and others, Abuja's satellite towns are no-go areas during the rainy season. Roads are not there. No trains? No alternative to road travel. As for electricity, its absence is normal rather than its presence. The schools from primary to university level are lacking in everything except frustrated students. Crime is rampart. Hunger and prostitution have become complementary to each other. And all this, in the midst of plenty.
With my heaviness of heart I was shocked to meet the president smiling like someone that won millions of dollars in a lottery. I was happy to see him, but I was taken aback. Then after the initial pleasantries, I could not help asking him:
"You seem very happy, your excellency?"
His smile went into contented laughter: "Yes, just got a call from my last daughter who just moved to the UK."
"Visited the UK, you mean, sir?"
"Visited?" He retorted, looking at me as if I am crazy. "Don't you know how insecure the place is? From Jos crisis to kidnapping in the south, and armed robbery everywhere including ritualists. All my children are now safely based in Europe. In this position one has to be careful."
I was exasperated! So since we had time, I told him my life story and tried to make him understand that this is tha lot of 99% of our country people and that he should do somethin urgently about the situation. I cannot remember everything exactly since I was not allowed to take a tape recorder ... but I was surprised that he seemed quite unperturbed. He simply rang security up to come and escort me out of the premises. I stood up hurriedly and made up my mind that whatever it takes, I will tell him my mind even if it means going to jail. As the door was being opened and I was being dragged out, I shouted at him:
"Your excellency, your children are enjoying it now! But one day they will ask you, DADDY, WHAT ACTUALLY DID YOU DO TO MAKE THIS COUNTRY BETTER?"
I couldn't say more because the door was shut and I was being pulled towards the corridor. I knew they were going to throw me off. I braced myself and started struggling with them. They were stronger but I continued to try pulling myself back. Then they lifted me and over the balcony. As they were about to throw me off, I woke up, sweating! It was all a dream. And I had it on a day I was sent home from school for not paying my school fees on time.
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