IF I WAS JONATHAN - An Official Response To #Ferguson

While I admit quite a lot is going on the home front, a strong leader of the largest black nation on earth must be interested in international affairs. Especially where black people are involved.

This past week in America, events have occurred that have made me wish it was already 2015 and I was already president. In Ferguson, Missouri, the white killer of an unarmed black teenager was told by a grand jury that he did nothing wrong and was not going to be charged for any offence. (Also, in another city, police shot and killed a 12 year old black male who was holding a toy gun). Of course there were violent protests, which resulted in some arson and looting. As video evidence and documents emerge to emphasize the injustice (in both situations), protests have spread across the civilized world. But Goodluck Jonathan, the leader of the black world has said nothing in response to the killing of African Americans, who could be of Nigerian origin if traced, by American law enforcement officers.  I just want to make it clear that Jonathan does not speak for me in this issue. In fact, I have written a speech that I would have read out at an international press conference immediately after the protests broke out, if I was President Jonathan. Ok, I admit I poached most of the words from Obama’s 2011 Arab spring speech, but the words apply so perfectly. Please find below:

Dear fellow world leaders, Africans and black people trapped around the world,

For a few hours now we have witnessed extraordinary change taking place in America, a nation founded on the blood of innocent indigenous American Indians. In city after city people are rising up to demand basic human rights in a nation that takes pride in being the human rights watch dog of the world. To God be the glory.

Today I want to talk about this change, the forces that are driving it and how we can respond in a way that is both practical and sensible.

The events of the past few months in Ferguson and the violent outbursts that have justifiably followed, show us that strategies of repression and strategies of diversion will not work anymore. Camera phones, CCTV footages, a biased CNN, Don Lemon, bald thin-lipped Rudy Giuliani, Twitter and the internet as a whole now provide a window into a racially divided America – a world of astonishing contradictions where standards for global human rights are set but broken in the most brazen way. Social media and DSTV have allowed us to connect with our black brothers all over the world like never before. God bless DSTV. We know that the young black men being shot in the streets of America every day by white law enforcement officers could have been descendants of Nigerian slaves. (You can tell from the nose when someone is a Nigerian.)

The story of this attempt at a revolution, and the protests and arson that have followed should not come as a surprise. The slaves of America won their freedom a long time ago but in too many places, their descendants still get treated like slaves. In too many black cities, power has been concentrated in the hands of a few white policemen and politicians. A citizen like Michael Brown had no independent judiciary to hear his case, no independent media to challenge CNN and give him voice; no credible political party to represent his views and even though he may have elected a mixed-race leader, he had no equality.

And this lack of self-determination – the chance to live, unarmed, without being shot dead by policemen – has applied to America’s educational system and economy as well. Yet America is blessed with oil and gas and many mineral resources and military might.

Darren Wilson who shot this young unarmed teenager is no hero. He is simply a man who killed a black man whose descendants could have been Nigerian slaves. And that is unfortunate.

A new generation has emerged o! And their voices tell us that change cannot be denied. In Ferguson and all around America, shouts of human dignity are being heard for the first time, sometimes expressed through placards, other times by saying, Hands up, Don’t Shoot, other times by looting liquor stores and burning police vehicles.

The big question before us is what role Nigeria will play as this story unfolds. For decades, Nigerian leaders have foolishly refused to pursue any set of core interests in America and have simply relied on it to consume our crude oil. We will continue to try to sell oil to them but while standing up for the interests of its oppressed minorities. We will continue to remind them that Thanksgiving should be mourned and not celebrated, because it marked the death of many American Indian communities and people as well as the senseless slaughtering of turkeys.

Nigeria opposes the use of violence and repression against the people of Ferguson. Even our police officers who are notorious for extrajudicial killings are not that bad. American police cannot be more brutal than Nigerian police. God forbid. We will not allow that.

We look forward to working with all who embrace genuine and inclusive democracy – one that includes descendants of former slaves in addition to descendants of former slave owners as well as descendants of criminals exiled from Europe.

Now ultimately, it is for the blacks to take action. No peace can be imposed upon them. There is no straight line to progress, but however crooked, we will stand with all those who are reaching out for their rights. We promise to look for that white officer even harder than we are looking for our kidnapped schoolgirls and women, wherever he may be, and bring him to justice.

Like I have said, this doesn’t mean America should stop buying our oil. All I am saying is that black people have a right to defend themselves. Either that, or you return our black people to us.

Thank you and God bless. 

HOW YOU EXPLAIN NIGERIA

You saw the suspicion in his darting eyes fade over a few visits, enough for him to recline in his tattered, once golden-brown cushion, speaking of how unkind your mother is, how nasty your grandfather – his father – was. You knew it was gone because he didn’t ask you a third time if your mother did not warn you against coming to visit him. Your most senior uncle told you how, decades before, your grandfather communicated in spitting, kicks and slaps; how the eighty-year-old man accepted a new, 'strange' religion and created a permanent rift in the family.

You were twenty when you realized you knew next to nothing about most of your relatives. Deep religious differences made social interaction between your immediate family and the uncles and aunts impossible: each side was convinced the other was going to hell or at least not going to heaven or paradise. But you had non-religious questions.

Being in a new city for university made it easier to start a relationship with your uncle and his wife who lived only one motorcycle ride away from your campus. One accusation at a time – against everyone but himself – and through equal periods of sobriety and inebriation, your uncle weaved a tale of multiple dysfunctions, across generations. However exaggerated, you got to hear another side of your quiet, stern-faced grandfather who always looked at you curiously like he was trying to make out if you were human or not. The summary is clear: your uncle blames everything but his childlessness on your grandfather and his new religion.

***

These days, when someone asks whether you believe in juju or black magic, you say you prefer not to express strong views about things you cannot explain. It is for the same reason you think declaring yourself to be an atheist requires too much certainty, too much faith and perhaps more emotional energy than it takes to believe that there is some God at the helm of affairs.

Your youngest uncle’s wife, a soft-spoken, religious Christian, lost some money she had kept locked in her office drawer. When all her colleagues swore they didn’t know who took the money, she phoned her mother over 200 kilometers away for advice. That same day, her mother called back, providing the name of the young man who had taken the money. A few creative hours of police interrogation later, the named man confessed and took the policemen to where he had hidden the money. One hundred thousand naira, still wrapped as it was in her drawer.

As you stared, puzzled, she explained a mystical procedure called “turning-key” which could accurately reveal the identity of a thief. It involved spinning a key on a table. You were too stunned to ask questions. Turning-key had recovered her money. Or maybe it was the zealous interrogation of the police that did. Or both.

***

A third uncle, the one in the middle, who himself had found a new prophet and become increasingly devout, started inquiring into his fortunes and misfortunes. His prophet looked into his past and gave him a divine revelation: the reason that, as a man in his 50s, his hustle was yet to make him wealthy and successful, was that his father had a wife before his mother, and this woman, in a moment of jealous rage after being dumped, cursed all the children of the new woman. This made him pack a bag and travel to confront your grandfather regarding the identity of this mystery woman so that she could be found and begged or otherwise prevailed upon to lift the curse. Your grandfather, irritated – you think understandably so – but admitting to a previous marriage, refused to engage in a conversation about a purported 50-year-old curse. Over his dead body, he said. While your uncle was frustrated with this response, he could at least provide an explanation to why he wasn’t rich and famous.

Your grandfather died with all his secrets and, as far as this uncle is concerned, the key to his hustle.

***

It is easy, you find, for one to fall into the trap of explaining Nigeria in terms extraneous to oneself and one’s family; too easy to find examples far removed from oneself to illustrate theories of why this country is like this. And always when people complain, it is impossible to identify that Nigerian – the one who gives us all a bad name by jumping queues, giving bribes, using witchcraft or superstitiously blaming all their problems on phantom enemies. Except perhaps in Nollywood movies.

You find the answers to Nigerian mysteries around you in things and people you can feel and touch. The answers are sometimes as plain to see as simple cause and effect. Other times they raise more questions. Nigeria is in your family, both hell and heaven-bound, in turning-key, in Lagos prophets who can trace where your ball dropped 50 years ago, in your grandfather and his secrets; it is in you.

WHY FASHOLA NEEDS JESUS

I try to stay out of religion. Partly because people are so sensitive about history and invisible things and miracles. But mostly because I don’t understand it. However, it is impossible to discuss Nigeria without discussing the things and prophets they believe in and how this contributes to national development.

For a long time now my political opponents in the APC have been foaming at the mouth over the reaction to the purported Muslim-Muslim ticket. While I see their point, I also understand those who find a Buhari-Tinubu or Buhari-Fashola pairing preposterous. For one thing, we don’t want to attract the wrath of the Christian God who would be underrepresented in the Presidential Villa. We don’t know which of the Gods will bless the hustle of our country through the presidency, so it is best to have both of them present.

In theory however, it would be awesome for me to run against Buhari and Fashola. The reason is that first, I like a tough fight because it brings out the best in me and Nigerians will appreciate me more if I defeat a formidable pairing like Buhari-Fashola. Beating Jonathan will be easy. If that is all I do, it will feel like bullying the handicapped kid in the playground. There is nothing gratifying about that.

But just for the sake of argument, say I don’t win. Who do I see winning if they are allowed to run? Buhari-Fashola. Yes. That is how awesome my sportsmanship is: I am even willing to entertain the thought of another candidate winning.

So, how do we get Buhari and Fashola to run without offending the sensibilities of almost half of Nigerians who call themselves Christians? I have a simple solution. Let one of them convert to Christianity before the elections.

Buhari is an old man in his 70's. One should not ask a man who has almost reached the Biblical lifespan of a human being to change his religion. The shock of change might not be good for his blood pressure, especially with all the singing and dancing involved in Christianity. Buhari is not just ready for that kind of big change. Also Buhari is known for his austerity. It will be hard for him to suddenly start giving tithes and “first fruits” to any pastor. This will truncate whatever Christian blessing that should have accrued to him and would defeat the whole purpose of having the favor of two different Gods in the Presidential Villa. We don’t want that. Also, what would Buhari do with his Muslim wife if he converts? We don’t want that awkward situation.

Fashola on the other hand is a younger Lagosian. Let me provide a list of reasons why it would be easier for Fashola to convert to Christianity.

1.      Lagosians love their parties. Parties at which there is usually loud music and dancing. Fashola can bring his dancing experience to a new, preferably Pentecostal, Christian experience.

2.     In Lagos parties there is always money being sprayed. So Fashola is used to giving out money. It will thus be easier for him to do church things like tithing, sowing seed and giving firstfruits.

3.     Fashola is married to a Christian woman. Finally, his family will be united in religion. No one will be happier than his wife who will finally be able to take him along to crusades, bazaars, dedications, and miracle services. They will be able to commit all their family affairs to the office of the same God. It must be awkward now for one family to have their files scattered between two Gods. Think of the problems that can result from Fashola and his Christian wife praying separately for their children. The different Gods may have different answers for the same children. The last thing we want is a clash of Gods. That is one of the reasons we don’t have world peace.

4.     Fashola does not keep a beard or wear Muslim clothing. What is the physical difference between a Fashola and say Pastor David Oyedepo? Nothing. They are both clean shaven and wear suits. Fashola could even pass for a pastor. He will not need to get a new wardrobe.

5.     Fashola has no Muslim names. No need to pick a new name. If it was Buhari, he would have had to consider changing or tweaking his names.

6.     Fashola’s wife Bimbo Fashola is a recipient of a papal medal award from His Holiness Pope Benedict the XVI. The pope himself blessed her hustle. Think of what that would mean if as the Vice President’s wife she moves that award from her Lagos home to the Villa, filling the whole place with holiness, cleansing it from all the infidelity, corruption and ritual sacrifices. She might just be the key to saving this nation!

Because of these reasons and because it would be a shame to lose a powerful pairing of hardworking, conscientious politicians, I urge Babatunde Fashola to join his wife, accept Jesus and save the APC from possible disaster. And in the unlikely case that I don’t win the elections, Fashola would also be saving Nigeria from imminent collapse. I hope he listens to the voice of reason and does the needful. I am only giving this advice because, I care.

HOW TO DEFINE A CITY

You are thinking of the concept of cities and if, by any definition other than a demographic one, any place in Nigeria apart from Lagos qualifies to be a city. Especially the much touted Federal Capital Territory, whose residents often refer to it as a city. Instead of merely considering population size, population density and social heterogeneity, you prefer a more functional definition of a city. It is by this definition that you think Abuja falls short.

Every time you attempt to walk you notice how many traffic lights either don’t work at all or give confusing signals. Or how, with the exception of a few streets, most of the residential part of the city is filthy-- perhaps not in comparison to smaller towns but definitely filthy by any objective standard. Apart from the street lights on selected major streets and vulgar gargantuan mansions bereft of vegetation, you cannot name one urban experience that makes Abuja a city.

Perhaps, you think, its relatively safe night life which is one of the only reasons you prefer it to places like Lagos. You can go out in search of food or drinks at almost midnight. Tonight you are with Safiyanu and Mike, trying to find a garden that sells food in addition to alcoholic drinks.

After trying a couple of places, you end up in a large garden in Jabi, probably one of the liveliest in Abuja. At two in the morning when you are all strolling out, with new harmonized positions on previous arguments, and a few vulgar jokes befitting that time of the night, there are still sex workers standing under the bright yellow street lights.

As ubiquitous as sex workers are in Abuja, you still manage to notice them individually, especially after you interviewed a few of them for your story. With a little insight into their often risky, hard lives it is not hard for you to challenge anyone who dismisses them as being lazy or looking for easy money.

‘You see these guys who come out around two in the morning to pick prostitutes eh,’ you begin, ‘they understand the game. They are the pros. They know that around this time when the streets are getting empty and all the construction workers have picked up theirs, the girls remaining are desperate to find someone who will take them home and they are not in the best position to insist on high prices.’

It does not take you too long to see how this unsolicited but detailed piece of wisdom makes you look a commercial sex connoisseur. They both stare at you and you find yourself suddenly rambling to explain how you only know this because you have interacted a lot with sex workers. For work. You stress ‘for work’, whereupon they burst into uproarious laughter. You abandon the explanation before you shoot yourself further.

The four girls close by to your right stare at you for a minute, scanning your faces and bodies for any sign that you might want some action. One of them calls out: ‘brother how now?’ They turn away when a red wagon with two men slows to a halt. All three of you take an interest in the bargaining process.

The men in the wagon seem sure of their bargaining power and feign impatience. They begin to drive off and one of the girls chases after them shouting: ‘Oya I go suck am, wait now.’  The car drives around to the other side of the road where two other women are standing. After a few minutes, two relieved girls jump into the back seat.

None of you say it but you are all stretching your necks, curious for details, something to say who those men are who know exactly what time to get the best commercial sex bargain. All you see is an Abuja plate number and a large DUNAMIS sticker. Even though the driver clearly identifies as the member of a church, here out in the middle of nowhere it is just another car with a sticker.

Finally you get it. Perhaps the most important quality of Abuja which loosely qualifies it to be a city is an anonymity unaffected by things like specific church stickers or bright lights.

As your conversation moves to how dysfunctional Abuja has become, you conclude loudly ‘Abuja is a big fat lie jor.’

‘Nigeria is a big fat lie,’ Mike corrects you.

Touché, you think.