ELNATHAN INTERVIEWS 2012 NLNG NIGERIAN PRIZE FOR LITERATURE WINNER CHIKA UNIGWE

 

Chika Unigwe’s novel, On Black Sisters Street, was on Thursday November 1, announced as winner of the $100,000 Nigeria Prize for Literature, the biggest prize for literature in Africa. She gave me her very first interview as winner of the prize.

 

So Chika, where were you when you heard the news?

I came in from Mass and went straight to my PC. I saw messages of congratulations, and I broke down in tears

What were your expectations, first entering the competition? It is your first time, no?

Yes. I had no expectations. Nigeria has an incredible amount of talent, so I sent it in and tried to forget about it.

Did you have any success forgetting?

Well, a certain person did not let me forget, especially after it made it to the shortlist of 10

Hahaha! Tell me the story of “On Black Sisters Street”. How was it born; what drew you to the story? Did you look for it, or did it come to you?

 

I saw it. I come from a very catholic, very conservative home. We couldn't use certain words at home: sex, swear words. If I sang “Let's talk about sex baby” by Salt-n-Pepa,  I'd have to substitute 'sex' with 'bread'. So to come form that sort of background to Belgium where sex workers stand behind display windows to solicit customers was an immense cultural shock.

When I was told that many of the black prostitutes in Belgium were Nigerian, I was very curious. So in a way the story came to me.

 

And the character Ama, very early in the book screams: "Where is my fucking mascara!" Has any of your parents read the book?

 

Yes, they both have. I don't swear and find it very difficult to read extracts with the swearing in public. Ama was the character who tasked me the most she mocked me and dared me to write her truthfully it's very irritating when one's own character taunts one so I had to leave the private 'me' behind and become the writer who had nothing to do with me to write her.

It's amazing how much our parents are not at all as bad as we think they are. My mother's only concern when she saw the Vintage edition cover was that I wasn't the lady on the cover.

 

Would you ever model for any of your book covers?

 

No!

 

Not even if I said you would look great?

 

No, not even then.

 

LOL.

What would you say to the argument that, instead of writing stories that have become clichés - negative stories about Africans: poverty, privation, prostitution- we should write more positive stories?

 

I don't believe in prescriptive writing. Writers write out of a passion, not just for writing, but for a story that haunts them. Sometimes the stories that haunt you the most are the sad ones. On Black Sisters Street has a lot of light in it as well. The only thing I think a writer owes readers is the truth, not factual truth, but emotional truth. Write so that your characters live in your readers' head; write so that your readers are delighted –not necessarily by the actions of your characters, but by your prose.

 

One finds that, because of your usage or your characters’ usage of a lot of “Nigerian English” and slang, there is quite a bit of italicisation in OBSS. What do you think about italicisation of words with common local usage, like “jollof rice”?

 

It has never bothered me.  I think it has its uses and editors tend to favour it when words that are not part of the dominant lexicon of the work pop up. English words are italicised in Dutch novels, for example.

So back to the prize. What next from here?

Life goes on. I am working on the draft of a new novel, so once I get down from cloud 9, I will get back to work.

Do you have any plans to make your books available in Nigeria through a Nigerian publisher?

I am in talks with one. I have no control over the publishing.  A Nigerian publisher has to show interest. I would love to have my books available in Nigeria.

Tell me a bit about the "private you" you had to leave behind to write the spicy character Ama. Something I can't google. Apart from your long dreadlocks and love for shoes.

 

LOL.

Let me see: I love condensed milk. I buy it here in a tube and eat it straight from the tube. I love walking into puddles.

The private me I had to leave behind, which also underwent a change, was one with a lot of preconceived notions, somewhat judgmental and who saw the world in black and white.

 

One thing you have always wanted as a writer?

 

Lots. I am greedy.

 

I really wanted this award, this NLNG award and I am very happy I got it.

 

Three Nigerian writers who have impacted you the most?

 

[Chinua] Achebe, for starting it all. [Flora] Nwapa for showing me that I could be a woman and a writer. [Buchi] Emecheta for teaching me resilience. I discovered all three at various stages of my life.

 

 

CHIKA AND ELNATHAN BOLD AND THE BEAUTIFUL WORKSHOP. 2011

And finally Chika, a question I have been itching to ask since this interview began: What would you prefer as a gift: A bag, a shoe or a dress.

 

Kai! That's a difficult question, the most difficult certainly. LOL.

 

See why I left it until the last?

 

Shoes

 

Thank you Chika for talking with me!

 

You’re welcome.

 

How to Survive a Road Accident in Nigeria (as happened on September 15, 2012)

The road home is clear. These twenty kilometres are so familiar it is easy to go into auto-pilot and drift into thoughts only my head can manage. I have had a long day- work, a reading, and dinner with a dear friend.

There is a lot on my mind. On the road I drive through the bends and turns that lead me to the wide Umar Musa Yar'Adua express way. In my head I take the bends and turns that lead me through the maze that is my mind. To painful decisions I must take, long overdue. To thoughts of all the things I planned to do before I turned thirty. To the fact that I turn thirty tomorrow and have done none of them. I try to find my way back to the beginning of things; to discover how I got here, this lonely cold place I cannot recognize.

I am tired. I shake myself awake. My body fights back- it demands rest and it demands it now. Five more minutes, I tell myself, five more minutes until I get home. I reach the express. Some parts are lit, some parts are not. I drift again and in one second it all happens. I run into a curb at one of the points where the road bends suddenly. Instinctively I step on the brakes. It is too late. I lose control of Sylvanus, my old tired car and we are screeching at a 45 degree angle. I hit something else and my head slams into the steering wheel. My head spins and suddenly everything is upside down- my body, Sylvanus and my thoughts. Sylvanus comes to a halt by the side of the road. Upside down, I feel the blood filling up my mouth.

It is fear that actuates my body, makes me ignore the pain and crawl out through the shattered glass. Fear that a fire might break out and I might get trapped in a burning vehicle. I drag myself to the side of the road, my white caftan soaked in blood. I feel open flesh hanging in my mouth. It is 2am. I am cold. Alone. In pain.

Writers who try to describe blood must not have bled like this. Real blood pouring from ones body does not smell metallic. It smells like fear. Like death.

The first car that stops is a green taxi. I am lying on the gravel with my right hand up in the air, calling for help. The taxi reverses, stops and suddenly drives off. I think of crawling back to the car to see if I can find my phone. I am too scared of a fire and too weak. Slowly as I slip in and out of consciousness cars begin to stop and voices begin to multiply.

“Do you know anybody’s number?’  someone asks, from a distance almost as if he is afraid to come close. I shake my head. He is shouting. Everyone seems to be shouting.

“My phone,” I manage to say, “in the car. My phone.”

I am afraid the phone might have flown out of the car during the crash. Someone finds it.

“Your wife, what is her number?” A man assumes I am married. I shake my head. Suggestions fly over my head. My father’s voice, on discovering I was not quite acting like a virgin, plays in my head: “I was not up to your age when I got married.”

“His brother.”

“His family”

A police van stops. They do not come close. They make radio calls that have nothing to do with an ambulance or first aid. I know at this point I must do something or bleed out in front of passers-by arguing about what to do.

“Call Achile,” I say to the man holding my phone, spitting out a glob of blood. I try to get up. They all scream at me to lie back down. They try Achile. He is asleep. They try Al-kasim. He is asleep.

Suddenly I feel like this is it: I am going to die out here alone. My parents are nearly 200kilometers away and the only other relatives who are in this town, are strangers to me.

“Garki hospital!” I call out as the police and others argue. “I have a card in Garki hospital”

Nobody is listening to me and I am fighting to retain consciousness.

After a few minutes, a man who I later will learn is Group Captain Onyike, orders the policemen to stop what they are doing and take me to the Air force Base where he lives and where there is a hospital. I am put at the back of the police van like a ram that has been knocked down by a car. I am handed my phone and they drive off.

I am afraid that I will lose consciousness completely and nobody will know where I am. I manage to send messages to a few people and tweet with the only information I know. That I am at the back of a police truck headed for the Air force hospital near the airport. I pass out.

Group Captain Onyike makes sure I get treatment. I come to and the doctor is able to get a friend, Salisu on the phone.

In the morning, the worst has passed. I am stable. Kasim, Musa and Achile are around and are taking care of things. I open my eyes and I see the dear friend with whom I had dinner last night. I am not sure how she knew or who called her. As much as I did not want her to see me like this, I am grateful that she is here. And I cannot stop my tears from rolling. But for the quick thinking of an air force officer, she might have been the one to tell stories of my last words, my last thoughts, my last feelings.

This is how to survive a road accident in Nigeria: Pray. Pray that someone with quick thinking and hospital contacts runs into you. Do not expect the police to know what to do. Do not expect emergency services. Just pray.

HOW TO WRITE A NIGERIAN CLASSIC

(The Gospel According to Prophet Sule as penned down by his dubious self-appointed scribe Elnathan)

You are a critic. A fiery academic. Nobody is spared from your acerbic tongue. Usually people will shy away from saying unflattering things about masters like Soyinka and Achebe because they have earned a place is history and all but no, not you. Achebe is overrated. You nod your head while you say this- a confident almost defiant nod.

You are upset about Nigerian literature. This is the real reason you are so bitter and so merciless when you critique works by Nigerians. So you take the bull by the horn and you decide to write your own books. You are not doing badly- as a Nigerian academic, students must purchase your books. The competition you entered for the last time did not even as much as shortlist your book. And you see the winners- none of them would pass a course if they were your students. But this is not why you will declare that no book that has won the biggest Nigerian literature prize has become a classic. It is not why you think giving so much money to one undeserving writer is bad. You do it because deep down you love Nigerian literature.

If you don’t do something fast, something terrible will happen. Nigeria may disintegrate in 2015 without a modern classic. This is serious enough to make you return to your vomit. To make you lie between the legs of the woman you called a slut only 5minutes ago, drooling. It is all for Nigerian literature. You will enter the prize and win. And everything you have been trying to teach lazy unskillful Nigerian writers will be learnt through your book. It will be celebrated even 50 years after, and if at that time any upstart rises to call you overrated, God will judge them mercilessly. This is how you write a classic: start out intending to write one. Amen.

Beyond Boko Haram: Towards a more Peaceful North

The heat of the Sunday sun is sweltering. I have wound down all four of my glasses but I feel trapped in this boiling box that is my car. I am driving slowly between Makera and Kakuri in Kaduna looking for a cybercafé to send an email to a friend. As I move from the point where Makera becomes Kakuri, I can literally see the street change from shirts trousers and skirts to caftans and hijabs. I know that this is the case in much of Kaduna, but to see the difference in so short a distance is disconcerting.

I was born in the capital of the North. The state that once represented everything positive: developed, cosmopolitan, progressive. Today, having returned to live in Kaduna after a few years away, I have become a witness to the shameful dying spectacle that the North has become.

In some sort of self-inflicted religious apartheid, our cities, notably Jos and Kaduna- once quiet and integrated- are now religiously-exclusive, passive-aggressive (sometimes openly aggressive), mutually-suspicious contiguous communities. True some might argue that this quiet separation that has created Muslim and Christian communities has its positive effects, but it is not without obvious dangers. Sadly because of the increasingly widespread attacks of Boko Haram, no one is talking about the issues germane to the North, pre-Boko Haram. In fact some have cynically implied that the Boko Haram attacks (that affect everyone) have reduced the perennial Muslim-Christian crises. We must however look at the problems we have, beyond Boko Haram.

What separation has caused is a heightened otherness- convenient for trading blame and the spread of dangerous rumours and propaganda. One of the things I am grateful for is that I grew up not in a homogenous community but with Christian, Muslim, Hausa, Yoruba, Nupe, Igbo, Ibibio, Edo, Ebira, Urhobo, Tiv, Idoma, Igala and Fulani neighbours (in addition to the large numbers of people from the indigenous tribes of Kaduna). I did not grow up wondering if Muslims were good or bad people, if Southerners were good or bad people, because they were all around me and I did not suffer from the suspicion that is the product of ignorance. As a result it is hard  for me to contribute or even listen to talk about how Muslims or Southerners are ‘our’ problem. The violence that has forced people to live separately is capable of creating even more deeply rooted violence. Children in Kaduna and Jos now grow up in exclusively Christian or Muslim communities where it is easy to speak disparagingly
of people of another religion or culture; where it  is easy to blame them for the problems that is common to everyone; where the only debate is ‘Us vs Them’.

The violence which living separately is quietly breeding is further worsened by the irresponsibility of leaders from the North. Leaders who have benefitted from the perpetration of poverty and dependence and the divisions that have prevented Northern Nigerians from demanding good and responsible governance from their leaders.

The problem with poverty, which in my opinion is more acute in the North than in the South, is that it looks for enemies to blame and lash out at. That is why poorer communities generally have higher crime rates, more domestic abuse, more rape, more senseless rumours that lead to violence. There can be no quick fixes to decades-old problems and because change can be painful and demanding, the few but immensely powerful persons whose power derives from this current unacceptable situation, will fight any move to fix the North and liberate its people mentally and economically.

We must expect this while we chart a course for the reduction of poverty and the empowerment of women and young people in our communities.

What we must begin to do is to invest in the North and insist that those who seek our support for votes equally invest in the North. When we have industries, and businesses- real investment as opposed to the embarrassing poverty eradication schemes which governors in the North now bandy about like Keke Napep and motorcycles- then there is a possibility that people will be able to empower themselves and have a stake in developed, stable North, so much that they will be  able to fight from within the forces militating against peace and stability.

While the current situation of separate religious communities is unfortunate, there is no quick fix for that either. The mistrust and mutual suspicion is deep and can only change over time and years of education and re education. We can achieve this if we start now teaching the next generation that the other is not the enemy. That  the enemy is poverty and bad, wicked leadership.  That we cannot all be Muslim or Christian. That no one is evil simply because of his/her religion. That every human being deserves to be treated justly and with dignity. That violence and oppression only begets more violence and oppression. That respect begets respect. That the construct of superiority of tribe and/or religion is only useful to those who seek to perpetuate themselves in power to the detriment of ordinary people.

I believe that real economic empowerment and re-education will make our cities have more tolerant, more cosmopolitan and more secure communities. The fact is that we are weaker, easier to exploit and attack, when we are hungry and dependent. In the end we have more in common than divide us, more common enemies to fight than differences.

We must as individual Northerners must look inward. Agriculture must be supported, not on small subsistence scale but on a scale that is capable to empowering poor farmers, their families and employees. Northern politicians and self-styled philanthropists should be judged based on how much concrete, sustainable development they have brought to the North. We must begin the critique from within.

I want to be able to drive through the Muslim Tudun Wada and Rigasa in Kaduna and not feel afraid. I want to be able to invite my Muslim friend who lives in Badiko to the non-Muslim Sabo where I live and not be scared that if a crisis breaks out, I alone may not be able to save him. Today I cannot. Tomorrow can be better.

 I think it is time that social movements for change are led by serious professionals who are able to think critically and apply pragmatic, tangible solutions to solve our real problems. Top on the list of those problems are poverty and inequity. Without equity and economic empowerment for all groups in the North- whether they be poor farmers in Borno, religious or ethnic ‘minorities’ in Kaduna or ‘settled’ Fulani in Plateau- the bitter, dangerous feeling of intra-regional marginalization will fester and lead to more crises.
Much will depend on the sincerity and courage of those who will tread the path of change that has littered with empty words and impotent schemes. I think, it is possible.

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HOW TO PARTICIPATE IN THE OLYMPICS

Being in the Olympics is a thing of joy. After all, countries like Madagascar and the Vatican City did not even make it there. So, we thank God. We thank God even though we participated in just eight of the 26 sports.

This is how to participate in a great event like the Olympics.

There really is no need to do all the long term, back-breaking work that countries like the US and China do. Especially China. Those mean guys get their athletes and start drilling them from the time they are two-years-old until they become Olympic-medal-winning machines. That is evil and unfair to children who should enjoy their childhood. Our Child Rights Act forbids that kind of thing. God will look into the matter of the Chinese. We must never be like them. Or like the Americans who have sport programmes in schools across their country -- students are supposed to be reading and doing serious things. It is important to preserve our Universities and secondary schools as places of learning, and not encourage young people to excel in sports. We do not need to spend any money on sports.

As we have shown by example, the best time to start preparations for the Olympics is a few months before it begins. Find a good number of the team from athletes and professional sportsmen and women outside the country who have Nigerian names or at least one Nigerian parent. They need to come to the rescue of their nation. We know they will come. Yes, some will betray us and play for countries like Great Britain, USA, France, even the tiny Island of Fiji (God will judge those ones and truncate their hustle), but the majority will come. With all the financial, social and political crises in our country, we do not have the luxury of spending years developing local talent. Find Nigerian professionals wherever they are. In a cool game like basketball for example, why send a local basketball player from Ogbomosho (who will need to have his English translated on international television) when there are all those Nigerian-Americans with nice accents that we can use? Why?

For those who are already too old, especially for the football team, reduce their ages by half. By the next Olympics, the footballer who was 23 this year will already be too old to even kick a ball, but that is not what matters. What matters is that we find a team today for this Olympics.

As you quickly put a team together for the Olympics, you must, as Sports Minister, publicly express confidence that members of Team Nigeria will win medals. Call our hurried preparations impressive. Because it IS impressive. If anyone questions your miracle of rigging an Olympic team in such a short time, God will look into their matter and judge them appropriately.

Delay the release of funds allocated for the team. Make sure they get the money as late as possible because they really do not need the money to prepare. We all know how money spoils things in Nigeria.

As you prepare to travel, do the most important thing: urge Nigerians to pray for the success of Team Nigeria. Because, among 167 million praying Nigerians, there must be at least one righteous person whose prayers will soften the heart of the Nigerian god and make us win medals.

When you realise that no one is winning medals, quickly declare that your best achievement has been that, unlike in the past, nobody is quarrelling and nobody is fighting with anybody. Nigerians all deserve medals because the Sports Ministry is not fighting with the Nigerian Sports Commission or the Nigerian Olympic Committee. For this, we must give God all the glory.

As a member of Team Nigeria, you must not let anything stop you from having fun in London. Not even sadness due to your woeful performance. Indiscipline might sound like a bad word but, trust me, in Nigeria it has its uses. In this context, I can identify at least two uses. First, it enables you to do things like skip camp and go shopping and sightseeing -- who knows when next you will return to London? Second, it gives the Minister a perfect excuse for a terrible outing -- he can blame everything on your indiscipline. Indiscipline makes everybody happy. But please, whatever you do, don’t get lost in London like those Cameroonians. It is so clichéd, and the Nigerian god really finds it irritating that after blessing your sweat-free hustle with juicy estacodes you would go hide like a rat in a crowded city like London. For tips on how to get to London through other less-objectionable means like applying for asylum, see my article, How To Get Asylum.

Most important of all, learn nothing from the experience when you return. It is too early to start planning for the next Olympics, plus you will be really exhausted from all the shopping and distributing things your Nigerian friends gave you money to buy for them from London. You need rest. If anyone insults you for a shameful outing in London, God will handle their matter.

We wish you a safe return. May you be cured of any injuries you may have sustained at the Olympics, or those you will sustain while unpacking. And may God bless your hustle.

INTERVIEW WITH CHIOMA CHUKA

So, I got a tweet from a friend, Chioma Chuka, New Media specialist, content producer, blogger and owner of the © Fairy GodSister and The Chronicles of The Fairy GodSister, saying she wanted an interview. She had interviewed me more than a year before after the post election crises in the North of Nigeria in April 2011. You can read it here.
You can find the second interview here.

Reading both interviews now, I realise why I like them so much. Chioma. No one makes me talk like she does. The question find the answers in my head. The kind of answers that doesn't make it embarrasing to re-read one's thoughts. It must be a gift. 

HOW TO SOLVE PROBLEMS IN NIGERIA

Nigeria is a great country with great hustling people. With every hustle comes challenges that must be surmounted. We have perfected the art of keeping our decaying house erect, albeit with the occasional smoke and stench coming out the windows. We are problem solvers. This article is a general guide for new Nigerians, foreigners who have just moved in to Nigeria, Nigerians who have just moved back from foreign lands, and idealistic Nigerians who live abroad.

Ask God for help. Now, it doesn’t matter if you are religious or if you have one of those new religions not recognised by our law. We have one general god -- the Nigerian god -- to whom all solutions are outsourced. Ask for his help in choosing leaders; in changing leaders; in wanting PHCN to provide electricity for that match because your generator is bad; in wanting fuel tanker drivers not to go on strike; in wanting roads; in wanting bombs to stop; in wanting corruption to stop; and in wanting to keep our country one. This is the first necessary, sometimes most important, step.

Create a committee. Ministries, Departments and Agencies of government are of no use in solving problems. Once a specific problem has been identified -- for example, the presence of too many people selling boiled maize and groundnuts on the streets -- create a specific committee to tackle this issue. In the case of this example, the committee would have two sub committees, one for boiled maize, and the other for boiled groundnuts. Then when that committee is done, create a committee to implement the report of the first committee.

Create multiple solutions. So, if as a government official you have a problem with your public image, in spite of having a department of Media and Publicity, create a new department to handle the problem. Call it Public Image Affairs department or something like that. The more agencies attack a problem, the better. Never try to fix the inefficiency of an agency of public institution. Always create a new body. So, if the crime division of the Nigerian Police Force is inefficient, understaffed, underfunded, unskilled, and corrupt, do not fund, train or discipline them. Create a fresh body, like the ICPC or EFCC. There is nothing like fresh ideas in trying to solve a problem.

When you have a big problem like terrorism, especially when our dear President confirms that some of the terrorists are in the Police, you must look for solutions outside our diligent Police Force. Think of something smart. Like one brand new Police Force for each financially dependent state. No, we will not scrap the Federal one. They will exist side by side. Think of how many people’s hustles will be blessed when you embark on this project. New uniforms, new jobs, new cars with sirens, new guns. A new militia for every governor blessed with constitutional immunity. I mean, governors won’t need to have side armies and gangs funded in the dark anymore. Think of it this way; when indigenes fill up the new State Police, terrorism, bombing, corruption, and kidnapping will vanish. Don’t ask what will happen when indigenes and non-indigenes fight and the State Police is called to keep the peace. God will not let that happen. Never mind that there are wicked people who will come up with arguments like states already having problems paying civil servants, and governors already having state legislators in their pockets. In fact, I overheard some evil guy suggest that some governors might fill up their state police with people from their tribe or religion, thereby creating complications and mistrust in cases of communal, religious or ethnic clashes. God will judge that guy. He doesn’t understand that to solve the problem of an inefficient Police Force, you need 36 others. He doesn’t understand the power of numbers.

When a problem won’t go away or is too big, divert it or postpone it. This reduces the pressure of the problem. So, for example, if you have a problem of poverty, which results in slums and shanty towns, instead of wasting time and energy on things like resettlement, development, low-cost housing or creating jobs, do something effective, like demolition. Clear out the slums and let the poor people who want to give our country a bad name find somewhere else to call a slum. Demolition is also very effective if your predecessors in government have turned a blind eye and allowed people to build in unapproved areas. Demolition covers a multitude of sins.

When there are problems and you are in government, you must never allow anything to stop you from travelling out of the country. Travelling is very important because it gives you time to breathe, shop, and learn from other countries.

But if you really want to solve problems effectively in Nigeria, you have to outsource them. There are things that the Nigerian god prefers not to handle. Not that he cannot handle them, but you see, he is clean and doesn’t like to dance in murky waters. For example, if you need to convict or arrest powerful people who have brazenly committed crimes, outsource it to a nice foreign country. I mean, the British used us as a colony to get resources, why can’t we use them to get justice? Tit for tat. Anyone who doesn’t like it should go choke on cassava bread. All good people know that justice for Nigerians is Nigerian justice, whether made in London or Johannesburg.

God bless your hustle and make it problem-free.

How To Behave When Accused Of Corruption In Nigeria

Nigerians are corrupt. Even a suckling knows this. From time to time however, the odd situation arises where one Nigerian accuses another of corruption, you know, like armpit calling mouth smelly.

To be too clean in Nigeria is as bad as being too dirty. You must maintain a corruption balance. Moderate corruption. All our good men have been moderately corrupt. It is the greedy ones, the wicked ones who want to keep it all to themselves, that we call corrupt. The Dictionary of Nigerian Terms defines corrupt as: “an adjective implying inordinate insatiable greed above and beyond the Nigerian benchmark for acceptable theft.”

As a politician or big businessman connected to politicians, your enemies abound. And their favourite social weapon is an accusation of corruption. God sees your heart and He will judge those judging you. Here on earth however, this is what you must do when faced with the threat of corruption charges.

If you are really highly placed, like the President or something, and someone says your wife or other relative is corrupt, ignore it. Nothing will happen. The evil people will talk and talk and then stop talking. Nigerians may make noise on social media but, ultimately, they are too concerned about poverty and how to get fuel for their generators during Big Brother season to care too much. Plus, Nigerians have the attention span of goldfish.

However, if you are still climbing the political ladder, you must act decisively. Put out a press release denying every single allegation, even the ones you are guilty of. Nigerians are wicked. If you admit to something as small as running through traffic lights, they will gather and impale you and proceed to run through several traffic lights on their way from impaling you. So when faced with accusations of corruption, say you have never ever committed a sin or done a bad thing in your life, or peed on the bed when you were little or lied to your friends that you didn’t have money in secondary school.

A great comeback is to declare that the person who accuses you is your political enemy. It is because he wants to spoil the good work you are doing and distract people from the main issues. You must use words like ‘campaign of calumny’ and ‘detractors’ when you reply.

So you made a mistake and collected a gift you thought was harmless. I mean, foreign currency should be harmless. But you realised it was a trap when you started reading in the papers that two months ago, this guy gave you a bribe to do him a favour. You have probably spent half of it already (but then you can replace it). You must go to the press immediately and say that although you collected this so-called bribe, it was your intention to keep it as evidence of being bribed. You have a little evidence room in your bedroom where you keep evidence of such nature. You were only waiting for the right moment. God knows.

Worst case scenario, plead entrapment. What is entrapment? Simply, it means that if they had not offered you a bribe you would never have taken it. Like, if the serpent did not offer Eve the apple she would never have eaten it. With entrapment, it is the person who lured you into committing a crime that is guilty. Use this excuse and Nigerians will believe and join you in asking God to judge those setting traps for you.

You can use this as a weapon also. They say attack is the best form of defence. Every successful Nigerian politician knows this. You must give people money and capture it on tape. This is political insurance. It is important to mark the bills, just in case something goes wrong. Give the money to people you think can turn rogue. No politician can turn down money (Ok, maybe guys like Buhari, but where has that gotten him?). One day, when you are accused, you will bring out the tapes and records of those you have bribed and show it to the world as evidence. Because Nigerians are tribal and selfish, all your tribesmen will support you even in the face of your guilt. They will band together and say that no one should touch their ‘son’. There will be so much controversy that no one will be able to tell the truth from a lie and in all the commotion you will get away unscathed.

This is what you must never do: Never ever resign. Don’t even think of it. It is white people who resign. Look at their countries collapsing one after the other because they can’t stand still in the face of accusations. You are Nigerian; it is a taboo to resign just because they found out you took half a million dollars in bribe.

Never admit to your crime except you are found guilty by a foreign court and taken away in handcuffs. And even then, do it only as the condition for a plea bargain. Nigerians are forgiving – they will hold a public reception for you when you are released from jail.

But it doesn’t have to get to that. In the end, if you play it right, your enemies will fail and God will bless your hustle.

HOW TO CELEBRATE DEMOCRACY DAY

People ask me why I always bring God into my advice. It’s really simple. Nigeria is a nation loved by God. When we needed independence, instead of making us fight like the Mau-Mau in Kenya or the ANC in South Africa, He made the British leave in a peaceful handover ceremony. When the military planned to stay in power forever, we didn’t have to march in protest. He sent angels (some say of Indian origin) to take out Abacha. And when it seemed like the minorities were going to die under the oppressive yoke of the major tribes, He gave them the Presidency. Nigerians affirmed God’s gift by re-electing him in a landslide. Thank God for democracy.

 

This surely is a thing worth celebrating, dear President. This is just how you must celebrate it.

The country is being crushed under the weight of violence, darkness, poor infrastructure and corruption. You know this and do not need to be reminded by wicked people who call themselves men of God. So when you are planning the celebrations and some man of God decides you must spend your day saying amens to anti-corruption prayers, ignore him. They have no idea the heavy thoughts you have for this country. How can you waste your time saying endless amens? It is noisy and noise is bad for thinking.

You must prepare a speech. Every Nigerian, including the wicked unpatriotic ones who refuse to watch the local channels, tune in to watch the Democracy day speech. You have the undivided attention of the entire country so the speech must be long and impressive. It must, like a short story have little twists which will reveal exciting things. 

Evil people who cannot see that you have achieved so much in so little time need to be reminded of all they have missed in the past year. They need a little history lesson. How God cleared the way for you to get where you are. People thought there would be war abi? But God was faithful and our democracy is stable. Isn’t that enough for people to be thankful? 

And oh, cassava. They don’t know but you must tell them that cassava is the thing that will replace oil in this country. I mean your Aso-Villa Cassava Bread is already a best seller and you are sure that when it hits the market and Chinese people get used to its taste, they will be buying so much bread from us, that we won’t need America to buy our crude oil. Imagine one billion plus people eating our cassava bread, soaking our garri, swallowing our eba, snacking on our cassava chips on the way to work. People don’t know yet, but one day, they will thank you.

You must say in your speech that although the terrorists are succeeding, Nigerians are resilient. God will judge those terrorists. They can never, ever make Nigeria disintegrate. That is why you are really doing nothing serious about it. You just feel it in your heart, the way you knew you would win last year’s elections, that they can never, ever, succeed. 

You must give Nigerians a gift. Every democracy day, they expect a gift to keep them happy until the following year. Pick a university and rename it. Like the University of Maiduguri. Because you feel guilty about the way the Boko Haram leader Mohammed Yusuf was killed, rename the university after him. I mean he was a bad guy and all but no one deserves to be shot with handcuffs on. So call it ‘Mohammed Yusuf University’, MYU. I know the students will be confused about what to call themselves. Provide useful suggestions, like Yusufiyya’s or Sufi’s for short. Greatest Sufi’s! They will love it. Oh, then announce the establishment of an Institute of Anti-terrorism studies in the university.

You must not in your speech talk about corruption. I mean it’s becoming a cliché and Nigerians are tired of hearing it. It doesn’t matter that the House of Representatives just unraveled damning information about corruption in the oil sector. After all, your former mentor called them rogues, so we can’t trust a word that they say. 

You must not apologise to the Youth Corp members who were not paid for many months. Young people these days are just ungrateful. I mean you see many of them carrying expensive phones- iPhones and Blackberry’s. Some Corp members even have cars! God is watching them. When you were their age you barely had shoes, so they should stop whining. 

People are hard on you. They have been since day one. Nigeria’s problems didn’t start with you. You tell them this but they refuse to believe you. So you will announce the opening of a museum housing images and legacies of all our past leaders just so Nigerians can visit and know just how each of them contributed his quota to spoiling this country. When they see it they will be grateful. Those who still refuse to see, well, God will judge them.

God bless your reign.

HOW TO BEHAVE ON A NIGERIAN HIGH TABLE

(first published in Daily Times Nigeria)

I am on the left. PHOTO CREDITS: M. DABOGI.

Ok. I must say this: last Saturday was not my first time on a high table. In fact only last month, I represented a friend of mine who couldn’t make it to the Kaduna Polytechnic to give his speech. But this was the first time I was consciously engaging with the whole high table culture. 

I was delivering a speech on Identity and Politics in a Time of Crises. First let me say that the high table is for me a deeply uncomfortable experience. This is because I am a restless person and do not like being watched by a crowd like an animal in a zoo. Also I like to react to things and I have realized that it is a waste of time for me to hide how I feel about something or someone. My face tells all. So the high table is not the best place for me. 

However, I learnt a lot from last Saturday and instead of writing a glossy motivational book titled ‘How to be a Public Speaker in Nigeria’ or ‘Seven Habits of Highly Successful Naija Speakers’ and have my books sold at every hold up in Nigeria, I have decided, to risk poverty and share my thoughts with you for free.

LESSON 1: ALWAYS ASK WHO WILL BE IN THE AUDIENCE

I almost ran away when I walked into the hall and about a quarter or so of the hall was full of secondary school students- including students from a new Almajiri school. So that rendered nearly half of my speech unusable. Unfortunately one of the organizers saw me before I could sneak off and claim sudden illness. I had to instantly start mentally re-writing my speech.

LESSON 2: DRINKING THE JUICE REQUIRES SKILL

Now I assume that the juice on the table is not for decoration, but when it comes to eating and drinking in front of 300-500 people, I get very shy. Thirty minutes into the event I suddenly got very thirsty. In front of me on the high table were a bottle of water, a pack of juice and a glass cup. Everyone else on the high table ignored them like saints avoiding sin. The people on the high table even avoided eye contact with the juice. With every passing minute my frustration and thirst grew. I tweeted while on the high table and got some useful suggestions like, ‘it doesn’t matter’, ‘the rest are also waiting for you to drink first’ and ‘drink the juice with panache’. The last one, by a fellow writer struck me. ‘Panache’. I checked the word on my Encarta dictionary and saw the definition: ‘dashing style: a sense or display of spirited style and self-confidence’. I practiced pouring with ‘style and self-confidence’ with my hands under the table. I concluded that I would be better off not bringing the whole body of writers into disrepute by a lack of panache. By the way, the juice promptly disappeared as soon as the event was over just when I thought I could finally have a quiet sip beyond scrutiny. 

LESSON 3: USE AN IPAD OR NOTHING

Everyone comes to an event with an iPad these days. Pastors, Imams and those who don’t own iPads. I tell you they wanted to make me feel small, all those iPad wielding people. And here was I cuddling my dear ACER notebook, Magdalene. I could almost feel Magdalene feeling fat and ordinary in the face of those sleek things. But she kept her head up, dear Magdalene.

LESSON 4: USE THE TOILET BEFORE YOU GET ON

I hope it’s not abnormal or anything, but I feel the urge to pee when I am nervous and when  I am cold. I will google it to be sure. Anyway, the combined effect of nervousness about giving a good speech, frustration about the juice and the discomfort of so many eyes, I felt this urge to pee. When? Just when the speaker just before me was close to the end of her speech. Suddenly it felt like all the people in my village who were conspiring against my success had finally gotten to me. Gladly, the organizers came to beg me so they could sneak in a brief performance just before my speech. 

LESSON 5: BEWARE OF THAT GUY IN THE AUDIENCE WHOSE SOLE AIM IS SHINE AT YOUR EXPENSE

So I gave the speech. That was the best part. It emboldened me to at least open the bottle of water in front of me. I deserved it. All that speaking! Then during question and answer time, this guy, who eventually came up to me to inform me of his just having returned to Nigeria six weeks ago from Harvard, stood up to give a little speech of his own. He reeled out all the big social science terms and theories and although he claimed to be disagreeing with me, ended up summarizing my speech. All I could say (in my mind of course) was ‘God is watching you!’

LESSON 6: ALWAYS CARRY MONEY FOR PHOTOGRAPHS (OR WARN THEM NOT TO TAKE YOUR PHOTO)

So this woman photographer (God will judge her appropriately), with many photos of me in her hand, came right to the High Table before the program was over, to whisper that each tiny ugly photo was 200 naira. I felt sweaty all of a sudden because my wallet was far away where I had parked my car. Not that there was money in it. I would have to go to an ATM to be able to pay her. Now, the other people on the high table were looking at me. No, God will judge that woman! This is one of the few moments when I have been thankful for being a lawyer, trained to squeeze water out of a stone. I told her with a stern face: ‘I do not take photos. I do not like photos. I did not ask for my photo to be taken...’ I might have gone on and on and accused her of blackmail, of being an agent of my enemies and village people, but the woman by my side said, don’t worry ill just pay for all the photos. I initially protested, careful though not to protest too hard, lest I would have to make the uncomfortable trip to the ATM.

My prayer for you is that you are blessed with better high tables and more juice loving people on the high table. And that God shows you those plotting your downfall before they see you.