Friendships, Lagos politics and a ‘Phenomenal Woman’

 

Every now and then I go through my Facebook friends list and do some pruning. No interaction in the last one year, regularly posts offensive materials, absence of shared interests? Unfriend! Then there are those who were once close friends in real life but are inactive in my current life. We whooped for joy when we found each other on Facebook but the excitement soon fizzled and we hardly have much to say to each other. I leave them on the list because unfriending them feels like a betrayal of our shared past.

One such friend tagged me in his Status Update on Tuesday. Out of curiosity, I clicked on the link and was surprised to find the issue was exactly the same as emerged in my discussions with two different groups of graduate students earlier in the day.

It was already weird that two different groups of students were raising the same issue in my separate interactions with them. With the students, the conversation started with a discussion about how arbitrary geographical boundaries (a colonial legacy) fuel many African conflicts. The cobbling of different ethnicities and nationalities into artificial nation-states consequently hinder national unity and self-identification in a broader geographical context. In many countries, the different ethnic and national groups cling strongly to their primordial identities and view out-groupers with suspicion. This makes the creation of a cohesive nation-state acutely herculean.

In Nigeria, the reification of “state of origin” reinforces primordial allegiances. For instance, even if people live in a particular state all their lives, they are still considered “outsiders” or “non-indigenes” and have severely restricted political rights and aspirations. At the same time they may be unable to participate in the politics of the state ascribed to them because of their status as “indigene abroad” thus imposing a double disenfranchisement on them. That was the kernel of the discussion with the different students earlier in the day.

It also was the subject of the Facebook status update in which my “friend for before” tagged me. He was supporting the gubernatorial qualifications of a certain “non-indigene” who is aspiring to replace Lagos Governor Babatunde Fashola in Alausa. I must confess that though I once lived in Lagos for seven years, my knowledge of Eko politics doesn’t go beyond the headlines. However, the comments that followed my friend’s post provided some illumination.

One particular comment caught my attention for two reasons. First, it was shocking in its parochialism. Second, it was written by someone who runs an NGO, hosts a local TV show, is widely travelled and is as cosmopolitan as one can get (or at least, I thought she was). She strongly rejected the idea that a “resident” has any rights to be governor of Lagos. She criticised our mutual friend for suggesting that a “resident” can contest for governorship in Lagos when she (a Lagosian) can’t in his state of Akwa Ibom. She added that residents should stay out of Lagos politics because they can always return to their villages but Lagosians have nowhere else to go.

Interestingly, the person whom she assigned to Akwa Ibom is one only by name. He’s as Yoruba as they come. I don’t recall that he and I ever spoke Annang-Ibibio to each other the whole time we were neighbours in the 1990s. He’s been married to a Hausa/Middle Belt woman with a Muslim name for 25 years … and still counting. I imagine that this individual would be totally lost if suddenly dropped at the Ibom Connection in Uyo! Any gubernatorial aspirations he might nurse would be stillborn because he would neither be accepted in Lagos where he’s lived for much of his life nor in Akwa Ibom where he’s a stranger.

While I sympathise with the siege mentality that some Lagosians harbour, I think they may be seeking to have it both ways. On the one hand, they enjoy the contributions of “residents” in making the state the richest and most developed in the country. And yet, when it comes to politics, it is “unto thy states, O Nigerians?”

My take on this conversation played better in my head. However, just before I began writing this, I heard of the passing of the Phenomenal Woman, Dr. Maya Angelou. I know that we can’t live forever and therefore shedding tears over an 86-year-old woman who passed away peacefully in her sleep doesn’t make sense. Still, this woman, through her writings, had enormous impact on me as she did millions of people around the world. In fact, each of her books – novels and poems – resonates with different periods in my life.

I first encountered this graceful giant of a woman in 1993 when she read “On the Pulse of Morning” during President Bill Clinton’s first Inauguration. Over the years, I have purchased and read almost all of her books and followed her on Facebook. For a long time, I was giving Phenomenal Woman as thank-you gifts to my female friends, beginning with Professor Ursula Franklin, my mentor at the University of Toronto, and the woman who applied for a grant on my behalf so I could purchase my very first computer and printer in 1994. The immediate outcome of that purchase was that I acquired instant “netizenship” through subscription to Naijanet, a newsgroup of Nigerians abroad. Finally, my thirst for Nigerian news was sated.

Twenty years later, much of my news still come from the Internet. Majority of my friends, real and virtual, still inhabit cyberspace and feed me with news that agitate, excite, repulse or sadden me.

However, I stoutly resist the cloud of sadness that news of Dr. Angelou’s death is brewing in my soul. I can’t imagine a world without her smile, wisdom and gracefulness. Even the Stars Look Lonesome tonight for (they certainly know) Why the Caged Bird Sings. Still, in the echo of the sound of the bird (who sings for freedom), I hear Dr. Angelou’s distinctive voice speaking to the world, and especially to those who seek a country where everyone belongs regardless of origins, regions and religions:

“Here on the pulse of this new day/You may have the grace to look up and out/And into your sister’s eyes, into/Your brother’s face, your country/And say simply/Very simply/With hope/Good morning.”