Green And White: The Effects of Believing

What's the essence of the vigorously edited and vibrantly coloured videos, when we are not engaging in a real conversation?

There is no real celebration associated with Nigeria's Independence Day. There has never been anything real. 

The festivities, as we might call it, have always been performative. Perhaps, it is a way of ignoring the inadequacies which has displaced Nigeria from its place as the Giant of Africa.

Every October 1st, we are reminded of our allegiance to our motherland. It's our sole responsibility to shield Nigeria like a hen protecting its chicks from predators.

We are expected to carry the name like the faeces in our bowl and never get exhausted from preaching the gospel of the most populous nation in Africa.

The rich cultural heritage of the country is echoed through carefully edited videos from the country's top creators. Writers scribble essays and short stories that capture the lives of people in the most interior parts of the country. From Isuofia down to Ijebu. 

Poets write thought-provoking pieces about the shared history of the ethnic groups in the country.

Somehow, the underlying message in every script, poetic piece, social media content or documentary is hope. 

Hope becomes a well in the backyard, where we dump our problems. But for who exactly?

Hope is a Nigerian thing. It is a means of driving social media numbers instead of genuine engagement and intellectual conversations.

It creates hope where there shouldn't be and leads us far away from our own lukewarmness, that we become blind to see it.

Nigeria celebrated sixty-six years of independence. Sixty-six years of surviving and not living.

But what does it mean for Nigeria to survive?

It means that the political elite runs Nigeria like a private entity. To most of them (if not all), Nigeria is an extension of a family owned business. They act as they want because nobody will hold them accountable. Not even the media which is supposed to be the fourth estate of the realm, the watchdog of the society.

Think about the former military Head of State, General Abdulsalami Abubakar, whose images were used as a promotional material by an Indian hospital. The hospital also used the vice president, Dr. Kashim Shettima's image to promote the hospital's services to international patients.

The hospital described it as a reflection of the "growing trust in India's healthcare" and its commitment to caring for patients across the globe.

An average Nigerian citizen (the one combing through the streets of Onitsha) might wonder why a former head of state will appear in an advertisement for an Indian hospital while his country's healthcare system is in a deplorable state.

That Nigerian teenager, who aspires to become a medical practitioner, might see India as the destination for achieving his dreams. At this point, his dream is as worthless as the depreciating naira.

Maybe, Nigerians are yet to see UNICEF's study, which revealed that Nigeria has about 10.5 million out-of-school children, the highest number in the world.

This is the country that prides itself as the Giant of Africa. The most populous black nation in the world. The country which has produced world-class intellectuals and stars in various industries. 

Interestingly, UNICEF reported a decrease in the government's education expenditure, declining from 9.3 percent in 2015 to 3.6 percent in 2023, despite the international benchmark of 15-20 percent.

Although the political class is largely responsible for Nigeria's turmoil, the citizens have encouraged their excesses. 

On an Independence Day, when we should engage in meaningful conversations, the least we could do is to argue about the originators or owners of ịchafụ and gele.

How can we stifle our intelligence in this condescending manner? Why should we wallow in the dry crumbs left by the colonizers to keep us at loggerheads with ourselves?

It is really unfortunate to know that Nigeria has no future for that extremely talented student, building an app in Nsukka. Or for that fifteen years old playing plastic bottles in the streets of Oshodi, with the dream of representing Nigeria globally.

The Nigeria we hope lives in our memories. It is the one we see in fiction written by individuals who are too shaken by grief to accept this demeaning situation.

On a lighter note, it is nice to hope and create memories. But hope becomes a catastrophe, when it serves as a distraction from the evil bedeviling and ruining our reputation.

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