(OPINION) Building A Nation Backwards – By Jimi Bickersteth

Memories of the late black activist and originator of the African rhythm and the biggest musician out of Africa, my big coz’s classmate way back at the Grammar school in Abeokuta whirled around in my mind as my head was nodding in response to the now pulsating beats with dancing, all in simplicity and grace. Although, I’m not a particularly, great dancer, but I love African music and rhythm with its heavy and intense percussion.

While musing on this piece, the true situation of the nation and the likelihood of its cherries blossoming in the spring, anytime soon or at all, a distant sound of instruments at the New African Shrine and its jazzy effect triggered in my mind a flow of thinking that I had to isolate in order to be able to sequence properly and with the right perspective the thoughts cascading in series on the writing space.

 

By now the thoughts were creating a feel that appeared like the nation was gliding through a rollercoaster unguided; and a reality in the fact that justice in developed countries is not left to the unguided sage. I forced myself to a restless search for interesting harmonic sequences out of the mumble jumble in the federation, the restlessness in the air in my neighbourhood, the Fulani Herdsmen, the Benue heartless murderers, the madness and serial killings elsewhere in the federation, rampant kidnapping, the emotional distress of the damsel in distress, unemployment, et al.

Vivid images of my past visits to that part of the F-E-L-A ‘world’ (including the “old Kalakuta 1” on Agege Motor Road, and “Kalakuta 11” on Pepple street at the centre of the state capital, just by the largest ICT market in Africa, well, ‘old’, not in terms of idea, concept and conception but in terms of locale), swept out of my memory.

Memories of the late black activist and originator of the African rhythm and the biggest musician out of Africa, my big coz’s classmate way back at the Grammar school in Abeokuta whirled around in my mind as my head was nodding in response to the now pulsating beats with dancing, all in simplicity and grace. Although, I’m not a particularly, great dancer, but I love African music and rhythm with its heavy and intense percussion.

If you’ll excuse the large scale assortment of freedom and liberty not found anywhere else on the continent (maybe, in the jungle) on display here; it’s a good place to be on a Sunday afternoon. As exotic as the atmosphere in the African shrine aka kalakuta republic, the dark, intense atmosphere in the environment gave the place an air of mystery.

A female guest wearing plain, tight-fitting white linen dress with purple trim around the high neck and a split up one side of the skirt revealing a wide expanse of thigh. The muscles of the long thighs were toned and so well defined that they seemed to have been sculpted by some master to flow perfectly from her hips to her delicate feet in a gold slipper was a mock severity.

Her hair was dark and straight framing her face which the years had transformed from youthful prettiness into the full beauty possessed by mature women under Mary Kay clay as foundation. She greeted me with subdued smiles and a comfortable ease, even though I noticed a bright look of appreciation in her eyes, my mind was filled with pity for the coming generations of nobody’s who needed a nation to rely on.

As my mind became one with my body, the image of the African shrine superimposed squarely on that of the nation was reflected in my mind. At this point my mind was working on two levels, one, was a sense of apprehension each time I’m on a visit to the republic just as fear and apprehension has gripped the nation on the direction of its politics, its unity and oneness, and the perceived noise of marginalisation from left, right and centre that was polluting the polity, its peace and tranquility.

The economy in tatters, its moribund factories, its deficient public and social service systems, the Boko assaults and the Fulani herdsmen incursions, all of which left sour taste in the mouth and leaving “sorrow, tears and blood” on its trails in several parts of the nation. I was sorting out and integrating how this our ‘Fela’ got what was wrong with the nation right and why the nation was still where it was – crawling at 60, even many years after F-E-L-A’s demise. The nation’s leadership couldn’t get what was wrong with the nation not to talk of applying palliative congruous to the situations and or remedial actions in the circumstance.

By now, I was in a state of near euphoria, into a deeper mental levels of consciousness above the Nigeria malaise and the enormity of the nation’s intractable and unresolved problems and hassles. This gave me a song and dance about all of us not knowing the exact place to pinpoint the nation’s problems and solutions thereof.

While I kept ruminating, the session men were pounding out a rhythm on konga drums, and as the evening wore on it became brighter and clear; and without electricity, the neighborhood around the ‘kalakuta’ republic aka the Shrine looked like a modern village in a 21st century film setting, with only a trace of wispy clouds to mar whatever remained of nature’s perfect purity.

But then, I became bored with the sameness and stillness of everything; the ‘republic’ and the Republic being the same all this while for an ever-present river of humanity in an enterprise that was supposed to be impermanent. At this point, my mind began to tell me it should turn off and sleep in rest, but my body revolted as it keeps on churning to keep up with the pace of the surrounding world.

A world in which we are attempting to built from the roof to the foundation, where the people sob after 22 years or so of party politics. A world where ‘transitional’ democracy have diminished to sniffles and their moans to deep sighs, and all nursing a mutual burden of sadness as the nation is floating as if asleep, adrift on an ocean of crude oil and filled with regret for not being the best it could be with its embarrassment of riches and its leaders fortuitous recklessness.

What is wrong for instance with running a 24/7 economy you may wont to ask. The immediate answers would be, the lack of power and capacity. The nation’s capacity presently is incapable to adequately drive an 8 hour economy as it were; name it, power/energy supply, oil and gas, political will and a political class all ghouls with no souls. The idea of a 24 hours economy would be welcomed to them as an outbreak of poliomyelitis.

The political leaders listen only to what they want to hear, and, has built walls smoothed over in plastic foam, as a result, anything from a whisper to strident criticisms, excruciating screams and painful moans of the people were absorbed by the foam plastic material and converted into some meaningless vibrations in the plastic bubbles of the walls, with the multi-laminate sintered carbon door of their hearts, impregnable to anything but secret communications of their pals, coterie of advisers, spouses and the reckless, irresponsible streak in them that usually swamp their cautious judgement.

Fela, the African shrine and last night seemed a long time ago in the past, almost in another century, here, the nation and its people are “suffering and smiling” with “yellow fever” and “teachers teaching nonsense”, beautiful nonsense, s3x for marks,etc. A nation being led by the nose by half-fit administrators, plagued with a great sense of indiscipline. Indiscipline in our art, in our act, our government, our homes – even our family life and all of us unable to live according to present days values.

The nation has lost something somewhat somewhere in history. The restlessness in the air, the resilient spirit, underlying ruggedness and wild permissiveness that permeates the entire environ also enveloped the nation. The stillness of everything holding no one to formalities and questioning made one somehow uneasy; or perhaps more aware of my anxiety of a nation having so little direction, ambition, balls, gut, goals and above all leadership.

It’s not all the time I venerate personages, but Fela has left into the narrow corridor of death, in that cold shaft where his bones were interred, leaving only the warm echo of his works on vinyl and discs on the sands of time to underscore his struggles and desire for a better Nigeria. I should have been impressed by what I had seen at the African shrine, but the unfulfilled reality of a better life for our compatriots hung like a heavy fog in my mind.

As the journey thus far portends, no light, no work, unpaid pensions and salaries, all factories dead, poor transportation, poor road network all of which present a sterile nation seeing bogey men behind every tree and attempting to swat a swarm of flies with one hand. The direct result subsequently, is a nation that is left nursing a stranded and paranoid; hungry, angry, lonely and tired (H.A.L.T.) people, no closer to the truth about their nation and situations.

The people are making less and less sense out of theirs and the nation’s precarious situations, and young and old alike are forced to deal with emotions turned upside down. No matter what the truth about the nation’s situations are, it goes without saying, that all are locked up. Even, when Man don’t like the idea of been locked up, never have and never will, given the opportunity. But the situation, the helpless and near-hopeless situation the people have found themselves is like a prison environment.

The nation has to firewall the throttle and pitch controls in the management dynamics of people and politics, and the foces or properties which stimulate growth, development regardless of the obstacles strewn around that path by the presidential system’s winner-takes-all syndrome and its inherent implications – lopsided appointment in favour of a particular geo-political zone, flagrant disregard of the 1999 constitution as regards federal character.

Talking about the 1999 constitution, there came to mind, its seemingly innocuous and several unresolved lacunae all of which have conspired and left the nation in a spiderweb of contortions and confusion, and a people that are starved but requesting and were deserving the higher truth. Truth, higher truth which are of vital importance and significance to the nation’s peace and progress and the urge to also salvage a giant nation crouching outside in the cold like a tamed beast.

In the course of thinking of a way out and for the nation to back out of its berth, I took a drink of cappuccino, and threw the half full cup into a wastebasket, then lit a cigar and studied the pattern of blue lights which marked the crisscross of the décor in the study wall, after which I passed out. In a flash, I saw PMB, who I had imagined would have been blasé enough to take the situation the nation had engineered in his stride, but he hasn’t. Now, he’s got a hearing at the international court of justice. I winced.

As I journeyed further, in the reverie, I swung my head angrily to say something bitter at PMB, at our political and religious leaders for their indifference, but stopped dead when I saw PMB’s eyes I hesitated for a moment, then closed my mouth, my mind seething. I don’t know the ‘language’ he understands. But, in all honesty, some of the problems antedates him. It was not solely his faults that the nation has not accomplished what its people hoped for in sixty years in spite of its embarrassment of riches, he was just a part of the team that contributed so much to the nations faded glory, with this as a background, regrets has become the peoples lot and major pastime.

The summary of events read like, bloodletting, no jobs, no light, no money, no hospitals, no clothing on their back, the educational system in shambles, no, no, no. Maybe PMB is planning to leave a legacy, but to date, aside from completing a ‘mortgaged’ phase of the nation’s railway modernisation project and prompt release of FAAC to the state governors, all he’s left is a trail of unfulfilled aspirations. It would be unwise to ignore signposts, sadly, though, that’s what the ruling elites seemed to be doing on the road through life when the direction plan does not fit their personal preference. It’s not too late though,we can begin again in 2023.The PMB administration just have to be prepared to pursue its dreams and agenda if any.

To win the contest in 2023 however, it appears the APC and PMB must deny themselves, many things that would keep them from doing their best , if they wished to win the people’s confidence back. Here, PMB, must no longer listen to the wailers and friends who’ve settled for less. His goals shouldn’t just be to live long, besides he’s been around for a while, and that’s a worthwhile trade for an ordinary lifetime, but to make a difference in his world. Instill hope in the teeming mass of the people by deploying Radio/TV jingles and campaigns all over the federation, hope brings happiness, the present state of scepticism in the nation never can.

The truth about the whole experience was that the administration is in a way letting doubters dull the peoples sense of hope, even when they force themselves to rejoice in the worst of circumstances; hungry, with no roofs over their heads and with great anxiety sometimes. The nation’s leaders seems not to get this because they presumably focus on individual incidents, rather than the big picture which focuses on patterns to get the real feel of the suffering in the land, sufferings that has had no bounds.

Now talking about patterns, established positive patterns provide predictability, and predictability provides comfort, control and security, job loss, health issues, unemployment etc, all of which would help defuse reactive emotions and establish an environment where a people hitherto constantly stressed out and confused with tingling sensations and discouraged all feel valued and hopeful of a better tomorrow. Kudos to the people for their resilient spirit and for not sitting around wallowing in negativity. Here also, PMB should give all Nigerians that have endured and survived this terrible times a certificate of merit.

The kernel of this treatise therefore, is for PMB and his team to begin to define what success and progress is and should be in the nation in now and beyond. Success being the progressive achievement of a goal resulting in feeling good about the nation and the people, not the haphazard development and achievement all around. Yes, PMB is struggling to installed peace and one can’t take away from him the decisiveness in his approach in the last few days – the flip side of legalism is licence. Now the relational unity in the federation is passable, with less hate speeches and minatory words. But the sociopolitical engineering and financial management is taking its toil in this land of penury, wanton poverty and wasted resources.

Pretending things are fine when they’re not, makes it harder to get back up. Of course, if you look for an excuse you will always find one. If you don’t you won’t. When it comes to making excuses, our government’s and their publicists are infinitely creative. Ask the Femi Adesina’s of this world, what if we channelled that creativity into finding solutions instead of finding excuses? PMB has to therefore step up and step in. It can become the nation’s defining moment.