Only change is certain.
My last post was in December 2018. Well, sort of. All the posts after December 2018 have been me going through the motions. Something happened to me in 2018. What was left of my idealism died on 17 October 2017.
Since then I’ve been floundering in a dark night of the soul. A dramatic and prolonged mid life crisis. Triggered by that awful headline in The London Times. Lesley Agams: Oxfam official pushed me on to hotel bed and grabbed at my belt. I was mortified when I saw it. That was not how I wanted to make my global debut! Thankfully, Catalonia declared independence that morning and grabbed the front page. The amazing Sean O’Neill told me my story would’ve been on the front page.
Within 24 hours BBC Newsline had interviewed me and I had dozens of journalists in my inbox. As one woman like that wrote on my FB post, ‘You’ve been vindicated!’ It felt incredibly good to tell my story. I think I wrote about that here. But that story wasn’t about me. I was just a bit part in a global drama about sexual crimes in the aid sector.
At least I got some great professional pics. Content!
They tried to give me a bigger role in safeguarding. Oxfam GB even paid for me to ‘consult’ with them. I went to a lot of conferences and meetings. I felt constantly triggered. All we ever talked about were sexual crimes, serious misconduct and who could give us money.
Then COVID19 happened. The initial panic was a reprieve for me from safeguarding. But it sent me into a panic about what could happen in my village, UmuAka. All my energy was focused on making sure they survived the pandemic. When the government announced that soldiers would enforce lock down and quarantine I had nightmares of jack booted soldiers kicking down doors and dragging people away in lorries to die in under resourced centres if we so much as sneezed.
It wasn’t easy. But I have a natural tendency to get involved. Poor boundaries? People pleasing? Who knows? I just do. But I am on my own again. I only have to take care of myself right now. I cannot not take care of the people around me and not forget to take care of myself. Did I tell you I wanted to study hotel management and own a global chain of 5 Star hotels when I was 14? No?
It’s very liberating being on my own. Taking care of myself. I don’t want anyone to take care of me either. I just want to take care of myself.
Women. We’re always taking care of something. Or someone. Might as well take care of ourselves.
I’m so glad to be writing again. I need space to be creative and write. I needs space away from mundane distractions. Just a distraction. A detour. An experience. You can’t save anyone if you’re drowning. Besides, they don’t need saving. You’re the only one you’re responsible for saving.
This blog was always about my writing and becoming the best writer I can be. Not posting AI generated content every two weeks. The last generated post was on October 1, 2023, exactly one year ago today. Nigeria gained her Independence 64 years ago today. It probably doesn’t mean anything. Or not what we think it means.
Am I celebrating Nigeria’s Independence? No, I am in mourning for Nigeria 64 years ago today since her Independence. (They brought back the old anthem where Nigeria is clearly a she. Talk about misgendering.) Now she is in entropy. Maybe making her a woman again makes them feel a better about rating her? I’m not participating am more. Let me just be observing and documenting what I see. Who wan die? I am an observer. Let me leave my record for the descendants.
My grief keens. The Giant of Africa brought to it knees. We should tear our clothes and roll in ashes. We should wear sack cloth and drink garri without milk and sugar. A Mighty Iroko has fallen. Start the dirge!
Later this morning, some children will come out in their best uniforms and march past some dignitary without the regulatory pot belly. (Have you noticed that politicians no longer have pot bellies? If that can change maybe there is still hope! Don’t call you daughter hope, by the way. Because of Hope we are not doing the right thing.
My cache phrase. Do the right thing..
The expectation from a good hope-full citizen today is false gaiety and rose tinted nostalgia. But nostalgia has made me sad. I am grieving. I am in mourning. I wrote to some friends to find out how they felt. ‘There is nothing to celebrate,’ one wrote. ‘I can’t bring myself to be optimistic’ another one wrote. Pensive, hopeless, shell shocked they wrote back.
Independence Day celebrations in Nigeria are only for the elite anyway. They will throw parties and shoot fireworks where no one can see them. Till they post it on TikTok. Or Facebook. Or Instagram. (Have you followed mine? Help me build my audience. Please.) Everything is for The Gram. Showing off. Because what y’all call marketing is what my parents called showing off. And my teachers called it self promotion.
Over the weekend I watched Onyeka Onwenu’s iconic 1984 documentary: Nigeria A Squandering Of Riches. As I watched I keep t asking myself, what has changed? It was like a weird time capsule. Everything was different but everything was still the same. Like deja vu. Like we’re living in deja vu. Then I came across a an old clip from October 1, 1960 — Nigeria Independence Day Celebration. Princess Alexandra came and declared Elizabeth Queen of Nigeria. Now what kind of independence is that?
Then I watched What Britain Did to Nigeria! Whose bright idea was it to conquer warring tribes, put them in one country, give them weapons of mass destruction and then go home? Oyibo. So confident that their charm won over the natives.
Suddenly I feel like I’ve been hoodwinked into celebrating Nigerian Independence all these years.
There never was a country. Nigeria only exists because the British conquered its nations and chose to administer it as one unit. Nigeria is an administrative construction! That’s why there is no Nigerian identity. It’s also why Nigeria’s elite make so much noise about Independence Day. It IS the only thing uniting us. The British said they were handing over sovereignty to Nigerians. There were no Nigerians. There were Hausa, Igbo or Yoruba nations. But Oyibo language couldn’t describe us so they called us tribes.
Make of it what you will.
(I nor get time for gra gra, abeg. See my grey hair? I don’t have your power. Carry go.)
Change is certain. We change day by day, week by week, month by month, year by year, decade by decade. It all adds up. And one day you wake up and you’re a new person. It was Muhammed Ali that said ‘If you think the same way at 50 that you did at 20, you’ve wasted 30 years of your life.’
Well. This is how HE said it. I paraphrase. A lot.
Once upon a time Nigeria was a respected nation and Nigerians were a proud and respected people. Nigeria was a proud African nation. The most populous black nation in Africa. The Greatest Black Nation in the World. The Giant of Africa. The boys in khaki took it seriously. They tried. Anyway. That was the image they fed us to keep us quiet about the corruption. Like calling a puppy soothing names before wringing it neck. Here we are. Prostrate.
Nigeria’s administrative structure is corrupt. To rid Nigeria of its corrupt bureaucracy and politicians would mean self annihilation. And to spice things up, every tribe now has a militia. While every region has its competing criminal gangs. The government is just not there. I have been to places in Nigeria where the only symbol of state authority was a flag in front of a colonial era school block.
Make of it what you will.
Here is Onyeka Onwenu in 2020 railing against the indignity that Nigeria has inflicted upon its citizens. ‘If you don’t want us, then let us go. What a difference 48 years can make.
Change is certain. Things are happening. What a liminal moment. So much content! It’s all about content, isn’t it? Drama and melodrama everywhere. Scripted, curated, biased. Don’t ever forget that.
Thank you for sticking around.
Till soon
MzAgams 