From My Dog-eared Diary

15^th November,2009: 7.pm. We wave a cab down. He stops and when we asked, ‘Kuramo beach. How much?’  He looked shocked then yelled , ‘ Enter! Enter! Up Nigeria!’. Nigeria had just got a ticket to the World Cup in South Africa by a miracuolous mix of events.The cab man was a fat Yoruba man with  yellow teeth. He could not contain his glee. As soon as we were sitted, he continued,’ Dis country too much. I no believe say we go fit qualify even when I hear say Pastor T. B Joshua talk am. Ha, God love dis country.’ I didn’t know what to say but my friends Edu and Cross were already saying something in agreement. I was lost in the pseudo  beauty of Victoria Island. For a minute, I wondered if this man knew that Nigeria was a failed state, that it’s very existence was being contested. I wondered if he knew that Bode George,the former Vice Chairman of the Peoples Democratic Party had just been sent to prison for looting the state treasury to the tune of 300 million Naira. Then I wondered if he ever wondered why Nigeria was still one of the poorest nations on earth mindless of her vast oil wealth. I really wanted to say ‘God has cursed this country’ but instead I echoed,’Up Nigeria’ perhaps to widen his smile.

When we got down, he said,’just give me anything, anything….’ We gave him 200 naira and he zoomed off, blaring his hone as he disappeared into the distance,  still shouting UP NIGERIA and waving his hand.

The boys at the Kuramo gate seemed to have come from Madagascar. Mindless of how many times we repeated UP NIGERIA, they still wanted their money. Actually, they are a bunch of touts who extort people in the name of tourism charges that, they explained, they used to maintain the beach. In fact, when I said, ‘We go deal with dem for South Africa’, seeking their concurrence, one of them said,’ Oga abeg pay me my money. Na Nigeria abi South Africa go give me chop make I chop this night? It was an incontrovertible logic: This country wont give him dinner. In fact, this country had done nothing for him. They must have come from nearby Chad, these boys.

At the beach, the roar of the waves is almost drowned by the million voices blaring from the speakers. Timaya. Terry G. P-Square.Bracket…. To the left, a long line of sheds and shanties. Some double as homes and whore houses, others as bars and game houses. A long long line…as far as the eyes can see. To the right, very close to the waves, the scarlet ladies, skimpily dressed, anything from 14-40, calling out alluringly to unsuspecting men…and women! These too were the people Nigeria had failed.

We pick the most ‘decent’ bar.  Yori Yori was on the speakers and a fair dancer was on the stage entertaining. A bottle of beer goes for 250 and as soon as you sit, some boys approach you with long white wraps of marijuana saying,’100,100 Naira, make I bring am?’ Before you have time to express your shock, you notice; the dark lanky fellow on the next table is seriously smoking it and gently nodding his head to the music. A phrase comes your mind: SIN CITY.

After your second bottle  of beer, you move towards the ocean and sit on the white sand looking out to the distant Apapa port all lighted in the surrounding deep darkness. The sea sings a familiar song to you. The breeze blows in your soul. You close your eyes and take it all in. YOU ARE ALIVE.

Next to you, a lady robed in white spreads her hands to the ocean, spewing unintelligible incantations, standing  while shaking, almost unconscious of the dark skinned girl saying in Igbo,’ O di ka o na-acho nwa’.

When you are tired of leaving your footprints on the sands and of the sands tickling your toes and of the ocean playfully wanting to sweep you off your feet, and of Chi running around in your mind and of the voice of all the dead poets you know especially Sylva Plath… and of the smell of decay and squalor and of the death merchants beckoning … and of Nigeria, this Nigeria…

…You walk to the road and take a cab back to Law School  thinking, ’IN THE MIDST OF LIFE,WE ARE IN DEATH!