Smiling
insults
By
Julius Ogar
It took me, a self acclaimed workaholic,
too long to put this piece together – so much so that I have almost completely lost
the sizzling freshness of my story, my experiences. What with the daily
struggle of being a Nigerian and living in Nigeria where mediocrity sets the
pace while corruption rules the roost; where impunity strides with audacious
impunity right on the middle of our highways. Oh dear...!
Whenever one gets an opportunity to experience
modesty, discipline, courtesy and efficiency, one can’t help wondering and
lamenting: wetin de worry us sef?!
And to cap it, when one sees machines, systems and structures and the people
who run them working to the optimal, delivering quality service without
eye-service and adding value for the sake of progress, one cant’ help wondering
what is wrong with Nigeria and why it has to progress in reverse in and out of
season. Hmm!!
It was beautiful, exciting, relaxing and
rewarding. It was a small journey to a small country, with plenty of smallish
people; but everything turned out big. Big! Big!! Big!!! (with emphasis) It was
simply amazing to realise that this small island with more sugarcane fields
than houses has frequently featured among top performers in the Mo Ibrahim
index for good governance; is the only African country with near zero
unemployment; and the only African country with more than 90% literacy rate.
Electricity is just a matter of turning on a switch, just as water is a mere
question of turning on the tap. How bigger could it get, especially when one
was visiting from a bragging but prostrate African giant sitting lazily on
wells and reserves of oil and gas?
Far out to the east of Madagascar, about
2000 kilometres off the south-east coast of the African continent is the
tropical Island of Mauritius. This tiny country of 1.2 million people sits
pretty in the Indian Ocean, flocking with descendants of Africans, Indians,
Chinese, and Europeans. From the air, Mauritius’ lush green sugarcane fields
look like well manicured lawns straddling wide expanses of the countryside. As
we descended, my eyes kept wandering from the coastline to the wavy horizon,
and I silently baffled at how far some explorers could venture out in search of
heaven knows what. What motivated those explorers to venture out...till they
found the land of the now extinct dodo? Much more than being adventurous, I
think they must have listened to their inner voices which urged them: “go on...
there’s still a patch of land further out there...”
Mauritius makes me remember with nostalgia
an old school mate we used to call “Small Engine” (not real name). Small Engine
had this smallish stature with a very spare build, almost bony. But inside his
spare frame was an amazing reserve of energy. He had the most stamina in the
medium and long distance races, including marathons or what we called “Cross
Country”. Small engine would endure on the track and very often outrun bigger
and taller boys to the finishing line. Marvelling at the amount of energy
inside his small body, witty boys soon dubbed him with an appellation that came
to overshadow his real name whenever there was a competition in school.
Mauritius also makes me remember the Chinese
balm (also called Essential Balm). In the good old days before evil merchants
learnt to clone medicines in their warehouses, the Chinese balm was such a
potent ointment that itinerant traders came to give it the name: “small-no-be-sick”.
I think it must have been given this name because it came in a very little
container and a very little amount of the ointment was quite effective in
soothing sore spots and rheumatic pains on the body. If one was stung by a
scorpion (as happened to me twice), or suffered a dislocation of muscular
swelling, all he needed to do was look for “small-no-be-sick” and apply
tropically through massage. Though it had this burning sensation to the skin,
it brought much relief and healing.
Though small in size and population,
Mauritius is a highly efficient, functional, orderly and highly organised
society. I never saw one heap of refuse nor did I witness flying polythene in
the air; no madly speeding and smoky cars on the highways as everyone observes
the limits on speed; no police or military checkpoints to harass commuters and
ask stupidly: “who are you?” or “from where?” when even the questioner does not
know the kind of answer to expect; no generators disturbing the neighbourhood
with fumes and noise; no hawkers dodging between traffic and poking wares at
your face; no beggars reminding you of a weak and dysfunctional social system; no
microphone blasts from churches or mosques and their itinerant preachers. You
could add your own to my list and I bet you won’t be wrong.
Though peopled by Hindus, Buddhists,
Muslims, Christians et al, Mauritians think their country first and are not
overly sanctimonious in the hypocritical way we know it here. They live their
religion in a quiet, unobtrusive, and patriotic way – and this reflects piously
in their work, respect, and courtesy. Everyone one stumbled across was absorbed
in their work and willing to help with simplistic honesty and modesty. Start a
conversation and you would be highly amazed at how well informed and how
educated an “ordinary” taxi driver, waiter or cleaner is. I never for once
heard that self aggrandising question: “do you know who I am” from people who
spoke to me in English, engaged others in French, or switched to a Creole I did
not understand with rapid and accustomed fluidity.
The memory will never leave me, when,
following an introduction, one Mauritian threw a joke at me and my friend thus:
“every Nigerian owns a private jet”. I laughed along with my friend but deep
down, we both knew this is the sort of mockery to which Nigeria and Nigerians
have become prey. A host of other nationals one happened to interact with never
ceased to wonder aloud: “Nigeria...oh! But what is wrong with your country!?” And
this was no rhetorical question.
That gentleman’s comment was a good
humoured joke. But for me it was akin to gallows humour. After all, Nigeria’s
own president had disputed the alarming rate of poverty in the country by
telling the world that many Nigerians owned private jets. Now South Africa has
been pulling the curtains to show us how the Nigerian elite use private jets
for poverty alleviation.
Take it or leave it: as a country, we have
become a laughing stock of our neighbours and the entire world, even when they
respect us as individuals and defer to our intelligence and/or wisdom. The
visit gave me an insight and a confirmation that being “big” is not just a
matter of size or flaunting one’s weight with inconsequential statistics; or
readjusting figures to escalate the GDP to the top of regional economies. Being
big is a function of efficiency and organisation; of accountable and credible
governance; of exemplary leadership that stirs in the citizens the sense of
nationhood and patriotism.
I came away from Mauritius humbled, but sad
at the grotesque irony of my country being a giant with feet of clay. And once
again I remembered Small Engine – my old school mate who always sped away from
bigger boys and bullies to take the prize. Chaiii...!!!