Written by Mark Olali
When the British raj was defeated by our heroes of the past 6 decades ago, there was a thrill of hope hovering over the cloud as Nigerians stepped out in thousands and celebrated our swift escape from the follies of imperialism.
On this day in October 1st, 1960, there was a loud blast of African music steaming the radios of every home and cheers of cacophonous voices hitting the streets ceaselessly. Freedom was a hot commodity then, and one without it was flung into a sober mood. So, it wasn’t at all a surprise seeing every citizen in this high spirit of jollity when the news of independence was announced.
That was the day we thought the grim feeling of slavery, which has stung the black race and lasted for several decades, vanished in us.
The general idea was that our bedeviling masters are the only obstacle, and the only time we can live nobly is when they are out of the way.
Well, this is 62 years after independence, and all we can see is unending anomalies, hypocrisy of leaders oozing from coast to coast, dying dreams and, the most potent of them all – hunger. All these make the country almost inhabitable, like a place hit by Hurricane twice every year, and citizens depart from it in thousands, with the hope of finding a grail elsewhere
From wherever you’re within it, you feel a strange vibration. News of sheer general collapse must reach you when you pay careful attention, and such can force a man to go to bed early with the hope of not waking up the next day, just to escape the reality of this jungle where no one knows safety.
Yes, it is a complete mess; we don’t need anyone to tell us that. Nigeria has been reduced to a suburb where people are slaughtered in hundreds, and in which a man can’t sleep with his two eyes closed.
Even those who sang of its praises just yesterday are regretting that they are part of this history, and oftentimes lost in the volleying thought of how the country was catapulted into this groove of an overblown decadence.
Perhaps we should go back to the days before independence, most would agree, and rather rest in the cold arms of colonialism, if that is the only option left. For it seems we are wearing away by the day just as a desolated edifice, which is now only a part of memory.
Today, Nigeria would be clocking 62 and there may be a wild celebration (by those in power). The president, in a jazzy caftan dress and depressing everything-is-ok look, would start to recount the uncommon achievements of his regime that are so common. In other words, he would, as usual, put on a remarkable show to defend the indefensible, reminding citizens that they are fine, when they are only some metres away from their grave.
If Nigeria is anything today, it is nothing other than a bedwetting giant at 62.
