My name is Francis Itohan, and I’ve
lived all my life in an environment that characterized the epitome of affluence
and poverty. Development was minimal, poverty was rampant, and insecurity was
undeniably present, famine was a regular, injustice resided in the neighborhood,
kidnapping was now on the loom.
Weird as it could be that some don’t
have good water to drink the others use a tank of water to wash their cars
every morning, while some don’t have transport fare some roll in convoy, while
some can’t find a place to lay their heads others build bungalows for dogs,
while some are looking for food to eat we most organize buffet and at the end
wasting these foods, while some don’t have clothes to wear others fill their
wardrobes with what they will never wear, with insufficient police officers to
guide the populace some keep thirty in their compound. The rich could do
whatever pleases them and go away with it because justice resides with them.
Of these two one would wonder which I
belong; none, I was in the middle class in a society that draws energy from the
lower class to enrich the upper class thus suffocating the poor. Growth was
restricted in all aspects of life, social, mental, religious, academic even
physical. It was suffering and smiling all the way down. Growing up was fun at
my level because I don’t have to think too much of where it was coming from, my
parents need to get it. From my nursery through primary to secondary and lastly
to the university I’ve always been the genius that everyone knew. I was the
best in all thoughts of life apart from money. Read all the books in the world
on how to get rich quick and discovered they don’t work in our society. Nigeria
is greater in diversity than the “think and grow rich and rich dad poor dad”
thing. One thing works in this country; if you can’t beat them join them. The
truth is you can’t beat them.
I’m an epitome of frustration. The
world seems to hate me and I don’t want to run to church because of hunger. Our
fathers and mothers seem to be good liars because with their toners of story
this country called Nigeria was once a good country. How did it depreciate to
this level that it has lost all her flavours.
They all bought milk at 30kobo, when Volkswagen beetle was N300 and it
was free education all the way. I don’t know if some of you remembered there
were little or no armed robbers in the villages. And they all had jobs when
they finished secondary school not even university. They lived in a jungle with
no crime but brought us to a city which urbanism has destroyed.
Many mothers were teachers, nurses or
traders creating time for their children but suddenly all these issues I’m
talking about became dreams impossible for the present day young Nigerian to
achieve.
The accounts department packaged my
money and gave me. I counted it in shame as I walked out of the company. I
didn’t know the next step to take but I know I must stay where I am. I looked
around and saw a more frustrating Lagos.
Since the death of y parents life has changed from being average to
below poverty level. I feed from hand to mouth and savings was an abomination
to me. What do I even have to save though? I resorted to a relocating but I
won’t tell my landlord before he arrests me because of the eleven months house
rent I owe. It was a long trek to ikeja from my office but to me it was a
stroll. I got to khalif’s house and saw him drafting a proposal. He is also a
jobless man but a better street boy than me. He lives on lies and he is capable
of doing everything. From estate agents to oil and gas, sales rep, he even
arranges affidavits and fake documents all in a quest for survival. He bought
two sachet of water for me. It was chilling, which helped to quench the thirst
generated from the sun. Who are you writing a proposal for I asked? I’m going
to Abuja he said. What for…… guy I don tire for Lagos. I want to be close to
the source of the national cake. I bought the idea and asked if I could come.
Why not he answered with the assurance that we have an accommodation with an
old friend of his who lives at Mpape district in Abuja.
The next day, we took night bus to
arrive Abuja in the morning. It was a ten hour drive and when I saw the glamour
in the capital city I knew it was a venue for your dreams to come true. The
wide roads and beautiful landscapes caught my attention and the way they smiled
like they had no problems was attractive. I pitied my landlord; he is waiting
for me to come back. He should sell the lantern and half mattress I have left
in the room, I don’t care. As we alighted from the bus and stepped on the roads
of Abuja, I knew I was a millionaire. I brought out ten naira from my pocket
and walked to an aboki to buy Benson. I lit it and walked to the street to meet
Khalif who was making a call. It was the third drag before a truck parked
beside me and a man came out saying I’ll be paying a fine of five thousand
naira for smoking in public. I was surprised at what he was saying thus I built
a deaf ear. Two policemen walked towards us and told me to cooperate else I’ll
be charged for ………. Something I can’t remember. I quenched the cigarette at
this stage and started pleading. Sorry
man your fine is five thousand naira. Haaa for just smoking ten naira
cigarette! My complains and appeals worked no magic, and the next point was
Utako police station. The whole dream of becoming a great man in Abuja is going
down the drain again.
