No place to call home (On being Nigerian)

Today, Nigeria decides. Another election period has come around and I am in a strange land, scrolling and refreshing Twitter to try and feel the atmosphere and to get a sense of where Nigeria might be headed. I am terribly afraid, and although I initially swore to myself and everyone around me that I would mostly try to look away till the elections are over, so that I do not make the mistake of having hope, I find myself hoping, wishing and even praying. I feel utterly powerless. There is something about a vote that gives people the illusion of power. It makes you feel like in your own little way you are contributing something, and I do not get to do that.

It's a funny feeling for a number of reasons. Everyone knows that technically speaking, your one vote would not be what sways the elections in your candidate's favour, and everyone knows that the democratic system of Nigeria, is less than abysmal, at best. Yet it is only human nature to want to fight in some way, and we have been told that a thumbprint is the best way to do it; that that is the sane way to take back our rights, to fight our oppressors, and to secure our futures. So in recent years, more Nigerians have gotten more excited about having this opportunity to put up a fight. This election is particularly significant for young Nigerians because we tried fighting another way, not too long ago, and in the end, our collective spirits were broken.

I say 'we' but I sometimes feel like a fraud, because in all the ways we have tried to fight, I have stayed cocooned in a strange land, and urged them on. In my heart, I believe it is as much their fight as it is mine, but there is only so much you can do when you are so far from home. One of my closest friends was essentially disenfranchised this election period due to the disorganisation of Nigeria's electoral body (INEC), and so when she came to me, broken hearted because she, who was a staunch patriot would not get to vote in the very election that seemed like it mattered the most to many of us, I asked my mother to go with her to the INEC office in the state we lived, and I spent hours on the internet looking for solutions and calling every phone number that the electoral body had made available(Not a single one worked). Even when I knew that time was up, I still urged her to keep trying, because in my mind, we both could not lose the little chance we seem to have been offered to salvage what is left of the country that we have been plagued to call home. 

She said people thought that she was overreacting, when she was visibly heartbroken by the fact she would not get to vote, but I understood- the feeling of wanting to do something, anything at all, and not being able to; of being a part of something and still being excluded. At the end of our unfortunately fruitless endeavour to get her voter's card, I tried to tell her that maybe she would get another chance in 4 years, but she instantly retorted that if a reasonable candidate did not win, she would not be in the country during the next election. Yet her voice was laden with sorrow, because in a lot of us, there is a deep longing to be home; to return home. A friend of mine recently became a British citizen, and I urged her to take advantage of her new found visa free 'privileges', and visit different countries, she simply replied that she really just wants to go home. And my brother? He swears he could not care less about the country, but every time I look, he seems to be heavily invested in political and social movements that involve Nigeria. 

My mother who for as long as I can remember (a stark contrast to my father) maintained a noticeable level of despondency towards the state of things in Nigeria, was palpably excited during the EndSARS movements in 2020, and is excited to vote in the elections today. And I have a friend who largely seems indifferent to the state of things back home, who told me the wave of emotions he felt during and after the EndSARS movements in 2020. He is not saying much this election period, but you can tell from comments here and there, a like, or a retweet that a part of him cannot help but hope. For a lot of us, hoping is dangerous. We have no option but to choose indifference and apathy, because when your house is burning down and it appears you have no power to save it, it is easier to look away if you never quite cared for it. 

Because, I felt so powerless last night, I wanted to make a donation to Peter Obi's campaign team, but it was already too late. Sometimes even making donations seems inadequate- like a way to placate your guilty mind and feel like you contributed to something while other people do all the back breaking work. I felt the same way during the EndSARS movements. I made a donation, and I kept checking to see if there were protests in the country that I was in. When there were protests, the city was too far and the journey too costly for me to have participated. These days when I go on about social justice causes, I wonder if it is not a certain kind of absurdity to be so caught up in the social struggles of the Global North, while where I come from, these progressive causes are at their infantile stages, and I would love to direct my energy in that direction. 

It is a painful position to be in. To know a place but be too far away to feel like you are making any meaningful contribution, or you are living authentic experiences. But the truth is, this has become part of the Nigerian experience- Lighting a candle of hope every once in a while, knowing fully well, that in no distant time, it will be snuffed out, aggressively. Wishing the country gets 'habitable' but packing up your bags ready to leave. Trying to build parts of home in strange lands, and in unusual weather conditions at every corner of the world; Learning a kind of doggedness that can only come when you know that at the gates of the country you call home, you would not be met with warmth and hugs. 

It is unfortunate what these people have done. I do not believe in Karma but even if it did exist, I do not think there is any punishment I would consider adequate for these evil men and women who have put us in this position. They continue to thrive, their stomachs, and their pockets getting bigger, while the rest of us are thrown into disarray and are left in a constant state of limbo. From the very depths of my soul, f*ck them. They have grinded down the dreams and hopes of an entire generation, and they have forced people to uproot their lives, and leave everything they know, every community they have been a part of, friendships they have built and nurtured over their lifetime, and scatter their lives in the most random and sometimes unwelcoming places in a bid to find solace. Emigration is a never-ending part of human existence, but things should be such that if ever you feel a yearning for home, you would not hesitate to go back, and while there, find comfort. Against all better judgment, I am allowing myself hope that the choice Nigeria makes today is one that allows us have a place to call home.