Soro S’oke… the end is never the end

We are where we are because previous generations failed to speak up at crucial points in time and leaders got to think they were above the law and rules of basic decency and humanity.  Autocratic tyrannical rule got more and more normalised and the gap in lifestyles and perspectives has become more and more difficult to bridge.

AS a trained crawler of the web, I have learned to first arrive “home” before I start to sort all I gathered during my foray into the jungle of words, ideas and images. The last one week has tried the hearts of the very faint-hearted. The young were on the streets, the old stayed at home to monitor events from their screens. New words and expressions emerged; someone said, Nigeria needs to set up a Truth and Prosecution Commission. As I was trying to digest that, I heard Jahman Anikulapo talk about “we the Used.” In his honour, the muse caused me to write these few lines.

‘We the Used, call upon the Youth, the river of pain is flowing deep and wide. Waidi the fisherman lost his net during the Internet induced protest. You have tested the patience of we the used, anarchy now looms on the streets.

“Can we go back to protest by Zoom? Can you make room for Waidi to return to the open seas where he turns raw energy into resources? He wants a new Nigeria, but a new fishing boat first. He wants pollution free politics but also a pollution-free waterway. Waidi wants the new life when SARS finally goes the way of elders who sleep and never wake up.’

To be sure, this was not a season of fictional accounts, I was lucky to chance on one of the eyewitness accounts. This is published more for the documentary value it will serve in the future when scholars find the liver to put together what really happened in Nigeria.

Participant/observer.  Beyond theory.  Part 1

YESTERDAY I tried to make my way from the Akure area to Ibadan in an effort to be closer to home in Lagos as I feared the demonstrations would escalate significantly and possibly lead to some major changes, which might make movement impossible.  I woke up and discovered that most of my fellow Faculty had disappeared from campus and many whose homes are in the area did not make it to work.   I decided it was worth the risk of violating the curfews in Ondo and Osun States to move closer to Lagos, which i knew I could not enter yet.

Hmmm.  Smooth sailing and an eerily deserted highway in my hired taxi through Ilesha to Ife and to Ikire between 10am and 12noon. Then at Ikire, roadblocks mounted by youth “hoodlums” taking advantage of the disappearance of police began.  They were collecting 100 naira or what they could get from motorists.  Every 200 metres or occasionally further, these roadblocks were appearing.  I counted at least seven until we got to what is called the toll gate at the border between Osun State and Oyo State as you enter Ibadan heading for Iwo Rd. 

“There the Roadblockers declared that they were not taking a penny but were going to hold us all up until 6pm in solidarity with their fellow youth around the country.  Drivers, public transporters got down to beg and reason with them. After 20mins, I got down to look for their “leaders” and reason with them. My people in Ibadan and Lagos and elsewhere were worried sick at my delayed arrival and I did not want to be on the road after dark, not to talk of the guy driving me who was determined to return home to Ife.

Surrounded by irate and determined youth (a few openly smoking I know not what) I was reminded of the heated discussions between two friends the day before about the youths’ refusal to stop the protest whilst government meet their demands.  To cut a long story of the factual ride short and draw out the lessons I mulled over, suffice it to say that I rolled up at my Aunts at 6.15pm having encountered three increasingly tougher roadblocks in Ibadan. 

Just woke up aching all over and I crave your indulgence to go to part 2 after my bath and breakfast. The taxi driver just called to thank me for adding ₦5000 to his already high fee because he stuck with me and had his car slightly damaged.  I therefore decided to share this first-hand experience with you all as I believe we have to move beyond real personal fears and perspectives to try to understand the bigger picture. 

Beyond Theory. Part 2

AT tough roadblock 1, where the youth were not taking money, they declared they had no leaders (a move I would normally support to avoid victimisation), so who to reason with? Telling three groups at different parts of the highway that they had our support and were victimising the wrong groups of people yielded nothing. Comments and yelling from many of them indicated clearly a resentment of the seemingly wealthy and comfortable and a determination to make everyone suffer as they had been suffering.

An hour later, when they decided to let three or four cars through, they stopped the guy driving me and a couple referred to “eniti o s’oyinbo“. Someone banged their fist on the bonnet of the car I was in and dented it.  I got down again to save the poor drivers car from harm and sat in the shade by the roadside.  One of the leaders approached me nicely and offered me a seat advising that I just let them have their way until things cool down. He was obviously gathering intelligence too and was soon joined by a group of four boys (probably of secondary school age?), who came to sit in the shelter and loudly expressed their views on the situation in the country. 

Listening to them, I thought to thank God most of them are predominantly peaceful but what would they do if the situation got tense with their wilder, bolder colleagues.  For me — clear lesson — never let a situation escalate to a point where dialogue is difficult, if not impossible because tempers are running too high.  Part of de-escalating the situation is listening and showing no animosity. At a point even that might not work and hot tempers and the desire for retribution may have to run their course before any form of dialogue prevails. May we never find ourselves in the midst of such a situation? Ordinary people in public and private transport were sitting ducks at that roadblock in a town we didn’t know well and no-one among the local elders was ready to intervene on our behalf.  If a fracas had broken out among the youth or armed forces arrived to disperse them, who knows who would have been caught in the crossfire.

On the positive side, these were youth focused on expressing their grievances, especially after they heard of the attack on their comrades at the Lekki tollgate.  I dropped my purse and did not realise at some point walking away up and down the highway and three of the protesters called out and drew my attention to it. No one was stealing from or harassing travelers and in the two hours we were held up there, two “wild haired” lads gave up their seats for me on the roadside. 

Do not let us demonise these youth.  Nigeria is the environment that bred them, denied their citizenship and leaves them often feeling helpless.  Indeed, they have exercised much patience with leaders.  Let us grant them their right to soro soke and be heard.

Conclusion: Part 3.

WITH intervention from a strongman, we managed to get through that roadblock and on to several more roadblocks and finally hit tough roadblock 2 which was inside Ibadan (along old airport road) resembling a mini street carnival with music and intermittent talks directed at those gathered voluntarily or by force.  The roadblock was manned by the smoking fierce-looking bad guys but the talkers seemed to have some control.  From their utterances, they were university or poly educated youth — again disgruntled, fed up and angry.  The music was carefully chosen to articulate their grievances and they were the most determined to keep us until 6pm.

Nevertheless, at 5.30pm, a soldier in fatigues walked to one of the leaders, spoke quietly with him and a vehicle from the back was let through the barricade driving on one side.  After all the strong rhetoric against the armed forces, I thought — as usual the people within reach are the targets to suffer inconvenience whilst those in power and their agents who are seemingly out of reach suffer less.  A uniformed soldier triggered no animosity and felt bold enough to walk out in uniform? 

The youthful organisers felt no need to explain this to the inconvenienced motorists they had held up for over an hour? So, in terms of respect for each other and accountability, what were these youth doing that differently?  The usual force to impose your will on those within reach just like the police we criticize?  There was much murmuring among the forcibly gathered crowd that had resigned themselves to waiting for two hours.  Maybe for that reason, they opened the barricades 15mins early and let us go at 5.45pm.

These youth organisers on the streets are not perfect, they are a microcosm of Nigerian society trying to figure things out fueled by anger at the gross neglect and mismanagement and a desire to make things better.  Not all of them are good leaders BUT they do not have to be.  Their role, like the generations before is to speak up “soro soke” and hold elected or nominated leaders accountable every inch of the way.  We are where we are because previous generations failed to speak up at crucial points in time and leaders got to think they were above the law and rules of basic decency and humanity.  Autocratic tyrannical rule got more and more normalised and the gap in lifestyles and perspectives has become more and more difficult to bridge. 

From a purely personal and selfish perspective, may I never find myself helpless or a potential casualty amidst such tensions that play out before constructive engagement?

But on a less selfish note, may we all work as caring elders to prevent the wanton self-interest which today presents itself as sheer wickedness towards our fellow wo(man) And may we also work wherever we can de-escalate the situation.

I will not be attempting to reason or speak turenchi to irate youth at roadblocks again.  Turenchi has nothing to do with Language but is a metaphor for a vastly different perspective.

Last leg of journey still in view!  I hope that de-escalators are hard at work behind the scenes.

The story ended on a note the writer could say “Good night” to her readers.