Time for Nigerian Leaders to Be Accountable, Lead By Example

Uzoulu T. Obijiofor

Humanity lost in the applause for suffering and smiling. With an infant in her left arm, the girl reached out with her right hand to knock on the window where I had rested my head, pleading, “Aunty, I’m hungry. Please, can you give me some food?” The girl chased my car on foot amid the chaos of Lagos traffic. Startled by the incoming vehicles disregarding the two, I stared into the eyes of desperation.

I only had an empty water bottle and my phone on me. Her eyes grew into wide circles, begging, “Ma, please. Please give me water. I’m thirsty. We are thirsty.” Transfixed with horror, I was unable to unlock my eyes with hers. She does not look a day over 14 years old. Her youthful face bore a mixture of old and fresh scars. We were likely travelling at approximately 16km per hour when the baby leaned her face against the window to peer into the car. The girl continued her plea, “Aunty, please, we are hungry. Give us food. Please, we have nothing.”

The baby’s physical appearance resembled that of an eight-month-old, but her demeanour is probably around two years old. The girl followed my car for about 1.6km before walking away. Every time I enter a vehicle, a child on the street is chasing down a car, hoping to eat that day. Let’s trace back our nation’s food instability to its core: a dire consequence of inadequate infrastructure.

How do I effectively convey the message that recognition of Nigerians should not begin once they have left their homeland? As a Nigerian-American deeply concerned about the state of my home country, it is unsettling to observe the stark contrast. Nigerians are statistically one of the most accomplished immigrant communities in the United States, a trend reflected across Europe. However, within our borders, this success narrative dissipates into disillusionment.

Our nation is confined to a disheartening reality, plagued by a web of corrupt officials who prioritise personal gain over the prosperity of Nigeria. It is dismaying to recount the stories I have heard during my brief month-long visit. Witnessing rainwater engulf unprepared streets due to the absence of a functional drainage system is a distressing sight. Equally distressing is the image of a man with an open wound who is denied medical treatment because he lacks the means to pay and is left to sit helplessly beside a lamppost.

I have watched children merrily riding bicycles alongside adults navigating their vehicles with unease on the same road. And throughout my visit, individuals trudge through traffic to peddle their goods precariously balanced atop their heads. I recall a determined woman bearing a tray of roasted peanuts, desperate to make a sale amid a relentless downpour.

For as long as memory serves, people continue threading through traffic, offering wares on their heads. Those unable to secure jobs brave the perilous streets daily in pursuit of a livelihood. Meanwhile, those with formal employment grapple with the strain of putting food on the table, maintaining shelter, affording transportation, and securing an education for their children.

The continuous ascent of inflation only exacerbates these hardships, fanning the flames of internal strife.

It is concerning to advise a nation to endure hunger when the funds designated for essential infrastructure have been embezzled for personal gain. How can one claim leadership in Nigeria while seeking medical treatment in another country? My perspective within Nigeria does not expose me to its most dire conditions, yet pervasive issues loom large no matter where one gazes.

There is a reason behind the presence of wealthier nations in African, Asian, and Latin American countries: the pursuit of local resources to bolster their prosperity. Our resources are persistently being mismanaged, stolen, and exploited for personal gain. In the end, the people who steal will only leave a trail of overconsumption and greed. Nigeria finds itself ensnared in a cultural swamp known as “suffering and smiling.”

Ultimately, how we treat each other lies at the heart of our predicament.

No individual should consider themselves above another. Someone built the structure you call a home. Someone tilled the ground, so you have food to buy and feed your family. What are we doing for them?

Beyond Nigeria’s borders, people from diverse backgrounds commemorate Nigerian Independence Day, embracing fellow Nigerians as extensions of themselves. Witnessing a man bathing with water sourced from a clogged street drainage system should not be routine; it should strike us as an anomaly.

This scarcity mentality is taking a devastating toll on our people. When leaders evade accountability, it is understandable why many citizens are inclined to follow suit. Yet, Nigeria is a youthful nation, with an average age of just 16.9 years. We cannot afford to neglect our neighbours, especially as we navigate our shaping years.

Nigerians excel overseas thanks to the infrastructure built from our resources by wealthier nations. Abandon the “quick cash” method and begin to invest in our future, commencing with our behaviour towards one another. Our country does not lack intelligence but compassion for others.

Our homeland’s inadequate infrastructure constrains us, but our compassion for our neighbour propels our success abroad. It is not enough to boast the designer goods as an achievement of hard work in Nigeria. It is not enough to “make it big” in another nation when our brothers and sisters die at home.

It also is not respectable to treat those who make your lives easier as less than others. We must acknowledge our need for each other. Those who died during the #EndSARS Protest in 2020 did not leave us in vain. They were murdered for the decision to show compassion for their home.

The time has come for our leaders to embrace accountability, setting an example for all Nigerians to follow. Only then can we begin to transform “suffering and smiling” into a thriving, compassionate society.

•Obijiofor writes from Lagos