My eyes blinked continuously in as many seconds. Enough of this battle trying to force myself to get a long stretch of uninterrupted sleep. I must have hissed for the eighty fifth time. This is what I call “waking up on the wrong side of the bed”, only that this was starting to become a regular occurrence. PHCN/NEPA had deprived us of electricity since yesterday morning as usual, and I never leave the generator running after 12 midnight.
I glanced at the wall clock; it was already 6:45! As I reached for the towel, I hissed for the eighty sixth time with eyes barely open, scratching my body soaked in cold sweat and blighted with heat rash. I slapped my back for a moment as I cursed at the mosquitoes that have obviously grown immune to the several brands of insecticide I had employed the past few months. It was too late to catch the BRT bus I thought to myself. By the time I get to the bus-stop, the queue will be much longer than fans eagerly awaiting Lady gaga to sign a copy of her album they just purchased, only that people on this queue will be everything but gregarious. My only other option was to use the car if I’m to avoid getting a query at work for coming late. Although I’d suffer the consequences, facing heavy traffic on my way back home. So I did the daily early morning ritual, stuffed my food flask with all sorts of unhealthy pastries and fizzy drinks and stormed into the car.
I am a member of the “dying breed”, the one popularly referred to as “the middle class” in my country. Slowly we are at the brink of extinction. This social class is fast becoming an endangered species like the remaining six tiger subspecies. Such is how difficult things have become and how social classes are being redefined by such harsh economic conditions. If radical changes don't occur, if economic policies by the next decade fail to bring about the much desired change, my social class status might just be extinct by then.
The journey out of my neighborhood shouldn’t take up to 5 minutes, but for the deplorable state of the roads, add an extra 10 minutes to that. I usually drive carefully, meticulously studying the depth of the potholes and death traps to avoid them accordingly. While I was at it, I must have irritated a pedestrian who didn’t hesitate to let me know he wasn’t a fan of my driving. “ewo ni gbogbo osi yi?” (What’s with all the nonsense?). I wasn’t exactly in a good mood anyway, so I fired back, “as road big reach na only this place you fit pass? Abeg make I hear word jare”. (Isn’t the road wide enough for you to avoid this spot? Please leave me alone). The pedestrian was obviously in a belligerent mood. “na so all you rich rich people go dey drive motor dey chance poor man for road, e no go better for all of una!” (That’s how you rich folks drive around in cars and exploit the poor man on the road, may you all not know peace!). That despicable statement surely triggered a robust response, as the chest of my car hit the asphalt. I was incensed. Not only did I fail in my quest to avoid that particular pothole, the pedestrian had the effrontery to call me “rich” and insult me as well. Rich? I wish I was as rich as he thought.
I popped my head out of my window and launched a tirade of all the foul languages I could muster in Pidgin English at the poor pedestrian. We exchanged back and forth for like 20 seconds till I could no longer see him in my rear view. I still threw my five fingers in the air regardless just in case he could still see me. As I was catching my breath from that shameless outburst, I heard a loud bang!
Someone must have struck my car with his fist. Again my meticulous driving must have left another person exasperated judging by his comment, only that this time, it was an Okada driver. “una go dey steal money, come buy motto dey do yanga for road”. (You loot the nation’s treasury, then buy cars and oppress the less privileged). I was livid with rage. He had already trotted past my car, but I didn’t care. I hauled all the abusive language twice the pidgin vocabulary content I could manage last term. I had exceeded the boiling point; it was more like the volcanic peak.
Ironically, I was listening to the legendary Fela’s “power show”, only that I felt like the oppressed. The song didn’t make any sense to me at that moment. All I wanted was to make it to work on time without having my vehicle destroyed. Now I’m so worked up and I can’t even think straight. What car was I driving that warranted such cruelty? It was just a Hyundia Accent I acquired few months back thanks to the loan facility made available to me at my job (By the way, I’m still servicing that loan).
Maybe I’m not being rational or maybe I’m just the regular selfish Nigerian, but should I drive my car through those dreadful roads to appease the poor pedestrian? Should I have ignored the uncouth okada driver who decided to hit my trunk with his fist? After all, it’s his fist not mine. But then again, why are they taking out their frustration on me? I didn’t implement the policies that have driven the Nigerian economy deeper down into the mire. I haven’t looted or been a beneficiary of looting the national treasury that has deprived millions of Nigerians either (to the best of my knowledge).
We and I mean the less privileged (because I always refrain from calling people poor) and the middle class are in this together. Mikano or Jubaili brothers for example don’t fuel my generator; they don’t give me complementary power plants as I don’t hold any important public position. I go through virtually most of the things they go through (well almost). I don’t have overzealous police officers as escorts who blew sirens at the slightest and flimsiest excuse to disobey traffic laws and harass poor civilians.
I have also not been introduced to any influential business mogul who might look at me with pity and give to me a brand new Prado jeep so I can hastily drive through the appalling roads in my neighborhood and avoid a potential spite with the angry pedestrian or the uncivilized okada driver. Only that my driving might hoist so much dust into the atmosphere with the jeep, but I will be long gone by the time they can haul abuses at me and they might even choke at it. But really, why do we allow the actions of the privileged few frustrate us to the point where we take it out on each other?
I reiterate, I’m a dying breed and not exactly so comfortable to fold my arms and adopt the “siddon dey look” approach. I’m on the same side of the less privileged. It’s very difficult not to get caught up in all the mess emanating from frustrations as a result of the current economic state of our dearly beloved country. I am guilty, and most of us are guilty too but we must look beyond that and act civil. We cannot allow these privileged few continue to make us act like “animals in human skin”. If we are to take out our frustrations it should be directed at those at the helm of affairs with their protruding belly merrily stirring the ship of Nigeria to nowhere in particular. We have available instruments at our disposal such as social networks, our pen, peaceful protests amongst others.
The time is now, enough with the lackadaisical attitude. I’m just getting started with my pen.
GOD bless Nigeria.
Eniola Ositelu
@doublegeneral
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