Nigerian politicians and corruption

The problem with this country

Photo by Emmanuel Ikwuegbu on Unsplash

"Pah!" He slapped his neck for the fifth time in a bid to kill the bloodthirsty musician called a mosquito. "TJ, come scratch my back. Look like a mosquito don chop hin dinner," Big Lord commanded his fellow prisoner. The fellow prisoner obliged and returned to his cramped position in the cell of Korokoro Correctional Center.

In Korokoro Correctional Center, Big Lord holds a position of high regard among the inmates. There's a Yoruba word that encapsulates his status: "Gbo." It signifies something so old that it probably shouldn't even exist in that state anymore; it suggests that it should have been discarded long ago. Such is the case with Big Lord.

Nigeria newspaper cartoon:Google

There have been rumors going on within the walls of the Korokoro Correctional Center suggesting that Big Lord was once a member of the House of Representatives. It was said that his past caught up with him, as he failed to adequately secure himself and the millions he embezzled. Allegedly, he hid the ill-gotten millions in a soakaway located in an abandoned mansion guarded only by an oblivious security guard in Banana Island, Lagos.

Rumors can sometimes be half truth like propaganda curated to protect the people in the past.Despite the possibility of these rumors being only partially true, everyone within the prison took them as gospel truth, swallowing them whole without leaving even a crumb behind.

Big Lord lived up to his name within the confines of the cell, reigning like a lord among the 26 inmates. As the eldest, he asserted his authority by claiming the privilege to consume portions of other inmates' meals, commanding them to scratch his back, and securing the spot near the solitary window for himself. He even exercised the option to sit on top of his fellow inmates' backs when the hard floor proved uncomfortable for his buttocks.

Nigeria newspaper cartoon:Google

Being the eldest was like a trophy for him, a source of pride and validation of his dominance within the cell.

In Nigeria, politicians like Big Lord are seldom revered for their character or supposed integrity, but rather for the potential benefits they may offer: a slice of the national cake. In other words, those who gather around or choose to turn a blind eye to corruption, regardless of their status, are often struggling Nigerians who are desperate to survive. They are the laid-back yet resilient individuals who have opted to trust the repetitive lies spun by these politicians—lies delivered with minimal effort. The “I will work to serve the interest of the people” kind of lies.

Big Lord is just one among the many politicians who go scot free while indulging in their share of the national cake. However, he serves as a living embodiment of the adage "every day for the thief and one day for the owner." Big Lord opts for medical treatment abroad, knowing fully well about the deficiencies of the local healthcare system, yet absolving himself of any responsibility. He adopts the same approach for his children's education, choosing to send them abroad due to the inadequacies of the educational system at home.

Big Lord shirks responsibility, believing himself somehow above the consequences he's inflicted on the very people he claims to represent.

Despite his blatant disregard for the plight of the masses, he never gets tired of his anthem: "I will work to serve the interest of the people,"

Nigeria newspaper cartoon:Google

Chinua Achebe in his book- the problem with Nigeria stated that the problem is not with the country, it's resources or it's residents but in the “unwillingness or inability of its leaders to rise to the responsibility, to the challenge of personal example which are the hallmarks of true leadership”

On the 365th day of his incarceration, Big Lord has come to realize the true extent of the punishment that ostracization inflicts upon a human being: deliberate segregation over an extended period. With days still ahead, he anticipates that the remainder of his sentence will be marked by what Wole Soyinka describes in his book "The Man Died" as "private conversations with a handful of individuals"—a self-generating community of victims who have either experienced or are yet to face a battle not just for an idea, but for integrated survival.

By the time he reaches the 366-day mark, Big Lord will acknowledge that the crazy world Fela Kuti once sang about isn't confined to the outside; it's there too, cloaked as justice, breeding its own brand of madness within the prison walls.