NIGERIA WE HAIL THEE

I did not understand corruption when I was a child. I thought it was a big English word, they used on television. I thought it lived in Abuja, far away from my small street. I was wrong. It lives here. It lives in the small office with a small fan. It lives in the file that never moves. It lives in the smile that says, bring something. I went to get my document. It was a simple document. One paper. My name was correct. My date was correct. Everything was correct. The man behind the desk did not even look at me. He looked at the paper and he dropped it on the pile. He said, come next week. I said, why next week, it is just a stamp. He said, "oga, you don't understand process. Next week." I came next week. He said, file not found. I said, but you kept it here. He said, maybe it entered another office. Go and check. I went to three offices. Each office had a man who wanted me to drop something before he stood up from his chair. I did not have something to drop. So I came again. And again. One month passed for one stamp. That was when I learned the first lesson. Nothing moves unless you move money. The file does not walk by itself. You must give it legs. Later I tried to get a small job. I had my certificate. I had second class upper. I had NYSC. I had everything they asked for in the advert. I printed my CV well. I went to the test. I scored high. I was called for interview. At the interview, five of us sat outside. Four of us were sweating and rehearsing answers. One man was pressing his phone, relaxed. He did not even have a file. When they called him, he entered and came out in two minutes, laughing. We entered one by one and they asked us questions that had no answer. They wanted to stress us. At the end, the man who was pressing his phone got the job. I later heard his uncle is the director. That was when I learned the second lesson. "It is not what you know. It is who knows you." Your certificate can be first class, but if you have no uncle/ connection inside, you will remain outside. I saw a road project in my area. They came with big machines. They blocked the road. They mounted a signboard: Rehabilitation of 2km Road, N450 Million, Duration 6 Months. We celebrated. We thought development had come. The machines worked for one week. They scraped the road and poured small stones. Then they disappeared. One month. Two months. Rain came. The road became worse than before. Small gully everywhere. A child fell inside. I went to ask the youth leader. He said, the money has been released, but it has been shared. The chairman took, the councillor took, the engineer took, what remains cannot even buy cement. So they used stones to cover shame. That was when I learned the third lesson. Embezzlement is not stealing in the dark. It is stealing in broad daylight with a signboard to celebrate the stealing. I went to a public hospital. My mother was sick. We arrived at 6am. There was a long queue. People were sitting on the floor. The doctor comes by 10am. He saw ten people and left. The nurse said, doctor has gone to his private clinic. If you want fast treatment, go there. We went there. Same doctor, same face, but in private clinic he was smiling. He charged us N35,000 for consultation. In public hospital, he is paid by government to treat us free, but he keeps his energy for where money enters his pocket. The drugs that government supplied free, they are sold in his private pharmacy. That was when I learned the fourth lesson. The system is not broken. The system is built like that. Public office becomes private business. I saw favoritism in school. I saw a child who never came to class get promoted because his mother sells food to the principal. I saw a girl who failed mathematics become head girl because her father donated chairs. I saw teachers who mark attendance based on who greeted them well. If you greet and bend down well, you are marked present even if you are absent. If you stand straight, you are marked absent even when you are in class. I saw nepotism in church. I saw a committee where only members of one family were appointed. The treasurer, his brother. The secretary, his sister. The youth leader, his son. When money entered, it rotated inside one family. When we asked question, they said, touch not my anointed. I saw it in my village. Government brought fertilizer for farmers. Ten bags for each community. The chief collected it. He gave his own family six bags. He gave his friend two bags. He sold the remaining two bags in the market and used the money to marry a new wife. Real farmers used ash and prayed for rain. Everywhere I go, the same story. The person who guards the gate is the person eating the food meant for inside. I started to ask myself, why are we like this? Why does a man who earns N100,000 salary want to live like a man who earns N10 Million? Why does everyone want to show they have arrived? I saw a civil servant who has three cars and his salary cannot buy one tyre. I saw a councillor who built a mansion in three months after election. We clap for him. We call him sharp guy. We call him our son. We don't ask, where did you see money? We celebrate thieves and we mock honest people. We mock the honest man. We call him "mumu or poor man". We say he does not know how to use his office. We say opportunity comes but once. If you are in that office and you don't take your own, you are a fool. So even the honest man, after people laugh at him, he will start taking. Because honesty has no reward here. Honesty has punishment. I tried to report. I went to an anti-corruption office. I carried evidence. I had pictures. I had receipts. The man in the office looked at me like I was a mad man. He said, do you have original copy? Do you have witness? Do you have affidavit? Bring this, bring that. He gave me a list that would take one year to complete. The man I reported was sitting in his own office, still stealing, still smiling. My report never moved. I realized the biggest corruption is not the money stolen. It is the hope stolen. When a young man sees that you cannot get anything without connection, he stops dreaming. He stops studying. He starts looking for who to bribe. When a young woman sees that her body can open the file faster than her certificate, she stops believing in hard work. That is the real embezzlement. They embezzled our belief. I walk on the road today. The road is bad. The hospital is empty. The school has no roof. The job has no merit. But the houses of those who were supposed to fix the road, the hospital, the school, the job — their houses are beautiful. Their children school abroad. Their cars are new. And we still vote for them because they gave us rice that will finish in two days and wrapper that will tear. I am not writing this because I hate my country. I love my country too much. That is why I am pained. I have seen what this country can be. I have seen the talent. I have seen the energy. I have seen boys who can build drone with scrap. I have seen girls who can code with small phone. But their energy dies inside queue, inside office where file does not move, inside interview where job is already shared. Corruption is not a spirit. It is not a curse. It is a choice. A choice made every day by a man who says, drop something. A choice made by a woman who says, bring your uncle. A choice made by all of us when we keep quiet because we hope one day it will be our turn to chop. If I get opportunity tomorrow, will I take? That is the question that scares me. Because the system does not only corrupt the leaders. It corrupts the followers who are waiting to become leaders. I still believe. I believe that one day, file will move without money. One day, job will go to the most qualified, not the most connected. One day, N450 Million for road will become 2km of real road, not signboard and stones. One day, the hospital drug will be in hospital, not in private shop. That day will not come by prayer alone. It will come when we decide that honesty is not mumu. That day will come when we start asking where did you get money, instead of clapping. Until then, I will keep writing. I will keep speaking. Even if my voice is small. Even if they say I am disturbing. Because if we all keep quiet, the file will never move. I have learned that corruption does not need a gun. It only needs a quiet crowd. It only needs people who say, that is how Nigeria is. It only needs my silence and your silence. When I kept quiet while my neighbour paid to get light, I became part of it. When I clapped for the man who stole public money because he is from my tribe, I became part of it. When I told my younger brother to manage and pay so that his admission will enter, I became part of it. So I am not innocent. None of us is innocent. We are all inside the same bus. I want a different bus. I want a bus where my name is enough. Where my paper is enough. Where my merit is enough. I want to enter office and hear, welcome, sit down, your file is ready. I want to see my village fertilizer reach my father's farm. I want to see my mother treated because she is sick, not because she can pay twice. That Nigeria is still possible. But we must first call corruption by its real name. It is not smartness. It is not sharpness. It is stealing. It is wickedness. It is killing the future of children who have not even been born. And until we see it like that, nothing will change. I will not stop talking. I will teach my children that a good name is better than quick money. I will tell them that nepotism destroys, that favoritism breaks, that embezzlement kills. I want them to know that integrity is not old fashioned. It is the only fashion that lasts. When that lesson enters every house, then corruption will have no house to live in again.