‘Odeshi’ By Olu W. Onemola

I often find that the analogies
I use to convey ideas stem
from my past conversations.
I remember sitting in the
backseat of a car earlier this
week in Abuja, daydreaming,
yet still conscious of the
multiple-lane, mile-long
queue that began at the gate
of a closed filling station. I
remember seeing all sorts of
vehicles, from the relatively
infamous, oft maligned,
evolved Okadas – the Keke
Napeps; to the Peugeots
driven by chauffeurs that
work for the federal
ministries; all the way to
Danfo buses that were only
occupied by their drivers.
Although the aforementioned
vehicles were the most
conspicuous in the random
motorcade of motionless
vehicles, there were a host of
others, driven by all kinds of
drivers that embodied the
diversity of the Nigerian
people.
One thing in particular that
struck me on this particular
afternoon, was the fact that
although businessmen in
Lexus’ waited patiently
alongside commercial taxi
drivers in Toyotas, and civil
servant mothers in their
parked SUVS, perspired next
to spinsters in their beat-up
1999 Honda Accords, on this
particular day, they all had
one thing in common – their
facial expressions spelled
‘frustration.’
As we inched across the
motorway – which was
congested because of the
extra cars that congested the
driving lanes, I began to
think of Nigeria in terms of
cars. Specifically, a Danfo, as
a ride on such a bus usually
involved passengers sitting
next to a vast array of people
– in other words Nigeria and
its many interlocking, yet
separate tribes. As I thought
more about the analogy, and
grappled with the idea of
many of our leaders being
uncooperative drivers and
shady conductors, it dawned
on me that the same rules
that govern passengers that
are being driven to unknown
locations against their will,
also applies to citizens who
are held captive by the
inability of their government
to adequately provide basic
twenty-first century
necessities like constant
power in our homes and
places of work, clean water in
our taps, tarred roads in our
cities, and most importantly,
security.
After a while, I played with
the idea of the passengers
assertively demanding that
the driver take the right
course, or electing one of
their own to take the wheel.
At that moment, I turned to
the little 14-year old who was
seated beside me at the back
of the car and I portrayed
the analogy to her, ending
with the question: “What if
we finally made explicit
demands of the driver,
instead of just waiting for
him to comply? What if we
finally take the wheel?” The
14-year old in question is a
lot more politically astute
than many of her peers, and
when I was done speaking,
she casually raised her hand
and pointed out the window
and said: “Really? How do
you expect Nigerians to take
the wheel if there is no fuel
in the country?”
Honestly speaking, her
response had me cracking up
in the car that day, as it was
hilarious, simple and true.
Yet, it was not simpleminded.
The 14-year old was right,
there was definitely a scarcity
of fuel in parts of the
country, and even though in
a literal sense, she meant
that there was no gasoline in
town, symbolically, Nigerians
are still without an adequate
source of fuel to propel them
into action. This ‘lack’ of fuel
clearly does not originate
from a lack of problems in
our country, but by the
seemingly impenetrable
resilience of our people.
What I mean by this is that
almost at every turn, while
performing even the most
routine tasks in Nigeria, we
are weighed down by
unnecessary complexities
ranging from our friends at
PHCN taking light, to our
friends in law enforcement
taking bribes. It is as if these
issues that blatantly plague
us are not enough to have us
stop, look around us, and
carefully examine our
individual predicaments, in
an effort to demand practical
answers and positive change.
More than anything, it seems
like the more hiccups and
setbacks we experience, the
more ‘Odeshi’ we become.
I use ‘Odeshi’ in the Bakassi
Boys sense. In other words,
instead of taking a bullet and
bleeding each time we are hit
by problems, Nigerians
always seem to be unmoved
by our daily bullets. Think
about this for a second:
picture our problems as a
hunter in the forest with a
rifle, searching for prey. As
luck would have it, he
stumbles upon a colony of
rabbits. Each rabbit is close
enough for him to shoot at
point-blank range. This
particular problem is great
marksman, but, in order not
to miss his shot and scare of
all the other rabbits, he picks
a target, steadies himself,
holds his breath, and takes
the shot. “Bulls eye!” he
thinks to himself. But, once
the gunpowder clears, the
rabbit he picked, which
should have been hit,
remains unperturbed and
continues about its rabbit
business. Even more baffling,
is that the other rabbits
around it also continue about
their rabbit business not
paying any attention to the
hunter. If you were the
hunter, what would you do
in this situation? More likely
than not, take another shot.
Then another. And another.
Personally, I would keep on
shooting until one of the
rabbits in question gets the
message. In other words, all
our problems are
interrelated.
Now, suppose all the
huntsman’s bullets miss their
target after his chamber is
empty, what do you think he
would do? I can only speak
for myself, but personally, if I
was the hunter, I would run
back to the village, gather all
my hunter friends (with their
guns and extra ammunition),
find the spot where I found
the rabbits, and try to have a
‘rabbit free-for-all.’ Problems
tend to magnify, when they
are not dealt with.
Think of Nigeria as the colony
of rabbits. We are peaceful
people, who only want to go
about finding our daily bread
(or grass in the case of the
rabbits). Suddenly, a big
bothersome hunter comes
along and starts shooting at
us. From his perspective, the
bullets are missing their
target, but what we see on
the ground is much different.
To our left, one of our
brothers has a bullet lodged
in his little rabbit toe, but he
just keeps on going about his
rabbit business. To our right,
another one of our sisters
has also been hit, but she
brushes it off and says:
“Odeshi. It could be worse.”
Then all of a sudden he
brings all his friends, and
they too start shooting at us
– and eventually we all have
a bullet or two lodged in our
bodies, and they are still
shooting at us. But because
this is our little rabbit
territory, and this is our land,
we do not run away, we
cannot fight back. I mean,
after all, we are only rabbits.
Or, are we?
Nigerians, how many more of
the huntsman’s bullets do we
have to take to understand
that eventually, something
has to break or bleed if he
and his friends keep shooting
at us? More importantly,
what will it take to make us
realize that we are not
rabbits, but lions – that is
why we can endure the pain
of a few little bullets? When
are we going to realize that
yes, they have the weapons,
but we have the numbers? If
there were no prey, there
would be no hunters. If there
were no apathetic people,
there would be no blatantly
corrupt and shamelessly
ineffective leaders.
Yes, we have all taken a lot
more than our own fair share
of bullets. As lions who often
behave like rabbits, we have
let a few hunters fire shots
from weak weapons at us.
Now that we know what we
are capable of, now that we
are frustrated about getting
hit at every turn with bullet
upon bullet – there should
not be a scarcity of fuel to
wake us up and ignite our
latent but fierce fire. We
need to come together and
roar.
What will we do? Better yet,
what will you do? Will you
just continue to wait in line
until the gates of the filling
station open up so you can
fill your tank and drive
around anytime there is fuel
scarcity? What is going to
happen when you finally
exhaust your gasoline? Will
you do the same thing over
and over again? Come back
and wait in line, again? For a
few more hours or days, like
you did the last time, or the
time before that. Or will you
choose to do something
different this time? Yes, you
can say “Odeshi” and let this
minor infraction slide, again.
You can say, I will choose to
deal with it tomorrow, and
tomorrow, and tomorrow.
But at the same time, you
can choose to be proactive.
You can choose to start by
taking baby steps. This week,
let’s challenge ourselves and
spread this message. Let us
all find the numbers of our
elected representatives in the
National Assembly. Let us
pick up a phone and call, or
even send a text message (if
it is a mobile number). For
those of us that are able to,
let us (try to) schedule
meetings with our elected
representatives, and let them
know peacefully but surely,
that we are tired of them
taking implicit, explicit,
deliberate or unintentional
shots at us through their
actions or inaction. Let them
know that it is time that they
begin to see us as more than
just bulletproof rabbits who
can take a bullet, and more
like lions that are ready to
bare our teeth and roar, if
they do not put their guns
away and get to work.
Let’s start a conversation
about the issues that affect
us.

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@OluOne –

#CONSENSUS 2015