Tears of the Patriots (Nigeria-Africa in Bondage 1)
By Bash Bakr (www.bashbakr.com)
Patriotic Nigerians have become so weak in isolation and poverty, that we have become cowards to face our common demons. We shall not prosper as a people if we continuously fail to fulfill our civic responsibilities by taking our destiny into our hands. Unless we confront the nonentities in government houses, the implication of our present circumstance will lead to the ultimate disunity of our nation-Nigeria.
It is now an established fact that Nigeria-indeed Africa produce leaders whose actions are impeding development efforts on the continent. In both the political and economical life of nations, visionless and incompetent leadership is not a symptom, but the very cause of a fail state. Countries like Malaysia, Singapore and South Korea are examples of nations endowed with visionary and competent leaders. These are gentlemen who had dreams and foster tough reforms in the absence of natural resources like oil, and yet achieved meaningful development for their countries.
In a strange glamorous city? I took a long walk in the cold. My brown jacket which I held in my hand, was made of 80% pure leather from Kenya. This was the start of a whole new discovery. Allow me narrate briefly, the tale of the Brits and the native. It was noon, April 2010. The London book fair is a few days old, and I am strolling along Earls-Court, London.
Actually, the hotel I was lodging didn’t exactly encourage me to stay out in the cold. Its allure included large flat screen, bottle of Vodka and Irish whiskey, and of course great smell and warmth.
Regardless, I decided on a walk, it was my first time in London. I was hoping to see fractions of what had been left behind in the rubble of the British Empire, after two world wars. The union Jack and the St. George still perched on top of the Buckingham Palace. The flags and the names of the English might not have changed. But certainly, the people have moved on. Smartly dressed police men, well articulated terrace houses and even the very aged, red London buses still went about their services to Londoners. My mind flashed back in the cold to other nations who had experienced similar fate like the Brits and how they’re struggling to rise again till date. Man pass man, I nodded.
After about two hours of walking and sight seeing, it was time for a cup of coffee and French biscuits. I have no coin but I knew for sure that my 50GBP bill could buy me several cup of coffees and assorted French biscuits. Moreover, I needed to change more dollars into Pounds Sterling. But why pull-out 50GBP bill for a coffee, less than a pound. So, I looked around searching for the nearest bank or bureau de change. I found a bank adjacent to a grand hotel and I walked straight into it. There were few people on queue. There was another empty glass booth manned by a middle-age Brit. I walked up to him with a smile and asked if he could change my 50GBP bill into coins and smaller bills. I told him I needed to buy a cup of coffee and French biscuits. Also, that I would like to convert a $100 dollar bill to pounds. He promptly said he couldn’t change my dollars to pounds, and pointed at the right counter where I could do that.
“What of changing my 50GBP bill to coins and bills?” I asked eagerly.
“Let see.” He collected the bill.
The British banker examined my 50GBP bill as if he was sure it was a fake miniature crafted in Africa. After running the bill through the light, he flexed it again and re-examined queen Elizerbert portrait for possible flaws, and -if I remember accurately- he even attempted to squeeze it. After what seemed a long pause, he fixed me with a friendly smile, while his hand got busy picking out coins beneath the counter.
At this stage, a neatly dressed man in suit found his way into the tiny booth occupied by the banker. Something was bothering him, judging by the look on his face. My presence was of no significance to him at first, until the banker spoke and the man in suit took another critical gaze at me. Naturally, my heart skipped a beat because I’d no clue of the sudden interest.
“Oh my GOD,” my heart spoke, “I’d been in London in less than three days and felt almost certain I was about to be busted under some foreign exchange law.”
The banker finished counting the coins and bills and passed them over to me underneath. He gestured for me to go to the other counter and have my $100 dollar bill converted.
“Nice stuff,” the banker uttered. I took my eyes off the coins I was counting and frowned, “What stuff?” The man in suit, whom I later got to know was the branch manager, broke into a grin and added his impression. “That’s nice African attire you’ve got. Can you sell that to me?”
“My goodness.” I laughed, “You guys like my native dress and you actually want me to sell it to you and go home naked.”
“He likes it,” the manager pointed to the banker.“I like it too and I can buy it if you’ll sell. Better still, we can exchange.” He gestured at his suit.
If I’d been more entrepreneurial at that moment, I might have made some pounds on the spot right in the bank. And even discuss with the manager how I can import more native attires and sell to his friends. I might now be enjoying and sipping wine with her majesty in my very own palatial villa in central London- ‘The African cotton mogul.’
In a show of friendship, appreciation and cultural exchange, I returned the next day and handed over the native dress to Mr. Thomas, without a penny. His gratitude was genuine. He later invited me to his house and I met his small family. Till today, I am particularly very fond of 4 years old, Angela, his youngest child. Mr. Thomas is a typical Brit, their kindness and warm hospitality which many take for granted, cannot be over emphasized. Some could even argue that such attitude (warm hospitality) is alien to Brits. But, all will easily agree that every nation of the world has a communal representation in the United Kingdom. How come that is, if indeed, the Brits are not as tolerant as the Africans?
That walk on Earls Court road taught me one important simple lesson about the English, that London is a cosmopolitan society with heavy dose of unexpected love and concern for people, regardless of nationality, race, religion and social background. In my opinion, it’s the open mindedness of the Brits that must have drawn so many cultures unto the small island, called ‘The United Kingdom.’ It’s that same human composition of tolerance and kindness that has brought back the Olympic to the city, back to where it truly and rightly belong-LONDON.
Fellow Africans and gentlemen/women of the world, my little experience in Earls Court is what a leisure stroll can do to your understanding of any new society you find yourself. It can unveil a true facet of life of the inhabitants of that city. It’s on the street that you will get facts that you would never have gotten from the media or books. July is the time for you to take a stroll and discover more facts and true life experience as the Olympic doors open in London. Welcome, mother Africa.
This novel was entirely written in the 3rd world under the most unimaginable difficult circumstance, where Politicians, International Conglomerates and local business gladiators, have ganged-up against the masses, impoverishing them and subjecting all to the most inhuman standard of living. A scenario synonymous to an hostage crisis.
Africa yawns for visionary leaders, Young and agile Politicians that could take her to her rightful position among other great Continents of the world. In the 18-century, she was referred to as the Dark Continent and unfortunately still remain so in the 21st century.
The wind of change over the decades, rather than bring growth and prosperity to Africa, brought degeneration, basically due to visionless, irresponsible, heartless leaders and elders alike, placed in charge of precious lives and who concurrently ruin the future for up-coming generation on the continent, whilst their family-children and grandchildren in Europe, America and elsewhere, are safely kept away from the torments they devilishly unleach on their compatriot at home. In all, the atrocities being committed by African leaders are crying to high heavens seeking judgments.
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