What it means to be a Nigerian

I write this post while standing in a queue outside the Embassy for 90 minutes. Why you may ask? Well, I’m currently asking myself whether it’s worth being a Nigerian or going back to my ‘home’ country.

I arrive at the Embassy at 9:20am, excited that I’m early and confident that I’ll beat the rumoured endless wait to renew a passport. As I approach the building I see a queue of more than a hundred people and my heart sinks.

(Yes, many of my fellow citizens are clued up and had the same idea).

30 minutes in a man walks past joyfully shouting:

“Nigeria is great! 10 years ago I waited 6 hours today I waited 45 minutes!”

The queue erupts with applause and laughter, mocking the man as they stand in a 2 hour queue for arriving “late”.

A woman turns to me and says “Yes, he may have waited 45 minutes but he arrived at 6:30am for an office that doesn’t open until 9:30am!”. She continues, “What sort of country doesn’t make any progress in 10 years!”

My answer… Nigeria.

While you may come to the conclusion that I’m impatient (granted this may be slightly true), I know many share this frustration.

As Nigerians, we are all too familiar with the disorganised chaos that infiltrates into every aspect of life – regardless of the country you’re in. I could go on and on describing many experiences but I’ll start with today’s.

1. Pleasure of power

As I approach the end of the queue, excited to get into the building, there’s a man blocking the entrance with a smirk. His job is to filter through the queue for individuals who don’t need to be there (as if people go to the Embassy leisurely on a Tuesday morning). The conversation in front of me goes:

Disgruntled Nigerian: “Sa (sir), here are my particulars (documents)”

Embassy ‘guard’: “You cannot greet? Please step aside and wait”

And just like that a woman that’s been waiting for 90 minutes is forced to go home. Why? She didn’t say good morning.

This behaviour is extremely common when dealing with Nigerian customer services. The phrase ‘The customer is always right’ simply does not exist. You’re paying for a service (in this case to get a passport renewed), however, the employees see it as they are doing you a favour and you should therefore address them accordingly and comply with their requirements. They view themselves as a gateway to get what you want and the pleasure of this power is one they hold over you at every opportunity.

2. Corruption

It’s no secret that the very word is closely associated with Nigeria as we’ve become masters of ‘419' (a colloquial term for fraud originating from Section 419 of the Criminal Code Act). I used to commend our intelligence for being able to cheat some of the most sophisticated systems and individuals until it happened to me…

$106 (approximately £80). That’s what you pay to get a new Nigerian passport. But that’s not all…

At the Embassy, my ticket number is called to a counter where I’m told to pay £20 for a postal order.

Postal order?! I ask, “Is that to cover my passport being posted to my address?” I’m told no, in order to get it posted to you it comes at an additional fee.

So what’s the $106 for? And more importantly what’s the £20 postal order for? A young man says to me, “You need it for your application. The £20 goes to their pockets but you have to pay it otherwise no passport”.

This is the daylight thieving contributing to the corrupt stigma Nigeria has.

3. Hustler’s ambition

In the midst of waiting, a woman walks in to make an announcement:

“Morning ladies and gentlemen, please don’t worry about your passports, I’m here for food business.”

Food business?! Are we expected to be here that long that there’s a canteen to serve local food?!

At the end of her announcement Nigerians erupt in applause. Among the chaos and struggle of life as a Nigerian it’s a hustle to survive. This means setting up a business selling any and everything possible to earn an income. Nigeria is an environment that breeds entrepreneurship and with no state benefits to fall back on, the poor, hungry and ambitious have no choice but to hustle their way to wealth and what better way to get into pockets than through the stomach.

4. Acceptance

While in the queue, I hear MANY complaints but one comment stood out in response to the dreary mood. “It’s Nigeria, why are you surprised?!”

The idea that we should accept the bad, lower our expectations and be content with the broken systems is deplorable but yet it seems we do this every time! It’s a kakonomy where mediocrity rules, where shoddy goods and services are supplied and to expect better is pure naivety.

In total I spent 4 hours at the Embassy and to my dismay I have to return in 10 days to do it all again to pick up the passport. So what does it mean to be a Nigerian? To me it’s complacency in the endless frustration.

Please leave comments if you can relate to the above. Share your thoughts on Nigerians or being a Nigerian and if you enjoyed it kindly recommend. Thanks!