Understanding Nigeria reduces fear (2020)
Why be afraid of Africa or Nigeria?
I have never understood why White people are afraid Africa – and many are especially wary of Nigeria, which is one of the friendliest and most dynamic countries on earth. I know a lot of Americans who are terrified of the idea of Africa. Even Black Americans are afraid of the Motherland, because the Western press gives such a bad and distorted picture of the Continent, and because it is so big and unknown.
Criminals? Sure there is crime like everywhere – and Nigerian drug mafias and their famous internet scams, as well as Nigerian exploitation of many British institutional weaknesses, have established a solid reputation for Nigeria as a source of criminality. Furthermore, in recent years Boko Haram has made life very difficult for Nigerians living in the North-East - but there is also laughter and love and dancing all over Nigeria, qualities that are sadly in short supply in too many places around the world.
I personally have received scores of internet invitations over the past twenty years – probably hundreds in fact – to participate in illegal financial scams involving the movement of money and the avoidance of taxes. Example: a teller in a Nigerian bank has found an account of a deceased person containing $15 million that have never been reclaimed. I can share this with him, if I agree to allow my bank account in UK/USA/ wherever to be used to transfer the money. All I have to do is to wire $1000 to the teller in person and in secret, to cover transfer fees. Apparently lots of British people have agreed to participate in such a scam, and naturally all of them have lost their money. They cannot report the scam to the authorities, because they were themselves trying to participate in a crime.
Far and away the best offer I ever received, came from the widow of Nigeria’s unlamented military dictator Soni Abacha, who was said to have died in the arms of a Philippino lady as a result of repeated overdoses of Viagra. True? Probably not, but since many Nigerians believe and repeat the story, it tells is a lot about the debauchery for which Abacha was famous. No wonder, therefore, that his widow was approaching a clean-living guy like me with the offer not only of sharing $30 million, but also an offer of marriage. With great difficulty I resisted the temptation to say “yes” ….. partly because I could not understand why Madame Abacha would be writing from an email address in Mexico. From which we may presume that some of the Nigeria scams are actually perpetrated by others, using Nigeria as a cover story.
Nigerian crime syndicates are certainly clever, canny and well organized and they control a good slice of the illegal drug trade in Europe. But these facts hardly impinge on the lives of most European citizens, any more than the Italian and Albanian mafias or the Jamaican Yardies who are all powerful in Europe. As long as Europeans and Arabs and Americans want to buy and consume drugs, the mafias will supply them: whether they are Nigerians or Algerians, Columbians or Venezuelans or Mexicans, Italians or Albanians or Serbians. Or Jamaicans. Every drug market involves various of these Mafiosi working in combination (although seldom in collaboration). Where there is a vacuum, Nature will supply the needful …. including when the demand is for heroin or cocaine.
Over dinner with friends, conversation was not about the heroin trade but about the friendliness of West Africa, including Nigeria. Most of the people around the table knew Africa North, West and East. Kidus, who comes from Ethiopia, entertained us by describing two visa stories from the dreaded airport of Lagos, one of the most congested cities and most cantankerous airports in the world. One story recounted the experience of a colleague; the second was his own introduction to Nigeria.
The colleague arrived in Lagos airport and presented his passport to the uniformed official. The man in uniform was big and sweating. He flicked through the passport, turned the document upside down and glared through the grill: “I do not see any visa.”
“Oh yes,” protested Kidus’ friend, “I have a visa. It is there on page ten of my passport.”
Still holding the passport upside down, the Nigerian immigration official shook the passport and replied: “I see no visa.”
Somebody in the waiting line muttered: “A visa means ten dollars.”
“Oh yes!” cried the friend of Kibus, quick to understand what was needed. “Now I understand, you mean do I have a Nigerian visa? Please give me back the passport and I will show you.” Taking back his passport, he slipped ten bucks inside page ten. Then he turned the passport the right way up, and handed it back through the grill.”
“Ah, page ten, now I see the visa.” The stamp thumped down on the passport and the visitor was free to enter Nigeria. Not surprisingly Kidus felt slightly wary when, arriving a few weeks later in Lagos airport, he handed over his passport to the fearsome looking woman in uniform who was glowering at him through the grill.
“How long are you staying in Nigeria?”
“I will be here for five days,” Kidus replied.
“Why only five days?”
“Well. I am on mission for the United Nations and the work involved will take only five days.”
“Five days are not enough to visit Nigeria.”
Kidus was beginning to sweat, “Well unfortunately five days is all that the mission has planned for the current visit. I plan to stay just five days.”
The woman in unformed glared at him in silence. Then she took up a pen and scribbled in the passport. Kidus began to fear that his visa was cancelled, that the uniformed lady was going to order him to get back onto the plane.”
“Here is your passport,” the immigration lady thundered, pushing it though the bars of the grill. I have extended your visa to a make it a multi-re-entry visa valid for two more years. Make sure you come back again and visit us properly. Welcome to Nigeria.”