I first came across the phrase “comedy of errors” on a Show Dem Camp song. Ghost, ever the deft stylist, had compared an unnamed opponent’s to the phrase made popular by Shakespeare. Admittedly, I didn’t follow the initial train of thought, not digging deeper into the source material to know why it was being invoked in a Nigerian rap song five centuries later.
The phrase however describes a lot of what I’ve been thinking of the country in recent times. Born in the late nineties, my generation of Nigerians know only a few things about this peculiar place. Kuti described its political place as proponents of “government magic,” but little did we know of its actual manifestation. As a young boy, I once chanced upon a book written by a magician. I found it outside a church, alongside other books that had been given up to the wanting stranger.
Illusions aren’t necessarily illusions. Magic often identifies the subconscious attributes of a person, and focuses all its consciousness on making them come undone. The government magicians of Nigeria focused on the poverty of the country—in mind and soul—to sway their wand. It can come across as performative to write about Nigeria like this; after all, I’ve lived here twenty plus years and have seen its non-existent systems and very real citizens become shadows of their existing shadows.
The 2023 elections barely scratches the surface. Corrupted as that was, utterly disrespectful of Nigerians and the word “democracy,” it was only a drop of water in a sea of nothingness. Since 1960, we have made zero progress at trying to maintain the entity that is called Nigeria. Tribalism continues to be a potent tool in the hands of the government, and this time they have the media. Inequality, destruction, and a penchant for evil have been the operational methods of the ruling elite.
In such conditions, posterity turns to the citizen. Mathematically, we’re over ninety percent more than the politicians after all. Surely, this broadens our perspective? Makes us wiser against their schemes? The answer to those questions is no. But more destructively, this country allows the conscience to die, even in public and without consequences. There used to be a period of shame; where public opinion mattered and people had to think very carefully before doing certain things.
As the country crumbles around us, culture seems to thrive. It should make us think about great civilisations past and just the amount of violence they had to exist with. Even though Nigeria has no real merit as a state, its diverse entities within have contributed to some of the world’s great wonders. From the intricate governmental systems of Igbo societies to the Oyo empire, the war-held politically-unified North—we’d had legitimate political history. And for the most part, culture was sidelined in the telling of history.
There are many books on politics and very few on culture. These past few months I turned in my graduate thesis. I had wanted to write about an aspect of the Igbo culture but the inaccessibility of relevant materials made my project supervisor and I decide on something else. That ended up to be about Britain’s role in the war between Nigeria and Biafra. While I wrote the dissertation with as much rigor as I could muster, I found myself cringing at some of the passages.
The enemy wasn’t some white man so far away who’s only about the oil. The enemy wasn’t even the ones with guns. The enemy was our ideas, our pride, our disregard for the power of culture. Politics involves everyone but centers a few, but culture truly involves everyone, even the birds and the trees, the seas and the bushpaths where our societies walked long miles to seek the essential flavor of another place.
We were always meant to travel. The sky above us represents imagination. What would it mean to see the moon from this room in Awka and to see it from a bar in Lagos? It’s the same moon, only the scene has changed. Life has even more consequences than the beauty of a moon. We travel to survive and in surviving we live and in living we create and by creating culture happens.
I am fortunate to work in the entertainment industry where a lot of things are happening. In my calculation, Nigerian pop music makes up for about fifty percent what the outsider knows about the country. And even as it drags the tattered name of the country from obscurity to ubiquity, the impact remains felt only on a high level. Culture, and by culture I mean from the ground, then becomes a platform for rising through to that level. The culture journalist Dennis Ade Peter has written about this paradox.
Seeing things in pattern reveals a lot. Shapes change and contort, but the vision is crystal clear and consistent. Culture cannot save us. Even in its very important role, it needs the guiding hands of politics. In this sense, politics doesn’t merely mean the government. I’m talking about individual politics. Everybody should have one. It favors our existence when the politics isn’t harmful to others, but rather deeply concerned with the upliftment of one’s society.
I have watched many comedies and beyond having any real sense, one thing the characters lack is politics. The act trudges day to day with a simplistic perspective, only wanting to make the audience laugh. In tare moments, they might stop and think. But that’s just it; two scenes later, it’s the return to normal form, all jokes and jokes. In their defense, the directors know it’s a comedy. It’s branded as one, after all.
Nigeria hasn’t realized her comedic state, but we’re all just laughing and laughing to the magic of the wand.
Recommendations
In the name of culture, I’ve been writing some stuff. Here’s some recent pieces that would make good reads (I think):
“Exploring Ojapiano and the Evolution of Nigeria’s Most Spiritual Instrument”
“Angelique Kidjo & Ibrahim Maalouf Connect Timeless Messages In Queen of Sheba”
“Asake, Wizkid & The Influencing Power of Listeners on Artists’ Creativity”
“Stonebwoy Is Entering His Fifth Dimension”
More Recommendations (Because it’s been a while lol)
Read Ernest Ogunyemi’s wonderful essay on the point of art, especially within the context of doing this life thing. The writer has a keen analytical sense and wonderful affinity for language. His newsletter IDAN is one of my favorites.
Chiedoziem Chukwudera took a critical look at literature in Nigeria, bringing the country’s sociopolitical reality into his analysis. To provide a rounded perspective, he also recently profiled one of the most important figures in contemporary Nigerian literature.
I liked this Karen Attiah essay on the recent tragedy of the Titanic visitors. Using Yoruba mythology while drawing out pertinent issues in race and class, it’s a stimulating read.
Something to watch: a spoken word reading by Hanif Abdurraqib: “And What Good Will Your Vanity When The Rapture Comes”.
Amongst other options, the most favorable is to laugh and jakpa