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| Credit: Google Images |
I stared out idly from the
creaky taxi-cab, watching the stretch of tired cars strewn carelessly within
miles of any fuel station. I gave a resigned sigh at this recurrent image in our
national kaleidoscope, and reached for my headphones to escape into the therapy
of the Cranberries. The driver’s angry grumbles
halted me.
He was demonstrating wildly as we sauntered three blocks past the
junction I had told him I would stop at. “Why
you tell me say na for ICPC u go stop! I no dey go again! Listen oga, after
this junction, i swear I go park here and u must pay me my moni!”. Ordinarily,
I would flare, but his reddened eyes testified to the agonizing hours he had spent
waiting for the smug fuel sellers to rouse themselves for pre-dawn sales. Eventually,
when it got to his turn, he would only be able to afford half-tank, and now, the half tank is dwindling, and the day’s bottom-line
has not been nearly met. Plus, it’s a Friday!
I calmed him, and agreed to give
an extra 200 bucks for the excess journey. His expression changed instantly “haba oga no be say i wicked o, na this
country dey cause am o...” and he went into an animated comparative ramble
on democracy and military rule. I tuned
off. When I alighted, I watched him
struggle with more guilt-ridden half apologies. I waved them off with a smile, it
wasn’t his fault.
That was when it struck me
that the Fuel crisis creates a perfect metaphor for our country, and its
citizens. It demarcates us all into the typical classes we struggle in,
everyday. Here goes:
1. The Black Market Sellers:
In
our everyday life, these represent the Contract
chasers; those half-schooled charlatans that benefit from loopholes in the
system. They are products of illegality and expertly navigate past every
statutory/regulatory structure to win deals. Of course, lacking the abilities
to do anything with the technical contracts, they outsource them via auction-type
arrangements. Once they espy another poor consultant frustrated by the dearth
of due process, they swoop on him, wielding their siphons, then rush off to
another victim, gloating at the huge payoff, while the consultant is tortured
to merely meet the project deliverables, all hopes of possible profit having
died after the 70% compulsory fee demanded by the jobbers.
2.
The
Fuel Attendants:
These
represent the junior officers in public service. They mill around the offices idly, and their workday fritters to a regular uneventful end. Visitors walk past
them every day without the least recognition of their presence. They could be
naked, or dressed in rags, nobody notices. They are that insignificant. But in
times of crisis, when the gates are closed on all callers and the big oga doesn’t
want to see anybody that is not on appointment; they suddenly become relevant. You
then find their hitherto humble demeanours give way to grandiose scowls. They take
forever to produce the visitors’ form; shuffle into the building and emerge
hours later to inform you that oga cannot see you now. Desperate, you beg
and supplicate; you remember to line their palms with currency notes which they
take without thanks, casting a quick eye to measure the quantum. Beautiful
girls happily avail them their phone numbers, and smartly dressed gents obsequiously
croon “mummy” “big daddy”. And they are ruthless. You are briskly marched out
by the security if you try to claim right.
They know that when the system reverses
itself, they would be forced back into the ignominy of anonymity. But, in the
meantime, they rule.
3. The Motorists who don’t queue but bribe
their way in:
These
are the VIPs. No, they are not the politicians. They are the private-sector rich. They don’t have
time to queue for due process; time is money. In fact, they appear to enjoy a
crisis, because it is only in such deteriorated situations that the fine line
that distinguishes them from the proletariats is made evident. Willingly, they
pay more for less, and emerge, looking busy and snorting at these other fools who don’t understand the
value of time. Their wealth isolates them from the ugliness of the country,
and they lead merry, cheery lives in the midst of the rot. A unique breed of
ostriches, they bury their heads in gold. They are the biggest suckers, because
they have the means to drive change, but do not see it.
4.
The
Motorists who queue and grumble:
This
is the VON. (Very Ordinary Nigerian). Pummelled on all sides by bad policy; he suffers all the
consequent impact, and bears the highest stress levels. They shove and snap at themselves,
irritated by the unsavoury mirror images they represent for each other. They stare
wistfully at the VIPs and dream of rising to a level where they can pay their way past ‘minor
inconveniences.’ They despise other
members of their large community and yell: “if
body dey pain you; why u no go pay 500 Naira to avoid queue!” They foster a
sense of abject powerlessness, and offer their willing backs to the buffets of
the big system..
5. The Pipeline Vandals/Hoarders of Fuel:
Perennially
faceless. You hear of them and their actions generate a harsh domino effect on
the rest of society, but they are never
caught. They run the system...they are the government.
