There is too much suffering in Nigeria. So much so, it appears, that without suffering, you can hardly achieve anything in the rather convoluted Nigerian system. Wherever you turn, you are confronted by a massive industry devoted to the production of suffering. Indeed, suffering is, itself, a commodity, the cheapest commodity available in abundance in Nigeria. And, paradoxical as it may sound, we are, most times, either suffering or dishing out suffering to others! Examples abound to substantiate this assessment. I will share a few.
Suffering stalks the everyday Nigerian wherever they turn in the country. There is no escaping it. Although this country celebrates wealth and the wealthy, suffering does not, sometimes, spare even the affluent.
For instance, the Unified Tertiary Matriculation Examination (UTME) conducted by the Joint Admissions and Matriculation Board (JAMB) is a leveller. Your money cannot buy you convenience at any of the UTME exam centres, where candidates go through an ordeal and parents are made to wait outside, in the rain or under the sun, for their wards sitting for the UTME or its mock variant.
Even the registration process for the examination is a study in suffering. Candidates often face different phases of suffering between banks and accredited registration centres.
In the past, banking was not among the most fun things to do. Never mind the flashy smiles you see on bank TV commercials. They are all meretricious. Nowadays, things are worse under the “cashless” system, which, to me, is the genetically modified variant of old banking, where the bank worker is king and not the customer. Bank workers are seen in the banking halls, loitering about, playing tin gods. In contrast, customer queues extend onto the streets. No matter what you are dealing with, a bank worker is not someone you can hurry up! And I wonder: why should you work so hard to make money, work so hard to withdraw it, and still work even harder to spend it?
Just in case you are not aware, customer service is virtually non-existent. What you have most of the time is customer punishment. As a customer, you are often to blame for daring to keep your money in a bank. You are totally at their mercy, and they inflict whatever level of suffering they consider appropriate for you.
You will probably think that bank workers are demigods until you visit a visa application centre, managed mainly by foreigners with little or no regard for Nigerians. After paying through the nose for visas, Nigerians are subjected to the indignity of queuing up under the elements to take their turn for the all-important visa interview. Even when you pay for priority service and are treated with some dignity during the interview (you paid for it, anyway), your payment usually does not cover the collection of your passport. If you failed to pay for courier service – it seems the application centres are in cahoots with courier firms – you will still queue up outside for hours to retrieve your passport.
Unfortunately, some poorly trained Nigerian security guards (they are grateful to God for having such jobs) are inflicted on visa applicants. I wonder: do people in government know the havoc these visa application centres wreak on the self-esteem of Nigerians? And do they ever plan to do something about it? Why should Nigerians be treated like scum in their own country? If they are treated this way here, what should they expect abroad?
To understand my point about suffering, you need to look at a few more things. How easy is it to obtain the Nigerian passport? I hear you may have to wait at least two months nowadays. What of the national identity card? Permanent voters card? Or have you tried to get a building plan approved? I bet you will realise you can never get it right. Just try building a house in some cities; the sheer number of agencies that will descend on your site will make you wonder: “who asked me to build a house?”
You are treated worse than a criminal.
And it is not as if anyone will provide a mortgage loan for your building. Let us not talk about obtaining a certificate of occupancy (famously known as a C of O).
Let us turn briefly to the youth. Our students in public universities know firsthand what suffering is. Despite all the meal permutations they have to deal with – 101, 001, 100, 010, etc – they are never sure of when their days of hunger will end. There is no guaranteed graduation date. But private universities are only slightly better in this regard. Their processes – admission, registration, clearance, etc – are as suffering-heavy as their public counterparts. And when these young ones graduate, do they know less suffering as they hit the road searching for work or trying to do their own business?
The part of our national suffering experience that never ceases to amaze me is what we do with our roads. No matter how many traffic management agencies we establish, we will still spend most of our days in traffic. Sometimes, those who should help traffic flow are the greatest traffic bumps. They slow everything and everyone down.
By the way, I still cannot understand why our governments choose to repair major roads in the daytime, when traffic is at its peak. Who cares about human misery? Who cares about the economic bleeding caused by wasted fuel, wasted time, vehicle wear and tear, and traffic robberies? Who cares whether some pregnant women deliver in traffic?
Why is it like this? Why are we not moved to make the system easier on people? Is there something in our national ethos that deifies suffering and makes it a prerequisite for obtaining anything from Nigeria, whether in the public or private sector? Why do we enjoy suffering and seeing others suffer?
Have you noticed that even choosing our leaders comes with much suffering: unnecessary restriction in your movement, queuing in harsh weather, struggling to get accredited, waiting to count the votes, ensuring your vote counts, and being exposed to all sorts of villainies?
I am persuaded that, indeed, Nigerians enjoy suffering. There is something fatalistic about it, and many tend to believe it is their lot to suffer. To put it in perspective, there is a Ministry of Suffering in every Nigerian ministry, department, agency, and private sector organisation, although you may never see the signage. You only experience it when you step in.
To make suffering less traumatic, we often find recourse in maxims grounded in folk philosophy: “no pain, no gain”; “to be a man is not a day’s job”; or “nothing good comes easy.” I agree that success requires hard work, but hard work should not be equated with pain. To me, redefining hard work as “painful work” bespeaks a lack of semantic savviness. There is a difference.
But most Nigerians are inured to suffering anyway. They expect it. When things work well, they are surprised. When they walk into a government establishment and get good service without knowing anyone, they rush to church to share their testimony. It is already a miracle to know someone in public office who can help you. It is a huge miracle to get something without knowing somebody.
In a country so used to darkness, when people have regular power supply for three days, they become worried. They virtually pray that the electricity distribution company cut power for some hours at least!
Perhaps, Nigeria, as a country, needs to make life a little easier for people. I cannot be categorical. However, I know that many people who leave the country do not leave for money per se. They leave in search of less suffering. Nigeria’s suffering quotient (SQ) must be less than what is obtainable elsewhere to reverse the exodus.
I am not a medical professional, but I suspect that if we build a less suffering-intensive system, our life expectancy is likely to go up. So, am I asking anyone to change things in their little corner of the earth? Not at all. We seem to enjoy suffering. Let’s continue. It will get to everyone. Even those who believe they are insulated from suffering certainly have a loved one to whom suffering will pay a visit someday. And they will suffer vicariously, at least.
*Dr Nwankwo writes from Lagos.
