Naij - A Documentary

Christ! I really should be working. But Jeremy has commanded a post on this issue, so here I am, several hours earlier than intended.

What is it about me succumbing to people's wishes and commands of late? I was never like this before! In the past, I was a mule. If you told me (or suggested to me) what to do, I'd tell you, in plain and simple English, to piss off. On Saturday for example, my HauTe editrix demanded that I do some PR for the magazine. I had other plans. But no, being the great mumu that I am nowadays, I ended up spending two hours copying and pasting pictures, and attempting to construct 'witty' prose.

Scheeeuuw!

Naij - A documentary.

Before I begin, I would like to say that the organisers of the premiere really kinda got on my nerves in the run up to yesterday. I applied for an invitation to the premiere aeons ago, and also asked for their You Tube embed code, so that I could put the documentary's trailer on my Afro Beat blog (more shameless PR there, but whatever...) for publicity and awareness' sake.

They replied saying that they couldn't let me have the code, even though the blog was members only at the time, for 'copy right' reasons. A week later I found a You Tube embedded box (showcasing the premiere) sitting pretty on a friend's webpage. Turns out he knew the somebody of the director, or maybe the somebody of the somebody of the director. Who knows! (Gosh I really should stop with all this hating and bad bele-ing, and get to the good stuff!)

Anyway, so after giving me serious isho on the embed code front, they then said they'd run out of tickets for the screening but would be having another one soon. True to their word, they emailed me a month later saying the next screening would hold on April 29th at the Cine' Lumiere, and attached an invitation bearing my name.


Their very strict instructions stated that on receiving the invite, I should confirm my intention to attend immediately so as to secure my place on the guestlist, and that I should waste the colour ink (that stuff is expensive!) in my fancy printer, by printing a copy of their full colour invitation to guarantee admission. I didn't reply immediately because I was slightly irritated by all the protocol, but little did I know what next they had in store.

Three days later (I kid you not) I received an email saying something along the lines of - "You recently received an invitation to the premiere of Naij. Kindly note that until you respond in the requisite manner, your admittance to the venue will not be...." blah blah blah.

I huffed and puffed about their blockheadedness to anyone around me who would listen (basically, the four walls of my flat - even the Yote didn't have time to waste on such an issue) but sharply heeded their command. (I dared not front. I wanted to be on that exclusive list!)

This all happened about a month ago.

Yesterday, after a somewhat tumultous afternoon, I waded through the Knightsbridge area and arrived at South Kensington tube station. My friends (the poor victims of the movement for the cultural emancipation of OluwaBitchiola) were late, as I'd expected, so I made my way to the venue without them. Along the way I got stopped by not one, not two, but three sets of individuals of negroid persuasion, who sighted my clumsy A to Z and asked 'oh so innocently' if I knew which way the Cine' Lumiere was. Obviously I did! I had a bloody A to Z with me! (Bitchy did not go to this event with the intent to make new friends, Bitchy is bitchy, as you ought to know by now. Hehe...)

I finally got to the door, gave my name to the doorman guy, and found a gift bag being thrust into my hand, with smiles from affiliates and comrades of the director all round. In my head I thought, "can these really be the same people who sent all those uppity emails?" Who would have thought that they would shine their eyes so bright, and be so kind as to hand out cookies and Fanta (which I had changed to a Coke... what a diva), and meat pies. Had I known they would be so generous, I wouldn't have wasted a ridiculous amount of money on lunch in the area. Just kidding... teehee! I don't do meat pies. On days when I crave Mr. Biggs-esque delicacies, I go hunting for scotch eggs and sausage rolls. The real stuff. Mmmm.... Yummy!

Within half an hour, we were seated, and the show was about to begin.

The director, Jide, a young investment banker, gave a short introductory speech about the reasoning behind the project, and its intended outcome. Even though I'd been briefed on his stats by my resident gossip columnist, and knew that he was pretty young (as directors go), I still found that I was very impressed by the committment he had shown over two years to a project that could not have been easy... or cheap!

The documentary took the audience from about 1954 to 2007 in two and a half hours. We didn't once get bored, neither did we fall asleep, as in the case of Bamako. My friends and I still haven't gotten over that atrocious film by the way. In fact, just as the opening tune was being played (the national anthem of course), Maxine turned to me and whispered - "Bitchy, this better not be Bamako part two oh!"

And it wasn't.

We sat through incredible archive footage spanning from the petition for independence presented in London by eminent Nigerians (including Fela's mother) and the conferences by African intellectuals such as Nkrumah, Kenyatta, Awolowo, all the way to the current Obasanjo regime. The route (it really did feel like a journey) went something like this (I apologise in advance for any errors or misyarns at this stage. My memory is appalling. And also, feel free to skip this part of my post if you're a pro on Nigerian history)...

Petitions for independence by proud African nationalists (amongst which were many prominent Nigerians), the eventual granting of representation in a white-run parliament at home, a 1956 or so visit from Queen E'liza (as Osuofia would call her), the setting of a date in 1960 for independence.

The make up of the first Nigerian-run parliament (Awolowo, Tafawa Balewa, Okotie-Eboh (a wiley finance minister), the Sardauna of Sokoto, Azikiwe (a lot of people are still yet to learn that he really was just a figure head) etc), the internal strife and political backbiting and inefficiency. I had always wondered why my Yoruba uncles were full of little adulation for Awo - a man that I had been told was 'the father of the Yorubas'.

The first military coup by mid-ranking Ibo officers, the merciless slaughter of the Sardauna, Awo's imprisonment. The counter coup and rescue by another military officer (Aguiyi Ironsi), whose first press conference was hilarious - the guy really hadn't thought through any cohesive plan for the nation at all!

The northern coup, which saw many Igbos slaughtered, was led by figures such as Murtala Mohammed, but which eventually brought Yakubu Gowon to power. The peace talks in Ghana between Ojukwu and Gowon (Ojukwu wasn't having any of that cigar/food and wine-sharing nonsense).

The Biafran War - footage from mercenaries, international networks, it was incredible. Ojukwu's flight, Phillip Effiong's surrender, Gowon's mercy, and his government's subsequent inefficiency.

A coup to oust Gowon, led (I think, this could be wrong) by Obasanjo, Danjuma etc, which had Murtala Mohammed at its head. Murtala's assassination, the lost potential, the nation's widespread mourning, the firing squad death of suspects, Obasanjo's assumption of power, and the handover to Civilan rule - Shagari.

Corruption in Shagari's weak and useless regime, civilian unrest, the Buhari-led coup that brought in W.A.I - the War Against Independence, the brutality of that short regime, a botched attempt to kidnap Dikko from London (hilarious!!), Buhari's overthrow by Babangida (I could be wrong at this point as there was a whole part in the story they deliberately missed out because it was just the same people repeating the same mistakes or something)

Babangida's regime, the decline in the naira because of the worldwide oil glut, the Nigerian Mafia's drug invasion of America, the abandonment of government scholars in foreign countries, the advent of 419, June 12, Abiola's shady dealings, the annulment of the election, MKO's arrest, Shonekan's 'interim government' and Abacha (the defence minister in Shonekan's cabinet)'s assumption of power.

The Abacha years, the rediscovery of religion, new wave preachers, oppression, MKO's death, and Abacha's God-sent heart attack.

Abdusallami Abubakar, the handover to democracy, Obasanjo's release, 1999, Obasanjo's campaign and victory. The incredible changes between 1999 and 2007 that the nation has completely forgotten about, and an analysis of the dangerous failure to redistribute the newly acquired wealth to the poor.

Having written all this, I really have become aware of a sense of gratitude that I now feel towards Jide and his team. Prior to yesterday, I had struggled, and failed to put the pieces of my country's history (my history) together. My friends and I had often lamented about our complete ignorance of its complexity, and now, for the first time really, I've gotten to see that there truly is a fascinating story behind Nigeria. I no longer see Nigeria as a wreckage, a ship with no destination, substance or hope. I see it for the difficult experiment that it is (for that is what it has been all along), and for the immense challenge it represents to any person or group who attempts to control it or steer it in one united direction.

The Naij documentary was fascinating - I hate that word, but it was!! It was surreal in the beginning, when the Sardauna and Balewa opened mouths out of which popped some of the most upper class, Winston Churchill-esque accents I had ever heard in black men. And it was hilarious to observe the steep decline in the fone' as time went on. I had always wondered why my grandfather (who will be 90 this year) sounded like such a pompous tosser! On the telephone, he could pass for a member of the royal family, and I don't mean Prince William, I'm talking Prince Philly! You know, "Hyar, hyar" and all that osh pigosh!

To Jide at al, congratulations, c'etait fabuleux, long may you reign, more greeease to your wrist, etcetera etceteroo.