Destiny

 

Destiny... the Nigerian Factor, the Black man and the Big Guy

By Enuma Chigbo

 

Who am I, for what purpose was I created? What is my destiny? Where is my world and how can I shape it? I ask myself these simple but profound questions over and over. And while I await answers, my thought processes move on to ‘gear two.’ Why was I born black? Why am I Nigerian?

“You have a great destiny,” say those divine voices in mild reverberations. I’m not sure where they came from, but I love the way they sound. “I have a great destiny,” I repeat after them. But, I look around and my circumstances dictate otherwise. No car, very little cash, no husband (at nearly forty), it just goes on and on. Do I really have a great destiny? I’m compelled to ask, but thinking deeply about it, I know my situation is not that bad... In fact, it could have been much worse. I will talk about it, but not just yet. I have learned from other people’s lives. These lives have helped shape my destiny, and I’d like to share theirs first.

Not too long ago, there lived a guy called Charles. Charles was charming, handsome, witty and brilliant. In fact Charles had a brain that preceded him in so many ways.  He was of a privileged background and attended the best schools. However, upon graduation from the university, Charles just couldn’t get it together. He changed from one career to the other and eventually took jobs that were no match for his intellect. Sadly, he became ill and passed on. What took his life eventually? He died of full blown AIDS. Charles had a great destiny which unfortunately was cut short. Perhaps the main reason why this happened was because he had no clue as to who he was and ended up roaming aimlessly in circles until the final blow.  

I also remember Gilbert. Like Charles, Gilbert also had a great destiny. But, there seemed to be one major deterrent – his wife. She simply opposed everything he believed in and stood for. Did Gilbert know he had a great destiny? Perhaps. Did he realise that the major opposition was right there in his home? Maybe not. And for that solitary reason, he never really reached his peak as a result of various oppositions from the one person who should have been instrumental to realising his destiny ...but he is still alive, and there is hope...

There’s also Dorothy. Our paths crossed about a decade ago. Perhaps, she had a great destiny, which was almost cut short as there were evil deterrents that left her visually impaired. Miraculously things turned around for the better as she regained her eyesight a while later. “Don’t ask me what happened,” she chirps when I speak to her on the telephone. “Ask the Big Guy up there.”

Of course that got me thinking. Who determines our destinies? Could it be the same Big Guy Dorothy seems to be so passionate about? Maybe, but it is up to us to identify, activate and actualise our destiny through Him. I needed that Big Guy to position or reposition me as it were, to actualise my destiny. After graduating from the university, the only jobs available, which paid reasonable amounts of money, were in the banking industry. It was “in” particularly in Lagos, to prance around in smart skirt suits, be chauffer driven and make fat commissions. The treasury department was the place to be at the time. Well, I joined the bandwagon, except in my case I was in the administrative department- a thankless place where you looked after everyone and everything, but the real gratitude from management, went to the people who made money for the company and of course lined their own pockets in the process.

In that industry, I may have been looked at in awe by my not so fortunate friends, but I was miserable. I wasn’t sure I was effective in the workplace. Perhaps the endless threats of me being fired by my very stern bosses had a lot to do with it. Perhaps my non- stop confusion and forgetfulness that propelled the threats had a lot to do with it. Many times I would go to work not having a clue as what to do or why I was there. “What is it you want out of life?” One of my bosses asked one day. I had no clue. Perhaps the Big Guy would come to my aid. Perhaps He would tell me what I could do with my life. And He did, in a way that I least expected...

At work, the only people I seemed to impress were the junior staff – drivers, security, cleaners, you name it. In their eyes I could do no wrong. I was their ‘Madam.’ There was a particular security guard, I’ll call him Henry, who seemed drawn to me. He also wanted to step up in life by changing his career from an ordinary security man to a more prestigious dispatch rider. (He learned that there was a vacancy in that department) I had no objections to that whatsoever, and promptly signed his redeployment letter. One fateful day, he went out on his assignments and that was the last I saw of him. The police came to the office much later to tell us that he was involved in a fatal accident.

I needed the Big Buy more than ever. You see, it wasn’t just about fulfilment here on Mother Earth anymore. Henry’s sudden demise got me looking at the bigger picture. It got me yearning to not just activate and actualise my destiny here on earth, but to look at life after death. Prior to my brief encounter with Henry, I knew the Big Guy existed, but couldn’t really be bothered to do more than making the sign of the cross before I went to bed. Little wonder why I felt so lost. But then that had to change. I sought the Big Guy earnestly, and found Him, just in time.

Discovering the Big Guy made me write within the four walls of my bedroom. I wrote about everything. It didn’t matter whether or not my writings made sense. I felt liberated. I was elated, most of all, I found peace. Finally, the time had come where I could fully express myself without trying to impress anyone. There were no stern bosses around. It was just me, my pen and my Big Guy, who just let me be. And then things started to change. I knew the Big Guy was leading me somewhere but had no clue as to where exactly. It didn’t matter. I would trust him completely, especially as one of his servants, my pastor at the time saw a bit of what I wrote. “Don’t you want to publish this?” He asked. I didn’t know. I was still waiting to see where the Big Guy would lead me.

As I walked with Big Guy, He would share things with me. He would also talk to me about Nigeria, which I found strange as I could best be described as the most unpatriotic Nigerian around. I had no interest whatsoever in Nigeria. It wasn’t that I didn’t like my country. I just hated the fact that nothing worked. I hated the fact that Nigerians seemed to thrive on pulling one another down, and then of course there was our ‘well deserved’ reputation in the international arena – corruption.  I wrote about my concerns for our dearly beloved country. I still had reservations, but I expressed them in a much more constructive way. The Big Guy had taught me to look beyond the country’s problems and see her potential.  I tried, and though my perspective changed, there were still things I was grieved about, like the ‘special’ day everything around me stopped working.

It started with my telephone. I recall waking up that fine morning very upset at not having a dial tone. As a matter of fact, it had not worked for one week. It was temporarily out of service (popularly known as TOS – what the relevant officials do to your lines when you don’t pay your bills). I was livid as there were so many business calls I needed to make. I was also furious with NITEL. I felt they were inefficient, nonchalant and greedy. There was no reason why my phone didn’t work, as I owed nothing. At the time I went back and forth my zonal office, I encountered a man whom I felt like giving a good punch. He had the effrontery to tell me in an extremely laid back manner that my bills were mixed up. “Who mixed them up?” I asked. “NITEL,” he replied. Now how was that supposed to be my problem?

I had to refrain from unleashing abuses on him. Deep down I was secretly hoping he would be fired for incompetence.  Anyway, I stopped thinking about NITEL as I needed to get going. I turned on my radio, determined not to let NITEL and my telephone situation get to me. I would ignore them all and listen to soothing gospel music. That didn’t happen. Our own dear NEPA (Now PHCN) had struck! You know, that institution is part of a system that has not worked since inception. I also remember the times I would go and reconcile accounts with them and how I encountered a cashier who had a very bad attitude. Quite frankly it was an incident I chose to blot out of my memory.

I sat and pondered a while as my whole week had been disrupted because of NITEL. It slowly dawned on me that the bulk of my time and maybe resources were spent worrying and chasing after corporate bodies that were meant to provide utilities with ease- electricity, communications and petrol. Now, apart from the basic necessities such as air, water, food and shelter one must agree that the three earlier mentioned are quite crucial to the stability of our country. These are essentials that many other countries take for granted. Having weighed this matter over and over, my confidence in Nigeria waned tremendously. And that opened doors to a myriad of things that grieved me about my country and her people.

I observed that though my fellow Nigerians are generally aggressive, of late, our aggression had become unprecedented. Many times we tend to be aggressive about the wrong things and not aggressive over the right ones. I have often wondered what one could do to relax, to take their minds off the extreme hardship and excruciating pain we go through in our country. In as much as I would hate to admit this, the truth is – very little. In the past, one could enjoy simple pleasures like watch a movie or amuse oneself in a park. Not so these days.

Playing or taking a walk in the park is ancient history now, thanks to the area boys. Peace has been thrown out of the window. For crying out loud look at those okadas with their car horns! (Also ridden by area boys) Most people in Lagos especially cannot be oblivious to these boys. They are there, harassing the living daylights out of innocent citizens who dare to make money from “their land”.

I thought of Nigeria again. Many of the negative things that happen today emanated from little things, which were ignored and consequently spiralled out of proportion. Well, our negligence has certainly landed us in one big mess! Where was Big Guy in all this? What were His plans to right all wrongs that seemed to encase the citizens of our country? Surely we had a fundamental issue and the more I thought about its roots, the more comfortable I became with my feelings.  I felt that we have a fundamental problem that has been in existence for as long as we have graced the surface of this earth – greed.

Greed has produced bad people who have over-indulged themselves at the expense of others. It was this same greed that made us sell our fellow brethren as slaves. We are the sole destroyers of our country; conversely, we are the only ones who can redeem it. We need to stop laziness and build ourselves spiritually, physically, morally, culturally etc.

Questions were asked about the area from which the Big Guy came. “Can anything good come from Nazareth?” Questions like this are asked about our country all the time. Well, I believe that good things can and will come out of our country. Yes, I learned this much from hanging out with Big Guy.

Armed with all these insights and more, I wondered what the next step would be. I knew I couldn’t just sit there. I wasn’t sure how though. I needed an initial push. Again, it came but not in a way I expected. “Creative people always have a destructive element following them,” one of my stern bosses said. How right he was.  In my case I wasn’t sure if it was an element or a myriad of elements. It’s one thing to determine your destiny or try and redirect your path after a certain age. However the most difficult part may have been warding off the unseen elements which would stop at nothing to destroy you or change your course.

Amid resistance from ‘well meaning’ relatives including parents, I resigned from my place of work. It was time to do something more creative. They didn’t buy that.  It also didn’t help matters that I suffered from seemingly endless bouts of poverty thereafter. What kept me sane was the peace that surrounded me when I wrote within the four walls of my bedroom. But even that was taken away from me, well...almost. I recall being fine one morning and ending up in hospital the day after and put on very strong medication. The doctor used one very long and complicated medical term to diagnose my malady. “You will be on those drugs for a very long time.” He said. As far as I was concerned, my life was literally over. As I lay in that hospital bed for weeks, I wondered where the Big Guy was. I felt betrayed that He would abandon me like that after all the good times we shared. It just wasn’t fair. Who would look after me now?

Anyway, four months down the line, I grew strong and brave enough to take myself off the medication contrary to the doctor’s wishes and decided to relocate. Perhaps I would go to Abuja and start all over. Maybe I would go and chase after big contracts and live an extremely lavish life. After all, the Big Guy had gone away...not that I cared. True to my word, I was in Abuja the following week. I won’t deny that I missed Lagos. I missed my friends; I missed my family, but then I remembered one of the conversations I had with Big Guy. He told me about a great man called Abraham and how it was necessary for him to leave his natural habitat and relocate to a foreign land where he would be blessed immensely.  Perhaps that was my path too. But as the weeks went by I wondered if I had made the right decision, especially as my conversations with Big Guy seemed few and far between. I had looked around for work and nothing seemed to happen. I was secretly grateful that I was just testing the waters and that I still had my flat in Lagos… just in case.

Miraculously, all that changed shortly after and it’s something I still marvel at to this day. A friend and I went to a child’s birthday party. When the party was over, I told her I didn’t feel like going back to hers. “Fine, we could go and hang out at the pool side at the HILTON hotel,” she said.

As we got there, I saw James Goodman, CEO of Falcon, one of the leading newspapers in Nigeria. Having not seen him in a while, and not knowing what to say to him, I looked in a different direction, hoping he wouldn’t notice me. That didn’t work. He came straight at me, shook my hand and we got talking. Don’t ask me how but I started working for his newspaper the following day! It was amazing. The Big Guy whom I had thought abandoned me actually ordered my footsteps. He was right there all through my ordeal and I just didn’t know it.

My new job as a journalist opened a new lease of life for me, especially as the areas I was told to write and report on were largely human-interest. I seemed to be gravitating towards non-governmental organisations back in Lagos. My new job entailed working with NGO’s, health institutions, international organisations and the diplomatic community.

I was excited at my new job but I tell you it wasn’t easy initially. When I wrote within the four walls of my bedroom, I was in charge. I was king. Who cared about morphology, syntax or even semantics for that matter? No one but the Big Guy saw what I wrote and I would have been very surprised if He came down from Heaven to correct or criticise my work: “This is all wrong. This paragraph should not be there. Replace this word with one that clearly illustrates what you’re trying to explain.” Since that didn’t happen I was quite content with all the imperfections of my work. It didn’t matter, especially as I wasn’t getting paid for it.

Unfortunately, all those ‘privileges’ were stripped off me. I was going to get paid and, to make matters worse, people more experienced than me would dissect my work before deciding if it was worth public reading. I forgot that before I took the job I hardly ever read newspapers. When I tried to, I put them down because I just could not understand the heavy grammar and complicated sentences.

Anyway, as the months went by it became easier. I became more comfortable. I got positive responses both within and outside of the office and that encouraged me even more. I worked long hours, I didn’t mind at all. It’s amazing because I couldn’t stand working long hours in my former place of employment. That clearly told me something. For the first time in a long time I was actually realising my destiny, walking in the path that the Big Guy wanted me to. It told me that I had taken the first few steps in realising His plan and purpose for my life, and I was getting paid for it too!

But then, it wasn’t just about payment. I slowly realised that my beats in the newsroom were not given to me by accident. It was up to me to try and help people through writing. One of my favourite projects, “Mind over Matter,” I was told went a long way to help the campaign for the mentally unstable. It was such a pity about the people I met earlier, like Charles, who’s now six feet under. His destiny was cut short before he could make any significant impact in society. Where was Big Guy then?

As for me, life went on. I was certainly glad that I could reach out to people through my work. I finally found what worked for me. I was content, and in my content frame of mind, I found myself walking down memory lane. I recall my father telling me about myself when I was about two years old. I would stand transfixed in front of the television, totally oblivious to everything and everyone around. Nothing and no one would move me from my famous spot until I was ready. It didn’t matter whether my favourite meal was placed in front of me or whether irate voices from people at twice my age and size hollered at me. I would only leave when I was good and ready. That told me that my destiny had been mapped out from that tender age. I was destined to be in the media industry. I also remembered that I was an active participant of television and radio programmes at the tender age of ten.

 

What happened down the line? I ask myself over and over. Was it the Nigerian factor? Was it the fact that there were very few opportunities in the media industry at the time of my graduation? Was it because I had graduated at a time that the Nigerian Government seemed to have neglected her dynamic creative industry? But, it wasn’t just about our Government. Sometimes these obstacles start from home. Many parents, Nigerian parents particularly, seemed to have very set ideals as to what their children should study. I recall wanting to study Mass Communication in the University. “Mass Communication is for lazy people,” my dad said, the same person who drew attention to my potentials at the age of two. I think he would have preferred for me to be a medical doctor. I settled for a Bachelor’s degree in English.

 A friend Doris told me she wanted to study Theatre Arts, but her father would have none of that. I think he forcefully tried to remove her from school when he learned that she had tried to defy his orders by attempting to register for Theatre Arts. Like me, she settled for English. Today, we are grappling with redirecting and repositioning our footsteps towards actualising our divine destiny. Actually to say that I am grappling may be a tad bit unfair. With my new job, I was content. No, I was more than content. I was on a roll! Why? I began to broaden my horizons. I felt Nigeria had a lot to offer but we were not showcasing our talents properly. I also started to think of Africa’s potential and the ‘journey’ of the black man. The beauty of it all was that I’d been given an opportunity to voice my thoughts. But all that changed.

My chairman dropped a bombshell about seven months after my employment. At least that’s what it seemed like to me. “Would you like to be part of our South Africa project team?” He asked. I was in shock. We were setting up an office in South Africa. I knew people would be asked to move but never imagined I would be one of those people, especially as I was still fairly new in the company. I couldn’t say no; on the other hand, I wasn’t enthusiastic about leaving Nigeria. I had only just come to terms with leaving Lagos, where I had resided for the last sixteen years!

            “Not as a permanent move,” I stuttered.

“You have the option of coming back if you do not like it,” he responded.

            At last we had reached a compromise! But before I knew it, virtually everyone at work came to tell me that I had been transferred to South Africa. How they knew baffled me, especially as I hadn’t come to terms with leaving. As far as I was concerned I was merely going to test the waters -again.

Again my dreams began. I pictured myself as a top print journalist who would eventually branch into television. I saw myself planted in a famous church where I would serve the Big Guy wholeheartedly. I decided that the romantic atmosphere the country created would be the perfect venue for my wedding, to a South African perhaps. I already liked the way some of them spoke. My dreams were endless. Euphoric as I was, I was a wee bit sad, I was sad that my dearly beloved country, with all our resources, did not look anywhere as beautiful as South Africa. My heart bled for Nigeria but I wasn’t going to let my moment of sadness put a damper on my great dreams.

Finally, I thought, all my dreams were about to come true. It wasn’t easy. I had to start from the bottom because of my dual handicap – inexperience in Journalism and being a foreigner. I had become a ‘toddler’ in the newsroom. Considering that I was fast approaching middle age, it wasn’t funny. I felt so inadequate. I had to compete with people who had been in the industry for at least six years. Even junior journalists ten years younger than me seemed better than I was.

I was forced to ask myself hard questions and lament why I hadn’t worked as a journalist earlier. My dad should have just let me study Mass Communication when I wanted! I wondered about the Big Guy and His tremendous plans for me. I wondered when this great day would come. There had been quite a few prophesies along those lines and yet I still wondered. But my discomfort didn’t stop in the newsroom. Gradually I was introduced to the South African world of xenophobia.

My colleague, Henry Letsepe, was a classic example. He couldn’t see human beings beyond their skin colour. And with us Nigerians, it was a totally different story. We had come to take over their jobs and their women. I must admit that we didn’t help matters as we dominated an area called Hillbrow, where the bulk of Nigerians sold drugs and defrauded people for a living.

Letsepe would constantly pass snide comments about Nigerians and white people. To me, he was just an angry black South African. However, his behaviour prompted me to study South Africans more closely. I read about their history, I read about apartheid and I was deeply saddened.

I prayed, I fasted and after a while the revelations came. Memories of my quest for the black man, particularly the African, began to flood my mind. I had convictions about the black man whilst I was in Abuja but, for some strange reason, I thought to study black Americans because of their brutal past. However, I realised during my fast that Big Guy saw a bigger and clearer picture. He brought me to South Africa. Here, I was in close contact with direct victims of a brutal regime as opposed to black Americans whose ancestors suffered over 400 years ago. I never in my wildest dreams thought that skin colour would be a topical issue but to me it was, especially as I found myself in a country where it was such a big issue even though its citizens would like to believe otherwise. In Nigeria, I wrote within the four walls of my bedroom about colour and racism, but up till I went to South Africa, I had never been a direct victim of it. I guess that was what Big Guy was trying to draw my attention to. After all, one of the questions I had asked much earlier was, “Why was I born black?”

You know, our existence in this world – life, marriage, childbirth et al - is a mystery. I also felt that the mystery surrounding the issue of skin colour was very profound but as an avid believer in the Big Guy and in His ability to unravel mysteries and reveal to His children, I knew deep down that skin colour would not be as complex as it appeared. As usual, I knew I would get some answers from His book. I love the Bible. I love the fact that the Bible is so diverse and that its words can solve the deepest mysteries of life as well as provide basic everyday information and guidance.

Being black, proud and not in any way a direct victim of any brutal racial regime, I believed I could seek His counsel with an open mind. He reminded me how civilisation started in Africa but somehow that was overtaken by events. I imagined the white man, on setting foot in Africa, being disgruntled at the vast resources deposited in the land of ‘these vile creatures’. What does he then do? He studies them, learns their weaknesses and looks for the right opportunity to take control of their resources. I also learned that, though the black man is very talented and possibly even spiritually stronger than the white man, he is also impatient and lacks the necessary discipline required to see things through. The white man, on the other hand, is more methodical, and has staying power.

The Big Guy told me that the coming of the white man into Africa was divine. Both parties were meant to learn from each other. I tried to visualise this in my head. You see, blacks have always tended to rely heavily on the supernatural. Nothing ever happened accidentally – there were always divine forces that channelled actions – as illustrated through African traditional religion, which clearly did not make sense to foreigners. However, in the midst of all that ‘darkness’, in the midst of their “backward religion” they were special people blessed with natural resources. However, they required guidance, and exploiting these resources would also require assistance. But so did the white man. He needed to be less methodical, especially in spiritual matters. He needed to worship the Big Guy with the same zeal as the black man. 

 Picture this scene. Picture Big Guy looking down at the black man, looking at what looked so vile to the white man and loving the former regardless. I imagined Him saying, “These people need me”. They also cannot be isolated from the rest of the world. Then He looks at the white man and loves him, too. I imagined Him saying, “These two groups can learn from each other. I would like a union of both parties.”

On first contact, I can imagine the black man looking at the white man and thinking, “The gods must have come down from the sky (and by ‘gods’, I mean both good and evil gods.) Right and wrong; right because there was a divine reason for the coming of the white man, and wrong because the white man was not God, or “the gods”. I imagine the white man looking at the black man and thinking, “These animals must have come from down under”, and was even more infuriated that they were sitting on a treasure base they didn’t deserve. What started out as divine became destructive.

“You have a great destiny,” those sweet voices say. Indeed I do. So does Nigeria, and likewise Africa. What happened down the line, I wondered. The consistent negative voices echoed by multitudes certainly didn’t help matters. “Nigerians are cursed, Africa is cursed, the black man is cursed. Afta God na oyibo.” It’s disheartening for me to hear Africans saying negative things about the continent. Many believe the continent is cursed. There are a lot of negative reports in the media about Africa which portray the international community as ‘messiahs’.

Now, I see things differently and I feel that we Africans should see ourselves as special. This is the way the Big Guy sees us. You see, even before the introduction of Christianity, we have tended to rely heavily on the supernatural. Maybe in our own way we did touch Big Guy, who in return sent people to enlighten us about Him. Who knows what we were praying about and what sacrifices were made before the advent of the white man into Africa? It’s a pity about the negative things that resulted from this divine act but we really need to move forward.

The Big Guy did place powerful gifts in us, and even the words we utter could have various connotations without our even realising. Yes, He taught me that as well. He taught me that the greatest resource a nation could ever have is her human resource. Then, I thought about people like Charles who would have been an asset to the nation, continent and perhaps even the entire black race, but did not live long enough to make an impact. His amazing destiny was cut short. So were many others, what with the endless untimely deaths that seemed to ravage our country as a result of incessant vicious and violent unrests, like those in the Niger Delta for example.  My goodness...the most fertile lands in our country now must be in our cemeteries as they seem to swallow up the best of our talents.

 I thought about me... I was back in Lagos after our South African office unceremoniously folded up. I was back in Lagos perhaps even broker than I was when I left. Was this part of the plan?  Almost a decade after redirecting and repositioning myself, I still had no husband, very little cash and was still bogged down by the inconsistencies of our dearly beloved country. Very little seemed to have changed in the few years I was away. Was this the plan? “You have a great destiny,” I hear again. This time I think it was the Big Guy Himself whispering softly into my ear. That must have been the sweetest, gentlest but yet most assertive voice I have ever heard.  I smile...

 The Big Guy took me through a journey for a reason. He made me realise that there was a divine reason for my being black, Nigerian and African. He made me proud of me. Indeed I do have a great destiny as harrowing and nerve racking the journey may have been at the time.  But, it didn’t matter, not anymore. I had the unwavering support of the Big Guy who made things clearer. He showed me I could make a significant impact towards a new and improved Nigeria, Africa and the black race. No wonder it was such an arduous journey. Yes I had a great destiny, but to fulfil this, there was a price to be paid, and I have paid mine...

 

 

 
Posted by: Enuma Chigbo on 10 January 2010

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